Happy Merlin Anniversary! We Are Still Waiting At The Lake.

compilation

I really want to see Possessed Philza because

A) Eggza would be absolutely fucking terrifying. Bad and Ant are scary on a surface level because they want to infect people, but they’re really just a couple of chaos gremlins. Phil? Oh Phil is war hardened, Phil is a tactician. The server wouldn’t last a fucking week.

B) Can you fucking imagine how Techno would react? Phil means the absolute world to him, just picture the angst of Techno confronting a possessed Philza and potentially having to fight his best friend/father. He’d turn the server upside down to find a cure

sherlock gets bored between cases (lonely, mrs hudson thinks, but he scoffs when she tells him so), and he starts tinkering with things around the flat. even though he makes a mess, she generally doesn’t mind because when he’s done pulling things apart, he usually puts them back together again, mostly in the right order. and on occasion things even end up put together a little better than before. the latch on the sitting room door no longer sticks. the tap in the bath no longer drips. the door on the oven no longer squeaks.

but then lestrade calls while the pieces of the kitchen lamp are still strewn across the table and the worktop, while dark wires still snake down from the ceiling, precarious and ready to bite. sherlock’s only halfway done with the tinkering and not at all done with the putting back together, but there’s a case, and it’s a beautiful one–a body in a place it wasn’t meant to be, a piece of evidence that leads them in a circle rather than in a straight line to a suspect, a motive, an arrest–and sherlock has no interest in the inner workings of kitchen lamps when he has the inner workings of a murder to pull apart instead. 

it takes days to even begin to solve, and every time mrs hudson comes up to dust or to trade out a fresh sandwich for the untouched one she’d left the day before, she presses the switch out of habit and is greeted by a shower of angry golden sparks. sherlock holmes, she demands around the drum of her heart against her fragile ribs, but he’s too caught up in the labyrinth of the case, in the sticky mire of his own head to even hear her. so she does what any sensible landlady would do when faced with the aftermath of a bored consulting detective: she gets a man in. 

she plucks his name out of the telephone directory because she knew a watson once, and he was a solid and dependable sort. when she phones, the voice on the other end of the line is a little distant, a little sad perhaps, but cordial enough, and he agrees to come round today if she doesn’t mind that it might not be until late. she tries to warn sherlock, but she’s sure he hasn’t heard. at least with a case on, there’s only a slim chance he’ll be sheet-clad when the electrician arrives–they don’t need a repeat of the plumber incident. still, she thinks, the fright would serve sherlock right for leaving her kitchen in such a state. nevertheless, when the man knocks on the door at half four, she leads him upstairs herself, sure to step in all the places that squeak, to knock, to open the door slowly so sherlock isn’t caught unaware. she half-expects him to still be nearly catatonic in his chair, knees tucked up under his chin, a habit that makes him look so endearingly young. but instead she finds him at the window, the afternoon light warming his skin and streaking the dark smudge of his hair with fiery mahogany. oh, sherlock dear, she says as the electrician limps up the last of the stairs, this man’s here to see about the–

sparks. 

the word slips out of john watson’s mouth on a whisper of breath as he stutters to a stop in the doorway. mrs hudson’s brow wrinkles, yes exactly, that’s what… she turns back to sherlock to find him similarly frozen and wide-eyed, a gentle blush blossoming in his cheeks. …i was going to… and back to john just as he starts to come back to himself, pulling his shoulders back and his spine up straighter, looking almost as if he doesn’t even need the cane in his hand.

right, she says, the hint of a smile curling around the word. i’ll just… she slips around john watson, throwing a glance back over her shoulder as sherlock flutters into motion, hurrying off toward the kitchen and offering to clear away some of the mess gathered there. her feet are light on the steps as she continues back down to her flat, the grin across her mouth growing bolder. she shuts her door tight and turns up the telly.

sherlock holmes and john watson. 

sparks indeed.

The actual aftermath of Round 6, btw..

c!tommy died with his discs locked in his enderchest. 

no one will ever be able to take them away from him again. the discs that secured l’manberg’s independence, the discs that helped him through exile, the discs that he and c!tubbo almost died for; the discs he played on the bench with his friends. the first cat and the first mellohi on the server will forever be his.

hey chat did you guys know there's a whole website with informational videos on the rights you hold when interacting with ICE or witnessing interactions with ICE. all written by immigrants and for immigrants. idk man it'd be a shame if people watched these informational videos y'know.

We Have Rights

We Have Rights

Though you’ve long gone cold,

The taste of you lingers on

And haunts all my dreams

AU concept I came up with when I missed the OSMP

(old draft i wrote back in like july or august) Phil is an assassin/bounty hunter known as “The Angel of Death” who does contract killing to earn some extra cash to take care of his three sons.

Phil isn’t ashamed of what he does, but it isn’t glamorous so he’d rather no one know about it, and works very hard to hide his identity and his hero persona in general from the public. The Angel of Death is just a rumor around the region and no one that’s seen him has lived to tell the tale (or been sober enough to be believed.)

However, his kids suddenly become OBSESSED with the Angel of death, and Phil has to scramble to keep them from idolizing him and being a bad influence. But they just think he’s sooo cool and don’t wanna let their cool new idol go.

So Phil instead embraces their obsession, crafting a more kid friendly version of The Angel of Death.

He confirms that the Angel is in fact real, but;

“His ACTUAL name is Crow Father, and, no, he doesn’t KILL people. He just watches over the city and is a simple night watcher. In fact, he helps bad guys see the error of their ways by talking to them. All the dead criminals that show up are unrelated and why do you kids even know about that stop watching the news.”

So Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno grow up with a WILDLY different version of the Angel of Death legend, believing him to be just some positive role model for kids that spouts wholesome messages and encourages good habits like “Brush your teeth!” or “clean your room!”

Techno and Wilbur grew out of the Angel of Death obsession a year so after that, thinking he’s just for little kids, but Tommy held onto that phase until he was a teenager, then they all pretty much forgot about it. Phil had long since retired and the Angel of Death legend is all but completely dead, morphing into a tale about a monster, cryptid, or spirit that once roamed the countryside instead of a mysterious killer that targeted criminals.

Phil, thinking his secret is safe, foolishly relaxes for the next few years, positive NO ONE will ever know it was him.

Until his kids come home from being away for quite some time, and start talking about their old obsession. Some dots begin to connect, like the hero’s disappearance sometime when Phil came home with a mysterious stab wound, and why he was always tired like he’d stayed up the entire night…

Meanwhile Phil is chopping onions or something a few feet away listening in just thinking “don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me-”