:D I love Nicky so much

I'll be making these into (handmade) stickers and will be giving them out for FREE at both the upcoming Elfia event and at Heroes Dutch Comic Con (summer edition)

I actually don't think anyone from the Netherlands follows me on here but uuuhh if you do plan on going to one/both events, keep an eye out for someone in a badly made Taylor cosplay and you will be granted with one of these bad bois >:)

31 Days of Wayhaven, Day 24

Prompt: Enchantment Rating: PG-13 for language, adult-type touching, and Nicky being Nicky Words: 4,332 Characters: Nicolo and Isabela Morelli Summary: This reunion isn’t going quite the way Nicky planned.

For the @31daysofwayhaven event.

His daughter had kept in touch with him far more than Nicky ever thought he deserved.  It was strange, but not in a bad way, to receive texts from her or to be on the phone for hours on end, listening as she filled him in on the life he had missed out on.  They’d laughed together, and on multiple occasions, cried together, but he was honored that she would so readily include him in her life.  She’d explained the reason she was still alive: she may have inherited her looks from his side of the family, but her mother’s magical abilities had carried over.  She’d laughed that when she and her mother went to restaurants without glamour, they were often mistaken for sisters, especially since Gianna had chosen to stop aging at the same age her mother had done the same.  He had wondered if Tony had inherited the same since he was slightly older in looks by a few years, but Gianna had laughed and told him that no, as someone part fey, her son’s long lifespan was tied to his father’s.  It was a lot to take in at once, but Nicky was grateful that he had this opportunity to get to know the family he hadn’t known he had better.

He’d asked Gianna to not let her mother know about him.  Part of him wanted to go to Isabela to confront her, but another part of his was afraid to.  What would they say to the other after so long apart?  What would she think of him?  They hadn’t even known the other for more than a week, what did they have in common, aside from this daughter that he hadn’t even known about?  He’d changed over the years that his life had been prolonged, he wasn’t the same person that he had been then.  Of course, the core things that made up his personality were still the same: he was as opinionated as ever and his temper still flared hot at the slightest of provocations, he still had the same sense of humor about the things he always had, and he still had the same need to wear well-tailored clothing and have the finer things in life.

He also had the same love of women that had led him to this fate, though to be fair, he had ceased any and all affairs the moment he found out that Isabela was still alive.  He still flirted, because it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t, but Nicky hadn’t acted on any of the flirtation since, especially once his daughter had told him that the magic that had kept him from true death was meant as a matrimonial bond.

Marriage.  The word was foreign to him, to be bound to one person and one person alone for the rest of his life.  He didn’t have anything against the idea, just that it was something that he never thought would apply to himself, even when he was alive.  He still didn’t know how he felt about being married without his knowledge or his consent, but he figured that now that he knew, Isabela deserved his fidelity.  He had to laugh at that.  His lack of faithfulness had been his undoing all those years ago.

Thinking back, he didn’t know why he had strayed from her and her bed.  Maybe because it had felt too right, that it had scared him to find someone that he could have easily seen himself in love with.  Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be tied down to one person that he pushed her away before more permanent ties could be made.

Or maybe, just maybe he had cheated on Isabela with another woman because he had been a feckless asshole with no real care for the feelings of the women he claimed to be fascinated with.  He was three hundred and seventy-two years old, he could call himself out on his own bullshit.

Nicky squared his shoulders and brushed invisible lint off the front of his (expensive) leather motorcycle jacket.  He stared at the little wrought iron fence that separated the charming house in front of him from the street and pushed the gate open.  The tingle of protective magic all around him made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end, but he kept going, pausing with his knuckles braced at the door.

This is stupid, Morelli, he thought.  Just knock and be done with it.

It took a while, but he heard footsteps come to the door.  There was no peephole or window, and the breath that he didn’t need caught in his throat at the sight of the woman who answered it.  The glamour she wore to make herself look like an older version of herself shimmered gold over her body like a second skin before fizzling and sputtering out, leaving behind a woman who looked to be in her late twenties, dark hair curling about her elegant shoulders and skin smooth and rosy.

The rose tint that filled her cheeks with such life seemed to drain from her face as she stared at him, her beautiful eyes widening as she took him in.

“Buona sera, mia cara,” he said, giving her a wink.  “May I come in?”

Isabela slammed the door in his face.

Nicky looked at the door that had missed his nose by inches.  “Can we talk about this?”  He knocked again.

“Go away!”

“Come on, I used up all my mileage to fly out here!”  He rattled the doorknob, but found it locked, just as he expected.  “Can we at least speak like civilized people?”

“I have nothing to say to you, you pig!”  Nicky heard slamming and realized she was closing all the windows around one side of the house.  Running in the opposite direction, he rounded the corner and jumped the low spiked iron fence to the backyard.  As expected, the back door was open and the screen door was unlocked.

“Is this how you treat your husband?” he teased, eyes widening as he dodged a cast iron skillet she swung in his direction.

“Get out of my house!” She grit her teeth and swung again.  “How did you even find me?”

“It wasn’t easy!”  He dodged another hit, his feet moving backwards until she forced him out onto the back porch.  “It only took over three hundred years!”

“I thought you were dead!  You should be dead!”

He moved again.  “I am dead!  You made it so I can’t get any peace!”  Nicky let out a grunt as the skillet connected with his shoulder, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, holding it tightly and twisting in a way that wouldn’t hurt her, but would make her drop the pan.  “Now can we please talk like adults inside before your neighbors call the cops?  I don’t have much of a rap sheet, but I would like to keep domestic -” He paused as pain sparked through his body.  Looking down, he noticed that he hadn’t seen Isabela fumbling in the pocket of her dress for a knife.  A knife that was currently sticking out of his chest.  He looked at her in disbelief and she looked back, her eyes wide in fright.

“Ow,” was all he had time to say before the world went black and his body crumpled to the ground.

He didn’t know how long it had been before he came to, but he guessed it wasn’t long, judging by the slant of late afternoon sunlight coming through the kitchen window.  A shuffle of movement made him turn his head towards the sound and he found Isabela curled on the floor, her arms around her legs and her eyes staring at him.

“This was my best jacket,” he managed to say, mouth dry as it usually was when he came back to consciousness.  “I’ve been shot at, chased by things with claws in it, and the person that ruins the leather is my own wife.  Fitting.”

“I’m not your wife,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

“Tell that to your magic.”

She shook her head.  “It wasn’t supposed to work.  It shouldn’t have worked.”

Nicky grunted as he slowly sat up, one leg extended and the other brought up so he could rest his arm on his knee.  “What shouldn’t have worked?”

“The spell.  I was young, inexperienced.  I was angry.”  She sniffled.  “I didn’t mean for it to work.”

Nicky looked at her and let out a slow, low laugh.  “So you’re saying that this spell you cast on me was an accident?  Something you did in anger?”

She slapped her palms on the floor and glared at him.  “Don’t laugh at me, damn you!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed, wiping tears from his eyes as he continued to chuckle.  “You have got to admit there’s some cosmic irony going around.  It’s either laugh or scream, babe.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t left me for some...some…”  she stood up and glared.  “I can’t even describe her anymore, but the fact is that you decided that you had enough fun in my bed and wanted nothing more to do with me!”

“I was young!”

She held her hand to her chest.  “So was I!  Youth is no excuse for breaking my heart!”

He sighed and closed his eyes.  “I know that now.  You have absolutely no reason to forgive me, but I do want you to know how sorry I am for hurting you.  It was wrong of me and I apologize.”

His words seemed to take some of the wind out of her anger.  “I loved you once,” she told him, wiping at her cheek.  “I think, in a way, I love you still.”

He got up, wincing as the wound in his chest pulled his muscles tight as it continued to heal.  “You loved the idea of me, Isabela.  We barely knew the other, how can you love me?”

She narrowed her eyes as she came up to him, hand reaching out to trace the ragged hole in his once pristine leather jacket, the tips of her fingers warm against his skin.  “Soulmates exist, idiot.”  Isabela jerked back slightly when Nicky let out a barking laugh, his hand coming up to gently wrap around her wrist.

“Sounds like something my grandson told me a while ago when I first met him.”

Isabela stood straighter.  “You met Tony?”

“Oh, he was pissed at me.  Had we not been in public, I bet he would have swung at me.”

She snorted, her lip barely curling up in a smile.  “He’s a good boy, my Tony.”  She swallowed hard.  “He takes after your side of the family, you know.”

He smiled and ran his thumb against the back of her hand.  “So does Gianna.  You named her after my grandmother?”

Isabela bowed her head and swayed towards him.  It felt right to hold her close with his free arm, her head fitting in the crook of his neck as if it were made specifically for that purpose.  “You weren’t supposed to know about her.” Her hand twitched under his, fingers splaying out over his chest.  For the briefest of moments, he could have sworn his heart, rusty from disuse, had given a faint thump. “I didn’t want you to know about her.”

He looked down at her.  “Why not?”

“Because she was mine.  You already stole my heart, Nicolo, I didn’t want you to come back and take my little girl.”

“Our little girl.”  He leaned back so he could look her in the eye.  “Was that why you vanished?  Made it so hard for me to find you?”

She nodded.  “I was still so angry.  At you, for making me fall in love with you and then running off to chase the next skirt that struck your fancy. At myself, for falling in love with such a fickle man.  I wanted you to hurt as much as I hurt, so I bound you to me and disappeared.  I wanted to see how long you would search for me.  I wanted you to grovel at my door, to beg for my forgiveness.”

“May you never know the peace of the grave,” Nicky murmured.  “Do you know how long I thought that you had cursed me that night?”

She frowned.  “Like I said, I was angry.”

“Did you know,” he started, moving aside so he had some space between them.  The faint scent of roses that clung to her skin made it hard to think.  “I went back the next night?  I wanted to talk things through with you, maybe see if there was anything I could save.”  He remembered how they had parted, both of them screaming at the other and Isabela throwing a pot in his direction.  

He hadn’t been as quick then as he was now, the pot glancing off the side of his head and drawing blood.  

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged.  “Sort of couldn’t when I got caught by a hulking slab of muscle I owed money to and he stabbed me to death and left me to rot in a ditch.”  He watched as she winced, her hand going sympathetically to her throat.  “Hey, but I guess I can’t really be too mad at you, had you not cast your spell, I would have been dead a long time ago.  I would have missed out on so many things: indoor plumbing, high speed internet, fine Italian motorcycles…”

He couldn’t help but move closer to her, his fingers tipping her chin up so he could look in her eyes.  “But for all the things I got to witness, I also missed out on so much.  Getting to know you, our daughter growing up, her son growing up.  I regret missing those things.”

Isabela gave a short huff of laughter.  “That wasn’t something I was expecting to hear from you.  You were always so brash and cocky with your words.”

He grinned.  “Don’t worry, my mouth still gets me into plenty of trouble.  I’ve just had over three centuries to do some personal growth.”

“Are you angry with me?” she asked, biting at her lip.  

“I was,” he confessed.  “I was angry for the longest time.  You have no idea how long I searched for a way to end this existence I believed you’d cursed me to, how many ways I sought death, a true death, out if only to free myself from waking up whole and unscathed.”

She leaned towards him again, her eyes squeezing shut.  “What stopped you?” she whispered.

“Nothing.  I dove in the line of fire and got shot in the face last week like it was nothing, just to save one of my teammates.  They’ve helped though. Gianna told me that the two of you know about the Agency.  I’m an agent with Unit Delta.”  He tapped his chest.  “No heartbeat or heat signature makes me the ideal infiltration specialist, and I’m handy with disarming locks and security systems so the rest of my team can come in behind me.  I’ve worked with multiple groups on several occasions since joining up, but the one I’m with now, they’re like family to me.  They’re the brothers and sisters that I didn’t know I was missing until I found them, and while knowing that someday I’m going to outlive them all, they make me not want to look for that final peace as often.”

Isabela licked at her lips before nervously biting at them again.  “So, where does this leave us?”

Nicky spread his hands and gave her a look that silently told her he didn’t have a clue either.  “I don’t know.  I’ve been in contact with Gianna and she wants me in her life.  Tony’s texted me once or twice now that he’s had a chance to cool down and think about things.”  He looked at her seriously.  “I don’t want to lose contact with them now that I’ve found them.”

“I don’t want you to lose contact with them either.”  She took a hesitant step closer, reaching out for him as if she couldn’t help herself either.  “I wanted…” she took a shuddering breath and ran her hands over his jacket, fingers gripping the edges.  “I often wondered what it would have been like had we been together.  To watch Gianna grow, to see how we would have grown together.”

“And it always made you sad.”  He leaned down and brushed his nose along the side of hers. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”  Nicky didn’t know who moved first, but his lips were pressed against hers and he felt as if he were a man slowly dying of thirst suddenly being given water after years of searching for the barest drop to drink.  He inhaled sharply as her hands pulled him close, his own hands moving to her hips and lower to lift her up onto one of the kitchen countertops, which she went gladly, a moan spilling from her mouth as he left her lips to trail a hot line of kisses down to her neck.  His hands slid over her legs, the material of her dress moving up until he had it bunched at her waist.

And that’s when he realized something that broke him out of the haze he’d fallen under.  Something he hadn’t felt in centuries.  “Nicolo?”  Isabela’s lips dragged along his jaw and he groaned when she nipped at the patch of skin where his jaw met his throat.  “What is it?”

He made a strangled noise as he slipped his hands under her thighs and tipped his hips just so.  “Um, that.” he told her, mouth muffled by her shoulder, grinding against her just to check to see if he wasn’t dreaming that something that hadn’t happened in a very long time was actually happening.  For science, if you will.

She gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist.  “Yes, that,” she purred, dragging her fingers through his hair so she could kiss him again.  “It may have been a while since I’ve been with you, but I definitely remember this part.”

“No, you don’t understand, Bella.”  His hands moved upwards until he could run his thumbs against the underside of her breasts.  “I haven’t felt this for anyone.  Not since before I died that first time.”  His laugh was a little on the wild side, and he let out a curse when she used her legs to pull him tightly to her again. 

“Wait, are you telling me…”

His eyebrow arched up.  “That this is the first time my cock’s gotten up for a woman in almost four hundred years?  Yes.”

“That you’ve slept with other women?” She angrily shoved at his chest and kicked out at him, aiming for the suddenly very apparent bulge in his jeans.

Instinct had him swerving his hips out of range.  “Hey!  We broke up!  You cursed me to this half-life!”

“We were married, you jackass!  How could you run around behind my back?”

“I didn’t know that!” He eyed the skillet she had on a nearby counter and grabbed it before she could reach for it.  “You made it impossible to find you and figure out what the fuck this whole spell you put me under was!”

“Did you even try looking?”  She hopped off the counter and balled her fists at her sides.  Nicky was just grateful she hadn’t grabbed at another knife yet.

He wagged a finger at her.  “Don’t you even start.  I spent years looking for you!  When I couldn’t find you in Sicily, I moved to Italy.  When I couldn’t find you there, I went to nearby countries to look for you.  Fuck, I spent months this year alone looking for you, so don’t you bring that into this!”  He angrily gestured at his groin, the long-absent erection slowly vanishing as they yelled.  “But it doesn’t explain this!”

She had the good grace to look the tiniest bit contrite.  “So I may have cursed you a little after that last argument.”

“A little?  You call not getting this up, even with my own hand, little?”

“I was angry!  You left me for another woman, did you think I wanted you to be able to use it with anyone but me?”

“Three hundred and seventy-two years, Isabela!  And this whole time I thought it was because my heart wasn’t pumping blood to vital organs!”  He dropped the skillet onto the table in the small breakfast nook and glared.  “Why didn’t you just curse my dick to fall off while you were at it?”

“That can still be arranged!”

Nicky took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.  “Okay, so this isn’t going quite the way I had envisioned.  We need to take a step back, maybe take a breather?”

“What makes you think I want anything to do with you?”

He arched his eyebrow.  “Because you said you wanted to, like five minutes ago?”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest.  “That was then.  Now I just want you out of my house.”

“Careful, carina.  You look gorgeous when you’re angry.”  Sure that she was unarmed, he swooped in and gathered her in his arms.

“I should bite you,” she growled.

“Kinky.  I’ll file that away for future reference.”

She unfolded her arms and instead of pushing him away, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer.  “Why should I think that you’ll be faithful to me now when you weren’t faithful to me all these years?”

“Because, Isabela, I haven’t slept with a woman since finding out that you were still alive.”  He leaned down and pressed a brief peck on the tip of her nose.  “It’s been two months, it’s a record.”

Isabela made an indignant sound.  “It’s been three hundred and seventy-two years,” she replied.  “I haven’t wanted anyone else but you.”  She stretched up onto her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his, her body all but melting at the touch.

He reluctantly broke the kiss.  “Then I hate to make you wait another minute, however…”

“What?”

He looked down at her and cupped her cheek in his hand.  “I was a jackass who didn’t know what I had before.  I’m still a jackass, but I want to do this right.”  He leaned down and pressed the barest of kisses to her forehead.  “Let me take you out.” Another kiss, this time at her cheek.  “Treat you to dinner.” His mouth barely grazed the corner of hers.  “Take you to bed.”  His lips curled upwards into a wicked smirk when he felt the moan buzz at her throat. 

“Fine, but it better be soon,” she pouted, fingers sifting through his hair before tugging.  “As in tonight soon.”

Nicky nipped at her lips before moving away, the warmth from her body already missed.  “Ah, but my darling, I haven’t a thing to wear.”  He wiggled his fingers through the tear she had made in his shirt and his jacket.  He laughed at her frustrated growl.  “Some of us should have thought about the consequences to stabbing one’s spouse before sticking a knife in their chest.”

“If you’re just going to tease, then you can leave.”

He winked at her.  “I’m just happy that I’m able to tease.”

“Out.”  She pointed to the back door.  As if by magic - and Nicky had to laugh at that! - the screen door opened on its own accord and stayed open, waiting for him to exit the way he came.

“So, can I call you?”

“You don’t have my number.”

He fished in the jacket pocket to pull out his phone, which had miraculously been saved from the knife from earlier.  “No, but Gianna does!”  He hopped the back fence again and made his way to the front yard, whistling a jaunty tune the entire time.  He stopped when he got to the front of her house in time to see her leaning against the front door.  “You never answered me, may I call you?”

She waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing him.  “I’ll think about it.”

“You are a cruel, cruel woman.”

“And you are a rude man who thinks it’s fair to work a woman up and then leave.”  She stood there at her doorway as he walked down the street, the faintest refrain of some song she hadn’t heard in centuries carrying on the wind.  “Idiot,” she murmured, shaking her head.  She couldn’t help the smile that worked its way onto her face as she closed the door and leaned against it.  Well. That was certainly not what she expected to deal with when she woke up that morning.  Running her hand over her hair in an attempt to put it back to rights where Nicolo had mussed it, she sighed and sank down onto the living room sofa.  Reaching for the phone that was on the coffee table, she hit a pre-programmed number.

“I should be angry at you for not telling me about your father being around,” she said without preamble, listening as her daughter tried to deflect with Mama, it’s so good to hear you! “But I’m guessing that he asked you not to say a word.”  She ran a hand over her neck, shivering as she remembered how Nicolo’s lips had felt there just minutes before. 

“Give your father my phone number,” she told her, her voice clipped and fast, almost as if she were getting the words out before she thought better of it.  “And tell him I expect a phone call soon.”

With that, she hung up the phone and got up, heading to put her kitchen to rights after the love of her life had barged in and moved things around, humming that same tune of love found after years apart without even realizing it.

Bruce's eulogy for the BIG MAN:

I've been sitting here listening to everyone talk about Clarence and staring at that photo of the two of us right there. It's a picture of Scooter and The Big Man, people who we were sometimes. As you can see in this particular photo, Clarence is admiring his muscles and I'm pretending to be nonchalant while leaning upon him. I leaned on Clarence a lot; I made a career out of it in some ways.´´

´´Those of us who shared Clarence's life, shared with him his love and his confusion. Though "C" mellowed with age, he was always a wild and unpredictable ride. Today I see his sons Nicky, Chuck, Christopher and Jarod sitting here and I see in them the reflection of a lot of C's qualities. I see his light, his darkness, his sweetness, his roughness, his gentleness, his anger, his brilliance, his handsomeness, and his goodness. But, as you boys know your pop was a not a day at the beach. "C" lived a life where he did what he wanted to do and he let the chips, human and otherwise, fall where they may. Like a lot of us your pop was capable of great magic and also of making quite an amazing mess. This was just the nature of your daddy and my beautiful friend. Clarence's unconditional love, which was very real, came with a lot of conditions. Your pop was a major project and always a work in progress. "C" never approached anything linearly, life never proceeded in a straight line. He never went A… B…. C…. D. It was always A… J…. C…. Z… Q… I….! That was the way Clarence lived and made his way through the world. I know that can lead to a lot of confusion and hurt, but your father also carried a lot of love with him, and I know he loved each of you very very dearly.´´

´´It took a village to take care of Clarence Clemons. Tina, I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for taking care of my friend, for loving him. Victoria, you've been a loving, kind and caring wife to Clarence and you made a huge difference in his life at a time when the going was not always easy. To all of "C's" vast support network, names too numerous to mention, you know who you are and we thank you. Your rewards await you at the pearly gates. My pal was a tough act but he brought things into your life that were unique and when he turned on that love light, it illuminated your world. I was lucky enough to stand in that light for almost 40 years, near Clarence's heart, in the Temple of Soul.´´

´´So a little bit of history: from the early days when Clarence and I traveled together, we'd pull up to the evening's lodgings and within minutes "C" would transform his room into a world of his own. Out came the colored scarves to be draped over the lamps, the scented candles, the incense, the patchouli oil, the herbs, the music, the day would be banished, entertainment would come and go, and Clarence the Shaman would reign and work his magic, night after night. Clarence's ability to enjoy Clarence was incredible. By 69, he'd had a good run, because he'd already lived about 10 lives, 690 years in the life of an average man. Every night, in every place, the magic came flying out of C's suitcase. As soon as success allowed, his dressing room would take on the same trappings as his hotel room until a visit there was like a trip to a sovereign nation that had just struck huge oil reserves. "C" always knew how to live. Long before Prince was out of his diapers, an air of raunchy mysticism ruled in the Big Man's world. I'd wander in from my dressing room, which contained several fine couches and some athletic lockers, and wonder what I was doing wrong! Somewhere along the way all of this was christened the Temple of Soul; and "C" presided smilingly over its secrets, and its pleasures. Being allowed admittance to the Temple's wonders was a lovely thing.´´

´´As a young child my son Sam became enchanted with the Big Man… no surprise. To a child Clarence was a towering fairy tale figure, out of some very exotic storybook. He was a dreadlocked giant, with great hands and a deep mellifluous voice sugared with kindness and regard. And… to Sammy, who was just a little white boy, he was deeply and mysteriously black. In Sammy's eyes, "C" must have appeared as all of the African continent, shot through with American cool, rolled into one welcoming and loving figure. So… Sammy decided to pass on my work shirts and became fascinated by Clarence's suits and his royal robes. He declined a seat in dad's van and opted for "C's" stretch limousine, sitting by his side on the slow cruise to the show. He decided dinner in front of the hometown locker just wouldn't do, and he'd saunter up the hall and disappear into the Temple of Soul.´´

´´Of course, also enchanted was Sam's dad, from the first time I saw my pal striding out of the shadows of a half empty bar in Asbury Park, a path opening up before him; here comes my brother, here comes my sax man, my inspiration, my partner, my lifelong friend. Standing next to Clarence was like standing next to the baddest ass on the planet. You were proud, you were strong, you were excited and laughing with what might happen, with what together, you might be able to do. You felt like no matter what the day or the night brought, nothing was going to touch you. Clarence could be fragile but he also emanated power and safety, and in some funny way we became each other's protectors; I think perhaps I protected "C" from a world where it still wasn't so easy to be big and black. Racism was ever present and over the years together, we saw it. Clarence's celebrity and size did not make him immune. I think perhaps "C" protected me from a world where it wasn't always so easy to be an insecure, weird and skinny white boy either. But, standing together we were badass, on any given night, on our turf, some of the baddest asses on the planet. We were united, we were strong, we were righteous, we were unmovable, we were funny, we were corny as hell and as serious as death itself. And we were coming to your town to shake you and to wake you up. Together, we told an older, richer story about the possibilities of friendship that transcended those I'd written in my songs and in my music. Clarence carried it in his heart. It was a story where the Scooter and the Big Man not only busted the city in half, but we kicked ass and remade the city, shaping it into the kind of place where our friendship would not be such an anomaly. And that… that's what I'm gonna miss. The chance to renew that vow and double down on that story on a nightly basis, because that is something, that is the thing that we did together… the two of us. Clarence was big, and he made me feel, and think, and love, and dream big. How big was the Big Man? Too fucking big to die. And that's just the facts. You can put it on his grave stone, you can tattoo it over your heart. Accept it… it's the New World.´´

´´Clarence doesn't leave the E Street Band when he dies. He leaves when we die.´´

´´So, I'll miss my friend, his sax, the force of nature his sound was, his glory, his foolishness, his accomplishments, his face, his hands, his humor, his skin, his noise, his confusion, his power, his peace. But his love and his story, the story that he gave me, that he whispered in my ear, that he allowed me to tell… and that he gave to you… is gonna carry on. I'm no mystic, but the undertow, the mystery and power of Clarence and my friendship leads me to believe we must have stood together in other, older times, along other rivers, in other cities, in other fields, doing our modest version of god's work… work that's still unfinished. So I won't say goodbye to my brother, I'll simply say, see you in the next life, further on up the road, where we will once again pick up that work, and get it done.´´

´´Big Man, thank you for your kindness, your strength, your dedication, your work, your story. Thanks for the miracle… and for letting a little white boy slip through the side door of the Temple of Soul.´´

´´SO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN… ALWAYS LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST. LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE MASTER OF DISASTER, the BIG KAHUNA, the MAN WITH A PHD IN SAXUAL HEALING, the DUKE OF PADUCAH, the KING OF THE WORLD, LOOK OUT OBAMA! THE NEXT BLACK PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES EVEN THOUGH HE'S DEAD… YOU WISH YOU COULD BE LIKE HIM BUT YOU CAN'T! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST MAN YOU'VE EVER SEEN!… GIVE ME A C-L-A-R-E-N-C-E. WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! … amen.´´

´´I'm gonna leave you today with a quote from the Big Man himself, which he shared on the plane ride home from Buffalo, the last show of the last tour. As we celebrated in the front cabin congratulating one another and telling tales of the many epic shows, rocking nights and good times we'd shared, "C" sat quietly, taking it all in, then he raised his glass, smiled and said to all gathered, "This could be the start of something big."´´

´´Love you, "C".´´

Real Talk: Nicky Parlouzer Meets Wow Wow Wubbzy

Name: Nicky Parlouzer Meets Wow Wow Wubbzy

Fandom(s): Sonic the Hedgehog and Wow Wow Wubbzy!

Chapters: 3

Description: I always loved Wow Wow Wubbzy (I miss that show) and the Sonic Manga so I wanted to make a crossover for them. Hiatus actually concedering continuing this story.

Summary: A scheme by Eggman gets Nicky, Amy, Eggman, and Little John (who gets retconned from the story by chapter 3) transported to the world of Wow Wow Wubbzy, where they meet Wubbzy and his friends.

Oooookay, so I’m pretty sure a good number of you are confused. Is this an OC fic? Where’s Sonic? Why are the only Sonic characters here Amy and Eggman? Who is Nicky Parlouzer?

The answer to the first question is actually a surprising “no”. This is not an OC fic. Even I was surprised. To answer the other three questions, though, we need to talk about the Sonic the Hedgehog manga. It’s an obscure piece of media (so obscure that I, someone that was an absolutely rabid Sonic fan that thought she knew everything there was to know, didn’t even know about it until I found this fic) that ran from 1992 to 1994. You can read this article from the Sonic Wiki if you want the nitty-gritty details, but the basic jist of the story is that it centers around a normal hedgehog boy named, you guessed it, Nicky (”Parlouzer” is likely a surname made up by the author), who lives in a place called Hedgehog Town. Nicky has the ability to transform into Sonic the Hedgehog to fight back evil, primarily Eggman. No one knows that Nicky is Sonic, though..not even Nicky himself knows. Other characters from the manga that appear in this fic are Nicky’s best friend, Little John, and Nicky’s girlfriend, Amy (the manga being notable for being the first appearance of Amy in any media, even before her game debut).

Now that we have that bit of context out of the way, we can actually start talking about this fic...because oh boy is there a lot to talk about.

To start, the spelling and grammar of this fic are really bad and author often abuses their caps lock key, because at least half the dialogue in this fic is written in all caps. The entire fic is also center-formatted, which is NEVER the right choice for a fanfiction. The first thing you see in this fic is a modified version of the Wow Wow Wubbzy theme song (which means I can check the song lyrics box on my bad fanfiction bingo card prematurely). The worst part, though, is that author actually gets some of the lyrics WRONG (as looking up the actual lyrics will immediately tell you). For example, the second line of the song is supposed to read “He's got a bendy tail and he likes it that way”, but this fic’s version says “He's got a baby tail and he likes to play, play, play” It doesn’t even match rhythmically, dang it.

*ahem*

The actual story immediately kicks off with Eggman kidnapping Amy two sentences in. As you can already tell, the pacing in this story is going to be absolutely horrific. In particular, everything in this story goes at...well...Sonic speed, and that’s not at all a good thing. It feels like this entire story was written in a rush without any thought put into it.

After that, Nicky transforms into Sonic right in front of Little John, which is already ANOTHER problem. The manga went to great lengths to keep Nicky’s secret identity, well, a SECRET. In this story, though, that’s kicked to the curb in the very first paragraph. Little John finds out first, then Nicky transforms AGAIN later in front of Wubbzy and friends, then Sonic transforms BACK into Nicky in front of Amy, then Nicky finds out. None of it is treated as a dramatic reveal, though, and nobody really reacts to it like they should. It just makes it really jarring.

Once we get to Eggman’s base, another problem with this fic rears it’s ugly head: AUTHOR NEVER EXPLAINS WHY ANYTHING HAPPENS. It’s never explained why Eggman decided to combat Sonic with a portal, why the portal malfunctions, or why this portal brought everyone to the world of Wow Wow Wubbzy. It all just kind of happens and the reader isn’t supposed to question it even though it makes no sense.

Now we end up in the Wow Wow Wubbzy world. Don’t worry if you don’t know anything about Wubbzy. Author only scrapes the bare minimum as far as needing to know things about Wubbzy goes, which is pretty much nothing. It’s very clear that author was much more focused on Nicky and friends in this fic and kind of throws Wubbzy in here to be here, which is a problem because you could replace Wow Wow Wubbzy with just about any other fandom and pretty much NOTHING about this fic would change. For your benefit, though, here’s what you need to know about Wubbzy for this fic (because my younger siblings were right within this show’s target demographic when it was airing): Wubbzy is your stereotypical cheery child character, Daizy is your stereotypical little girl character, Walden is your stereotypical bookish nerd character, and Widget is your stereotypical clumsy inventor character. I could go on about how the show does little to break away from cliches besides inserting constant non-sequiturs and lolrandom “humor”, but that’s another rant for another day in another place.

Anyway, the fic somehow both meanders and still manages to move way too quickly once Nicky ends up here. Wubbzy and Daizy find him injured, take him to Walden (for some reason), then Nicky wakes up and realizes he’s in another dimension. The four of them go to Widget for help, she agrees to build a portal, the rest of them go to find Nicky’s friends, they find Amy being mugged in an alleyway, Nicky transforms into Sonic to save her, then they talk about going to find Little John only for author to completely retcon him being here in the author’s note for the next chapter...even though author did nothing to try to write out Little John in previous chapters, which is extremely lazy and extremely confusing.

Instead, we’re thrown into a random Halloween party...which is where this story decides it wants to do a Beanus and give us a horribly-thought-out one-shot plotline that didn’t need to be here at all.

Basically, the party goes south when Eggman crashes in, takes Amy hostage, and mind-controls Wubbzy to be evil. Nicky has to transform into Sonic to rescue Amy and fend off Wubbzy while trying to get him back to normal. In the middle of all of this is a musical number, which is 137 LINES LONG AND DOES NOTHING FOR THE PLOT. CAN AUTHORS PLEASE STOP DECIDING THAT THEIR FICS NEED MUSICAL NUMBERS BECAUSE THEY DON’T MAKE SENSE WITHOUT ACTUAL MUSIC AND ONLY SERVE TO BE POINTLESS FILLER, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE CIRCUMSTANCE NEVER CALLED FOR IT.

After this is where the fic ends, with the author dropping it in favor of a rewrite that they also didn’t finish. I actually did read this rewrite...and, while the writing quality and pacing are slightly improved (KEYWORD: SLIGHTLY), everything else about it is somehow WORSE. I won’t be reviewing it, though, since I don’t really feel like I need to. Read it yourself if you want to see what’s wrong with it.

This fic is really, really, REALLY bad. It ranks among some of the worst I’ve ever reviewed, it’s that bad. This fic didn’t do a single thing right and that’s blantantly obvious. Heck, even Wow Wow Wubbzy itself is written better than this and it’s not often that you’ll hear me compliment the show responsible for causing my little brother to incessantly refer to things as [blank]ity-[blank]s for a good while. You can only hear the phrase “kickity-kickball” so many times before you start to crack, believe you me.

June 18, 2011 RIP Clarence

January 11, 1942- June 18, 2011

Bruce’s Eulogy For Clarence

I’ve been sitting here listening to everyone talk about Clarence and staring at that photo of the two of us right there. It’s a picture of Scooter and The Big Man, people who we were sometimes. As you can see in this particular photo, Clarence is admiring his muscles and I’m pretending to be nonchalant while leaning upon him. I leaned on Clarence a lot; I made a career out of it in some ways.

Those of us who shared Clarence’s life, shared with him his love and his confusion. Though "C" mellowed with age, he was always a wild and unpredictable ride. Today I see his sons Nicky, Chuck, Christopher and Jarod sitting here and I see in them the reflection of a lot of C’s qualities. I see his light, his darkness, his sweetness, his roughness, his gentleness, his anger, his brilliance, his handsomeness, and his goodness. But, as you boys know your pop was a not a day at the beach. "C" lived a life where he did what he wanted to do and he let the chips, human and otherwise, fall where they may. Like a lot of us your pop was capable of great magic and also of making quite an amazing mess. This was just the nature of your daddy and my beautiful friend. Clarence’s unconditional love, which was very real, came with a lot of conditions. Your pop was a major project and always a work in progress. "C" never approached anything linearly, life never proceeded in a straight line. He never went A… B…. C…. D. It was always A… J…. C…. Z… Q… I….! That was the way Clarence lived and made his way through the world. I know that can lead to a lot of confusion and hurt, but your father also carried a lot of love with him, and I know he loved each of you very very dearly.

It took a village to take care of Clarence Clemons. Tina, I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for taking care of my friend, for loving him. Victoria, you’ve been a loving, kind and caring wife to Clarence and you made a huge difference in his life at a time when the going was not always easy. To all of "C’s" vast support network, names too numerous to mention, you know who you are and we thank you. Your rewards await you at the pearly gates. My pal was a tough act but he brought things into your life that were unique and when he turned on that love light, it illuminated your world. I was lucky enough to stand in that light for almost 40 years, near Clarence’s heart, in the Temple of Soul.

So a little bit of history: from the early days when Clarence and I traveled together, we’d pull up to the evenings lodgings and within minutes "C" would transform his room into a world of his own. Out came the colored scarves to be draped over the lamps, the scented candles, the incense, the patchouli oil, the herbs, the music, the day would be banished, entertainment would come and go, and Clarence the Shaman would reign and work his magic night, after night. Clarence’s ability to enjoy Clarence was incredible. By 69, he’d had a good run, because he’d already lived about 10 lives, 690 years in the life of an average man. Every night, in every place, the magic came flying out of C’s suitcase. As soon as success allowed, his dressing room would take on the same trappings as his hotel room until a visit there was like a trip to a sovereign nation that had just struck huge oil reserves. "C" always knew how to live. Long before Prince was out of his diapers, an air of raunchy mysticism ruled in the Big Man’s world. I’d wander in from my dressing room, which contained several fine couches and some athletic lockers, and wonder what I was doing wrong! Somewhere along the way all of this was christened the Temple of Soul; and "C" presided smilingly over its secrets, and its pleasures. Being allowed admittance to the Temple’s wonders was a lovely thing.

As a young child my son Sam became enchanted with the Big Man… no surprise. To a child Clarence was a towering fairy tale figure, out of some very exotic storybook. He was a dreadlocked giant, with great hands and a deep mellifluous voice sugared with kindness and regard. And… to Sammy, who was just a little white boy, he was deeply and mysteriously black. In Sammy’s eyes, "C" must have appeared as all of the African continent, shot through with American cool, rolled into one welcoming and loving figure. So… Sammy decided to pass on my work shirts and became fascinated by Clarence’s suits and his royal robes. He declined a seat in dad’s van and opted for "C’s" stretch limousine, sitting by his side on the slow cruise to the show. He decided dinner in front of the hometown locker just wouldn’t do, and he’d saunter up the hall and disappear into the Temple of Soul.

Of course, also enchanted was Sam’s dad, from the first time I saw my pal striding out of the shadows of a half empty bar in Asbury Park, a path opening up before him; here comes my brother, here comes my sax man, my inspiration, my partner, my lifelong friend. Standing next to Clarence was like standing next to the baddest ass on the planet. You were proud, you were strong, you were excited and laughing with what might happen, with what together, you might be able to do. You felt like no matter what the day or the night brought, nothing was going to touch you. Clarence could be fragile but he also emanated power and safety, and in some funny way we became each other’s protectors; I think perhaps I protected "C" from a world where it still wasn’t so easy to be big and black. Racism was ever present and over the years together, we saw it. Clarence’s celebrity and size did not make him immune. I think perhaps "C" protected me from a world where it wasn’t always so easy to be an insecure, weird and skinny white boy either. But, standing together we were badass, on any given night, on our turf, some of the baddest asses on the planet. We were united, we were strong, we were righteous, we were unmovable, we were funny, we were corny as hell and as serious as death itself. And we were coming to your town to shake you and to wake you up. Together, we told an older, richer story about the possibilities of friendship that transcended those I’d written in my songs and in my music. Clarence carried it in his heart. It was a story where the Scooter and the Big Man not only busted the city in half, but we kicked ass and remade the city, shaping it into the kind of place where our friendship would not be such an anomaly. And that… that’s what I’m gonna miss. The chance to renew that vow and double down on that story on a nightly basis, because that is something, that is the thing that we did together… the two of us. Clarence was big, and he made me feel, and think, and love, and dream big. How big was the Big Man? Too fucking big to die. And that’s just the facts. You can put it on his grave stone, you can tattoo it over your heart. Accept it… it’s the New World.

Clarence doesn’t leave the E Street Band when he dies. He leaves when we die.

So, I’ll miss my friend, his sax, the force of nature his sound was, his glory, his foolishness, his accomplishments, his face, his hands, his humor, his skin, his noise, his confusion, his power, his peace. But his love and his story, the story that he gave me, that he whispered in my ear, that he allowed me to tell… and that he gave to you… is gonna carry on. I’m no mystic, but the undertow, the mystery and power of Clarence and my friendship leads me to believe we must have stood together in other, older times, along other rivers, in other cities, in other fields, doing our modest version of god’s work… work that’s still unfinished. So I won’t say goodbye to my brother, I’ll simply say, see you in the next life, further on up the road, where we will once again pick up that work, and get it done.

Big Man, thank you for your kindness, your strength, your dedication, your work, your story. Thanks for the miracle… and for letting a little white boy slip through the side door of the Temple of Soul.

SO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN… ALWAYS LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST. LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE MASTER OF DISASTER, the BIG KAHUNA, the MAN WITH A PHD IN SAXUAL HEALING, the DUKE OF PADUCAH, the KING OF THE WORLD, LOOK OUT OBAMA! THE NEXT BLACK PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES EVEN THOUGH HE’S DEAD… YOU WISH YOU COULD BE LIKE HIM BUT YOU CAN’T! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST MAN YOU’VE EVER SEEN!... GIVE ME A C-L-A-R-E-N-C-E. WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! … amen.

I’m gonna leave you today with a quote from the Big Man himself, which he shared on the plane ride home from Buffalo, the last show of the last tour. As we celebrated in the front cabin congratulating one another and telling tales of the many epic shows, rocking nights and good times we’d shared, "C" sat quietly, taking it all in, then he raised his glass, smiled and said to all gathered, "This could be the start of something big."

Love you, "C".

RIP Clarence... "I've been sitting here listening to everyone talk about Clarence and staring at that photo of the two of us right there. It's a picture of Scooter and The Big Man, people who we were sometimes. As you can see in this particular photo, Clarence is admiring his muscles and I'm pretending to be nonchalant while leaning upon him. I leaned on Clarence a lot; I made a career out of it in some ways." "Those of us who shared Clarence's life, shared with him his love and his confusion. Though "C" mellowed with age, he was always a wild and unpredictable ride. Today I see his sons Nicky, Chuck, Christopher and Jarod sitting here and I see in them the reflection of a lot of C's qualities. I see his light, his darkness, his sweetness, his roughness, his gentleness, his anger, his brilliance, his handsomeness, and his goodness. But, as you boys know your pop was a not a day at the beach. "C" lived a life where he did what he wanted to do and he let the chips, human and otherwise, fall where they may. Like a lot of us your pop was capable of great magic and also of making quite an amazing mess. This was just the nature of your daddy and my beautiful friend. Clarence's unconditional love, which was very real, came with a lot of conditions. Your pop was a major project and always a work in progress. "C" never approached anything linearly, life never proceeded in a straight line. He never went A... B.... C.... D. It was always A... J.... C.... Z... Q... I....! That was the way Clarence lived and made his way through the world. I know that can lead to a lot of confusion and hurt, but your father also carried a lot of love with him, and I know he loved each of you very very dearly." "It took a village to take care of Clarence Clemons. Tina, I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for taking care of my friend, for loving him. Victoria, you've been a loving, kind and caring wife to Clarence and you made a huge difference in his life at a time when the going was not always easy. To all of "C's" vast support network, names too numerous to mention, you know who you are and we thank you. Your rewards await you at the pearly gates. My pal was a tough act but he brought things into your life that were unique and when he turned on that love light, it illuminated your world. I was lucky enough to stand in that light for almost 40 years, near Clarence's heart, in the Temple of Soul." "So a little bit of history: from the early days when Clarence and I traveled together, we'd pull up to the evening's lodgings and within minutes "C" would transform his room into a world of his own. Out came the colored scarves to be draped over the lamps, the scented candles, the incense, the patchouli oil, the herbs, the music, the day would be banished, entertainment would come and go, and Clarence the Shaman would reign and work his magic, night after night. Clarence's ability to enjoy Clarence was incredible. By 69, he'd had a good run, because he'd already lived about 10 lives, 690 years in the life of an average man. Every night, in every place, the magic came flying out of C's suitcase. As soon as success allowed, his dressing room would take on the same trappings as his hotel room until a visit there was like a trip to a sovereign nation that had just struck huge oil reserves. "C" always knew how to live. Long before Prince was out of his diapers, an air of raunchy mysticism ruled in the Big Man's world. I'd wander in from my dressing room, which contained several fine couches and some athletic lockers, and wonder what I was doing wrong! Somewhere along the way all of this was christened the Temple of Soul; and "C" presided smilingly over its secrets, and its pleasures. Being allowed admittance to the Temple's wonders was a lovely thing." "As a young child my son Sam became enchanted with the Big Man... no surprise. To a child Clarence was a towering fairy tale figure, out of some very exotic storybook. He was a dreadlocked giant, with great hands and a deep mellifluous voice sugared with kindness and regard. And... to Sammy, who was just a little white boy, he was deeply and mysteriously black. In Sammy's eyes, "C" must have appeared as all of the African continent, shot through with American cool, rolled into one welcoming and loving figure. So... Sammy decided to pass on my work shirts and became fascinated by Clarence's suits and his royal robes. He declined a seat in dad's van and opted for "C's" stretch limousine, sitting by his side on the slow cruise to the show. He decided dinner in front of the hometown locker just wouldn't do, and he'd saunter up the hall and disappear into the Temple of Soul." "Of course, also enchanted was Sam's dad, from the first time I saw my pal striding out of the shadows of a half empty bar in Asbury Park, a path opening up before him; here comes my brother, here comes my sax man, my inspiration, my partner, my lifelong friend. Standing next to Clarence was like standing next to the baddest ass on the planet. You were proud, you were strong, you were excited and laughing with what might happen, with what together, you might be able to do. You felt like no matter what the day or the night brought, nothing was going to touch you. Clarence could be fragile but he also emanated power and safety, and in some funny way we became each other's protectors; I think perhaps I protected "C" from a world where it still wasn't so easy to be big and black. Racism was ever present and over the years together, we saw it. Clarence's celebrity and size did not make him immune. I think perhaps "C" protected me from a world where it wasn't always so easy to be an insecure, weird and skinny white boy either. But, standing together we were badass, on any given night, on our turf, some of the baddest asses on the planet. We were united, we were strong, we were righteous, we were unmovable, we were funny, we were corny as hell and as serious as death itself. And we were coming to your town to shake you and to wake you up. Together, we told an older, richer story about the possibilities of friendship that transcended those I'd written in my songs and in my music. Clarence carried it in his heart. It was a story where the Scooter and the Big Man not only busted the city in half, but we kicked ass and remade the city, shaping it into the kind of place where our friendship would not be such an anomaly. And that... that's what I'm gonna miss. The chance to renew that vow and double down on that story on a nightly basis, because that is something, that is the thing that we did together... the two of us. Clarence was big, and he made me feel, and think, and love, and dream big. How big was the Big Man? Too fucking big to die. And that's just the facts. You can put it on his grave stone, you can tattoo it over your heart. Accept it... it's the New World." "Clarence doesn't leave the E Street Band when he dies. He leaves when we die." "So, I'll miss my friend, his sax, the force of nature his sound was, his glory, his foolishness, his accomplishments, his face, his hands, his humor, his skin, his noise, his confusion, his power, his peace. But his love and his story, the story that he gave me, that he whispered in my ear, that he allowed me to tell... and that he gave to you... is gonna carry on. I'm no mystic, but the undertow, the mystery and power of Clarence and my friendship leads me to believe we must have stood together in other, older times, along other rivers, in other cities, in other fields, doing our modest version of god's work... work that's still unfinished. So I won't say goodbye to my brother, I'll simply say, see you in the next life, further on up the road, where we will once again pick up that work, and get it done." "Big Man, thank you for your kindness, your strength, your dedication, your work, your story. Thanks for the miracle... and for letting a little white boy slip through the side door of the Temple of Soul." "SO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN... ALWAYS LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST. LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE MASTER OF DISASTER, the BIG KAHUNA, the MAN WITH A PHD IN SAXUAL HEALING, the DUKE OF PADUCAH, the KING OF THE WORLD, LOOK OUT OBAMA! THE NEXT BLACK PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES EVEN THOUGH HE'S DEAD... YOU WISH YOU COULD BE LIKE HIM BUT YOU CAN'T! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST MAN YOU'VE EVER SEEN!... GIVE ME A C-L-A-R-E-N-C-E. WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! ... amen." "I'm gonna leave you today with a quote from the Big Man himself, which he shared on the plane ride home from Buffalo, the last show of the last tour. As we celebrated in the front cabin congratulating one another and telling tales of the many epic shows, rocking nights and good times we'd shared, "C" sat quietly, taking it all in, then he raised his glass, smiled and said to all gathered, "This could be the start of something big." "Love you, "C"."