#After many many many years this is ready to post! Finally! *evil cackle*

[demaparbat-hp]

As she watches Lee and Kya avoid each other's eyes from across the room, the phrase comes back to her, swift and silent:

"To hesitate is to lose."

.

As Song treats the victim of an unfortunate interaction with a rare poisonous flower, her day takes an unexpected turn when it becomes apparent that the old man's nephew and her assistant have history.

A vivid history.

[amintyworld]

Illusion - A C!Tubbo Origin Story

EDIT: Repost because Tumblr somehow blocked this post from showing up in tags for no reason. Thanks, Tumblr. /s

A/N: I’M BACK, BABY! After a whole year, I’m finally back to posting! <3 Thanks again to all who’ve been so understanding, patient, and supportive this past year while I’m been dealing with shit, I appreciate and love every single one of you. I’m hoping to get back into writing and posting more often, so be on the lookout for that!

Speaking of which, this has been a WIP since BEFORE my break, and I’m so excited to share it with all of you after months of work. It’s in a series where I write angsty fics for some of my amazing and awesome mutuals, this one is for @benzel! Please go check out their blog and give a follow if you want because they’re such a chill person. With that all being said, let’s get into the ANGST! - Your author, Minty

TW: Character Death(s), blood/gore, murder, wing injury (?), flying, grief, eating, and fire mention. (If there’s any more I need to tag, let me know!)

———————————————-

Tubbo loved his house. He loved the lavish garden that surrounded the cottage he called his home. He loved sitting by the window and watching the bees float from flower to flower. He loved laying under the old willow tree and watching the branches wave in the wind as if they had a mind of their own. Tubbo loved walking among the rows of fresh fruits and vegetables as if he was on a tightrope, always careful never to fall on top of the precious plants. Tubbo loved the crisp smell of the garden when it was ready to harvest and eat, it always made his mouth water. His father always said that it was a special talent of his - always knowing exactly the right time to pick and store the crops at the peak of freshness. The food always tasted slightly better when it was picked then, strangely enough.

Tubbo loved the fireplace. Fire always looked so pretty, and felt so achingly warm against his skin. During rainy and snow-filled days he’d be glued in front of that fireplace, watching the ashes cackle and burn to his heart’s content. His obsession earned him the nickname ‘Firebug’, a name that his father always cooed at him fondly during those cold nights and days, ruffling his hair just right and holding him close. The fireplace to Tubbo meant stories, worlds built up by his father’s lips that described daring heroes and warriors that battled evil in its many forms - Even one of his favorites was about a mortal winged warrior and a goddess of death. Tubbo would cuddle close in his father’s embrace, wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire, hearing his father’s stories - always slipping into Dreamland by the third one. His father would look lovingly down at him and press a fond kiss on his son’s forehead before carrying him off to bed.

Tubbo’s father was a healer, and often many villagers would visit him at his cottage for medical assistance. His father’s office had a rack always fully stocked with glowing potions that Tubbo was always forbidden to touch. Whenever someone knocked on his door frantically, they’d always slip into that room just off the main hallway, before closing and locking the small goat hybrid out. His father would tell him how dangerous it was whenever Tubbo would whine about being left out of the action. He’d always sigh, looking at his son with a smile and promising that when he was older, one day, he’d be able to go inside and help him with clients.

One day his father forgot to shut the door, and Tubbo’s ears perked up in interest as he strained to hear the muffled talking through the walls, his curiosity always getting the better of him. The stuffed animal toy was held limply in his hands as he listened.

“Sit down over here, okay? Just relax, I’ll get you patched up and on your feet in no time.”

“You’re very kind, sir. Thank you. You truly are a gift from the gods, as they say.”

“I am no celestial gift, rest assured - simply a man doing his duty.” His father said, laughter hidden in his tone. “A man running out of stock, mind you. I presume the raiders have moved closer?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. They’re artfully skilled, trained… our men are just holding on as we speak.”

“Hopefully reinforcements arrive in a few days’ time. For now, I’m humbled to be of service.”

The wounded client coughed violently for a few moments before answering. “And I to you, sir.”

—————————————————-

Every morning, Tubbo would wake up wrapped in a comforting, lulling warmth as the sun peered through the windows, slowly and peacefully awakening him. He’d be greeted by the faces of the other stuffed animals on his bed, his hand-carved drawers and small mirror laid across a beautifully painted forest green. Every morning Tubbo would wake up with a smile, unknowingly hugging his small bee plush closer, as if to wake it up for the day as well. Every morning he woke up safe. Every morning Tubbo woke up at home. 

This morning, however, Tubbo awoke not to warmth but to a chilling, windy coldness that seeped into his skin and made him shiver. He curled into himself on instinct, clutching the small bee plushie closer to his chest. The sun brightly beat down on the small child as he moved, the sunlight filling his eyes suddenly as he was startled awake, rubbing his sore eyes as they adjusted to the light. He was surrounded by trees that stretched far, far, far above him, so tall they could touch the heavens. It was at this moment that Tubbo realized he was in a cardboard box, almost like the type he’d see crowding the attic. Was… was he in the attic? But the trees…

Confused, the young boy bravely peered over the box.

Well, this didn’t look familiar at all. There were rocks, moss, and leaves scattered all over the ground, overgrowth spilling around and blocking Tubbo’s view as he desperately searched for a landmark. The more he realized how lost he was, the more panic rose in Tubbo’s chest. “Dad!” He called out desperately. “Dad!”

Only silence greeted him—the wrong kind of silence.

A loud explosion to his far-right made the young boy scramble back down and into the corner of the cardboard box. He hugged his knees and his small bee plushie close to his chest. His heart beat faster and his mind scrambled with one question and one question only - What was that?! Suddenly stories from the older kids in the village resurfaced, stories of grotesque and horrifying monsters that lurked in the dark forests and preyed on the souls of children who wandered just a bit too far into their territory. Another explosion made Tubbo close his eyes in fear as he whimpered. Where was Dad? Tubbo wished more than anything for Dad to be here and hold the small boy close in his arms and tell him everything was going to be alright. But he wasn’t. He was alone. Why was he alone? Why did Dad leave him all alone?

Just when the silence became so unbearable the child almost missed the monster noises, what were most definitely sharp claws hitting stone made tears leave streaks down his face as he sobbed. “Leave me alone!” A shadow crossed over his cardboard box and without a moment’s hesitation, Tubbo buried his face into the plushie, desperate for some kind of comfort.  Something moved to touch him, making him panic more. “No no no no no no no…”

The voice was warm like magma cream. “It’s okay, I promise I’m not gonna hurt you.”

That… didn’t sound like a monster…

The man’s face was worn with age and time, probably much older than Father. His hair seemed slightly messed, the buttery yellow reaching the tips of the older man’s shoulders. A green and white striped hat sat atop his head, the large brim making more of a shadow. He wore what seemed to be a white tank top and pants with a bright green robe and a bright red heart necklace around his neck. Tubbo wanted his father, he wanted to be with his father at home. Please. Tears streamed down his face before he could stop them, making his bee plush damp.

“Shh…” The man kneeled beside the box, wasting no time and wiping away the tears from the child’s face. “It’s okay, you’re fine, nothing’s gonna hurt you, I promise…” Tubbo hugged the plushie close as his sobs came to a close, silently looking at the man curiously. He’d never met anyone without his Dad before, he didn’t know what to do or say. The man seemed kind, though. A sort of gentle kindness that some part of him clung to, that he needed. 

After a few moments of silence that felt like forever, the man smiled at him and moved to the side of the box, leaning up against a tree. Stretching his back, Tubbo could see two large gray wings come into view. Bird wings. Tubbo couldn’t think of many people he’d met with wings before. They were cool - the sunlight filtering through the trees made the few silvery feathers reveal themselves. Starstruck, the child left his bee plushie behind as he got on his knees to get a better look over the cardboard box. “Woah…”

The blonde man paid no mind to the stares from the kid and smirked when he saw the dazzled look in his eyes. He held out an apple. “Hey, uh… you hungry?”

Tubbo looked back and forth from the man to the apple. Father always got mad at him when he didn’t ask permission to get stuff from strangers. He didn’t want his Dad to get mad at him, but… he wasn’t here… was it okay? Just as he was contemplating his situation, his stomach began to growl. A bit embarrassed, he looked over at the man, who let out a hearty laugh. 

“I think that’s a yes.” The blonde smirked. “Go ahead, take it. It’s all yours.” Anxiously, Tubbo slowly moved to take the apple, nearly dropping it, taking it from the man’s grip. He held it in his hands, giving the blonde a smile as he moved to sit cross-legged inside the box. Without a second thought, Tubbo bit into the apple flesh, enjoying the snack. The man turned and produced another apple from his bag. “Don’t worry, I’m hungry too.”

Tubbo wiped a bit of apple juice away with his sleeve as he swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Of course. No one’s going hungry, not if I can help it.” He smiled fondly after a few bites. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

“Tubbo.”

“Well very nice to meet you, Tubbo.” The man said, tipping his hat to the kid, who giggled. “My name’s Phil.”

“Phil.” Tubbo smiled to himself before taking another bite. “I ‘ike your wings.” He muffled, bits of apple in his mouth. 

Phil laughed. “Slow down, mate. Don’t talk with your mouth full, yeah?” Phil took another bite before speaking. “But uh, thank you. They’re pretty, huh?”

Tubbo nodded, eyes widening with stars as he came to a realization. “Are you a bird?!”

Phil’s face was a mixture of amusement and surprise. “Well, kind of. Someone really special gave them to me.”

Tubbo couldn’t get his bite of apple down fast enough. “Who?!”

“Now now,” Phil chided. “That’s a story for another day.” He finished his apple, flinging the core on the ground a good distance away. 

“Aw, come on! You gotta tell me!” The child whined, and Phil fondly smirked at the kid. He sounded just like Tommy. The avian’s mind briefly wondered about the chaos that would surely be unraveling with those three gremlins left alone for the afternoon, and he laughed at the thought. 

Looking over at the kid fondly, he couldn’t help but notice how young he was - no more than five or six. “Maybe later, alright mate?” He silently promised the kid. “But now, I think it’s time to leave the box… it’s not safe here, okay?”

Not safe? Tubbo was pretty sure he figured that out by the second explosion. It was odd, though. He couldn’t hear any monsters anymore. No hissing or groaning or growling. It was… strange. There were so many, he was sure of it! He’d heard so many…

…where did they go?

Though he was terrified, he slowly crept toward the edge of the box to peek over once again. The wind whistled through the trees high above, blew through his clothes, and made him shiver. Sunlight made the thick canopy glow, high up above the two, and his eyes filled with stars as his fear melted away. The dew made the forest shine like glitter.

Magic… Tubbo thought to himself with a smile. 

He liked the forest now… it was much quieter. Much safer.  Maybe when he yelled at the creatures to get away, they listened? He must be pretty scary, then. Scarier than whatever was out there before. Yeah - nothing was gonna scare him now! He smirked at the thought. Phil shouldered his satchel as he stood, the full length of his wings finally revealed. They were gigantic, and reminded Tubbo of the size of the hallway rug back at home - the weaved fabric stretched to the end of the long hallway, billowing like a sheet whenever his father would shake out the dust. They’d make a game of it, too - his Dad would use it to his advantage during tickle fights full of giggles, trapping him in the woven fabric once it was all clean. Though it was a rug, it was soft to the touch. He couldn’t help but be consumed by the thought of having his own wings for a moment, soaring through the breeze before Phil spoke again.

“Do you know the name of your village? I can take you home…”

Something leaped out of Tubbo’s chest at the thought of seeing his Dad again, that look of worry on his face from whenever he ran off and got lost at the market. The way his eyebrows would knit together and come undone at the sight of him. When he’d rush over and scoop Tubbo up into his shaking arms and hug him, lecturing with wetness in his eyes that he needed to stay close when they’re in crowds.

A longing, sinking feeling caught his stomach, and his eyes flashed to the ground.

In an instant, Phil got down to his level, his eyebrows knitted together like his Dad’s would, a gentle hand on the child’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s going to be okay mate, I promise. We’ll find your parents and get you home in no time at all.” He smiled reassuringly. “I’m a pretty fast flier.”

“Wait… you can fly?!” Tubbo’s eyes were filled with stars, his mouth a shocked smile that grew ever the wider.

Phil was growing ever fonder of the kid with each passing minute. He chuckled again. “Did you think they’re just for show?”

———————————–

Tubbo was timid, but Phil would be lying if he said the kid wasn’t brave. Phil carried him piggyback style, his eyes searching for an opening through the thick canopy. Despite the child’s protest, the bee plush was tucked securely and safely into his satchel for the flight. Tubbo’s small arms clung tightly around his neck.

A small patch of sunlight led to a clearing. Perfect. “Hold on, okay mate?”

“Okay.” 

He allowed his wings to stretch to their full height, making sure the passenger wasn’t disturbed. He bent his knees down and lept into the air. A gasp left Tubbo’s lips as he squeezed tighter on the grip for a moment in fear. Philza couldn’t help but smile as he soared up and up and finally out of the canopy and into the cool air. He shivered excitedly at the takeoff, letting it whip his hair around a bit. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes as he drifted and the wind blew through his feathers, letting himself enjoy the brief moment.

And, from how Tubbo shifted and the small sharp intake of breath… he was enjoying it too. 

Tubbo’s grip slowly relaxed as they soared through the clouds. The sun was in the middle of the sky, casting its buttery yellow light over the clouds, making them look like swaths of golden fleece. Tubbo felt like a giant looking down at a world that used to feel indescribably large, now something he could fit in the palm of his hand. His eyes scanned the treeline with interest as a blurry of fur, a wolf pack, ran through the trees below. They looked so tiny, any fear he had for them before, of village elders’ warnings… didn’t matter. He couldn’t help but giggle. They flew over a massive body of water, the child watching with wide eyes as dolphins leaped out from the surface of the water and back again.  “Wow… it’s so pretty up here!” Gathering courage by the second, his arm left the grip on Phil as it raised to the sky. His fingers brushed across the fluffy golden clouds, wisps of cold air ran through his fingers in small bursts, like breaths of crisp autumn wind. A wide smile crept onto his face as he lifted both hands as if he was on a rollercoaster. “Wooooooooo!”

Phil’s heart felt light. It had been quite a while since he took any of his kids for a fly, and he wouldn’t admit it, but he missed having a passenger on his flights. He got so busy lately with repairs to the house, making farms, trading with the Nether and nearby empires, training the twins… he hadn’t exactly spent as much time playing and hanging out with them as he’d like. Tommy loved going out on flights with him when was pretty young around the forest, Wilbur or Techno tagging along occasionally. They loved it when he tossed them into the air and caught them, when he did loops or when he sped up. He made a mental note to do that more often, and a playful grin made its way onto his lips as a lightbulb went off in his head. “Hang on, Tubbo-!”

“Wha-?!” Before the child could answer, Phil began speeding up as he held on tighter. The child’s heart thumped against his ribcage as he looked around in interest, wind smacking against his face and pushing back his hair. He giggled. “Faster!”

Phil chuckled fondly. “Okay, faster it is.”

The stretch felt satisfying as he sped up, his wings still a bit sore - he hadn’t pushed them more than needed for a while. He began to sway back and forth, rapidly heading toward an island in the middle of the ocean which he knew housed some villages. A large dock in the distance captured all of the kid’s attention as they flew overhead, he climbed up and pointed over Phil’s shoulder. “That’s it!” He shouted, and Phil slowed as they began their descent into a village just underneath the trees.

The landing was a bit bumpy. Phil’s feet stumbled as the ground met them quicker than he preferred, tightening his grip on the child to make sure he didn’t fall off. He caught his breath as Phil’s hand raised to meet the trunk of a large oak tree, a satisfied smile making its way onto his face. Tubbo slipped off easily, the drop not too far. He moved toward the front, eyes wide with concern. “Are you alright, Phil?”

“Don’t worry about me, mate.” Phil brushed it off. “Just been a while since I’ve done tricks like that.”

Tubbo held back a small smile, awkwardly looking to the ground. “It was pretty fun.” After a moment of his thoughts, he added: “I’m sorry if it hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Pfft, no way. Just a workout, I promise.” Phil’s smile turned reassuring, gathering his bearings and standing back up to his full height. “Anyway, you said this was your village?”

Tubbo nodded. “Yeah, Tanglewood. The trees here are really, really big.” His hand pointed upwards to a cluster of dark oak trees on the other side of the dirt road in front of the two. “They look really scary at night, like giants.”

“Well, you’ve beaten bigger trees, so I don’t think there’ll be much of a problem anymore, huh?” Phil pointed out, making the kid’s eyes shine like stars.

“Yeah! I’m scarier than them!”

Phil fondly smiled. “Alright then, lead the way. You’re my protector.”

Tubbo’s jack o’lantern smile could light up cities, Phil thought to himself. The kid quickly reached into the satchel and held the bee plush up towards Phil. “He’s a guard too!”

“Yeah,” Phil nodded. “A bee guard. The best guard, besides the Brave Tubbo of course.”

Tubbo giggled as he walked ahead, turning toward the dirt path. He briefly looked behind him for Phil to catch up. The kid angled himself in a warrior pose, clutching the plush under one arm and using the other to point to the right. “Dis way! Come on!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” Phil responded as he shifted the satchel’s weight on his shoulder, following the boy as he gleefully rushed down the path toward his home. 

After a few minutes, a group of wooden houses came into view. A large sign adorned the entrance, created with fallen branches and sticks that spelled the town’s namesake. It was a gigantic village, at least compared to the villages Phil was used to visiting. In front of them, the smooth dirt path turned into cobblestone. The main street. Marketplace tents dotted the road but stood empty of inhabitants. The houses seemed run-down, with cracks in the glass windows and scratches on the wooden walls. Confused, Phil looked up - it was a bit past midday. Villagers should be up by now, the marketplace busy with trade and the shops overflowing with the day’s customers. However, the town stood empty as the two entered further inside its walls, hollow like a husk.

Where was everyone?

“Tubbo, stay close!”

As Tubbo ran forward toward the town center’s fountain, his cheerful sounds of glee echoed throughout the deserted town as if it were a cave. Phil’s eyes were quickly drawn to a limply hanging sign of a dressmaker. The paint was chipping and fading, the only redone bits of it were the striking black letters of the title - ‘Vella and Her Various Glowing Gowns’. He walked closer, moving toward the door and leaning up to peek inside. The oak door fell backward, slamming against the floor not with a slam, but a clank. Phil’s wings fluffed up as his hand hovered over his sword. His eyes searched the darkness from his position in the doorway, the hybrid’s eyes not yet adjusted to the dim lighting of the room. Shapes… squares - a counter with a register, perhaps? - and curves standing still. People?

He held his hand up in surrender. His voice gathered power to broadcast across space. “Hello…?! I’m not here to hurt you. I arrived with a friend, a lost boy from here?”

The silence was eerie as Phil stepped inside. Something hit his side and he moved and sliced, breathing heavily as something landed on the wooden floor with a thunk. Phil’s heart was beating a mile a minute as he looked around for his next target. When he found nothing, he looked to the floor.

…A mannequin. His slice went through its middle, stuffing leaking out onto the floor. For a moment, he felt like a complete idiot as red embarrassment found itself on Phil’s face. He rolled his eyes. How silly. He leaned down to clean up the mess he made in someone else’s shop, moving the pieces closer to examine them. Metal gleamed from the light in the room, a chainmail chest plate looking up at him. Armor.

It clicked in his mind like two puzzle pieces. Why would a dressmaker sell armor? Because the townspeople needed it more than clothes. They needed protection… They were fighting something. No wonder no one was around. 

A small light glowed through the open crack of a door at the back of the shop. Phil stepped carefully past the mannequins, as quick as the wind itself. He pressed his wings against the wall next to the door. With his diamond sword drawn, he braced himself for battle. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door quickly. 

A gasp left his lips as light flooded the small room.

A woman, eyes weaved with worry, stood still as he took her final breaths. Her hand, crimson from holding back the blood spilling from her stomach wound, reached out in front of her toward the shadow that surrounded her. It embraced her in its clutches, planting a kiss on the victim’s forehead, its eyes filled with a melancholy sadness. The shadow stared down at the creation with pity and remorse, setting the body gently on the ground. It kneeled over her, bowing its head as it tucked a bit of its long ebony hair behind its ear and turned its attention to the small glowing ball of light in the air.

Despite the circumstances, Phil couldn’t help but smile. It was her. Lady Death. The love of his life. 

As the ball of light, the soul, flew around her she giggled sadly. Her voice was a warm whisper. “Alright, little one, it’s time to rest.” She lifted her arm slightly as the soul flew up into her sleeve, collected. Then, her smile growing a bit warmer, her eyes landed on Phil. “My angel…”

“Kristin. I’ve missed you.” He spoke softly. The hybrid was always giddy when he said her name. Something special only he knew, only he was allowed to call her as. Phil was careful not to step closer than the doorway. She was Death, after all. 

“Once again fate has yielded us these unfortunate circumstances, I’m afraid.” She sighed.

“Any moment to see you is worth it.” Phil grinned. 

Kristin’s smile fell. “I’m sorry to say we haven’t much time. The boy is in danger, Phil.”

“…What?”

Lady Death arose from the floor. All warmth suddenly sapped from the room as she looked down at the body with a wave of well-hidden anger. “Heathens have painted this village red. I must implore that you and the child leave immediately. He’s escaped my touch for now but if he stays any longer I fear the many years of life he has left to live will be cut short. Too many have carried him to you with loving arms and last breaths, don’t let it be in vain.”

Phil bowed his head slightly. “I… I understand, Kristin… I hope to see your smile again, on a lighter and brighter day. Till then, I’ll cherish this with all I have.”

“My Angel…” Bit of shadow licked around him as he shivered in the pseudo-embrace. Her touch was deathly cold. “You know I’ll never be too far away.” Despite how the world shifted, Phil knew for certain their love could never change. As certain as the sun itself. 

But now, a new certainty came to him. A certainty that he and Tubbo would leave this place, and all its untapped pain, far behind. There was no other option.

As he burst from the shop, he looked around for the boy quickly. Phil was sure the last he saw of the kid, he was near the fountain. Dried blood hid under feet and scarcely splattered and spotted on buildings and benches. Figures stood still in the silent darkness of the windows, splayed across the floors or propped up, hidden, behind tables or chairs. Dead eyes watched Death’s Angel as he called out for the child, wondering if he too would soon join them. Even though Phil knew he would regret it, he outstretched his wings and took off, scanning Tanglewood for any signs of movement as he gritted his teeth through the pain. 

——————————————————————–

Tubbo didn’t like the silence as he walked up the path toward home. He could swear he saw eyes watching him from the forest just beyond. He hugged his bee plush tight to his chest as he stood tall, marching along as he tried to be brave. After all, he wasn’t scared of the monsters or the trees, they were scared of him! Even if he began to walk a bit faster down the path, he wasn’t scared. He was just trying to get there faster.

He was excited to see his father again and tell him how brave he was, how he saw wolves and dolphins, and all about Phil’s awesome wings. He smiled as he thought about how happy his Dad was gonna be to see him. What if Dad used one of his potions to make him wings, and maybe Phil could come to visit?! That would be so cool, to fly on his own. Maybe Phil could take him out to see more animals! He’s always wanted to meet a squid. They would give the best hugs, at least in his opinion. 

He briefly wondered how many patients came by today and if his Dad was tired. Well, if Dad was tired, he would just surprise him when he woke up. That would be the BEST surprise!

When he reached the garden, Tubbo paused.

Tubbo didn’t like the garden anymore. All the vegetables were gone, and the fence around it he helped paint was shattered and broken. The blue paint chipped and left dots along the grass that Tubbo couldn’t help but think looked a little pretty. Splinters littered the grass so much that they looked like seeds as Tubbo was careful to step around them. Father said never touch splinters, and to go get him if he saw one. The soil was overturned, smushed by foot tracks. Tubbo had half a mind to go find the culprit and tell them off - no one stomps on the soil! That was like, rule number one! But a small part of the kid’s heart broke in sadness after how hard they both worked on it, how much time they’d spent on it, all for someone to ruin it. 

Who would do something so mean?

His eyes were wet as his stomach flipped and flopped in uneasiness. It twisted itself in knots when he turned to look at the house. His house. Their house. Their home. His stomach sank as all the air left his lungs. Their small cottage made with glowing birch and oak, blue window shutters and flower boxes - reduced to nothing but charcoal cinders and ash. Black marked where chunks of the house once stood. The roof was completely gone, windows too. Only a few walls still were left standing, about halfway burned. It wasn’t home anymore. Tubbo hated the black. He hated this and wanted to be home. He wanted to be safe and warm and home… but he didn’t have a home anymore, did he?

A few tears slid down his cheeks as he hugged his plushie tight and ran toward the door, going to open it and twist the handle when it fell down in front of the kid. It’s hinges burned to goop and it’s pretty carved number design erased. Tubbo jumped back, out of the way, gasping in shock. It was really gone… all of it. Someone destroyed everything. They didn’t have anything anymore, except each other. Tubbo knew now more than ever he needed to find his Dad, they needed each other. How else could anything be okay anymore?

His bee plush was hugged so tight around his chest he began to gasp for air, craving the comfort hugs used to be able to give. He quickly rushed inside, looking around for his father desperately. “Dad? Dad?!” His shoes crunched against his father’s special important potion bottles, remains that littered the floor. What remained of the carpet was faded, half of the fabric burned, and with it all it’s magic. The fireplace was smashed in a few places, but most of the bricks stayed intact. The photos on the mantel were gone, though. Baby photos, photos of grandparents, and… the photo of Mom. “Dad… Dad, please, I need you…” He sniffled into his plush as he walked toward the remains of the fireplace.

Unfortunately, Tubbo didn’t have to look far.

His father was perched against the side of the fireplace, head slumped on his right shoulder. He looked pale, as pale as Tubbo once had when he was sick. His clothes were torn, crimson from injury. A crossbow bolt was lodged against his side and his left leg. The two puncture wounds still spilled red that slowly rolled down his body and to the dirt. His face was bruised and beaten, nose bloody. A sizable gash around his chest, spilling nothing but blood. 

No. No, he couldn’t be… surely not. He had… he had to get some… some potions. He had to get some bandaids. He had to get something, something to make it better. Dad always knew how to make everything better.

Tubbo screamed. Tubbo wailed. Tubbo shook his father’s body, vision blurred with nothing but tears.

“Dad… Dad please wake up, you’ve gotta wake up… please… please…” He sobbed, jostling his father’s shoulder as blood soaked into his clothes and his plush, not that he cared. “D-dad… please… you’ve gotta wake up… you’ve gotta…”

His father didn’t move.

“Please…” He whispered, begging. “Please…”

A woosh of wings created a breeze that dried his cheeks slightly. “Tubbo-” Phil.

“Phil, you’ve gotta help, he’s hurt, my Dad’s hurt! He’s… he’s…”

“Tubbo…” Phil’s voice was soft, filled with a sense of sadness for the kid one couldn’t easily name.

“He’s gotta wake up, he’s gotta…”

Phil didn’t say anything as he slowly approached the scene, knowing that nothing could be said. He kneeled next to the child, bowing his head at the stranger. A man he only knew from Tubbo’s stories, yet… a man he will miss. He turned his attention to Tubbo, who still clung to his dead father’s side. He looked over at Phil with pleading eyes, begging for the impossible. Phil couldn’t give it to him no matter how much he wanted to, all he could offer was something simpler.

A hug.

Tubbo sniffed as he sobbed, Phil pulling him into the embrace as he rubbed circles into his back. Tears welled up in the Angel of Death’s eyes, tears he couldn’t hold back as easily, not even after living a million lifetimes. 

Everything was gone.

——————————————

(Reworking my general taglist, lmk if you would like to be added!)

[maxwell-grant]

Any thoughts on Darkman, the Liam Neeson movie? I heard it was originally going to be a Shadow movie.

I love Darkman very much, but I've realized recently that this love comes with some pretty bittersweet feelings at the story behind it.

Michael Uslan: I was going to produce a Shadow feature film with Sam Raimi, but Sam got consumed by back-to-back movies and we ran out of time. We were headed in a good, period piece direction and managed to do so without relying on yet another bout with Shiwan Khan. I later had another major director passionate to do The Shadow, but a person at the company wanted to do a modern day TV series instead, which ultimately did not go... - comment saved from a post in The Shadow Knows Facebook group

For those of you who only now got into The Shadow or don't remember, for much of the early 00s, when The Shadow basically had no current projects and Conde Nast was taking down webpages and fan content left and right, the only things that kept this "fandom" alive were occasional fanfics (many of which are gone now), and the dim light in the horizon that was the rumors that Sam Raimi was finally going to make his Shadow film. Dig back on The Wayback Machine for Shadow web page and you're gonna see this as consistently the only thing they had to look forward to in regards to the character. These rumors floated around for over a decade, at one point Tarantino was even supposed to direct it, but he confirmed in 2013 that it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with him at the helm.

The project has been dead for a while now, and Conde Nast seems to be shuffling around plans for the character, and I deleted my Facebook months ago so I haven't kept up with any news, although it seems the James Patterson novel wasn't received too well, so I'm not sure what other plans they have in the pipeline.

Back in the 1970s, after the release of Richard Donner's Superman and in line with The Shadow's pop culture resurgence, thanks to the paperback reprints and the 70s DC run, there were plans to make a Shadow feature film, and there were quite a handful of scripts being tossed around for the following years (Will Murray states most of them were horrible), several names attached to the project at one point or another. The plans died down a bit following Gibson's death and only really picked up again after the 90s, and of course we all know that the 1994 movie came out with spectacularly bad timing. From what I recall, it seems Sam Raimi wanted to make his Shadow film in the 80s, was unable to secure the rights, and then just made his own version, which would go on to be his first major motion picture.

Even after making Darkman, Sam Raimi still wanted to make The Shadow. I guess that's ultimately the bittersweet part for me. I imagine the current state of Shadow media would be significantly better if Sam Raimi, who was a fan of the character and the pulp version (and even knows of The Shadow's connection to Houdini and stage magic), got to make his Shadow film, years before Blood & Judgment, years before Burton's Batman made it impossible for a Shadow film not to be compared to it, in a time period where it wouldn't have had to compete with The Lion King and The Mask for box office. And second, I have been drawing up my plans for Shadow projects for, what, 5 years now? And I have just barely got my foot off the door as a filmmaker. Sam Raimi had a decade-long career as a cult filmmaker before he got turned down, and decades later, after becoming a household name in charge of Marvel's biggest icon, the project still fell through. It doesn't exactly get my hopes up, y'know.

I love Darkman, it's the best Shadow film that doesn't technically star the real Shadow, and it works pretty well on it's own regardless of that association, but I do get pretty sad looking at it from the outside, because I just can't help but think on what it could have been.

In some aspects I do think the film benefits from not being about The Shadow proper, because it means Raimi got the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. The character of Darkman already existed separately from Sam Raimi's plans for a Shadow film, already carrying off the Phantom / Universal Monster influence, and what Raimi did was basically combine the two ideas together.

He took the basic iconography of The Shadow, a terrifying urban crimefighter in coat and slouch hat, and add in other Shadow traits like his mastery of disguise, his disfigurement, and that wonderful scene where he's invisibly running circles around a panicky triggerman while laughing maniacally, a moment which definitely feels like Raimi taking a second to indulge himself to do what you can call The Classic Shadow Scene with a character he's, for the most part, succesfully convinced us (and Conde Nast's lawyers, most importantly) isn't supposed to be The Shadow.

But then he filters these through his own influences and style to make him a new character, so instead of a mysterious mastermind with lots of resources and a enigmatic background, instead he's a disfigured and psychotic scientist with a vengeance against those who made him that way. He's like Night Raven, in the sense that he's built off traits that The Shadow has, but develops them differently to the point he stands on his own as a character. It's The Shadow combined with The Phantom of the Opera, filtered through a 1930s Universal Horror lens, played for greater tragedy and a dash of Evil Dead 2 wackyness.

He hides away in trashed up ruins and bickers with a cat, he has fits of rage that make him endanger innocents, he has a doomed love affair, and sometimes he gets so batshit he gives us hilarious moments like "TAKE THE FUCKING ELEPHANT" and "SEE THE DANCING FREAK! PAY - FIVE - BUCKS! TO SEE THE DANCING FREAK!". Moments that really show why he was such a good fit for Spider-Man despite the liberties he took with the source material.

I think the big thing that helps to make Darkman works as a property in it's own right is also that, ultimately, these influences are ultimately at the forefront of it, and the core of it works on it's own. Darkman is a believable, engaging character in his own right, one who tells a story that would be more at odds with The Shadow proper. 

In some aspects, Darkman tries to be The Shadow, he is forced to become The Shadow by literally picking the clothes off a dumpster after he escapes the hospital, and it's a miserable, wretched existence, in a way rather befitting his status as a legally safe knock-off. He is a creature of nightmare who lost his face and takes on a dozen others to fight crime by turning terror against them, except he is still just a man in the end, and no man was ever supposed to live like this.

Raimi was also inspired by the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 1940s because "they made me fear the hideous nature of the hero and at the same time drew me to him. I went back to that idea of the man who is noble and turns into a monster".

He originally wrote a 30-page short story, titled "The Darkman", and then developed into a 40-page treatment. At this point, according to Raimi, "it became the story of a man who had lost his face and had to take on other faces, a man who battled criminals using this power"

A non-superpowered man who, here, is a hideous thing who fights crime. As he became that hideous thing, it became more like The Phantom of the Opera, the creature who wants the girl but who was too much of a beast to have her

I decided to explore a man's soul. In the beginning, a sympathetic, sincere man. In the middle, a vengeful man committing heinous acts against his enemies. And in the end, a man full of self-hatred for what he's become, who must drift off into the night, into a world apart from everyone he knows and all the things he loves.

For the role, Raimi was looking for someone who could suggest "a monster with the soul of a man"

It's the fact that Darkman is ultimately played for vulnerability and tragedy that really sets him apart. While I wouldn't go far enough to say The Shadow is a man with the soul of a monster, still, the difference in presentation is still there when it comes to these two. The Shadow is The Other, Darkman is You. Darkman is the victim of extraordinary circumstance that affects his life, The Shadow is the extraordinary circumstance that affects the lives of others. People react to The Shadow, Darkman reacts to people (and rather poorly).

One is the man who takes off his skin (or yours, staring back at you) to reveal the weird creature of the night ready to prowl and pounce and cackle at those who think they hold power over it's domain, and the other is the monster who falls apart bit by bit until you are left staring at the broken man within who has no choice but to be something he was never supposed to be.

The Shadow is The Master of Darkness. Darkman weaponizes the dark, but in the end, he's still just a man, lost within it. Not everyone can be The Shadow, and you would most likely turn into Darkman if you tried.

[amazingmsme]

Cabin Fever

AN: I had 2 different prompts for a Sam & Bucky fic where Sam cheers him up, & my sad yearning ass stuck in quarantine ran with it! Hope y’all enjoy!

The world has endured many struggles, many challenges, but she will always heal. But in the time it takes to get there, it can be bad and ugly. Bucky had seen more bad than good to be honest. Born near the end of the First World War, he grew up in a post war state. Many people who he should've known had died, and those around him shared that hole. Which is why the 20's were such a breath of fresh air. Everyone wanted to party and live high, but they soared too close to the sun, and the economy crashed.

He spent his adolescent years struggling to live through the depression. It wasn't easy, nor was it pretty, and he went to bed hungry every night. But through all the shit that had been thrown his way, he had Steve. Then, more war. He was afraid and angry with what was happening, and knew something had to be done. He made some amazing friends during that time, and lost a good few. That was when he and Steve became frozen in time, the latter quite literally so.

He doesn't remember too much from his time spent as Hydra's murdering puppet. It's all flashes of pain, fear, and screams. A hand on a throat, feeling as the windpipe gave way. A finger on a trigger from a distance. A knife plunged deep into a chest. It was all him, and yet, it wasn't. It was as though he was in an empty theater strapped to a chair, being forced to watch this horrific movie play out before his own eyes. For the longest time, he had no control. He wasn't an active part of his life. And then he broke free. He managed to escape, and was wanted for his crimes. He even managed to split up the avengers, the guilt overwhelming him. If he had just stayed low, none of that would've happened. 

And then those weird fucking monster things came down from space, yearning for blood and ready to destroy anything in their path. They fought good and hard, and he honestly thought they would win. The next thing he knows, he missed out on another four years of life that he won't be able to get back. His best friend in the world was now an old man, getting to live the life he had missed out on. He wasn't going to lie, that hurt. A lot.

But scattered amongst the wreckage of his life, glimpses of light shone through. His mother's warm embrace and gentle hum. Steve's bright smile and even brighter laugh. He and Natasha connected on another level that you couldn't even dream. T'Challa was understanding and a good friend to him while he was staying in Wakanda. Shuri was an actual saint, giving him a new arm and offering friendship in a dark and lonely time. He and Sam became reluctant friends, then took a shine to each other. Their sense of humor is one in the same, and they share the same taste on a lot of things. He was kind, funny, witty, compassionate, strong, the list could go on forever. And he was falling hook line and sinker. Utterly and completely head over heels.

Then just when he believed things might be looking up, the whole world shuts down. He remembers from what his mom said, there had been a pandemic in 1920. The Spanish Flu, if he remembered correctly. And now, exactly 100 years later, another pandemic rose from the ashes like the most hideous phoenix. Just when he was finally able to go out and try to live a normal life, another obstacle drops in his path. He had a whole list of things he wanted to do and places to see, and now he doesn't get to do any of that. Trapped within four walls and slowly going crazy.

He had every right to be mad. Nothing, it seems, would ever work out in his favor. And to top it all off, he was stuck with the man he wanted to kiss so badly but couldn't for fear of ruining what they had. He wanted to rip his fucking hair out.

Sam, god bless him, tried his best to keep him in good spirits. When news of covid-19 first spread, he had said, "There's still plenty of things we can do inside! I have Steve's old list of things he needed to catch up on, and I know you haven't heard of any of this stuff either, so we get to start from the top!" He excitedly pulled out the notepad, a few items down the list having been crossed off. "And the best part is, I keep remembering things I forgot to add, so we won't run out."

"Yippy," Bucky said in a flat tone. Sam nudged him with his elbow.

"Hey, there's some good stuff on here! There's tv shows, movies, and some of the greatest songs and bands of all time. You ever heard of Queen?"

"Who?"

"Oh my god you need my help," Sam said playfully, running a hand down his face. Bucky's lips quirked up ever so slightly.

At first he was okay. The constant influx of content kept him busy and his mind occupied. But he soon fell into a rut. Pacing the floor, he'd listen to his favorite songs Sam had shown him along with some new ones. Stare out the windows feeling empty, longing for society to pick up again. After watching a movie or two, he'd get fidgety and need to move about. He really enjoyed binging shows though. They sucked him into their world and wouldn't let go. Maybe because it was so different than what he had growing up. Thankfully they both knew to stay away from anything war themed or that might trigger his PTSD. But he'll be damned if he hadn't been completely obsessed with Breaking Bad.

But there were so many options, so many shows to watch that it was overwhelming. With so many things to pick, how could he choose? And out of the movies and shows, and the genres within those categories, it was simply impossible. And so he would cycle through in search of something to watch, only to come up empty handed. Things got better when he stopped trying to decide and let Sam pick for him. Sam really knew what's best.

God if he wasn't here, Bucky would actually go insane. He catches himself staring at the man even more now. Glancing out of the corner of his eye or full on staring, he just can't stop looking at him. He liked to keep his hair cut short, shaved down close to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, the lines always smooth and precise and framed his mouth perfectly. His smile was so fucking bright it was almost blinding. That smile made his days better, and he tried to be less of an ass, just to see it more often. And his lips were full and soft, and he wanted so badly to be able to kiss them. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of dark chocolate, and you could get lost in them if you weren't careful. You could find yourself falling into them, deeper and deeper with no way out. Back when they were first shut in together, he remembers Sam playing the song Brown Eyed Girl. They had smiled as they listened to it, then slowly, began to dance along. That was when he knew he preferred himself a brown eyed man instead.

They were supposed to be watching some old scary movie that Sam claimed to be a classic. Had even said it was one of the most popular ones of all time, but he thought it was just plain boring and ended up watching the man beside him more than the screen. I mean, what was thrilling about a man in a hockey mask hiding in the bushes trying to kill teens? To him it was just lame, and no amount of fake blood could change that. Sam, as always, picked up on his mood.

"What, you don't like it?" Sam asked. Bucky jumped at his words and tore his eyes away from him, looking back at the movie.

"I never said that."

Sam shrugged, "Well you seem to be watching me more than the show." Bucky's face lit up a slight pink and his eyes widened slightly, not realizing he'd been caught so easily. Sam chuckled and bumped their shoulders together. "It's okay, I don't mind," he said to help ease his conscience. "But we can watch something else if you don't like it. Or we can do something else, I don't mind."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah I'm not really into this," he admitted.

"Alright, no problem," Sam said. "You want me to pick, or do you want to choose something?" Bucky snorted, crossing his arms.

"Seeing as you picked this shitter, maybe I should be the one to pick the next one," he teased, snatching the remote. "What was that one Disney movie you told me about? The one where dogs eat spaghetti?"

"Oh so suddenly my choices in movies are good again."

"Just shut up and tell me what it's called."

"Well I can't do both," Sam joked. Bucky's mouth hung open in a shocked smile that he tried to mask as offense.

"Just tell me the name smart ass," he demanded. Sam was fighting back his snickers as he answered, "Dogs eat spaghetti."

"Dude I know that's not it!" he cried out.

"Yeah but you don't know what it's actually called!" he laughed, having fun withholding the information.

Bucky didn't mention that he just remembered the name of the movie. Instead he steadied him with a look. "Tell me, or else," he said with a playful growl.

Sam wasn't deterred in the slightest. He puffed out his chest as he said, "Make me."

Bucky grinned, wide with a hint of evil. "Oh I plan to." And then he pounced, pinning Sam down on the couch. He immediately started squirming as soon as fingers collided with his sides. His laughter soon followed. Bucky was completely entranced.

Sam threw his head back, allowing the laughter to flow freely from his mouth. He brought his knees up to his chest in a ball as he rocked from side to side, occasionally batting Bucky's hands away. "Dahahahamnit Bahaharns!"

"You know what you have to do to make it stop," he taunted. His hands journeyed up to dig into his armpits, making his laughter jump higher.

"SHIT NO NOT THERE!" he shouted, feeling his fingers scratch at the hollows. He squeezed his eyes shut as he cackled, completely unable to make the sensations stop. Bucky had a devious idea and bent down, blowing a wet raspberry against his neck. Sam squealed before dissolving into hysterical giggles.

"Nohohoho okay! Ohohokahay, I give! Ihi'll tehehell you!" Bucky continued the tickling for a second longer before backing off to let him breathe. Sam gasped in some much needed air. "Lady and the Tramp," he admitted. "It's Lady and the Tramp."

Bucky's smirk got even wider. "I know." Sam's eyes flew open and he glared at the other man. "What?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, "I remembered."

"Oh you little shit!" Sam cried, smacking his arm, making him laugh. "Now it's your turn!" Bucky stopped laughing, feeling butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach.

"Huh?" As soon as the question left his lips he felt Sam's body collide with his own as he was tackled. He held his arms in front of him to shield himself, giddy giggles already bubbling up in his throat.

"You didn't think I'd let you just get away with that," Sam teased, leaning closer. Bucky subconsciously scrunched his neck.

"Actually I kinda did."

Sam smiled, hovering his hands over his stomach with wiggling fingers. "Then you deserve everything you're gonna get."  

"Nohohohooo," he whined, knowing exactly what was to come. Sam made sure to keep his fingers a few inches above his stomach to keep him on edge. When he finally descended, he clawed into the muscle and vibrated his hands into the flesh. Bucky tried to hold his laughter back, he really did. But as soon as he saw the twinkle in his eyes and the goofy smile, he couldn't help the giggles that slipped out.

"Wow, you're more ticklish than you look," Sam commented. Bucky's face scrunched in confusion and embarrassment.

"Thahahank you?" It came out more as a question than a statement, and Sam had to fight the physical urge to aawww.

He moved on to his sides, squeezing up and down. His laugh became a deeper, more full sound. He grabbed onto Sam's wrists, but didn't bother pushing away. Instead it felt as though he was pulling him closer... He decided to make a mental note of that for later use.

He decided to drill his thumbs into his hips, making him buck and thrash wildly. Sam chuckled, "Is this how you got your nickname? 'Cause you buck like a wild bronco when tickled?" Bucky's cheeks grew darker at the question.

"Fuhuhuck you!" Sam gasped, never pausing in his work.

"How rude! And here I was just trying to strike up a friendly conversation!" He scratched along his waistline, drawing out mad cackles that left Bucky breathless. Sam was having the time of his life. "Who knew you could make so many sounds," he teased.

Bucky shook his head back and forth. "Juhuhust shuhut up!" Sam cocked his head to the side in a quizzical manner.

"Why? Does it make it worse?" When he didn't answer and only whined in response, Sam grinned wider. "I'll take that as a yes."

"You're sohoho mehehean!" he called out, unable to fight back, not that he really wanted to.

"Yeah? And you're cute when you blush," Sam barely realized he had even said it. It just slipped out and couldn't be taken back. Luckily the only affect his words had was darkening the already red blush. Bucky threw a hand up to hide his face as he giggled through his fingers.

"Nu uh, no hiding," Sam said, tickling under his arm and bringing it crashing down. His other hand trailed farther down, squeezing his thighs. Bucky actually screamed, his laughter hitting a whole new range. Encouraged by the new reactions, Sam brought his other hand lower. Bucky snorted when he squeezed the side of his leg, close to his knees. Sam raised his brows, an evil grin plastered on his face.

"Oh, is this a bad spot?" He skittered his fingers over his thighs, the thin sweatpants doing nothing to protect him. His eyes were squinted shut and his mouth hung open as loud laughter poured free. Sam moves to scratch the backs of Bucky's knees, making him snort once more.

"Nononono plehehehease!" Bucky pleaded.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sam chuckled. He raked his nails down the back of his knees, and Bucky practically screamed. He slammed his knees to his chest, which subsequently pushed Sam forward as well. He lost his balance and lurched towards him, catching himself by bracing his fall with his hands on each side of Bucky's head. They both froze, staring into each other's eyes. Bucky's laughter started to die down, his eyes glistening with unshed mirthful tears.

"You okay?" Sam asked, wanting to make sure he didn't go too far. Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam hadn't seen him smile like this in months, and it warmed his heart. "I, I needed that," he admitted. Sam smiled softly, the expression on his face could only be described as pure adoration.

"I'm glad to hear that." There was a beat where it was silent. And again, without thinking, Sam acted. He found himself leaning down and couldn't stop. It was as though time itself had slowed. And then in a rush, Bucky sat up and locked their lips together. They kissed for a moment before Bucky pulled away, still catching his breath.

"Still wanna watch that movie?"

Sam nodded and they cuddled next to each other on the couch. Bucky had an arm around his shoulders as Sam rested his head on his chest. The movie started. And if Sam was drawing lazy, tickly shapes into his side, Bucky didn't complain. Only would huff out a laugh every once in a while, squirming into the touch.

The earth may not be in a good place right now, but she will heal. Bucky was sure of it.

[gaylenightingale]

TUMBLR Inu/Sess Mini Bingo

Chapter 3

Curses

@redalgaebloom

Inuhime had never shared Sesshomaru’s birth prophecy with anyone.  Inuhime had hidden the scroll immediately after reading it.  Even Toga had never known of its existence.  She had assumed if no one knew then it wouldn’t come true.  Even though she felt that way, she still had the thing memorized. Perhaps she should have shared it with Izayoi.   Afterall it was about Inuyasha.

 When the second is born, the unity of the two will be grand.

Any attempts to separate will fail even though well planned.

In time a curse will fall and split the pair, love will slip away like quicksand.

During this time the enemy, he will assail, evil will be at his command.

Long and painful be the time that passes until united they stand

But when they do, faith, hope, love, peace; all will be well in the land.

 Inuhime pondered these words as she watched the two princes walk through the cherry blossom orchard. They would soon be out of sight. She was aware of what might happen next.

 They were in love.  

 Teenagers with hormones.

 ‘Ha!  I remember feeling the same way.   They do look so wonderful together.  If only Inuyasha could have children.  The children would be so beautiful.  Well, it matters not if they are lovers.  Sesshomaru will have to marry to provide an heir.   He could have whatever tryst on the side just like his father.’  Inuhime knew she needed to talk to Sesshomaru soon.  

 --------#

 Flashback—

 They were recovering in bed when Inuyasha realized the illness was from the chocolate.  He apologized privately to his older brother.

 Sesshomaru waved it off. They both ate it.  They both got sick.  As far as he was concerned, he finally got some good rest.  

 “I know you didn’t try to kill me, little brother.   You ate the same thing.   We both know now not to eat that lovely brown stuff again.  Tell me where did you get it anyway?”

 Inuyasha told Sesshomaru how his mother had told him about gifts and how he had procured the gift. Eventually he got around to telling Sesshomaru about the lip-to-lip thing the man and woman did.

 Sesshomaru was amused.   ‘So, baby brother didn’t know about kissing.  Hnnn. Easily remedied.’

 When they finally were well Sesshomaru demanded that Inuyasha continue sleeping with him.  He claimed that in all his life he had never slept better than when he had his brother at his side.   No one dare deny the Lord of the lands anything so Inuyasha was directed to sleep in Sesshomaru’s room even though he was to keep his belongs in the cottage.

 Inuhime just laughed privately.  

 When Inuhime and Izayoi asked about what food the boys had eaten Sesshomaru deflected the question and asked about other things of importance in the kingdom.   The chocolate chapter was officially closed.

 Or at least Sesshomaru thought it was.  

 Inuhime was a suspicious individual.  She knew her son did not lie but she also noted he omitted information. She had unconsciously bought in to the prophecy and suspected someone had tried to tear them apart.  ‘Now they just need to avoid a curse…,’ she pondered.

  --#

 The Inu brothers’ first kiss occurred under a blooming cherry tree in the orchard behind the castle.   Sesshomaru had drawn Inuyasha out to the orchard to show him something about the trees that he claimed he learned. He had learned it years ago but Inuyasha did not know that.     Sesshomaru leaned his side against the tree and pointed to a line in the tree bark.   Inuyasha closed in to see it.

 “These lines are called "lenticels," Sesshomaru began.

 Inuyasha reached out a finger to follow the raised horizonal line across the trunk.

 Sesshomaru added a few more details to his instruction about flowering cherry versus flowering plum. Inuyasha followed every word and buried them deep in his heart and mind.

 Soon the two inus were inches apart analyzing a fallen cherry blossom.  Sesshomaru could smell the fresh woody odor from Inuyasha mixed with the sakura.  ‘So wonderful.’   Sesshomaru raised a hand to Inuyasha’s cheek.

 “Look at me, little one,” he whispered.  “You are more beautiful than this cherry blossom.  I think it’s time for a lesson of a different kind.”   And with that he leaned in and pressed his lips to his brother’s.

 Inuyasha’s eyes opened wide. He glanced at his brother. Sesshomaru’s eyes were closed and he could see the magenta shade of his eyelids.  They were so beautiful.  Then Sesshomaru moaned, that pleasurable moan Inuyasha had heard the man make.   His toes tingled from the sound and he closed his eyes and melted into his brother.

 Sesshomaru was swept away in the kiss.  He had not anticipated such pleasure.  He needed more.

 The two broke their lip lock to catch their breath and then dazed they stared at each other and resumed kissing.   When they needed air again, Sesshomaru allowed Inuyasha to breathe but peppered his face with quick light kisses.  The kisses led from his lips to his cheeks and jaw, then down his neck and throat to his collar bone where Sesshomaru stopped to take a deep breath and lick his brother’s pulse point.

 Inuyasha giggled. “That tickles!”  He wiggled away from his brother.  When he was a foot away, he smiled winningly at his brother.   Sesshomaru smiled back and the chase was on.

 Sesshomaru was operating on instinct at this point.  He was chasing a potential mate.  He was excited about what followed next.  He knew he needed to catch the hanyou.  This being was the one to complete him. This was his true love.  He knew it.  It was as the castle healers had taught him.

 Inuyasha’s instincts were slightly diluted but he also knew he was to run.  He had no experience on what was to come next.  He had never heard his instincts because the only training he had was from his human mother.

 This was the primary demon mating instinct chase.  All demons had it for their first love.  

 The chase magic was disturbed when a castle guard interrupted.  He was told to retrieve Sesshomaru for some important business.   Inuyasha heard the guard call for his brother and hid behind a nearby tree watching.

 When Sesshomaru left to answer the message, the guard lingered.  He found the hanyou and beat him for distracting the lord of the lands. The guard left the battered and bruised hanyou crumpled on the forest floor.

 It took several hours but Inuyasha recovered and returned to his mother’s cottage.   He and his mother ate.  During the meal Inuyasha asked his mother about kissing.    Izayoi knew it was time to teach Inuyasha about love and sex so after the meal she discussed the subject with her son in generalizations. She assumed there was a young maid that had caught Inuyasha’s eye.  She did not know there was anything between the brothers.  She told Inuyasha that consummating a relationship was incredibly special and should be reserved for the one you loved.

 Inuyasha nodded and promised her that he would save his virginity for that special person.

 It was late by the time bedtime had come around. Inuyasha’s injuries from the beating were healed and Sesshomaru never saw that his brother had been wounded.   Since this had happened all Inuyasha’s life he felt no need to tell his brother.    Inuyasha slipped into bed and turned his back to his brother who grabbed him around the waist and pulled him tightly to his chest.  Within seconds the two were asleep.

 The kiss became a pleasant memory in both Inus minds.  There were other kisses but none like the first. Inuyasha kept the promise he had made to his mother and didn’t allow any sexual advances.  He was saving his virginity for the one he loved.  He never spoke about it to Sesshomaru or he would have learned that Sesshomaru was the one he loved.

 Sesshomaru was a gentleman. He would wait as long as it took for his brother to be ready.  He was a virgin also.  He did understand the feelings and instincts.  He had been educated by the castle healers about all things reproductive.

 Life continued for many moons.

 ---#

 Castle guards were posted outside of the doors of the royal family suite.  They witnessed the coming and going of the half-breed.   Unknown to either brother, the castle guards were angered by the presence of the hanyou. They had all dedicated their lives to Toga.   His death on behalf of the mongrel half-breed infuriated them. The hanyou’s presence in the cottage was barely tolerable but, in the suite, it angered them.

 Any time he was near, they resorted to verbal assaults and muttering about how they wanted him gone.  Every night as he entered the royal suite, they took out their anger on the poor boy by verbally abusing him and occasionally tripping him.

 The guards’ anger continued to fester until one evening when an old hag asked for shelter in their guard quarters.

 “What have you got to offer in exchange,” the guards asked.

 “I am but an old woman, but I can make a nasty curse.   Would that suffice as payment?” The old hag’s voice crackled and warbled.

 “It would indeed,” called one of the guards that had thrown the most rocks at the hanyou.  “I think that hanyou needs to be cursed.”

 The other guards nodded and grunted in agreement and the arrangement was made.

 The old hag made the curse on Inuyasha before she went to sleep.   The hanyou joined his brother for bed as usual.   When the night shift guards returned to their quarters that am and gave report all the guards realized nothing had happened and they proceeded to wake the witch abruptly.

 Cackling the old woman gathered her cloak and told the men that her curses took time and they might regret their actions.    Then she conjured some smoke and popped out of view.

 The guards stared at each other in confusion.  Seconds later the guard quarters burst open and an enraged Prince Sesshomaru stood drooling green poison.

 “How dare you beat this one’s kin!”   He destroyed all the guards and the guard quarters within seconds but not before hearing one guard say, “at least the hanyou was cursed first”.   Sesshomaru raced back to his room.

 The witch’s curse was not set to go into effect until the hanyou had fallen asleep.  Prior to sleep the brothers kissed and cuddled and talked of the future.  During that time Inuyasha asked if Sesshomaru could “please ask the guards to stop hitting him”.  Sesshomaru was so angry he would have gotten up then and destroyed the guards, however, Inuyasha had pulled him back into an embrace and within seconds Sesshomaru decided it could wait until morning.

 If only he had gone that night, he could have stopped the curse because he would have killed the witch along with the guards.

 Inuyasha woke alone in the big bed.  He looked about him and wondered why he was there.  He grabbed his clothes and returned to the cottage.

“Mother, we must move. Now!  There is no time to talk about it.  Hurry!”

 He grabbed her and put her on his back and ran away from the castle of the West.

 Izayoi was confused but followed her son’s direction and soon they were on their way to her old village.   They never arrived.  The road was perilous and more often than not they were robbed and beaten.  By the time they reached a small remote village near the sea they decided to stop and settle there. Neither traveler looked like they had been of nobility, so they fit into the fishing village without any problems.   Izayoi quickly established herself as an embroiderer while Inuyasha performed manual labor.  They resided in the village for several years until Izayoi became sick.  On her death bed she asked why they had moved from Sesshomaru’s castle.  But Inuyasha looked confused.

 “Who is Sesshomaru, Mother?”

 In the Western Lands a mournful bay was heard once and then no more.  The sound was so sad that everyone who heard it cried without understanding why. It was said the Lord of the Western lands had suffered a grievous loss and his heart had become cut off to all.

Word count: 2055

  #inusess#inucest#mini bingo    

@redalgaebloom #Inusessbingo

[glitterslag]

Any Day of The Year - Roger Taylor x Reader (Valentine’s Day)

GUYS i’m literally so buoyed up by all the nice things people have said about Booty Call & its put me in the mood to just write and write and never stop SO here’s a silly little roger blurb thing i just wrote in one go because to be honest i’ve still got so many valentine’s feels and i’m not ready for the love to be over!!  i had to get this out even though it was 2 days ago    D E A L  W I T H  I T

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: language, smut

Summary: Modern day AU. You’ve broken up with your boyfriend and your friend Roger doesn’t want you to be alone on Valentine’s Day.

1.

“Prick.” Rog mumbled absentmindedly, mouth full of a cigarette as he chucked takeaway menus and unopened post everywhere, searching the cluttered kitchen counter for his lighter. “I’ll kill him.”

“It’s here, idiot.”

He turned to you, sat on the sofa with your arm held out, zippo in hand. He walked over to stand in front of you, staring down at you while you lit his cig for him.

“Has he cheated on you?” He demanded. 

“No, Rog.” You said gently, sighing. 

He raised a bemused eyebrow, hands on hips. 

“Well what happened, then?” 

He asked it as though he’d never heard of any other reason to break up with someone. In fact, he probably hadn’t. 

You just shrugged, looking anywhere in the room but at him. 

“Just said it wasn’t gonna work out.” 

“Wanker.”

“Yeah.” 

Roger flopped down next to you on the settee, arms spread over the back as he blew smoke at the ceiling. 

“You bothered?” He said, eyeing you quickly before he dropped his head back again, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“A bit,” you mused. It wasn’t like the two of you had been going out long. “It’s more the fact that it was only the day before Valentine’s Day. Wish he could’ve waited, you know? Now I don’t have anything to do.” 

Roger chuckled, letting his outstretched arm come down to rest on your shoulders. It was always straight to the point with you two. 

“Saving himself a good fifty quid by not taking you out for dinner, mind.” He said to himself, staring at something far-off with awed eyes. “I like his style.” 

You shoved him hard, and he dropped the deadpan act in exchange for a hearty laugh. 

“Not funny.” 

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

2.

Valentine’s was probably the only night of the year Roger Taylor didn’t have a date. 

Bad for his rep, he said, to be seen out with a girl on Valentine’s Day. Couldn’t be doing with them getting any ideas, thinking he was looking for relationships and romance. Besides, he could get laid any other day of the week. 

He was happy to stay in with you, eating pizza all night and keeping you distracted from the heartbreak of losing Jonty. 

“It’s Jeremy!” You hissed at him for the twelfth time. “And I am NOT heartbroken.” 

He shrugged easily and popped open a beer, grinning. 

“Whatever.” 

Roger never liked your boyfriends, and couldn’t ever pretend to be too upset when it all went pear-shaped (which it usually did). He’d always give the stupidest reasons, like not liking a guy’s hair or that his jeans fit badly, and even once because he “didn’t like the way he ate his cereal”. 

A few too many bottles of beer later and you were starting to wonder whether he was right, though, scrolling up through yours and Jeremy’s old text conversations, trying to pin-point the exact moment it had all gone wrong this time.  

You had Rog temporarily distracted, trying to make sense of the pizza menu whilst tipsy and not wearing his glasses, squinting and muttering to himself darkly. 

“I keep telling you to get contacts.” You said, half irritated, and he looked up and noticed what you were doing. 

“Are you reading old texts?!” 

You made a move to hide your phone. Too slow, he snatched it away from you. 

“Stop it!” You protested, making grabby hands at him. He held it high above your head. 

“You’ll only drunk text him.” He warned, as if he had all of a sudden become the authority on all things romantic, and you rolled your eyes, annoyed. 

“What kind of pizza should I get?” 

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

3.

Roger could be a gent, when he wanted. He provided the beers and paid for the pizza (you’d usually always go halves on takeaways) and his unspoken sympathy offering didn’t go unnoticed. 

He also knew how to be a little shit. 

When the delivery man had smiled and told the two of you to have a good night, Roger had shot him an evil grin, taking the pizza box under one arm and pulling you into his side. 

“Oh, I will mate.” He’d said, roughly grabbing your arse as you stifled a squeal. “If you know what I mean.”

He gave your bum a playful slap, winked at the blushing pizza boy and swung the apartment door shut in his face. 

“ROGER!” 

He just burst out cackling as you shoved him away. 

You tutted to yourself as you took the food back into his bedroom, getting yourselves settled on the bed. You felt bad for the poor boy. He couldn’t have been any more than sixteen. 

You weren’t really angry, though. It was all in good fun. You knew Rog could never talk to you ugly or touch you ugly. 

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

4.

“Hey this pizza’s shaped like a heart!” You exclaimed, pleased, as you opened the box. “Valentine’s Day, and all that. I love Pizza Hut!”

Roger peered in. 

“Cute.” He commented, reaching for your confiscated phone in his back pocket. “Should instagram it.”

You froze, watching him as he fumbled with the password. 

“Rog, don’t.”

“Why?”

You reddened, answering him in the smallest of voices.

“Don’t want Jeremy to see it.” 

He put your phone away, but scoffed at you nevertheless. 

“Why d’you care?”

You didn’t say anything. 

As mugged off as you were feeling, you could never bring yourself to do something like that. Even though it had been him who dumped you, you wouldn’t want Jeremy to think you were on some kind of date only a day after the breakup. 

“Fine,” Roger started casually, searching the bed for his own phone. “I’ll just post it on mine.” 

You eyed him warily. 

“Why would you do that? You hate all that cheesy stuff.”

He ignored you, hovering over the bed on his knees so he could take his picture from above. 

“Does Jeremy follow you?” You asked uneasily. 

He still wouldn’t answer. 

“Roger!”

“What?” He said defensively, and you watched him helplessly as he posted the picture. “Got to give him something to be jealous about.” 

“You better hadn’t have tagged me!”

“He needs to realise how much of a prick he’s been.” He replied simply, as if that explained everything, leaning back on his hand and stuffing a slice of pepperoni into his big fat mouth. 

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

5.

A couple more beers later and you were snogging in a giggly heap and to be honest, the only thing you could think was how much of a miracle it was that it hadn’t happened sooner. His tongue tasted like garlic mayo, and you weren’t even mad about it. 

You knocked a beer bottle over in the process and realised you were far too drunk for this, and had it been anyone else but him it could never have been a good idea. You felt bad about Jeremy for what - a second? But it was Roger for christ’s sake. He couldn't exactly be one to judge. 

“Bet you didn’t think you would be getting it in tonight.” You said, strained, tongue poking out a little as you tried to wiggle out of your skinny jeans. 

“I mean I was kind of hoping.” He looked at you apologetically, scratching his head. “Is that allowed?”

After a few unsuccessful attempts to bend you over (”why d’you keep turning round?” “Because I want to look at you you fucking idiot!”) Roger conceded. 

“Fine.” He huffed, flipping you back over and rolling his eyes like it was some big chore. You bounced a little, giggling. “Guess we’ll have to do it the ‘romantic’ way.” 

Oh what a shame. 

You could practically hear the air quotes in his voice, but he smushed his face into your neck all the same, nuzzling at you with his nose as he pushed back into you. You sighed dreamily, running your fingers through his hair, and judging by the size of his smile against your skin he wasn’t really all that opposed. 

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

6. 

Ten minutes later and you were both dressed again, back to stealing his pizza crusts like it was any other night. He searched for something to watch on Netflix and you rested your head against his shoulder. Easy.

“We did it the wrong way around.” You remarked sleepily, and he didn’t understand what you meant. 

“It’s supposed to be Netflix and then chill.” You explained. “We did the chilling part first.” 

He winced, chuckling. 

“I don’t think it specifies the order, babe.” 

It wasn’t until a little while later, when you’d nearly fallen asleep, that he finally looked down at you, voice low and eyes suddenly serious.

“The only thing I’ve done in the wrong order was leaving this until tonight instead of doing it two years ago.”

He pressed a kiss low on your neck, then, suddenly making you feel very sober, and your heart was beating so fast you had to turn away. 

[mittensmorgul]

9.09, Holy Terror.

Remember, folks. Writers lie.

But Metatron slips back into the story like the proverbial serpent. I mean, that's literally the metaphor that applies, considering he's the one who finally unmasks Gadreel for us-the-audience, despite Dean still being in the dark. But there's far more manipulation going on in this episode...

As Gadreel tightens the screws on Dean, Metatron applies the exact right pressure to Gadreel. It's figworms within figworms, one after the other rotting the apple from the inside out, and everything is about to collapse.

Remember in the 9.06-9.07 post, I described the process through which Dean's lies and half-truths gradually came to light until they were completely out in the open? Well, that's beginning in earnest with his current round of increasingly unsustainable lies, and we begin to really see the toll it's all taking on Dean.

(also need to note one of the angels killed in the opening scene, his vessel was named "Red Dawg," in a season where Dean has both been referred to by the nickname "D-Dog," and also became an actual dog for an episode already... the MoC/demon Dean foreshadowing was pervasive in this season)

We've already seen Sam begin to crack under the weight of it all at the end of 9.08, but now both Dean and Cas will feel that burden, too...

Dean pushes Gadreel for an honest answer about Sam's recovery, pressuring him for a better answer, while Gadreel expresses his concern over working a case that potentially involves angels, but also leaving the entire burden of perpetuating the deception on Dean himself. And he's not doing well with that burden, and Sam's losing faith in himself and trust in Dean's increasingly shady answers...

SAM (getting agitated) No, it's more than Vesta! I mean, this kind of thing's been happening to me. Like, like, there are chunks of time just … missing. Like there are times when I'm... not here. DEAN Well, like I've said— SAM Yes, the trials. I know. I heard you. I heard you when you said it the last week and the week before that and the week before that. DEAN Yeah, because ... damn straight the trials. They whacked you, man. You're not up to warp speed yet, okay? But you will be.  (Smiles at SAM.)  Would I lie?

and

Blue light flashes in SAM’s eyes; EZEKIEL-IN-SAM is back. DEAN (knowing he's about to get more grief from EZEKIEL-IN-SAM) Oh, boy. EZEKIEL-in-SAM Well? What are you going to do about this? DEAN About Cas? EZEKIEL-in-SAM He is a beacon, Dean, pulling every angel for miles down on our heads. DEAN All right, you know what, Zeke? Level with me. What is it that you're so afraid of? EZEKIEL-IN-SAM I told you. When I chose to answer your prayers and heal Sam, I chose sides. That means I'm not in good standing with certain angels. DEAN Okay, well, you know what? Cas isn't in good standing with any angel, all right? But here he is, ass on the line, fighting the fight. So tell me, what makes you so special?

But Dean breaks down again and begins to strategically confess to Cas, still leaving out crucial pieces of information, but giving him enough that Cas does eventually begin to understand the gravity of Dean's situation:

CASTIEL (clears throat) I, um, I noticed you look... kind of uncomfortable whenever Sam mentions my leaving. Doesn't he know that you told me to leave? DEAN Here's the deal. When Sam was doing the trials to seal up Hell, it messed him up. Okay? The third one nearly killed him. If I'd let him finish, it would have. He's still messed up, bad. CASTIEL You said the angel, Ezekiel, helped heal him. DEAN (looks down, avoiding the question) Look, I got to do anything I can to get him back. Now, if that means that we keep our distance from you for a little while, then... Then I don't have a choice. I don't feel good about it, but I don't have a choice. It's great to have your help, Cas. Okay, but we just can't work together. CAS looks sad.

Bolding mine. I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE. I DON'T FEEL GOOD ABOUT IT, BUT I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE.

Cas, being Not A Moron™ now understands that everything that's happened since the angels fell, since Dean went to extraordinary measures to save Sam with "Ezekiel's" help, has put Dean in this impossible position. He might not know the true extent of it, but at the end of the episode when he calls Dean to warn him that "Ezekiel" is not who he's pretending to be, he knows that Dean absolutely NEEDS this information... which he could only have known if he understood that Dean had made some sort of as-yet-still-secret-by-necessity-of-Sam-continuing-to-be-not-dead pact with Fake Ezekiel...

And then, a truly horrible twist of circumstance as Cas searches for answers and is captured by a group of angels and tortured. Everyone is just doing what they have to do...:

CASTIEL Angels butchering angels. Is this what we've become? MALACHI Just following your example, Castiel. How many did you kill in Heaven? How many in the Fall? (off CASTIEL's look)  Oh, you didn't know? A host of angels died when they fell – Azrael, Sophia, Ezekiel (At this last name, CASTIEL turns very thoughtful) ...  "Died" doesn't even describe it. Devastation. Wings shredded, unspeakable agony at your hands. So, I think you would want to provide any information you have, considering... (pause; no response from CASTIEL) All right. I leave you in the hands of an artist. (to THEO) I don't care what's left. THEO Don't ask for mercy. There is none. THEO walks and shuts the door, then returns to CASTIEL, and picks up a drill. THEO I'll give you one last chance for this to end. CASTIEL Give me a quick death. CASTIEL closes his eyes and holds up his face in anticipation of the blow(s). THEO I need you to speak to Metatron. Everyone knows you have influence. CASTIEL now opens his eyes and looks in astonishment at THEO. THEO (continuing) He'll listen to you. Ask him to raise me to Heaven. You can do this, Castiel. I'll be a soldier for Metatron, do anything he wants. CASTIEL You – you serve Malachi. THEO I thought he was the answer, but he's crazy. CASTIEL You're... noticing this now? You were more than willing to do his dirty work. THEO I did what I had to.

So of course Cas does what he has to do, now that he knows what Metatron is up to, that Dean is in danger from the False Ezekiel:

CASTIEL (on the phone) Dean, I don't have a lot of time, so listen. The leader of the opposition is an angel named Malachi. DEAN How do you know that? CASTIEL He had me. I, uh, I was tortured. But I got away. DEAN How? CASTIEL I... I did what I had to. I became what they've become. A barbarian. DEAN What are you – Cas, where are you? CASTIEL It's better I stay away. They're gonna want me even more now. But I'm gonna be all right. I... I got my Grace back. Well, not mine per se, but it'll do. DEAN Wait, you're – you're back? You got your mojo? CASTIEL I'm not sure. But I am an angel. DEAN And you're okay with that? CASTIEL If we're going to war, I need to be ready.

Unfortunately Cas's warning comes too late to save Sam, or Kevin, and Gadreel takes over fully, having been deceived and manipulated into doing Metatron's dirty work, just as Cas had been in 8.22-8.23.

Which is why Cas immediately forgives Dean in the opening scenes of...

9.10, Road Trip.

(meanwhile, the angels all continue to be Terrible™ in the background, proving they were always Terrible™ and are only using Cas as a scapegoat, blaming their troubles on him when honestly they were all always Terrible Manipulative Bastards™ all on their own!)

(also, Andrew "what are cars even anyway" Dabb writing an episode called "Road Trip" makes me cackle)

Watching Dean suffering alone at the bunker (Gadreel even stole the Impala ffs), giving Kevin a hunter's funeral alone... this was hard. And then Cas showed up 100% understanding, and 100% ready to help however he could, back in a new trench now that he had his mojo back. So in that way, Dean had already resigned himself to having An Angel back, and not the same Cas he'd tossed out in his worst moment. It's his fault Cas was forced to go to that measure. Ouch.

I'd also like to point out the similarity between Metatron luring Cas in during s8-- starting by appealing to Cas's desire for atonement, his need for all the angels to stop the infighting and begin working together again, to restore order, and then luring him in to increasingly horrific acts he promised would achieve those ends. When Cas had balked, Metatron had manipulated circumstances to push Cas into doing them anyway. Same with Gadreel.

Metatron used the lure of being able to clear his name, back in 9.09:

METATRON: Relax. I'm not here to out you. But I am curious, why Ezekiel? NOT-EZEKIEL-IN-SAM They say he is a good, and ... honorable angel. METATRON Ahhhh. Everything they say you are not. I see your point... Gadreel. NOT-EZEKIEL-IN-SAM (henceforth to be known as GADREEL-IN-SAM) The stories about me – they are not true! METATRON And yet you spent countless thousands of years locked in Heaven's darkest dungeon. And now you're hiding in this human, posing as Ezekiel. (shakes his head) Tragic. It broke His heart to lock you away, you know? You were God's most trusted. That's why He chose you to protect the garden. Your one task was to keep evil from entering... from befouling His cherished creation, mankind, and you failed Him! GADREEL-IN-SAM Not my doing. METATRON Well, for whatever reason, the serpent entered. The Earth is cursed with evil. Someone had to be blamed.

Gadreel had been duped from the start. And he didn't let evil onto the Earth. Adam and Eve weren't tainted with evil when they ate the apple, they were tained with the KNOWLEDGE of good and evil. If knowledge could be considered a "curse" in the first place. And Gadreel just happened to be the one left standing there after the deed had been done, even if he was no more complicit in what resulted that Cas had been in Metatron's spell that made the angels fall. But unlike Cas, Gadreel believes Metatron truly wants to help him clear his name, or at the very least help him build his reputation anew by doing "good" now... and yiiiiiikes....

Gadreel was horrifically okay with killing Kevin on Metatron's orders, because Kevin was helping Dean perform a spell to eject him from Sam, and it was partly (at least he could rationalize it that way) self-defense. And he was all too happy to murder his former jailer who was now envesseled in a Justin Bieber wannabe. I believe we all cheered about that guy getting his comeuppance. But then Metatron orders him to kill the only angel Gadreel had considered a friend, who he'd been imprisoned with, and who'd decided to embrace the human life he'd found himself in, adopting his (previously abusive jerkwad) vessel's family as his own. Abner had been HAPPY with his life, and yet to save his own reputation, and without questioning Metatron's order, Gadreel killed him.

Crowley also played a role in this, using his NSA-infiltrated demon to track the stolen Impala. Crowley praised her for also playing ball with Abaddon (and later Abaddon would kill her for admitting she was also helping Crowley... two very different ruling styles...), and then they'd have to move from Plan A (torturing Gadreel with the Angel Brainwashing Halo Thingie) to Plan B (crowley possessing Sam to convince him to evict Gadreel from the inside).

Gadreel gone back to his previous vessel, Sam feels justifiably violated by his possessions.

Sam: What do you want me to say? I’m pissed? Okay I am, I’m pissed. You lied to me - again. Dean: I didn't have a choice. Sam: I was ready to die Dean. Dean: I know. But I wouldn't let you, because that’s not in me. Sam: So what, you decide to trick me into being possessed by some...psycho angel? Dean: He saved your life. Sam: So what. I was willing to die. And now...Kevin. Dean: No, that is not on you. Kevin’s blood is on my hands. And that ain’t ever getting clean. I’ll burn for that. I will. But I’ll find Gadreel and I will end that son of a bitch. But I’ll do it alone. Sam: What’s that supposed to mean? Dean: Come on man, can’t you see, I’m poison. People get close to me they get killed, or worse. I tell myself I help more people than I hurt and I tell myself that I’m doing it all for the right reasons and I believe that. But I can’t -- I won’t drag anyone anybody into the muck with me - not anymore. Sam: Go. I’m not going to stop you. But don’t go thinking that’s the problem because it’s not. Dean: What’s that supposed to mean? Sam: Just go.

And we're back to not talking to each other. And there's our final "I didn't have a choice." But there's also the fact that Dean DIDN'T trick Sam into letting an angel possess him. The angel did that all on his own. Asking for Dean's permission was entirely besides the point. It was Sam who had to say yes, and it was Gadreel who assumed Dean's likeness inside Sam's mind, using what he'd learned about Sam during his unattended "examination" while Dean had been talking to Cas and blowing away the other angels attacking the hospital to learn what he'd need to manipulate Sam into saying yes. And it's not like Dean intended to lie, that was Gadreel's condition he'd at first told Dean was to prevent Sam from ejecting him and basically dying on the spot before they could explain the plan to Sam. And then over time, as Dean tried to tell Sam the truth before it got to that point, Gadreel actively prevented him from doing so. It was only then that Dean realized just how screwed he was. ALLLLLL the guilt of everything bad that's resulted from Gadreel possessing Sam to this point, Dean blames all of it on himself-- Cas, Kevin, Sam... all of it. Sam's just... still reeling from his own experience that he's unable to see this yet. Unfortunately, he won't see it for a good long while to come, after it's far too late to save Dean from what the mark will do to him.

And another cycle of manipulation, betrayal, and sacrifice begins. Chuck must've been pretty damn proud of this one... all he had to do was sit back and watch Metatron execute the very Him-like plan for him. 

[iknownothingihearnothing]

BoJack Horseman: 5.1 “The Lightbulb Scene”

I’ve been busy the past few days watching and rewatching the latest season of BoJack Horseman to properly recap it for you all and because BoJack is AWSHUM. Seriously, it is one of the best shows on Netflix and that is saying something because Netflix is stuffed with content for our eyeballs. Like whoa.

As I write this, they are likely releasing three new shows and two movies. Netflix has money to spend and spending it they are. Like a drunk lottery winner. 

I love BoJack Horseman. It deals with heavy topics such as depression, anxiety, miscarriage, and divorce. If performed by real people, all of this would be unbearable. But because these are anthropomorphic animals mixed with cartoon humans, it’s delightful. 

BoJack is about an aging 90s sitcom star who gets everything he’s ever wanted but still hates himself. Oh, and he’s a horse. He’s a walking, talking horse who wears clothes. Come on, that’s funny.

He has a new show this year called Philbert, named after Princess Carolyn (henceforth referred to as PC) and Ralph’s sadly miscarried baby, Philbert. Which makes a lot of sense because her work is also her baby. In a depressing way.

A lot of BoJack makes sense in a depressing way. 

We open on Philbert’s Hollywood (excuse me, Hollywoo) set, where a bunch of fish ladies are synchronized swimming to a song about Los Ageless. 

(Like this but fishier.)

Inside, a femme fatale that is a lizard in lipstick shoots Philbert and when his blood pack doesn’t explode Flip, the show’s creator, calls cut. PC, who forged BoJack’s name last season on the Philbert contract to get him attached to the show, assures him he’s doing just great.

PC also crows about her producer credit. “I was watching you, which is all a producer does!”

Side-eyeing producer credits from now on, man.

What does that even MEAN?!

BoJack tries to get Flip’s attention but Flip blows him off. We pan to Mr. Peanutbutter, who is in crafty for some reason dressed as Julius Caesar, is in Warbler Brothers Studios pitching ideas to Flip. John Philbert’s house looks exactly like BoJack’s because Philbert needs to be “cut off from the rest of the world”.

...Oh I get it.

Oh, Angel. IDC what he does, he’ll always be Angel to me.

Later on, BoJack and his new costar, Gina, are hookin’ up, which is totes cool in the BoJack universe because animals know their own minds and are able to consent. It’s like Star Trek. Different species even have babehs. Somehow. When BoJack fails to “perform”, Gina’s about to leave when he asks her if she likes her character, who is, of course, named Sassy Malone. She does not. Sassy’s main characteristics are that she hates bras but loves cold rooms; she is mostly there for jerk off fodder. But she has a mortgage to pay. 

BoJack is lonely post Gina hookup and calls a sleepy Hollyhock at college who, if you remember from last season, was straight up poisoned repeatedly by Beatrice when she slipped her a Chub-B-Gone roofie in her coffee, sending her eight dads to Los Ageless in worry. 

At Tabbywood, PC’s abode, we are reintroduced to one of BoJack’s many in-universe gimmicks:

The actors are the same names: Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor blah blah boring. She should’ve been called Elizabeth Tail-or. Or Elizabeth Taylpurr. 

Yolanda wonders what Todd, who is now living with PC, will do all day on his butt when she’s at work. He is totally content to do nada and she is obviously not content to let him do nada so this will certainly be an issue going forward in their relationship. 

I forget what Yolanda is. I know she is from the ocean. Is she a sponge? A starfish? What? 

PC very sadly lost little Philbert last season so this year she has decided to adopt. Her adoption agent? Literal Mother Goose. After she signs over a 60K check, Mother Goose flies the coop--also literally--and leaves her in the lackadaisical hands of caretaker Tracy, who at first thinks she’s five months pregnant. 

Fun!

At the Warbler Brothers Studios, Flip and the casting director are searching for women, some human and some not, to play strippers in an upcoming scene. Three are human--one is either a ghost or a lady in a Burka with drawn on boobs, though I think it’s a Burka; it’s white though so I could be wrong--one is a frog in pearls, and the last is a giraffe whose head we don’t even see at first.

This is why I love BoJack. Who else would think of this shit?

BoJack himself knocks on the door and finally gets to speak to Flip. 

Also why I love BoJack. It unflinchingly and cacklingly points out blatant Hollywood hypocrisy. 

BoJack repeats Gina’s comment that the stripper scene where he as Philbert is sitting there drawing the girls is “gratuitous and male-gazey” and Flip cuts it in a totally not man baby “I’m always right” move. Instead, Flip has BoJack paint Gina naked instead. 

That didn’t exactly work out as planned.

At the Italian place, Todd’s old girlfriend, Emily, introduces her new firefighter boyfriend, Steve D’Mazio. As opposed to her old firefighter boyfriend, Steve D’Marco. Emily made an app specifically for firefighters to meet her.

I cannot throw a rock without hitting a Steve D’Mazio here. I went to high school with a bunch of Steve D’Mazios. 

Todd suggests making an app for asexual dating. Then explains to a confused Steve that not all asexuals are aromantic. Thus begins a convoluted explanation that very much confuses poor muscly Steve. His muscular everything else are bigger than his head. 

At the Philbert set, which of course looks just like BoJack’s house, BoJack begs Flip not to take out his aggression on Gina. He swears he isn’t, we know he is a lying douchebag, and Gina mumbles something about going to crafty to get potatoes.

She’ll need all that starch to get through those unnecessary nude scenes.

Todd and Yolanda revisit their conversation about how he’s a do-nothing slouch, so he decides to get a job. BoJack is there, all ready to confront PC. He has a spinny chair and everything, all Dr. Evil.

But it’s only Todd who wants a job. They find a listing for a janitorial position at WhatTimeIsItNow.com, the same media outlet that produces Philbert. BoJack has an Aha! moment.

He suggests Todd apply for the position and leave an anonymous note to Flip threatening to stop all nude scenes OR ELSE!

Of course Todd, who has the best luck ever, is way too overqualified to be a janitor and immediately becomes President of Streaming Content.

He will not abuse his AUTHORITAH by ordering Flip around, no sir. 

Fed up, our intrepid equine hero approaches Flip himself. He won’t do the nude scene. Flip snivels that he is his god now and BoJack will do what he says because he signed a contract (not really) so if Flip wants him to learn Korean, he will learn Korean. If Flip wants him to walk around with shit in his pants, he will have shit in his pants. Or he’ll sue his ass. 

Ew. Mark Schwahn, is that you?

If you have not read about One Tree Hill and The Royals EP Mark Schwahn, do yourself a favor and google that shit, he’s a menace. 

While PC’s at the adoption agency with Lackadaisical Tracy, she gets a call from Flip Flipping out--

(see what I did there?)

--about how he “played his hand” with BoJack and BoJack shows up drunk as a skunk. PC goes outside to meet him and gives him the Hollywoo Agent peptalk. Pull up your Big Horse pants and honor your commitments, even if you don’t like the character. PC’s gots shit to do.

So, BoJack trudges back to the set, disrobes, and changes that lightbulb, bruh.

At the airport, Mr. Peanutbutter, holding a sign that says BLARN, picks up Diane with a new haircut. She has just returned from a recent trip. They seem friendly but distant...and then he drops her off here.

Yeahhhh, remember how they were having troubles last season? They’re getting a divorce. 

At Philbert HQ, BoJack finishes his nekkid scene, then goes to crafty nekkid to eat some Cadbury eggs nekkid to much applause. Later at his house, Flip apologizes to BoJack for trying to forcefully remove his robe for the scene, but of course does not apologize to Gina, then cackles that women might stop complaining about being nekkid on camera now that a dude did it. 

Flip is the worst.

The episode closes as it begun, with the fish ladies doing their water ballet in the pool.

I have to wonder. Do people eat meat in the BoJackverse? Probably not, right? 

[d-clarence]

Samurai Jack Episode CI Headcanon/Fanfic

I’ve brought this up on an Ask and another post I reblogged, but I just got the motivation to fully flesh it out and type it out while it is still fresh in my mind.

Warning, potentially spoiler heavy and quite a lengthy post!

- — -

*Imagine the final battle with Jack’s forces against Aku’s at the latter’s fortress. Jack’s allies have rescued Jack from captivity and he recovered his sword.*

The Fate of the entire Universe hangs in the Balance as Samurai Jack faces Aku.

The plan was simple. Circle around Aku's fearsome tower fortress as a distraction force against Aku while Samurai Jack got in close enough to vanquish Aku. The Scotsman’s new army has assembled together for what may be their last battle. Their forces are consisting of many of the people Jack affected in his life, including the Archers, Woolies, and even Da Sa-Moo-Rai’s rag-tag group from his bar. The face off will be against seemingly never ending legions of Aku’s Beetle Drones, interstellar bounty hunters, and his summoned minions taking place outside in the crater surrounding Aku’s fearsome tower fortress. However, Jack's objective was side tracked as he was forced to face off Corrupted Ashi as Aku watches from his throne cackling in mad laughter.

“Yes… the simplest solution is usually the best one…” Aku mused.

“Ashi! You can’t let it end this way! Please Ashi, fight!” Jack begged.

The Samurai tried desperately to get Ashi to fight the corruption controlling her, but to no avail. Her whip-like attacks from her new limbs toss Jack around as he cringed at every slash from his blade that made her scream in agony as tendril after tendril, burned away to ash and regenerated at an astonishing pace.

“Aah! I… can’t! You have to kill me, Jack! There is no other way! Don’t let me live like this!” Ashi screamed as she temporarily broke away, tears pouring from her eyes, only to be silenced by the blackness of Aku’s curse.

As a powerful backhand sends Jack flying into a stone pillar of fire, he sees his situation. His hair was let loose in a mess and precious gi was completely torn off at the top half and bloodied and tattered from the waist to the bottom. Slashes, bruises and blood seeped from his wounds, and the love of his life utterly lost to Aku’s will as the demon smugly folds his gargantuan arms from his throne.

There is only one way.

No. There has to be another.

But it is what she wanted.

She needs to fight harder!

But she can’t.

Please. Grant her peace. You know what you have to do.

Ashi sprung forward, lunging at Jack as he in turn raised his sword at the ready, fighting back tears that still rolled down his blood-smeared and dirty countenance.

“Forgive me…” he whispered one last time.

He likewise sprung forward thrusting his sword, when the unexpected happened.

Seeing that Jack will be the victor, Aku did the one thing that would break his eternal adversary’s sanity. The one thing that would top all of the evil acts Aku ever did in existence.

As the lovers charged and were about to make contact, Aku pulled his influence and essence from Ashi leaving her in her former human state, in the drab prison outfit and black boots she wore beforehand. She didn’t know at first why she still ran to Jack, arms outstretched above her head. Confusion struck both their faces.

Then it hit her.

Tip pierced flesh. Blade pushed through. Her insides shredded as the sword went through her for what felt like an eternity, but twas only a moment. With a resounding crunch and snap, the sword drenched in her blood shot through her spine and out her back. The deed was done.

“No…” Jack whispered. He wanted all of this to be nothing more than a nightmare, but no, it was more real than ever. He drove his mighty sword through her to the hilt.

Tears welled up in both of their eyes. He let go of the blade as she staggered and began to fall for the last time. Jack caught her, right arm around her waist, left hand around the side of her neck. He saw she was losing focus and felt her pulse began to slow down.

The pain was too much for her to bear as it shot through her abdomen. She couldn’t feel her limbs anymore. The last thing she felt was his blade.

Blood pooled around them in the crimson floor of Aku’s chamber as he smiled in content.

She tried to speak, to give her final words of forgiveness, gratitude, and love to Jack, but she only coughed out blood and gurgled. Over 50 years of combat experience couldn’t prepare him for this.

“No no no! Ashi… I’m so sorry!” he cried as rivers spilled down his face and his voice cracked. She was done for.

The lovers shared one more solid look in each other’s eyes as he cradled her, she could only give a faint smile to Jack before the light in her eyes went away. The smile dropped.

Ashi lies dead in her lover’s arms.

“Hahahahahaha! Foolish Samurai!” Aku thundered. “Did you really think that you really deserved her? Star-crossed lovers is what you both were! Never meant to be, never will be!” The taunts persisted.

Samurai Jack held her lifeless body close, hoping for a miracle, but that never came.

“I’m… so… sorry…” he cried as he buried his face next to hers.

Aku’s laugh echoed through the inner sanctum as the tower shook from the battle outside. Explosions that were barely audible resounded in their ears. Aku headed over to show Jack the true weight of his failure. He pulled down what seemed to be a zipper on the wall as it opened with a mysterious hiss.

Jack could only helplessly look up at how much worse things were going.

The window opened to a horiffic sight. The battle was not going well. Despite the growing mounds of corpses of Aku’s terrible horde, it was a desperate fight for survival for Jack’s men and women. Their ammunition began to run dry, their blades ran dull. Bloody pools of reds, blues, and greens mixed with the black of Aku’s sentries littered the battlefront. Screams and shouts were drowned out by the clatter of bladed, mechanical legs. Several legions began to retreat. Lone survivors lingered in a dazed and shocked awe, some missing limbs, others searching for loved ones buried in the corpses.

Hope was lost.

The black demon bent down, facing Jack, a devilish green smile that stretched before him. “Annihilating your scum will set an example to all who dare oppose Aku!” He rose and laughed maniacally once more.

Enough.

Jack collected himself as his rage fueled high. He clenched his fists and he let out a yell that might as well have been heard around the world.

“AAAKUUUUU!!!!!!!” Jack pulled out his sword from Ashi’s gut as her limp body fell back into her pool of blood. He didn’t bother giving her a second look as he jumped high in the air, sword held above his head, about to strike.

Aku was too absorbed in what he perceived to be his victory to realize what came down upon him.

Jack screamed and brought the blade crashing down on the cursed demon, slicing down from his neck to the ground. The wisps of darkness burned to ash and blew away.

They both came crashing down as the evil one attempted to retaliate, sending scores of his black tendrils after the Samurai, only for them to be cut down with precision and ease. Eventually, only his upper torso and left arm was left, him weakly gripping the pillar behind him that he rested his head on.

“Heh heh heh… killing me won’t undo the past, nor bring back your sweet Ashi.” he proudly, but weakly spat. “My unspeakable evil has reached through the stars and eons!”

“No.” the Samurai said. He pointed his sword at him and shouted, “your unspeakable evil ends today! The present and future shall flourish in your absence!”

Jack yelled and leaped once more and drove the sacred blade between Aku’s eyes and twisted. The devil screamed and convulsed as his body lit and burned away to ash. The reign of Aku’s terror was finally over.

Slowly coming back to his senses, Jack calmly sheathed his sword and turned away. He almost let the madness drive him again, but not this time. He turned to Ashi and met her eyes once more, still wide open and the tears that cascaded down her face were dried and present. He closed her beautiful, lifeless eyes gently as he planted a kiss in her now cold lips and picked her up on front of him in his exhausted arms. Her blood dripped from her wound, further staining what was left of Jack’s gi. She’s become another memory, another casualty. Just as he feared.

He marched onwards to the front gate that opened to the light of the outside world. Much to Jack’s surprise, a miracle occured! He wondered in the back of his mind how he was going to go through the remnants of the armies of Aku, but no more thought was necessary. The beetle drones, the destroyers of many, were all offline! The bots fell and lay where they once stood. The remaining minions and mercenaries scattered in panic and retreat in realizing their main support was lost for good. Loud cheering echoed with the machine gun fire, sword clashing, and explosions that rocked the barren wasteland. It seems that when Aku died, his control over his machines and minons vanished as well, leaving them either permanently disabled or lost and demoralized.

Many of Jack’s friends came over charging and dealing with the stragglers with ease.

“At least they made it.” Jack sighed and looked down on his love. “Oh, how I wish you could see this, Ashi…”

The first to arrive was Flora and some of her sisters. They were hurt from battle, but that didn't sour their spirit. “Woohoo! We hit them right in their daddy bags!” she cheered. Many others joined in.

But when she looked at Jack, her joy dropped harder than a boulder off a cliff. The others came around to their hero.

“Jack… What happened?” Flora inquired. Her father, the Scotsman, appeared behind her in shock of the scene before him.

“I defeated Aku, but it came at a terrible price. Ashi is gone.” he calmly spoke.

“Jack… I’m so sorry… I…” the Scotsman apologized.

“No.” Jack interrupted. “You both have nothing to be sorry for. This is a great victory, and we all gave our lives and more to make sure it happened.”

Flora took charge and carried Ashi’s body respectfully from Jack’s arms. She could only offer a smile for him. Her father said, “We’ll make sure this lass gets a proper funeral, laddie!”

“Thank you.” the depression clear in his voice as he walked away, head down. He couldn’t bear seeing the one he loved so much taken away from him. They all wanted to offer him support, but couldn’t. He always left before anyone could.

He walked on seeing rebels, soldiers, knights, Spartans, and civilians from many cultures and races cheering and raising their worn weapons in victory. Others scrambled to tend to the survivors, the grieving, and the wounded. The most prominent was Olivia, from the village of kids Jack saved from a rave cult decades earlier. She slung her father’s old, beaten hunting rifle on her back and jumped atop a tall mound of robot corpses. Despite the blood from her bandaged injuries, she still rose her hands high and proclaimed,

“Samurai Drop!!!”

The crowds around rose their hands in the signature “S” shape and sang their song of praise and danced the Samurai.

In any other day, Jack would have admired, even joined in on the display, but now was different. This war cost so many, and he lost too much now. He lost his Empire and parents. He lost many of those who fought alongside him. Now, he lost his one chance at true love in his disastrous and lonely life in an instant. He walked on, the crowds’ cheering left them unaware of his sudden departure.

As he reached the edge of the crater where the limits of Aku’s fortress began, he saw a figure, standing at the edge, observing him. Jack gripped his sword at the sight of this unknown man. One of Aku’s minions? No. He was something more. Upon better observation, he noticed the following:

Tall and well-built, in a black bodysuit, clearly worn from combat. He wore a raggedy cloak that covered his chest, part of his head, and flowed to the wind from his back. He carried in one hand, a large katana that sported a red and black diamond pattern on the hilt, the blade dripping black from the oil of the drones. On the other, he shouldered a large silver and chrome plated heavy machine gun, barrel smoking from use and magazine half-empty. His face was expressionless, but seemed familiar. Blue skin, bald and covered his eyes with cracked red sunglasses.

“Could it be?” Jack wondered.

Before he could investigate further, the figure turned and walked away. He gave chase, and when he reached the edge and looked, the man was gone, except for a trail of footprints that continued for as far as the eye can see to the northeast.

“There’s nothing there except for…” before Jack could continue, a faint pillar of light emerged from the distance. Dark storm clouds collected around the faint sparkle and thundered.

Upon realizing the obvious, he spake to himself, “This could be my one chance to set things right. For Ashi, for everyone.”

Near him, he found several discarded transports his army used to get to battle, among them was a motorcycle very similar to the one he drove for many years. Upon inspection, the engine worked, hull was intact, and there’s more than enough fuel to get over to the light.

As he headed off with newfound vigor in his spirit, he mouthed the phrase that became his mantra,

“Gotta get back, back to the past… Samurai Jack…”

[shesailsships]

2016 in review

Tagged by @frenchcirce <3

total number of stories (completed/WIPs):

7 completed (they are one-shot fics) || 3 WIP...one fanfic and two original works

total word count:

I’m just going to tally my fanfic word counts here (my original works are always in flux, I’m constantly adding and cutting)...9,985 published without counting Ghost Hunters, Lies, & Money...with counting Ghost Hunters, Lies, & Money-- are you ready for this? A whopping 236,716 words. GLM had become monster sized, it’s hundreds of pages long at this point...and still going lol! 

fandoms written in:

Oh gosh, I’ve written for quite a few. My very first fandom was JAG and it was what introduced me to what fanfiction was. I wrote many many fics for JAG, eons ago. They were my first writings. They’re still out there somewhere, lost in the internet. So yes, JAG for one. Later I wrote for Primeval. I’ve written a short piece for The Pretender. I tossed my hat in the ring and was moved to write a one-shot for Clintasha. Ghost Hunt though, has been a long beloved muse of mine, and the only fandom I’m currently writing for with any regularity. There are so many fandoms I follow-- I have a whole folder on my computer full of half-finished fic...I can say that I’ve attempted writing for just about every ship that I love <3 

looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

I always seem to write less than I want, so sad! At the beginning of each year I have these grand plans of making more time for my writing, goals of writing for more fandoms that I love, publishing more one-shots, ect. Unfortunately, I rarely seem to be able to follow through with these plans. It’s 2017 now, and once again I’m back on the grand dreams train. I desperately want to write more this year, especially on GLM. I’d love to get four solid chapters out this year...maybe even finish it? We’ll see :)

what’s your own favorite story of the year?

We’ll since we’ve gone over the fact that I haven’t been very prolific lately, it would have to be my WIP, Ghost Hunter, Lies, & Money. That being said, I would choose GLM as my favorite anyways. I’ve been writing it for 10 years now. It’s apart of my heart, I am so tremendously proud of it <33

Original works wise, the novel idea I started revisiting in 2016 has got me so excited. I can’t wait to grow this idea more and develop it into something. 

did you take any writing risks this year?

Does not writing count as a risk? lol! It sure feels risky to me...[glances at readers nervously] Not to mention I go slowly crazy without a creative outlet. I NEED TO WRITE. In all seriousness though, I feel like every time I open Word I take new risks. Approaching my original works is both a exciting and terrifying experience. I am writing out of my comfort zone, about characters I don’t know very well yet, in a setting I’m not quite knowledgeable about yet. Very different from Ghost Hunt.

do you have any fanfic or profit goals for the new year?

Like I said I’m in it’s-a-new-year-imma-write-lots mode, so I have lots of plans for 2017...but at the very top of my priority list is publishing new chapters for GLM. I am dying to share this final arc with my readers <3

best story of the year?

GLM...because that’s the one I feel most proud of? I feel it’s the best of my works anyways! That, and I didn’t write anything other than GLM this year. Aside from starting my original novel that is...and that’s still shaping up! 

most popular story of the year?

Why, Ghost Hunters, Lies, & Money of course! I’ve had 10 years to build a following of the most lovely readers in the entire world. To know there are people out there who actually want to know ‘what happens next?!’ amazes and honors me. I am truly blessed. 

story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Kindred Spirits, my only Pretender fic-- as well as my Memily one-shots. The Pretender is a small fandom, so I know there’s not much traffic, but I really feel I captured ‘a moment’ in that piece, and I think other fans would enjoy it if they knew it was out there :) As for my Memily one-shots, that’s just me waving my shippy flag proudly, and wishing someone else out there would join in with me. Memily is a small niche ship inside the Primeval fandom, I’m a passionate shipper, but I’m one of the few [sigh]

most fun story to write:

GLM! I get so excited about different plot points, revealing twists, badgering my characters with embarrassing hijinks, setting up inside jokes. I often laugh to myself while writing it, much to the alarm of my cat lol!

story with the single sexiest moment:

Hee, hee, hee-- I guess it depends on your perception of sexy? Sorry kids, I don’t do NC-17. I come from the Jane Austen school of romance. A brush of the hand. A low whisper. Locked eyes. Surprise gestures, which reveal hidden feelings. Subtly. I am a huge fan of the ‘slow-burn’, building tension. Passion is an aspect of romance that is fascinating to me. I feel you can have passionate characters, involved in a passionate romance...and not have to hit the sheets in the first chapter. I really enjoy writing passionate characters... characters who are passionate about each other...and how that passion comes out. But anyways, back to the question! 

Sexiest moment I’ve ever written? In my style, I guess you could look to my reviewers for an answer to this one, I’ve scattered some special moments between Mai and Naru through out my fic that I know have gotten quite a reaction ;) I personally change my mind on this all of the time, but right now I’d say the most passionate scene I’ve written, would be the final scenes of Chapter 23. Mai and Naru alone at base after the blood rain in the theater. There’s a certain intensity there, so much tension has built up between them, there are things she wants to tell him, but can’t-- and he knows it. He’s worried for her, and she’s worried for him, and through that their passion for each other shows. The whole scene has that oooh-something-might-happen feeling, you just kind of hold your breath...it’s enough to make my heart race, and I’m the one who wrote it! Yes, I know I’m a dork ^__^

most sweet story:

Bedside Manner, hands down. It’s the first piece I wrote for the Ghost Hunt fandom and it features a really sweet ‘what-if’ scenario between John and Masako, where he takes care of her at the hospital after she’s hurt on their first case. Say it with me, awwww! <3 

”holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you!” story:

According to my sister, who pre-reads my GLM chapters before I post them: the Mr. Sachi x Miss Miyuki twist. Sorry? [evil cackle]

story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters & most unintentionally telling story:

No exact example of this really, except that after writing GLM for so long I feel even closer to the characters, that I know them better. Also, I’m having a harder time distinguishing between canon, and the canon of my fic...oops? lol!

Writing Kindred Spirits really put me in Catherine and Sydney’s frame of mind...which was really interesting. Writing out that piece between them really helped me build better theories on who they were as characters during the events of that time, which the show kept mostly hidden from us.

hardest story to write:

I sound like a broken record, but GLM. Naturally, right? It’s my longest running work and it has a mystery plot that, believe it or not, is not my greatest strength. Then there’s the added pressure of wanting to meet not only my expectations, but the expectations of my readers. I’m a perfectionist and I end up revising so much of what I write. Takes me forever. 

Also, my original novel. Every aspect of my novel is in the developing phase, nothing is certain or concrete, there’s just this vague sense of what I want the story to be and the excitement that goes with it. Every sentence I write is experimental. It has been a real challenge getting off the ground and out of my comfort zone. I have my good days and bad days. Still, I’m learning and looking forward to what these fingers will type next! 

biggest disappointment:

So many things. I think that’s apart of the yin/yang of writing. I’ve written and lost pieces of original work due to computer errors. That has to be the most disappointing, down right painful actually :( I back up my work obsessively now. 

Also, actually being able to write when I do have the time. It’s so funny that way. There will be plenty of times where I make the time, sit down all ready...and can’t seem to put out anything? Ah, the woes of being a writer ;)

biggest surprise:

How well received my work has been, the reviews my readers leave for me. Being a writer, putting yourself out there-- it’s nerve wrecking. Self-doubt is my friend. To get the kind of response I’ve gotten over the years, I am so grateful for it. When I say reviews fuel my writing, I truly mean it. Nothing motivates me like hearing that someone just can’t wait for more! Or that my writing has touched someone, made them laugh, ect...oh goodess! <3

taggity tags: @sy5starplaty (because I know you write :D) AND anyone else who writes that follows me, really-- I tag you! Do this, I want to hear about your writing :) 

[ecotone99]

[RF] A Ruined Day for an Early Hiker

I’m guessing no one ever really reads this, one or two cops probably read it as evidence, maybe if someone finds this before my body. Well if you’re unlucky enough to be reading this I have some bad news, there’s a body floating somewhere in the lake.

I guess the best place to start would be who I am, then later I can explain why and how I got here. In 1994 two people in their early 20’s met at a Real Mccoy concert, they smoked some pot and talked about space aliens, Bryan was of the belief that space aliens not only existed, but had visited our planet Earth on numerous occasions, Amanda was of the belief that space aliens didn’t really matter, and that she’d rather ponder over the mysteries in Bryan’s pants.

They made love under the stars, which is a very strange thing to do if you believe in space aliens, especially if you believe those aliens often research our planet with very strong telescopes, which of course, Bryan believed. Afterwards Amanda lit a cigarette and told Bryan that while she liked him a lot, she would have to skip town soon, she was a novelist on an adventure, and this little town in Texas was not where the universe was calling her. Amanda had always been a believer that the universe had a plan for each of us, which in retrospect made it particularly strange that she didn’t believe in space aliens.

Bryan was of course saddened by the fact that this beautiful girl would be leaving soon, but he knew he was in no position to adventure with her, he’d just landed a new job at a company that built airplanes, and he’d been taking classes at the local university. Bryan’s life was in that little Texas town, and he was ready to settle down, he’d leave the adventuring for another day.

I am not Bryan, and if you’re reading this before you find my body you should know I’m not Amanda either, while I do have her eyes and nose, there’s a rather distinct difference in what we have between our legs, presumably I got that from Bryan.

I’ve never been a huge fan of overly suspenseful non fiction, so I’ll just tell you now, Amanda’s book was brilliant, Bryan became a spaceship engineer, and they never met again. Oh and they managed to create a fucking monster.

My mother died when I was 15, which I found rather depressing, she’d finished her novel a few months before and was in the process of publishing, when a routine trip to the doctor’s ended badly. You’ve heard that story before, to sum it up quickly, there was a whole lot of crying, surgery, and chemo. After she died the publishing company sent me a very nice gift basket and a letter apologizing but mentioning that they would not be publishing my mother’s book, she was too unknown to publish post-mortem.

Before she passed away my mother gave me an address, my father, she told me, lived in a small town in Texas, he built airplanes, liked the real Mccoy, but thought their album Space Invaders was a bit derivative, and spent most nights looking for space invaders of his own. I threw the address away of course, I hadn’t needed this man yet, and he clearly had better things to do than raise me. Unfortunately some social workers got a hold on the address and had different plans. A week after my mother’s funeral I was on a bus from Kentucky to Texas.

In my defense, I had just gone through a very traumatic event, found out my father didn’t know I existed, and met twin babies that were my new half brothers, it was a stressful time, but I treated the last of my family like shit for the next three years. I should’ve helped with the babies, I should’ve gotten a job, or at the very least helped around the house, instead I spent every day getting high and doing nothing important.

I ruined their marriage, my dad claimed it wasn’t my fault, and of course they both played their parts but I have a feeling it’s a lot easier to raise somebody else’s bastard if he isn’t selling pot to the neighbor’s kids. After the divorce my dad and I moved into a small apartment, he saw the twins most weekends, but I never really found much of a point in it.

I graduated highschool and had good enough grades to get into a small university an hour from my father’s apartment. On the last day I spent in that apartment we shared a 6 pack and my dad told me the story of how he met my mother, it was short enough to include in my suicide note. We both apologized, I forgave him, it wasn’t his fault my mother never told him I existed, and he’d stayed by my side while I destroyed his life.

“Where to next?” I asked him right before we went to bed.

“I guess maybe it’s my turn for an adventure.” We saw each other a few times after that.

College was fine for me, I followed in my father’s footsteps and went into the sciences, I spent five years in that place and managed to walk out with a degree in Computer Science. I had friends there, met girls, and finally did a little more with myself than just smoking weed. My fifth and final year at university was when I started to see the signs.

It started like radio static, like voices were talking very far away and while the noise was carried to me, the words were lost on the journey. I ignored it for a while, nothing more than stress and partying too much.I went to the doctor after the first time I made out a full sentence; “Rape that girl, make her bleed.”

A minor case of paranoid schizophrenia, Thiothixene, one pill a day, and weekly therapy, that’s what they told me it would cost to get the voices to shut up. It worked for another year, and I managed to graduate and get a job validating software, a job anyone could do just fine after a lobotomy.

I didn’t make many friends after college, I spent two years at the same job and went out with my coworkers only a handful of times. There was one girl at work I was obsessed with, Jolene, a gorgeous woman only a year my senior. Jolene worked in our accounting department, she was smart, funny, and cute. Oh and I’m using the past tense because her body is wrapped in a blanket in the trunk of my car.

I didn’t mean to kill her, neither did the voices, at least I don’t think they did, but Jolene stumbled upon my secret and she wanted to leave and she was going to leave and tell everyone and the voices said if I didn’t stop her she would tell them and she wanted to leave so I took the bottle in my hand and I wasn’t thinking but I hit her with the bottle but I hit her too hard.

I didn’t want to hurt her.

She kept breathing for a while, I watched her chest rise and fall for a few minutes, but she was leaking. Blood dripped from her head and her blond hair slowly stained crimson as it clumped together.

I wanted to call an ambulance, I wanted to save her, but they told me not to, they said if we did we’d be locked up tortured there, hurt, raped, beat, killed for what we did.

I tried to reason with them, “But if she lives they can’t be that mad at me, they’ll help they won’t hurt me!”

Then there was a booming laughter drowning in the static of my brain, the volume turned as high as it could go. The voice screamed to me, cackling all the while, “No one will care about this girl, but for what’s on your computer they’ll kill you.”

What is on my computer was put there by someone else, someone using my hands to press the keys, but another person all together. I wasn’t the one making the decision and I didn’t even know it was there until tonight, honest. Well some of it I knew about, the adults, that was the secret she found out, the reason I hit her, but the other stuff I swear was news to me.

I know it was all wrong. I knew it all along, but I guess I just thought no one would really be hurt, it was just for me. But Jolene had been hurt, she was terrified when she saw herself on my computer, fully nude and bent in a submissive position, an intimate photo taken by a lover long ago and still backed up to his Google account. She asked me how I’d gotten it and I lied, told her he’d sent it to me unprompted and for no reason. Of course she didn’t believe me, maybe if I’d been a better liar she’d still be breathing.

And that’s when the radio static demanded I “Stop her! Before she sees everyone else!” Then there was an argument, a bottle, a leaky head, and a slow rhythmic breathing fading away.

I stole her nudes, and others, and set up hidden cameras, it was wrong but I couldn’t stop myself, but this, this was so much worse, but it wasn’t me, the voices did it, not me. Now some poor girl lay dead in my trunk because of them, all because of the voices that never shut up. The voices weren’t content ruining my life alone, they had to drag everyone else down with me. I am the outlet, I cause all of this suffering.

I am proof God either doesn’t exist, or is the world’s biggest asshole, a real loving God would have killed me the day I was born. My mother would’ve finished her book years earlier, she’d die happy as a published author, my father would be happily married, Jolene would walk into work tomorrow, and the twins, the things the voices made me do to them. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

They’re screaming at me even now. They want me to stop, to make myself throw up. “Cut up the body, hide it here. Run! Escape!” They won’t stop yelling things like this to me, it makes me think they’ll die with me.The thought of them dying is all that keeps me moving now. I’m nearly paralyzed with fear but I’ll keep going I can still bring some good to the world, if only by stopping my own evil.

I’m sorry, I’m scared, I don’t want to die, but I’ll die for you, for the good of all of you.

I finished the bottle of Thiothixene and washed it down with some bourbon, nice stuff from Kentucky, from home, from a time before the voices, before I was afraid, before I was a monster.

I’m leaving the notebook here on the dock, thank you for reading this. If there’s a God in heaven I’ll tell him off for all of you. For now I think I’ll go float into the lake for one last swim. The stars are beautiful tonight, I’ll look out towards them and watch for space aliens.

Goodnight.

I’m so sorry.

Dante

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