February 2nd, 2005

Supernatural - Castiel fresco

Hello, I'm a loser

Hello, My name is Emily, you may refer to me as Em, Emella, or The official non-stalker of David Boreanaz. Okay, so that last one is kinda not true, wait, I mean it is true, I'm not a stalker I just think David Boreanaz is soooooooo hot.

Now that my hormones have asserted themselves, let me greet you and welcome you into my probably only journal entry. You see, I am a loser who never follows through with things so, this might be the last time you see me.

I am an 18 going on 19 year old college student-ish (I haven't actually started yet) and I write very sad/depressing fics. I also spend about 8 hours a day reading/searching for Slash fiction.

I have no life.

I really don't, people with no lives think I'm sad and lonely, which is scary.

I'm new to this LJ experience, anyone that feels like helping me out and being my friend, (God I am so retarded)is welcome to.

So that's me, for now anyway.

Supernatural - Castiel fresco

CJ is the Devil

Raise your hand if you've been stressed out by a five year old.

So, I am a babysitter, I work part time, 9 hours a week. 9 HOURS A WEEK!

I am stressed over a job in which I work 9 HOURS A WEEK!

So every tuesday, wednesday, and friday I got to the people's house at 3:45, take the dog out to pee and wait for the kids to get off the bus.

At 4:15 they eat snack and we watch TV.

Sometimes they/we play outside, but the snow has been harming our outdoors time lately so usually we watch TV until 5. After five I make them do something else. Almost everyday I end up putting CJ(6) in time out. He yells and screams and doesn't listen. I have done everything I can think of to get him to stop acting like a little shit head, but It's impossible. I've been his friend, his teacher, his babysitter, his older sister, and his punching bag. UGH! I have been nice, mean, nurturing, sweet, stern, and LectureHappy!Emily, but he will not stop yelling/picking fights.

His sister Helena (8) is the best kid in the world, happy, polite, nice. Her brother though, is the devil.

The whole situation had made me soooooo fed up that I quit. Well, I was going to leave in the spring anyway, I just finally set a date today.

I can't do this anymore, I need to eradicate the CJ's from my life.
Supernatural - Castiel fresco


Title: Slayer
Author: Emella/Cherry Sinclaire
E-mail: kevy_s__girl@hotmail.com
Pairing: None; Slayer & Watcher; Buffy & Giles.
Rating: PG
Warning: None really
Summary: A slayer and watcher. The dynamic, the changes, the history, evolution. The slayer line. Short. Drabble-ish. One-Shot.
Notes: I started thinking about BtVS season 7 and I realized what Buffy realized; Giles wasn’t in charge, wasn’t the leader, she was. Also: this started out as a core-four(Buffy, Giles, Willow, and Xander) fic, but ended up a slayer fic.
Notes#2: This goes from the first slayer to Buffy.
Disclaimer: The characters/notions behind this story belong to Joss Whedon, 20th century Fox, and Mutant Enemy.


The first slayer was solitary. A single girl, working in secret, in the dark to hold the line. To keep the monsters at bay. One girl couldn’t destroy the evil, they should have known that. From the beginning there had only been one.

She was the first and last slayer to ever be alone. To walk the line between good and evil, day and night, light and darkness. She fought alone yet surrounded. Primal and basic, she fought with grace, speed, and skill. She’d stood on the grasslands, the mountains, the cemeteries, and at the flood gates. She held her ground and did not waver. Her hands shook and she lost battles, but she did not bow for any man; She always won the war. Alone and shrouded in shadow, she was taught to fight; a weapon against evil, against the dark, against the night.

A slayer was raised in the dark to fight the dark. Guided by the moon to hunt to kill, to stop the bad. Pale against the moonlight and driven into the night. Fighting, shrouded, concealed beneath twilight. She fought the dark. Alone. Silent

But then along came the watcher.

A watcher was to do, what a watcher was to do. A watcher sought out his slayer and enabled her to fight the monsters. He trained and guided her to her destiny. He lurked in the shadows watching the dance. Waiting for the inevitable day when his job was over, and she lost, yet again.

A proper watcher was good and just, and always knew right from wrong.

Watchers weren’t supposed to be bad. Streaked with rebellion and touched by the dark; He was the outcast in the age of tradition and polite solitude. If a watcher scoffed at gravity, he laughed at the notion of it.

Watchers didn’t kill people.

Watchers didn’t need to make snap judgments or come up with original answers: ‘When in doubt, check the handbook.’ Hellgods and souled vampires didn’t exist in the handbook. He was supposed to do. To be. To expect. To enforce. To require. To guide.

Watchers didn’t become attached. They didn’t care, or grieve, or love.

He wasn’t supposed to care, or to grieve, or to love.

But he did.

He expressed his emotions, he laughed and cried, smiled and sneezed, he yawned and screamed. He was supposed to work alone beside her: advise and escort. He fought and cared, lead and followed, loved and lost.

He wasn’t a watcher, a seer, a leader. He wasn’t the one in charge, he didn’t wield the power.

The dynamic had changed, they both caused it to change, to morph, to dissolve and rebuild.

For once, she lead the dance, she didn’t tow the line. The slayer hadn’t begun with a watcher, she wouldn’t end with one. Her power was lost, taken over by men. Oppressed and abused, beaten down. Taught that she didn’t belong, she wasn’t in charge; It wasn’t her power, it didn’t belong to her.

But she had realized, he had realized, learned, he-they were afraid, of her-of what she was. What she could do. She didn’t bow at authority, she stared it down. Stared them down. She wasn’t going to be submissive again. She was the slayer, one woman.

She didn’t belong to them, she didn’t bend or break. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She was as strong as any man. Stronger. She fought monsters. She didn’t weep in the dark. She wouldn’t be afraid of demons; she wouldn’t be afraid of men.

She was the slayer.

A girl.

A woman.
Supernatural - Castiel fresco

You Do What You Have To Do

Title: You Do What You Have To Do
Author: Cherry Sinclaire/Emella
E-mail: kevy_s__girl@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own all of these characters. The song ‘Do What You Have To Do’ is by Sarah McLachlan.
Summary: Home. Angel’s P.O.V. SongFic


What ravages of spirit
conjured this temptuous rage
created you a monster
broken by the rules of love
and fate has lead you through it
you do what you have to do
and fate has led you through it
you do what you have to do...

He stared at the boy.

A boy, a mortal boy. His son.

So much rage, so much pain. He could feel it all, every ounce of pain and sorrow. His face was etched in eerie calm.

Angel took a step forward. Slowly he edged into the room. There's an explosion behind him and he jumps, startled. The hostages start crying and Connor doesn’t even flinch.

“You might not want to move. Everyone's rigged. Can't save 'em all, dad. Don't know who's gonna be first. Could be any one of 'em.” Connor gets to his feet and reveals that he's wired too. “Could be me.” He turns and points to an unconscious body. Cordelia. “Could be her.”

No, this wasn’t happening, he didn’t let it get this bad. He loved Connor, his son wouldn’t do this. He felt his eyes prickle. He couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t let a demon ruin his only family. He takes a deep breath, one he doesn’t need. “Son...you have to listen to me. This is about Jasmine.”

“Jasmine's gone.”

“I know. We all felt it, that perfect love, then when you had to give it up—”

Connor moves suddenly. The blood of his vampire parents coursing through his veins like wildfire as he shoves items off a nearby table. “I didn't feel anything!” Hate. Rage. Pain. Fear. Confusion. They come to Angel in a wave, faster than he can discern, he can practically taste them. “I can't feel anything.”

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling and Angel swallows back the tears at the realization.

“I guess I really am your son... 'cause I'm dead, too.”

and I have the sense to recognize that
I don't know how to let you go
every moment marked
with apparitions of your soul
I'm ever swiftly moving
trying to escape this desire
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do

and I have the sense to recognize
that I don't know how to let you go
I don't know how to let you go

He takes a few steps forward. He has to stop him. He can’t let this happen. “You're not dead. You're just starting your life and—”

“No, you just weren't there before!” He’s so scared. Angel can feel it because he’s scared too. This isn’t about attention or wanting something. Connor isn’t a deranged psycho who wants money. He’s a scared little boy who doesn’t understand.

“I know. I'm so—”

“Do not say you're sorry! Doesn't fix anything.” Connor turns, takes a step to the side.

“Ok, look, let me say this. I love you, son.” He does. Connor is the most important thing in his life. He can’t lose that. He’ll die first.

“It's a lie.” Anger. Disbelief.

“It's not.”

“It's always a lie.” He sounds defeated. He’s lost what little he had in the world in a few hours. “My dead mother couldn't even love me.”

Angel is thrown by this. Connor doesn’t know much about Darla, but what he does is bad. Angel would’ve killed Holtz just then, if he wasn’t already dead. “You're wrong. She did.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No. She knew she couldn't.”

“She sacrificed herself because she loved you.” Tears are there behind his eyes, he can barely contain them.

“You tried to love me. At least I think you did.” He says it softly, and Angel can see that Connor’s crying too.

“I still do.” It’s a whisper.

“But not enough to hang on, dad. You let him take me.” Angel knows. He understands. Connor can’t understand why his father, the one who raised him never loved him. He doesn’t understand that Holtz was a monster. “You let him get me. You let him get me.” He digs it in deeper, but Angel recognizes that it’s not to hurt Angel, it’s to hurt himself. Show himself that his beliefs are lies, that a man, a thing who shouldn’t be able to love him, loves him more than the man who taught him what love is, what it‘s supposed to be.

“Cordy... you swore you loved me. Where are you now?” Anger. Connor’s teeth are clenched and Angel knows he doesn’t understand why Cordelia won’t wake up. Why she won’t love him the way he wants.

“Connor... you have to believe that there are people who love you.” He inches forward, swallowing back his tears.

“Jasmine believed you when you said you loved her, but it was all a lie.”

“Jasmine was the lie.”

“No! She knew if you found out who she really was that you'd turn against her, and she was right. That's just what happened.” Connor glances toward an elderly couple huddled in fear. “People like you. People like this. None of you deserve what she could give you.” He sighs, uncomprehendingly. “She wanted to give you everything. “

“I know how that feels. 'Cause I want to give you everything. I want to take back the mistakes, help you start over.” He won’t let his son do this. He won’t.

“We can't start over.” He sounds defeated. Angel can see his tears, and knows that Connor has given up. He’s done.

“We can. I mean, we can change things.”

“There's only one thing that ever changes anything... and that's death.” Angel begins to cry and he knows that this won’t have a happy ending. He can’t save his son; but he’ll try, he loves him too much not to try. “ Everything else is just a lie. You can't be saved by a lie. You can't be saved at all.”

a glowing ember
burning hot
burning slow
deep within I'm shaken by the violence
of existing for only you

I know I can't be with you
I do what I have to do

Angel has saved thousands maybe millions of people, he can’t even save his son and a part of him dies.

Connor looks down at his explosive and Angel knows he’s going to activate it. Before Connor can harm himself though, Angel punches him in the chin, sending his head back and pulls out the wire. They begin to fight, and it‘s not sparring anymore. This is life or death. Connor hits him in the head with a weight, then grabs a baseball bat and he swings but misses.

Angel grabs a bowling ball and punches Connor in the face with it. Before Connor can retaliate, however, Angel grabs him and throws him across the room into a wall. Connor falls to the floor and Angel helps the hostages undo their restraints and unwire themselves.

“Run. Hurry. All of you. Go.” If this is going to end in disaster Angel doesn’t want anyone but them to experience it. The hostages leave and Connor initiates the fight again. A kick here, a punch there, Angel’s not really sure, but then he’s flying across the room and Connor’s heading for Cordelia.

Angel smashes a display case containing hunting knives and takes a knife and hurls it across the room where it lands in Connor's thigh. Connor falls and begins to crawl to Cordelia. Angel pulls the knife out of Connor's leg, and turns Connor to face him. He hovers over him, knife clutched in the hand not holding Connor up. This is it. His last moment with his son. It will be better. He hopes.

“I really do love you, Connor.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?” He looks weary and afraid.

Angel almost doesn’t want to watch. The tears form again and he swallows. “Prove it.”

Before Connor can react Angel brings the knife down, sweeping it across Connor’s throat.

I know I can't be with you
I do what I have to do
and I have sense to recognize but
I don't know how to let you go
I don't know how to let you go

I don't know how to let you go.