#big spaces making buffy look small

[raisinchallah]

ok guys rambling post ahead but i think i may have solved femslash as in working to understand why people view femslash the way they do.. which is one we can look at the various popular femslash shows over time and as it moves from the xenas and voyagers of the world to stuff like once upon a time and supergirl i think represents a clear shift in television marketing conception of like what shows for women even are there was in many ways a greater inherent respect by the greater public for shows like xena and voyager which were both spin offs of shows about men that this was a safe way to couch these shows and buffy also a big femslash fandom but mostly a m/f fandom due to the prevalence and popularity of arguing about what boyfriend she should pick anyways the success of these shows and more created an environment of understanding genre shows (always the most fertile ground for fandom) aimed at women were actually quite marketable which lead to an explosion in shows that were femslashable but also that due to the perceptions of these shows both by tv networks and fans at large are seen as far less respectable or serious shows this is obviously not a new phenomenon like look at the vitriolic fan response to star trek voyager for being star trek show but nominally about a woman sometimes vs like fan response to supernatural a tv show that dares to ask what if buffy and the x files had no women and yet has a massive massive fanbase its viewed as a knock against a show to try and make things about women but making it about men is a neutral or positive thing anyways a lot of these second and third generation post buffy/xena/voyager shows all heavily influenced by them and their approaches to integrating women into a genre television landscape that presumes such heroes should implicitly be men have done so to like various degrees that i think also reflect a studio that devalues such shows as well theyre just made for women so they will have less marketing or have specific narrow plot points often based around who the latest boyfriend is due to buffys stratospheric success around getting fans to argue what boyfriend she should pick and the lingering specter of xena and the fact people will implicitly assume ur nominally "feminist" marketed show about a woman and her best friend are about lesbians

this places femslash shippers on the back foot as the show already knows about u and is trying to combat it in ways honestly i think more active and specific that people do not assume any show about two men is implicitly gay but women doing things by themselves not thinking about men 24/7 is as the bechdel test wisely understands implicitly is kind of gay so tv shows work to try and get ahead of that and the assumption that television for women should focus on the boyfriends again further disenfranchises such femslash spaces but anyways femslash always finds a way this is the truth of the world and this plethora of shows about women are now also viewed by the general public as something small and lame just for women and are viewed with far less respect than bad tv aimed at men or a general audience but these shows are also given like a lesser budget less prestige etc so fandom knows all about supernatural but has no clue what lost girl is but also i think as the idea of marketing genre shows as womens shows has grown there is also this narrowing of focus on topics they like to cover as well with prescribed stories and plots assumed to be "for women" men can be universalized women cannot in general 2000s genre television became extremely cruel intense and focused almost exclusively on men in ways that were simply not spaces for femslash to thrive which i think broke the chain of connection from like voyager buffy xena era fans to the next decade of major fandom and also with this growing divide of like tv shows where femslash could thrive "womens shows" are also often implicitly interested in like family motherhood lighter topics worse plotting because theyre used as stepping stones for writers careers as they move somewhere else because the shows are given less money prestige etc

this also creates a weird chicken and egg situation in regards to fandom and fandom perception like ok people complain femslash is too soft too uwu not dark and weighty like their favorite slash and well ok a show like once upon a time interested in being a "family" show using disney properties to tell stories about breaking curses and finding your one true love and bonds of family fixing everything but also has like ten billion variously shippable women with weird tension with each other is it no wonder it has both a large femslash fandom but also that a fandom made up of people who enjoy this show would be focused on like women getting married and having a gay nuclear family with their child or whatever thats just the text of the show (not to imply thats all thats going on in swan queen fandom but i need to limit scope here lol) but people perceive this as like prescriptive that all femslash fandom is just about the sweet soft uwus that are just not very interesting but also it goes into what people are willing to forgive like limited scope and bad plotting for men but not women you know like supernatural has no women to speak of and is about men grunting about daddy issues and copying the work of far better shows (that actually featured female leads lol lmao) but people wanna wax poetic about deans daddy issues but the outlandish fantasy setting and the fact its about women means reginas insane mommy issues are not breaching containment of the fandom

like there is also obviously lingering issues of well femslash fandom due to its forever perceived closeness to actual gay community vs the understanding people have many varied relationships with slash and comfort in the pure objectification space has also necessarily lead femslash fandom to have a paranoid reflexive streak in regards to broader like feminist positions on sex and violence and lingering impact of the lesbian sex wars etc and the fact that people may view femslash as more personal or more revealing as it should be like viewed as in concert with your identity rather than opposed to your identity leads to a paranoid writing streak for sure that writing more messy or "problematic" femslash says more about you and your preferences than with slash where people can view it as shared barbie dolls to smash together and eroticize if femslash is viewed as closer to a persons own personal interests and desires so people may feel more self conscious or more judgmental of others as well as the lingering effects of the lesbian sex wars and the specter of like is this good for women something that does not get contemplated much in slash spaces in the same way

there has also interestingly been well a confluence of all of these things been a sense of erasure of femslash existing in part because slash in some ways desires to lay claim to that space of "authenticity" as people self consciously wish to discard the old associations of the fujoshi as this distant fetishizing eroticizing figure and make slash equally about well earnest engagement with gay reality which was normally seen as the realm of femslash this is multifaceted i think due to the nature of femslash being seen as say a more authentic expression of ones own sexuality this causes some lesbians and bisexual women to feel defensive and uncomfortable about not liking femslash because its seen as the most clear expression of gay desire in fandom and this specter of needing to "respect women" has lead to femslash being treated as a bit of a dead horse pulled out to beat when necessary because people must use femslash as an object upon which to work out their own discomfort with the distance between who they want to be and who they are in a fandom space this is also coupled with an erasure of femslash history and pretending that this history does not exist and that due to the aforementioned narrowing of scope of "womens shows" has lead to them being pushed out of the public eye and a sense that femslash fandom must reinvent itself and that these shows do not retain precedence in cultural memory compared to say star trek or the x files xena languishes but anyways this is furthered because of this discomfort and embarrassment around what people perceive they should be doing and valuing vs what they do and people see femslash as a like concept rather than anything real because well a lot of these shows are not popular in the public imagination due to their narrowing audience marketing tactics and that people again simply dont care about stories about women and so people will just drag out pretending that femslash is too soft too uwu doesnt exist all women are cardboard or any other thing they wish to state about it to work out their own issues that the existence of femslash brings up to them which fuels the ongoing stupid circular logic arguments and people just bringing up femslash as a rhetorical tool to prove whatever the hell they want because of the various aforementioned factors that really impact how people view the entire enterprise of making fake women kiss in your head and the baggage they attach to it which further insulates them from ever actually trying to engage earnestly with this community as just a space of enjoyment because they think it has to have all this baggage and theres a defensive sense of well if i dont like this then all the people who like femslash must be a bunch of lame boring losers who only care about women kissing in a virtuous manner or whatever new association they wish to pin to it and construct artificially high marks to clear for when any combination of women kissing will clear that for them due to said weird baggage and the various distances between slash and femslash fandoms and insularity therein.... also people just hate women <3

[seeminglydark]

1. would caro and john be into the tv show, the x-files? would they buy tapes of the episodes and talk about their own conspiracies and guess about the outcomes of the episodes.

2. also your comic has help peak my interest for the supernatural and conspiracy theories. what are some stories or theories that you’ve learned about that you have found the most interesting? and were you a believer before starting your comics or has your interest grown as you’ve continued with your comics.

3.lastly, i’m trying to buy more secondhand items and become the diy punk that i’ve aspired to be since high school (too afraid since i was a closeted trans man and living with an unaccepting family), any tips?

i, like john, try to stay away from modern tech as much as i can. i’m able to stay off my phone for the most part and rarely use my computer but i’ve been looking around and audiobooks on cassette are kinda expensive around me so i like to narrate book as i read them in paperback. i was wondering if canonically john uses resources such as the library and what his favorite books and movies are. i love horror and am just now getting into sci-fi and i love watching movies on my vcr + tv combo and i sometimes use a blu-ray player for more rare or expensive (at least in vhs format) movies.

sorry for the long winded paragraph, i’m unfortunately unable to escape my strict household (despite being an adult) until i find a job and am able to save every cent. i also tend to isolate myself so i have no friends to help me out. sorry to vent to you about this but i just wanted to end this by saying your comic and characters inspire me and give me hope that i’ll be okay once i’m free.

YES. John is obsessed with x-files. every once in a while you can see he has the iconic 'i want to believe' poster in his younger years on his walls. He still has it as an adult. both caro and john like watching those together, they also enjoy the twilight zone, charmed, Buffy (they they agree the corny movie from '92 is the best) and those old Bruce Campbell shows noones heard of, re: Brisco County Jr. I think as kids they theorize, and as adults they talk about everything everyone gets wrong, now that they know how these things really work. John can always guess WhoDunnit.

Ive always been interested in the idea of the supernatural. im a big skeptic though, ill be honest there, even though ive had many 'experiences' myself. i kinda like the idea of the unbelievable. definitely making the comics has peaked my interest in things i wasn't too keenly aware of before, like cryptids. im fascinated by the concept of Missing 411, and missing people who reappear somewhere else, but Liminal Spaces hold my heart specifically. ive always been keenly aware of the off feeling in those places before i even knew what that meant. i love scouring the internet for images of things like abandoned hotels that give me a weird kind of uneasy, most of the things people tag as Liminal aren't really that, so its a scavenger hunt to find something that fits my idea of it. coming up with the lore of my stories has been an adventure. my interest has definitely grown, more in places and phenomenon than in ghosts specifically.

there are so mnay things you can do to diy punk stuff, in my opinion thats the best and most rewarding way. it sounds to me that you need to start small and slow for your safety, so let me reassure you right here anon, that punk is a set of ideals, and not just fashion. youre still punk no matter what youre wearing. a jacket or vest is always a good place to start, you can literally buy ANYTHING at the thift store that strikes your fancy. this is a canvas you will be adding too for as long as its yours. once you have your canvas, its time to create, and there is literally no wrong way to do this. you can use paint markers, embroidery, bleach, ect. dont have money for spikes and studs? you can use soda can tabs and bend them, metal lighter caps, hell even staples and safety pins always look cool. you can make your own badges by bending metal soda or beer caps around a soda tab with a safety pin through it and then paint whatever you want on the cap. dental floss is what you usually see when punks have the white stitching on their pants and jackets, its durable and doesn't break, since crust and gutter punks need tough clothes that last. if you're worried about your family, i would personalize it first in small secret ways that are just for you, such as a message beneath your collar as seen here on my friends jacket. and here, and here! he hides patches on the inside as well! Im including a pic of john hiding a patch on caros varsity jacket as well. i will post my jackets one day, my camera is broken but i figured id share his since he hides things more than i do!

John absolutely uses the library, its a fantastic resource for SO many things, depending on where you're located. He would also probably use a digital reader later, because many of them you can get library cards on and borrow books that way. he is not a strong reader so he mostly reads books that may be under his age level, like goosebumps, but who cares, do what you enjoy. movie wise hes very obsessed with cosmic horror (hence the UFO tattoo) his favorites are Alien, The Thing, Killer Klowns from Outer Space and the Blob from the 80s. both he and Caro love the original Evil Dead franchise, horror comedy like American Werewolf in London, lost boys, etc.

Thank you, Anon, for the long winded paragraph. You asked some really fun questions for me to answer, i love nothing more than to talk about my characters, it was a really nice little break from editing a new podcast episode. I am so so sorry about your situation, and i am sending you all the best and all the love and strength that you can come out of this free and on the other side and live as yourself. If my comics and characters stories can provide a tiny bit of hope that its going to be ok, than ive succeeded at what i set out to do. wishing you all the best. and look into your library, they may have resources to help you with this as well.

[coraniaid]

I mean, when the idea was first floated however many months ago, I thought it was probably going to be bad. But I felt it had the potential to be good, or at least worthwhile as an artistic exercise, if they brought in a group of talented writers who understood what was good and what was bad about the original show and avoided a few obvious missteps. And the three most obvious potential missteps I had in mind were:

Casting yet another white girl to be the primary Slayer the new show was about, as if the original show hadn't shown enough contempt for Kendra and Sineya and Nikki Wood and the murdered Slayer from Fool For Love played by Ming Qui (who never even got a canonical name and was only ever credited as 'Chinese Slayer'). [It's going to be set twenty-five years after the original show! It would have been so easy to just make the protagonist Nikki's granddaughter! Even the first generation of Star Trek spin-offs realized it would be a bad look to keep casting a white character to play the lead, and they managed to figure that out in 1993.]

Pandering to nostalgia by shoehorning in cameo after cameo from characters from the original show at the expense of any new characters or setting or storylines. [Honestly, even too much focus on Buffy herself would have been grating. We definitely don't need to know how Xander and Willow and Giles spent the 2010s, or construct ridiculous excuses to resurrect Tara or Anya or Cordelia. Their stories are over: maybe they didn't all end in the best or kindest way, but they're done. Let those characters rest!]

Undoing the final big spell from Chosen which meant that "from now on, every girl in the world who might be a Slayer will be a Slayer" in order to go back to the familiar status quo of the original show with a solitary 'Chosen One'. [The ending of Chosen is so, so good! It's the saving grace of the whole of Season 7! Why try to ruin it? And there are so many possible new stories to explore in this radically different setting that couldn't have been told before and are infinitely more interesting than 'what if we did I Robot ... You Jane again, but now with an awkward moral about The Dangers Of Social Media?'.]

Of those three potential stumbling blocks, what's happened so far?

Well, we've definitely failed the first one (something that even the otherwise pretty feeble Slayers audio drama managed to get right! and, again, something that Star Trek: Deep Space 9 managed to get right four years before Buffy made it to the small screen!).

Now SMG is giving interviews where she says things like "my dream is to bring back everyone who died" [everyone?? even Jesse??] which ... okay, it could be a polite deflection to avoid offending any of the old cast who might want to come back by pretending to think about it. Sure. I really hope it is. But it certainly appears that we're going to fail at the second hurdle too.

And frankly given all the marketing talking about the new protagonist as "the" Chosen One, as if she isn't going to be just one super-powered girl of many, as well as SMG's known antipathy for the later seasons of the show, I really have no confidence at all that we're not going to fail at the third hurdle as well. Is anybody, at this stage, really confident that we're not? Would you put money on it?

And, again, the above list wasn't meant to be a hopelessly optimistic "well, if the show does all this I'll love it forever without question" type wish list. I'm not asking for canon Fuffy or the return of Amy Madison or for the new writers to somehow make vampire soul lore make sense. These were literally minimal expectations if the show was going to be anything more than a cynical nostalgia bait cash-in steered by people who fundamentally didn't understand the lasting appeal of the original show on anything but the most superficial level.

And yet, well. Here we are.

... the new Buffy spin-off is going to be really, really bad, isn't it?

[blorgon-schmorgon]

buffy season one imagery series: high school is hell Buffy: This isn't this great power that she can control. It's something that was done to her. That *we* did to her.  (1x11, Out of Mind, Out of Sight) Willow:  I'm not okay. I knew those guys. I go to that room every day. And when I walked in there, it... it wasn't our world anymore. They made it theirs. And they had fun. (1x12, Prophecy Girl)

[slayheir]

Faith’s ne’er a care tude & bordering on childlike enthusiasm garnered her a softly furrowed brow, a look that despite Buffy’s best open-mindedness efforts, majored in critical Summers cynicism.

She wasn’t intentionally being a stick in the mud, even if that was her, so-say everyone, personality preset. In fact, oodles of festive fun had been an emphatically—declared must on their gal-pal night agenda.

This Halloween was going to be hitch-less, the best one yet. A supposedly easy feat, given the colossal suckage of her Hellmouth themed prior’s. There would be no party pooping wackiness to speak of, she had all but crossed her heart and swore on her prettily gilded stake to that effect.

Years of Slay toilage, averting end is nigh scenario’s, heavy in the plural, had earned them a night of dancing and girly stuff. Especially Faith, for months, ever since Sunnydale went kablooey, Buffy had watched Faith be a busy bee, the busiest in fact, zipping between aiding her in curtailing and focusing the eagerness of Slayer newbies—on a global scale and temping for Team Questionably Evil Angel. Faith had worked her butt off and while Buffy couldn’t help but worry that it was all just too much, she was undeniably impressed by the brunettes' newly found Slay-Ethic

But frankly now that she was here, ascending into the maw of big-timey evil corp, hosted by her vampire ex, at whatever the polar opposite of light speed was, her bubbly attitude and optimism had waned to all but nought and she was left with the cold—hard acute awareness of how insanely bad their being here was.

Bad as in Way in the Way of!! In no possibly conceived anxiety-induced scenario was this going to end not bloody! in fact surviving the night with a party—token of appendage shortage was pretty much a given.

“Togetherness fun. Next stop, hip-hopping-evil-palooza.” Buffy wrinkled her nose and murmured grimly in response, shifting from foot to foot with justifiable unease as memories of all the harrowing Hallowed Eve past’s plagued her thoughts.

The bell to the elevator dings a cheery ding of unequivocal— death, overtly mocking Buffy's neurosis and she takes an unsteady half step backwards, completely invading Faith’s personal space. “You know, I’ve been thinking..” She hesitates, clutching her purse with sweaty palms. “Maybe we should seriously rethink this whole—.” A small strangled yelp bubbles up in Buffy’s throat and pops out through her glossed lips before she can stop it, but she doesn’t put up much in the way of resistance when Faith slides an arm around her shoulders. Instead choosing to suppress the urge to majorly freak and scamper off to safer pastures as she lets a way enthused brunette guide her off the elevator and into penthouse hell.

“Oh.” Buffy's lips part in surprise and she looks entirely relieved, her eyes growing kinda comically wide as she surveys the demonclectic, shoop shoop fun-having crowd.

With all the evil law firm hype, she’d expected way less, Super Pretty at Prom. At least one bloody human sacrifice between the shrimp station and fondue. Maybe Angel Co really hadn’t gone total darkside. Oh Boy; her face flushes hot at Faith's majorly cute grandstanding.

“Subtle” She quips, the corners of her mouth twitching with a kittenish smirk as she slides an arm around the brunette's torso.“I'd totally planned on tripping and falling on my face, but as scene makings go? That works too.”

@igotallpretty gets a Wolfram and Hart Halloween starter

"Check it, B- even big evil takes a night to party it up on Halloween. It's one of the few official Slayer holidays and we get to spend it together now."

Faith was practically buzzing with excitement as the two young women rode the elevator up to Angel's penthouse office. Wolfram and Hart was a big, evil company that threw a big, amazing party for the hallowed eve. And nothing, not even making awkward eye contact with Wesley from across the room, could put a damper on the Slayer's plans to enjoy everything the evening had to offer. (She'd confirmed with Angel about the extensive snack table, mostly palatable to humans, and more importantly, the open bar.)

She'd been working on an off with Angel and his crew since the Sunnydale Hellmouth implosion, and it wasn't a bad gig. The vampire with a soul always knew how to give Faith a sense of direction, working towards the light. And Buffy still had a lot of responsibility as the lead Slayer, but all of that could wait a night while they partied. The elevator doors opened to a colorful display of dance lights and a lukewarm dance floor -- in the middle of it all, Lorne running around back and forth.

"Okay, well -- now that we're here, the party can really start," Faith said, putting an arm around Buffy's shoulder and walking her forward. The brunette raised her voice to anyone nearby who'd listen, "Yeah, yeah. I get it, two hot Slayers walk in and everyone gets all twitchy. I promise, we're just here to have fun. Big man Ainj invited us."

Well, he mostly invited Faith, assuming Buffy might have better things to do -- apparently they had a botched Halloween once before.

[fantasmalforces]

@maximuses SAID: oh my god, i feel like it’s staring right at me. it’s like the eye of sauron. -> sam and lupa

💜 most popular girls in school // ACCEPTING 💜

“Oh hush now. Don’t be ridiculous. The man’s long dead now.” Lupa chuckled, strolling right up to the oversized painting of Oswell E. Spencer hanging on the wall before them. While the copy of the portrait was undoubtedly quite unnerving with how detailed it was in some aspects - especially his eyes - the one factor that seemed to take from its intimidation were the various darts and blades embedded into the painting. “Still, he founded Umbrella. So whenever we’re feeling particularly bitter about our situation we take turns throwing things at his face.”

Lupa laughed a bit at how Sam seemed to be gawking at the painting still while Lou blew a raspberry at it to display their apparent disgust with the founder. “Hey, you wanted to see where we SWORDS stay. I wasn’t going to keep anything from you.” Her tail wagged slowly behind her, amused with the effort it seemed to take Sam to pull his gaze from the portrait. She gestured to various areas around the large space. “If it seems like this is just a big warehouse with a bunch of organized open spaces, it’s because it is. SWORDS couldn’t find good backing so our living space got the short end of the budget. Might not be the grandest, but it’s home.”

One by one she pointed out each member’s preferred personal spaces. Star’s featured a large U-shaped desk littered with gadgets and tools. Nearby it were racks of weaponry, equipment, and various suits beside a 4x4 grid of computer screens. Everything that could be purple was purple, from her chair to the rug to the scratching post at the end of the rack of outfits. Buffy’s desired a bunk bed with a hanging swing under it and several other pieces of wood furniture- all overtaken by various potted plants. They vines and stems curled around the wood, cushioning it all in a layer of plush green. Mariana’s section was little more than an oversized fish tank, comfortably bedded with gravel, sea grass, sea weed, and coral. Various fish shared the tank with her, gathering around the rocks and caves that served as hiding places and obstacle courses for her, all illuminated by a bright, sun-replicating lamp from above. Jude’s place featured an impressive fortress of thick blankets creating a cave-like shape, featuring a rocking recliner, a bookshelf, a small lamp, a desk fan, and a full-size fridge to store plenty of treats for himself outside of the kitchen. Ray’s featured a comfortable looking couch with a large electric blanket draped over it, several cozy cushions, a shaggy rug, and electric fireplace, and a small stereo system with a bookshelf practically bursting with collected CD’s a records.

“And this is my corner.” Lupa seemed a bit nervous to present it to him. It was tucked away in the very corner of the warehouse. Like Jude’s it featured hanging blankets attempting to create a cave-like feel. The large bed was dressed in a neat, fashionable grey and white comfortable set yet seemed unused. Beneath it’s unusually tall legs was a well-worn but still fluffy carpet that seemed to see more use. Beside it was a bedside table adorned with an incense burner and humidifier. Aside from the dim fairy lights that were strung about the interior, it seemed quite humble and impersonal compared to the other personal domains. The others had passion and personality to them. By comparison, Lupa’s seemed almost painfully plain. “It’s… pretty dull compared to the others’. I don’t need much though.” She meant that she was low-maintenance- mostly by force of habit. Though perhaps more sadly it implied that, unlike the others, Lupa had become so apathetic and so used to numbing herself to endure that she never developed herself after leaving Umbrella.

“Feel free to make yourself at home and use the space whenever you need it. I don’t use the bed. I prefer to sleep under it. So if you need to lay down somewhere quiet, you’re always welcome to use my mattress.”

[itsclydebitches]

(WLW anon) I really don’t like the “bad rep is better then none at all”. I hate that. We should want good rep, because bad rep has been used time and time again by homophobes as to say we shouldn’t get representation. To me it’s not “gay can have the same flaws as het”, it’s “fix the flaws in the het”. Also I know Renora being independent was a good, I was just saying in comparison BB. Also, yes, they were separated, but also didn’t stop thinking about each other. Especially bad with Yang.

Indulge me for a moment because I want to take a trip down memory lane and list some—just some—of the queer rep that has been important to me over the years:

Ellen comes out both as herself and as her character… years later, she’s a hated millionaire who is criticized for how she treats her staff

The wildly influential Buffy gives us two women entering a loving relationship… except then Tara is killed off, Willow goes evil for a time, and Buffy comes under fire for Joss Whedon’s everything

The beloved and respectable headmaster of one of the most popular book series ever published is revealed to be gay… except it doesn’t count because it wasn’t in the text and now all of Harry Potter is cancelled because JKR is transphobic

Kurt is an unambiguously gay teen in a hugely popular TV series, acting as one of the first overt representations a generation has seen… except he’s way too stereotypical and Glee is a joke now

Orange is the New Black gives us a number of queer women, including one of our first trans characters… but isn’t it problematic that they’re all criminals?

Brooklyn Nine-Nine hosts an out gay captain and gives us a bisexual coming out story that resonated with many, myself included… except now we’re supposed to hate all the characters on principle because they’re cops

Korra and Asami walk off into the spiritual sunset together… but they never kiss or anything, so that doesn’t count either

Steven Universe gives us a queer relationship and a wedding… but it’s an issue that this is just a kid’s show and, really, does it count when the rep is embodied by space rocks whose entire species only creates a single gender? Feels like a cop-out

Same with Good Omens. Yeah, Crowley and Aziraphale clearly love each other… but you never see them kiss or declare their intentions. It’s great ace rep though! Unless you want to level the criticism that asexual characters are always nonhuman

A character intended to be a minor guest becomes a show staple and eventually declares his love for one of the two main characters… except then Castiel immediately dies, Dean doesn’t respond, and they never meet on screen again

I finished Queen’s Gambit the other day and the main character had a one-night stand with a woman! … but everyone is talking about how bisexuality is used to represent her lowest point, so that’s bad too

I could go on for literal pages. Some of these arguments I agree with (Dumbledore), others I’ve pushed back against quite strongly (Crowley and Aziraphale), but all of them are valid criticisms depending on what part of the queer community you’re in and what your expectations are. My point here is that it’s all “bad rep.” I mean that seriously. If anyone reading this is scrambling for the comment section to say why [insert media title here] is actually fantastic rep, I guarantee that someone disagrees. Or if they don’t, give it some time. Just wait until the characterization becomes offensively outdated, or another part of the story ruins the relationship, or it comes out that the author did something truly horrific, or the terminology changes and it’s labeled as “problematic” now… just wait. At some point, any rep we feel is good rep now will be criticized, cancelled, and dragged through the mud. The rep that I personally haven’t seen much push-back against—like the beloved Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who, or Schitts Creek that just won a ton of awards—is wrapped up in the criticism, “So it’s all just about able-bodied, cis, (mostly) white dudes, huh? :/”  Even the argument that queer characters need to be written by queer authors doesn’t hold up. I absolutely adored Sense8. “Wow, a gay main character in a loving relationship with another gay man, both of whom enter a loving poly relationship with a woman, another lesbian trans main character who marries the love of her life on screen, an entire cast arguably queer due to them sharing orgy scenes centered around the emotional intimacy they share, everyone survives, and this was written by two trans women! Great, right?” Well, not according to the wealth of opinions explaining how Sense8 is horrible rep, actually. Every piece of rep we’ve got is either currently flawed or will become flawed in the future.

So what do we do with that?

That’s where my “I’d rather have bad rep than no rep at all” comes in. For me, that’s not waving the white flag. That’s not an oath that I won’t expect better rep in the future (I do) or that I won’t criticize the rep we get (BOY DO I), but rather just an acknowledgement of reality. The vast majority—if not the entirety—of rep is “bad rep” in one way or another, but I’d still rather have it than nothing at all. Because I’ve lived just long enough and studied media just enough to know what nothing looked like. It was watching all queer characters meet untimely deaths. Before that it was watching queer characters be derided and treated as jokes. Before that it was nothing but coding, where queer characters didn’t exist except in our own headcanons and interpretations. Obviously “bad rep” covers a very large range of issues and “They haven’t even confirmed this relationship yet” is a bigger issue than “This queer character embodies one or two, mild stereotypes,” but ultimately I’d take any of it over nothing at all. And enjoying what we’ve currently got doesn’t mean I’m willing to settle for it indefinitely.

To use an iffy analogy, imagine there’s a factory. This factory makes plates. So. Many. Plates. Big plates, small plates, plain plates, decorative plates, plates for every possible occasion in your life—and everyone with a steak for dinner is pleased as punch. You though? You’ve got soup. You need a bowl. Your entire life you’ve been struggling to eat your soup off a plate (it doesn’t work) and listening to friends and family claim that the plate with a slightly raised edge could be a bowl if you squint (it’s not). To say it’s frustrating is an understatement.

But then, one day, the factory starts producing bowls too. Hurray! Except as soon as you get your hands on one, you’re told you really shouldn’t be using it, let alone praising it. Look at the state of that bowl! It’s cracked right down the middle, ugly as hell, shoddily made all around… you’re not really going to settle for that, are you? And no, you obviously still want the factory to produce better bowls, but at the same time, this is a bowl. You’ve never gotten one before and you can finally enjoy your meal, even if the soup leaks at times. Sometimes a lot. But you’re still feeling better about your meal than you ever have before. And what you then begin to realize is that lots of the plates are a mess too. They also have cracks, they’re also ugly, many are also shoddily made. The difference is that the factory is producing so many plates at such a rapid pace that every steak eater is able to get by. One plate breaks completely? You’ve got a thousand fallbacks. Don’t like the look of this one? A thousand other options. You disagree about what “shoddily made” means? Luckily there are enough plates that everyone can find what they prefer! But the bowls… there’s only a few. Some are really expensive. Others are only available for a limited time before they suddenly disappear. Your bowl breaks and you have to wait months, years sometimes, to get another one. You’re constantly told to go buy this one obscure bowl no one else has heard about and yeah, you like it... but you’d also like to buy one of the bowls everyone is already enjoying. You find yourself looking at the plates and thinking, “I’d like that. I’d like to have so many options that the flaws, while still a problem, are much more bearable.” You’re still going to demand that the factory get its shit together, you’re still going to (rightly) complain about the awful quality of your bowl… but it’s still nice to have a bowl, period. There are still things you like about it, even if it’s a mess: the color, the size, the beauty of the shape of it. Its potential. You’re still pleased you have something to enjoy and that helps serve the need you’re looking to fill, even if that something is imperfect.

That’s “bad rep is better than no rep.” To bring this very long response back to Blake/Yang, I don’t think their problems negate their benefits. Is their relationship currently non-canonical and filled with a number of writing issues everyone has a right to be angry about? Yup. I express that anger a great deal. Are they still half of a team on a very popular show that is (presumably) set to be canonized as queer? Yup. I’d much rather live in a world where big shows like RWBY try to include queer rep and fail in a multitude of ways—with the expectation and hope that they’ll continue to improve—rather than in a world where authors a) don’t care or b) are too scared to try. Because that’s where a “good rep or no rep” stance leads. The danger isn’t homophobes because they’re, well, homophobes. It doesn’t matter if the rep is good or not, they hate it on principle. But if queer authors writing for other queer identities, or allies writing queer identities, or even queer authors writing their own experiences (like in Sense8) continually come under non-stop fire for their attempts… there’s a good chance that many people won’t ever try. We’re already seeing that here on tumblr with young authors admitting that they wouldn’t touch [insert topic here] with a ten-foot pole because just look at what happens when you get it wrong. And authors will get things wrong because authors are fallible people forever unlearning their own ignorance. So though it might sound strange coming from a blog that has turned into such a RWBY critical space, I am glad that RWBY’s queer rep exists, despite all the frustrations that I share about it. I think a RWBY with various types of “bad” queer rep is better than a RWBY with no queer rep at all, particularly when “bad” or “good” is so intensely subjective. There’s a middle ground between passively accepting whatever we’re given, and tearing into rep with such ferocity that we end up rejecting it all. There’s a space where we can be critical of rep and embrace the parts that work for us, simultaneously.

I hope and expect the het rep will get better too, but… that’s never going to happen instantly. To quote RWBY, there’s no magic wand we can wave to fix all our problems. Rather, it will take slow, plodding, meandering, lifetimes’ worth of work to see that change occur and I personally don’t want to spend the one life I have waiting for that perfect rep to show up. Because it’s unlikely that it will. While we work, I’d rather find the good in what rep we’ve already got.  

[archivingspn]

2019: Twitter- Eric Kripke

therealKripke: “In honor of #SPN300, here's my original #SPN pitch from 2004. The pilot story is very different, but the tone always rang clear to me. Could never have imagined what this show became and the good it's done. Humbled and grateful beyond words to you all. #SPNFamily @cw_spn ‘[images of spn pilot’s 4pg script]’“ - 12:08 PM Feb 7, 2019

[source]

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Supernatural

Pitch by Eric Kripke August 30, 2004

I. TONE AND WORLD

In one sentence, this is X-FILES meets ROUTE 66. Two brothers, cruising the dusty back roads in their trusty 64 Mustang, battling the things that go bump in the night. But much more than that, it's a show about an obsession of mine...

Throughout the U.S., (especially the MIDDLE, where I'm from), we have a folklore, as uniquely American as baseball, as rich and varied as any world mythology, and almost nobody knows it. For instance, Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil, at an abandoned Mississippi crossroads, to be the world's greatest guitarist. But he died violently, poisoned at age 26, screaming about Hellhounds as he choked on his own blood. In the shadowy north woods of Minnesota, lives a creature named the Wendigo. Translated from Native American, it means "evil that devours.” It feeds on human flesh. And even today, dozens of witnesses say it's very real.

There are literally HUNDREDS of these stories and legends and urban legends. There are dark and dangerous things out there in the corners of our country. So here's a show that travels the diverse highways and byways of supernatural America. Black woods, ghost towns, those tourist trap mystery spots. Really, a show ABOUT our country-the bloody, beating heart of America.

Unlike X-FILES, this show isn't Vancouver rainy. It's brighter, more colorful, more VISCERAL, and more irreverent. The humor here is extremely important to me—but it has to arise from the characters and their attitudes. The characters can be funny, but the weekly stories have to be SCARY AS SHIT– I'm talking THE RING; how what you don't see is much more terrifying than what you do. I'm talking about making this series as scary as I possibly can, until you guys call and yell at me.

But I also want the tone to be GROUNDED. Where BUFFY, for example, felt HEIGHTENED, our show should feel like OUR WORLD, real-life America. With a darkness that bubbles and boils just beneath the surface. And I want to keep the weekly stories CREDIBLE- leave 'em with a question mark, the possibility of a rational explanation. Something early X-Files did very well.

Finally, I want this show to capture a certain SPIRIT. For one, that youthful electricity of dropping out and hitting the open road; the freedom of wide-open American spaces. But also, EVERY road trip story-from FEAR and LOATHING to Kerouac to The Odyssey, are inherently mythic quests, hero's journeys, real Joseph Campbell stuff. The way STAR WARS, LORD OF THE RINGS, and MATRIX are all the same story, with the same beats. So our series, too, is an epic hero's quest-- across the United States. Almost like a modern western, and our heroes are gunslingers. Or, as I like to call it - it's STAR WARS in TRUCK STOP AMERICA.

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II. CHARACTERS AND FRANCHISE

Now, let's get into establishing our characters, and launching our franchise.

So if this is STAR WARS, meet LUKE SKYWALKER. SAM HARRISON, 21. Think Jake Gyllenhall, or Tobey Maguire. Smart, funny, handsome, maybe a little type-A. He just graduated Stanford with a 4.0, and now he's heading back down to L.A., where he lives with his Aunt and Uncle, he'll spend the summer clerking at a powerful law firm. And in the Fall... Harvard Law, thank you very much. Pedal to the metal, Sam is cruising the track to success. But, like all good Luke Skywalker heroes, Sam is vaguely restless. He tells his girlfriend, maybe he should drop everything this summer and blow off to Europe. But of course, he doesn't. He has too many responsibilities.

Sam's well adjusted, successful life, it's a real triumph, especially considering his background. Fifteen years ago, his dad JACK became increasingly dark and depressed. He drank. A lot. Until Mom and Dad were in a car crash. Dad was driving. He lived. Mom didn't. That triggered a schizophrenic breakdown in Dad. He swore that twisted, dark, horrific things caused that crash and took Mom away. And those same dark things were chasing after him. Dad was institutionalized. But he escaped. And disappeared.

Sam is ashamed of his tragic past. Hates his Dad, blames him for killing Mom, and NEVER, EVER talks about it.

Now, Sam's mythic CALL TO ADVENTURE, the events that will change his life forever, begin simply enough. When his big brother DEAN rolls into town. Meet DEAN HARRISON, 25, think Colin Farrel. If Sam's the good kid, Dean's the troublemaker. If Sam's Luke Skywalker, Dean's Han Solo. Charismatic and dangerous. Cocky confidence masking a troubled soul. Sam hated Dad, but Dean was older and remembered Dad in brighter days, and he worshipped the man. Sam buried his past and ignored it, but Dean was haunted by it, never quite got his shit together. Dean never went to college. Just sort of traveled around. In fact, Sam hasn't heard from Dean in almost 3 years, which Sam clearly resents.

And now... Dean makes Sam a proposition. Let me drive you down to L.A.- it's just one day, we'll get a chance to catch up a little. Reluctant, Sam agrees.

At first, they're enjoying the electric, carefree pleasures of a ROAD TRIP. Top down, radio blaring, singing their lungs out to AC/DC.

But then... at twilight... on an empty stretch of highway... Dean's driving. And he has to make a confession. (Though I'm sure we'll break this up into a few different scenes.) "Sam. There's something I need to tell you," Dean says. “I went looking for Dad. And I found him. Took just about every dime I had, but I found him. And I've been with him, for almost 2 years." Sam is shocked and betrayed: "what?! Why didn't you tell me?!" But Dean continues: "listen. I know this is hard to believe. But Dad WASN'T nuts.

                                                                                                                    3

Demons really DID kill Mom. Dark, awful things WERE following Dad. I know. Because I can see them. Because they're following me, too."

Obviously, Sam is BEYOND freaked and well aware that schizophrenia is hereditary. Dean goes on, getting worked up-“so Dad figured out how to kill these things, and he showed me how. Until they caught up to us in Baker. They got Dad. Before I got them." "What do you mean, you GOT them?” asks Sam. “I killed a demon. In human form," says Dean. “You killed somebody?!" "No, I killed a DEMON, it only LOOKED human.” (Which could be a scary, visceral teaser, by the way.) Anyway, DEAN continues: “Listen to me, Sam... it was Dad's wish, his DYING WISH, that I find you, that I teach you the way he taught me.” At this point, Sam goes into placating, survival mode. “Okay. Sure. Just calm down." But Sam's terrified-of his own brother.

Meanwhile, as this conversation's going on, Dean isn't going to L.A. He takes a detour-- for all intents and purposes, kidnapping Sam. They pull into a small, faded, all-American town in Central California. It's 1950's American optimism gone to seed. Basically, they pull right into the pilot's SELF ENCLOSED B-STORY. Whatever it is, the story should be simple, giving us room to focus on the brothers. It should be based in Folklore. And it should be personal—the job their father never completed.

Now, here's an example of exactly the kind of story I'm talking about. The real life ghost story of the "Weeping Woman," a sobbing wraith in a bloody white nightgown. She murdered her children by the river side, as revenge against her unfaithful husband. And today, it's said she lures unfaithful men to the river and drowns them. And sure enough, several MEN in this town have turned up dead by the river's edge. Anyway, something like this. And Dean, despite his smart ass jokes and references to the movie Poltergeist, seems to be taking this SERIOUSLY.

But Sam doesn't believe a WORD of it. First moment he's alone, he calls his Aunt and Uncle. “I'm with Dean, I think he's sick.” They tell him—"cops in Baker found your Dad's body. And a truck driver's body, too. Dean's the suspect. You have to get away! Where are you?!” But before Sam can answer-he pivots, right into Dean. Who grabs the phone, SMASHING it, furious: “Dammit, Sam, I'm not insane," Dean says, “Caspar the unfriendly fucker is really out there!"

Then, as Dean delves deeper and deeper into the ghost story, dragging a reluctant Sam along with him... INEXPLICABLE SUPERNATURAL phenomenon begin to occur, which SERIOUSLY RATTLES Sam. We'll have several good, scary set pieces. And soon, Sam doesn't know WHAT to think. And in the B-STORY'S climax, he'll even save Dean at some crucial point. (Though we'll be careful to leave things open ended, with just the possibility of a logical explanation.)

Afterwards, a beat in which Dean, vulnerable, says to his brother-"I've been thinking. And you're going home, Sam. You're smart, and you've got everything going for you. I don't care what Dad said, I can't let you live like this... Still," says Dean, "it was nice having you around. When you're with somebody... you just don't feel as crazy as

                                                                                                                   4

often." Sam's very conflicted, and he feels awful, but he can't just abandon his old life. So the brothers part ways. Sam hitchhikes up the road. Meanwhile, thanks to his Aunt and Uncle, the cops have been searching for Sam, and now they find him.

At the station, Sam tells the cops, Dean's in Colorado by now. But a patrol car has spotted Dean's parked Mustang at a nearby motel. The police grab SHOTGUNS, they're going to take Dean with force. And in the face of ONE PASSING COP, Sam sees-a glimpse. A shimmer. Something DEMONIC and INHUMAN flashes across the cop's face-and then it's gone, just as quick. Did Sam imagine it? Is he going insane, too? Or is Dean really in danger? Are dark, awful things really after him, like he said?

This is Sam's crossroads moment. And he makes a decision-he takes off. Steals a car. Beats the cops back to Dean. Warns him at the last minute. It's very TIGHT and very HECTIC, but Sam and Dean get away. Escaping by the skin of their teeth.

As we leave Sam... he doesn't know if he's losing his mind. He doesn't know if Dean's a hero or a homicidal schizophrenic. All he knows is-Dean's his brother, and he needs help. And for now, that's enough.

III. THE SERIES ITSELF

I think the overall GOAL here, is building an engine that gives us SELF ENCLOSED STORIES. I am gonna pitch some very simple mythology, but STAND ALONES are a format I really believe in, they're the shows I loved and grew up on. Like the best EARLY episodes of X-FILES.

So basically, our two heroes, avenging their parents' death, cruise the golden backroads of America-picture chrome diners and bucolic farms and dusty Route 66 towns. Places that are mythic and American, but also haunting, in a way. Places where horror can strike in broad daylight. Sam and Dean are kind of like classic gunslingers, or dragon slayers, finding-and KILLING—the monsters of American folklore.

So first question-how do they find the damn things? Dean tracks these creatures in a low-tech way. He scans obituaries for strange deaths. Dean also has a loose network of contacts - defrocked ministers and trailer park psychics, who impart information to our heroes whenever necessary.

Second question-how do they KILL the damn things? The answer—they have no fucking idea. They're outgunned and desperate and in completely over their heads. They don't have a WATCHER, like in BUFFY. They don't have an OBI WAN. They're on their own. Each week, they gotta figure out what the hell they're dealing with, and how the hell to kill it. And a lot of the time, they're wrong, and they have to improvise. Whether it's finding a ghost's remains - and burning them into dust; or loading a shotgun with silver buckshot, our guys will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

[pastelwitchling]

As a Malex prompt, what about: And how was I supposed to know that?

Maybe said by Alex? ☺️

by @youdrathersleepalone.

***

               Michael did dumb things. Everyone who knew him knew that much. Clinging to his anger, smashing things whenever he got angry, winding up in a holding cell every other day because his anger got the better of him.

               But the day Michael had come to see Alex, and found him sitting in his backyard with his head huddled closely to Forrest Long’s as they looked something over in a black journal, Michael could suddenly count off his Top Five Dumbest Tracks in his head.

               Track Number One: Introducing Alex to Forrest in the first place.

               Alex caught his eye and muttered a distracted, “Hey, Guerin,” before returning his attention to Forrest and – what Michael assumed – was some piece of literary art that would have Max tearing up. As if Michael was any stranger.

               “Hey,” he said, grabbing a chair and turning it, sitting across from the two with his arms folded over the back. He waited for one of them, Alex namely, to look up and smile that cute little ‘What are you staring at me for?’ smile so that Michael could reel him into more important conversations, i.e. conversations that didn’t include any blue-haired historians.

               But Alex didn’t look up, didn’t glance, didn’t even hum in response when Michael reached out and playfully flicked his elbow.

               “Sorry, just – just a second,” Alex finally murmured.

               Track Number Two: Playing everything Alex had ever told him or wanted off as a joke. It made it very hard to get Alex’s attention now.

               Michael shifted in his chair, and tried not to let the smirk fall from his lips. He knew he had no right to be annoyed. After all, he was the one that had basically handed Alex to Forrest. And they were boyfriends. And this was what boyfriends did. They hung out together and they wrote songs and poems together and they ignored certain cowboys sitting in front of them and trying blatantly to get their attention in favor of talking to each other.

               Did it make Michael’s eye twitch? Sure. Was his truck hovering a couple of inches off the ground in Alex’s driveway? Definitely. But. That was fine.

               “I like that line,” Forrest said, and did he have to press his lips to the shell of Alex’s ear? Didn’t matter. He was doing it.

               Alex bit his lower lip to keep from grinning. He was doing a terrible job. “Which one? That one?”

               “Mhm.”

               “Okay,” he said. “It stays. Okay,” he huffed, closing the journal and handing it to Forrest. He finally met Michael’s gaze. “Yes. What is it?”

               Michael tilted his head. “Aww, thanks for making the time.”

               Alex gave him a sickly sweet smile, and was momentarily startled as Forrest turned his chin and kissed his lips. Michael’s smirk officially fell.

               Track Number Three: Kissing/Hugging/Doing anything with anybody other than Alex. If it had hurt this much, he had no idea how Alex had kept from crying.

               After the long, languid kiss, Forrest pecked him one more time and winked. “I’ll see you inside. Nice seeing you, Guerin.”

               “Forrest,” Michael said with a raised hand, refusing to meet his eyes. It wasn’t until Forrest disappeared behind the patio door that Alex pressed his lips together and sighed.

               “And now that he’s gone?”

               “I want to kill him,” Michael growled, and Alex scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Alex, he just did that on purpose.”

               “He’s my boyfriend,” Alex said. “He kisses me all the time.”

Michael didn’t know which was worse. The fact that Alex could talk about Forrest and his boyfriend and kissing so easily, or the fact that he wasn’t talking about Michael.

“Does he have to do it in front of me?” he demanded.

“What does that matter?” Alex asked. There was no venom, no bitterness, no anger in his voice. It was all the simplicity of, Why, what does it matter if you see us making out?

“I –” he started, and faltered.

Track Number Four: Never telling Alex what he meant to him.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Guerin, what’re you here for?”

Michael stuck his tongue in his cheek. He tapped a finger on the back of the chair. “Nothing,” he said. When Alex gave him a withered look, he insisted. “Really, Alex, I just came to see you. I . . .” he shook his head, looking at the ground. “I wanted to see you.”

“You . . . wanted to see me,” Alex repeated. He leaned in, his brows furrowed like he didn’t really get it. “For what?”

Michael frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What am I – Alex, I came here just to see you.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” he said, “but what for, what do you need?”

“What do I need?” he gaped. “Nothing, Private, I just missed you!”

Alex’s shoulders fell. “Oh.”

Silence. Michael was staring at the space between them, his cheeks red. He looked up and found Alex rubbing the back of his neck, speechless and clearly uncomfortable.

“This isn’t a big deal, Alex,” he said with a light tone that felt as hollow as his heart. “I miss you all the time, even when you’re where I can see you. It’s not really new.”

Alex huffed a weary chuckle, rolling his eyes. He looked at Michael with a look that so clearly said, Come on, seriously? Then he said –

“And how was I supposed to know that?”

“Well, I . . .” he started, and stopped. Well, I tell you every day, he’d almost said. But he didn’t. He thought it every day. He felt it with every fiber of his being. Even to his siblings, even when he was dating someone else. But, thinking back now, he couldn’t remember a single time he’d ever said so much as ‘I like you’ to Alex himself.

He remembered, ‘Run and tell daddy.’ He remembered, ‘What happened? I was pretty wasted.’ He remembered, ‘It’s just stupid now.’ Never anything real. Never anything honest. Never anything kind. And now Alex couldn’t even believe Michael would come to him if he didn’t need something from him. It broke his heart.

               “Guerin,” Alex said quietly, “you didn’t even stay for my song. How was I supposed to know?”

               Michael’s mouth opened on a silent sentence, begging the words to come out now, to tell Alex the truth about everything, why he’d dated Maria and how he’d wanted no one but the airman the entire time.

               But then –

               “Alex,” Forrest called from inside. “Lunch is ready!”

               “Coming!” he called back, and Buffy barked around Forrest’s legs, scratching at the door and begging to be let out. Forrest and Alex shared a laugh. Then Alex’s smile turned sadder as he turned to face Michael again.

               He stood, and Michael stood with him.

               “Alex –”

               “Guerin, it’s okay,” he said, grasping Michael’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault you couldn’t love me back.”

               With a last pat, Alex walked away from him, towards his boyfriend, and his boyfriend’s dog, and the small family they’d made that no longer included Michael.

               Track Number Five: Not holding on when he’d had the chance.

***

Just a small thing I really felt like doing ���

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“Compromise”

Spike x Summers! Reader

Warnings: language, make out scene, implied sex, nothing more than PG-13

Description: You hate bullies. Always have. You and Spike get into it when he continues joking about murdering your friends.

“Don’t go.”

You’re tangled up on the crypt’s couch after a long day of you studying and Spike trying to distract you from studying, but now your homework’s finished and it’s time for you to meet the gang at the Bronze.

“You could come with me,” you say, pushing him off of you lightly and standing up. Your notes and textbooks are littered across the floor from some unconventional study methods that took place earlier in the day, and you kneel to scoop them into your backpack.

Spike spreads out on the couch in the space you’ve left behind. “No thanks, love. I can barely keep myself from biting them now, even with the bloody chip. If Buffy and Riley make eyes at each other one more time in my presence, I might have to go for the jugular.”

It’s a small comment, no worse than some of the other things he’s said about them, but it rubs you the wrong way. It’s not so much that you thought he would stop hating your friends once you got together as you thought he would respect you enough to not hate them so loudly.

Your textbook thumps to the floor as you straighten, scowling. “Listen, I know you don’t like the Scoobies, but they’re my friends. You don’t have to come with me, but you can’t talk about them like that.”

Spike blinks at you. Then a slow grin slithers across his face. His fingers wrap around your wrist, drawing you toward his lap. “Hey, don’t be jealous. You know that if I got to bite anyone, you’d be my first—”

You yank out of his grip and pull on the straps of your backpack. “It’s not funny. Everyone else I’ve dated has gotten along fine with my friends. I mean, sure, they’ve noticed that Buffy gets into a lot of fights and Willow is into some darker stuff, but they would never try to isolate me from them. They’d make an effort, because they knew it was important to me.”

“Well, I’m not like everyone else you’ve dated, am I?” He gestures to the crypt, to his incisors. “The Slayer and I are natural enemies, in case you’ve forgotten. And by extension, her friends are my enemies, too.”

“And by extension,” you mimic, drawing your vowels out too much in a clumsy attempt at his accent. “So am I.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Your hands are planted on your hips now. You still have to change clothes and drop your backpack off at the house, so you’re definitely going to be late, but this conversation has been building up for awhile. You’re glad, in a sort of angry spiteful way, that it’s finally out in the open. “Because Buffy, Dawn, and I are blood. You can’t separate us. And you wanting to, that’s not love. That’s possession.”

He sits up at that, and you backpedal, taking two steps toward the door. You’re not afraid of him, but you are afraid of what he’s going to say. Of how you’ll respond. Blood is rushing to your head, making you rash. Despite the cold of the mausoleum, you’re red hot.

“So now you don’t think I love you?”

The words hang between you, thickening the air with heat and tension. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms and you can see his veins pop slightly when his fist clenches. He’s trying to keep calm, but it’s a struggle for him. It reminds you of just how quickly the tables could turn if he ever gets the chip out.

“You treat me like a man,” he says, after a beat too long of silence. “And I’m not talking about the little bit. I’m talking about them.” He spits the word out like it’s poisonous, like he needs to get the taste it leaves out of his mouth.

“Maybe they’d be more likely to treat you like a man if you stopped being such a—”

No. You can’t go there. You won’t come back from it.

You suck in a deep breath, square your shoulders.

“I don’t want to fight,” you say, even though you really, really do. Both of you have been itching for it. Things have been almost domestic lately, which would be nice if you hadn’t spent the past few years always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You don’t know what to do with comfortable. Neither does he. “I’m going to go meet the others at the Bronze. I’ll see you later.”

“Fine.” He picks the remote off the coffee table and flicks the TV on, drowns out your footsteps with a crime show that opens with gunshots, makes you flinch.

Outside the crypt, you pull a stake from your bag and begin your walk home. You’re not worried about anything attacking you. You’re angry enough to hold your own. But you’re also not stupid, and it would suck if your night out was interrupted by another kidnapping. After you stop by the house to slip into something less comfortable, you go straight for the club.

The building is crowded with sweaty teenagers. The band on stage tonight is a good one and the music is so loud that you can hear it thrumming in your chest, taste it in your mouth. You dance your way through the throng to your friends’ table. Xander, Anya, Willow, Tara, and Dawn are squished around a formica top, laughing and drinking and having such a good time that your bad mood dissipates. You pull up a stool and Xander wraps an arm over your shoulder.

“We were starting to think you weren’t coming,” Xander says. He’s got a fruity cocktail in front of him that makes you smile.

“I got a little held up. I’m going to get a drink. Does anyone else want anything?”

“I’ll take a margarita,” Dawn says hopefully, and you narrow your eyes until she revises. “A coke would be good.”

“Uh huh.”

You drape your jacket over your stool and stand back up. On your way to the bar, you spot Buffy and Riley on the dance floor. They look a little stiff, but you’re proud of them for making an effort. Things between them have been tense ever since Faith slept with him.

Thinking of Faith makes your need for a drink extra strong. You throw back a shot at the bar and then get another to go, almost forgetting to grab Dawn’s soda. The bartender is flirty tonight. He’s cute, clean-cut. You’ve seen him around before, always hard at work, making people laugh with his jokes and getting them to open up. If you didn’t have Spike, you’d take the number he slides your way. As it is, you shake your head and smile.

“Sorry,” you say, and he seems to understand, going back to mixing drinks and chatting up customers. It’s nice, to have someone take your no at face-value for once.

When you get back to the table, you’re surprised to see Spike in your spot. Even though his discomforted expression verges on constipated, he’s carrying on a conversation with Xander. Well, they’re bickering, but you know for a fact that Spike could be a lot more cutting if he wanted to.

You slide Dawn’s coke across to her and flick Xander’s ear when he insults your boyfriend.

“Hey!” He clasps his hand to the reddened cartilage and Anya rubs his shoulder soothingly, although the corners of her lips twitch.

The aren’t any chairs left and the table isn’t all that big anyway, so you stay standing, watching Spike’s face intently when your sister launches into a story about a friend of a friend at school who swears the girls’ bathroom is haunted. He’s nodding in all the right places, interjecting with “bullshit!” and “bloody hell!” to egg her on. He’s laying it on a bit thick, really, but it warms you better than the alcohol.

Dawn’s eating it up, though. She’s not often the center of attention for anything mundane. It’s always about her being the key, never about her as a person. Xander’s rolling his eyes at Spike’s sudden rapt attention, but you think it’s sweet.

When Tara makes a joke that no one else gets, Spike booms with laughter. When Willow goes off on a tangent about her computer class, he almost nods his head off. Finally, the group dissolves as Xander and Anya sneak off to have sex and Willow and Tara twirl on the dance floor.

You stay with Dawn, unwilling to leave her on her own with Glory around. Spike keeps the conversation flowing, but his questions about school are clumsy and his small talk is bumbling. It’s endearing for awhile, how little he understands today’s education system, but you turn the topic to generalities when Dawn kicks you under the table. She respects Spike, in her own strange way, and she’ll be embarrassed if he knows how poorly she’s doing.

Then it’s all favorite movies and gossip and dirty jokes, keeping the conversation light even as you have to shout to be heard over the music. You don’t even tell him off when he details one of his old world murders to Dawn, figuring that she’ll hear—and see—worse in her lifetime.

When Buffy and Riley come back to the table for a breather, the awkwardness creeps back in. After Spike flounders for the fourth time while trying to find a safe ground to land on, with Buffy and Riley both giving him the stink eye, you drag him off to a more secluded spot under the stairs.

“I promise I wasn’t trying to offend Sargeant Square,” Spike says, holding up his hands. “I thought everyone liked to bitch about work. I didn’t know he had been demoted.”

Instead of answering, you rise up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his mouth. His hands cup your cheeks automatically, but before he can pull you into something more heated, you lean back.

“I want to say thank you, before I forget,” you say. You wrap your arms around his waist, slip a hand into his back pocket teasingly. “And I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t do it for them.” His fingers trail down your neck, tangle briefly in your hair, squeeze your curves. Everyone’s too drunk to notice or care what you’re doing, so you allow it. “I still don’t like them.”

“That’s okay. We’ll work our way up to that.” He rolls his eyes, but he’s not in a bad mood, so you push your luck with a cheeky smile. “I can’t be your only friend.”

He scoffs. “I have lots of friends. You’ve just— you’ve never met them, because they’re dangerous.”

This strikes you as funny and you kiss him again, longer this time. Being here under the stairs, buzzed, wearing an outfit that’s maybe slightly too revealing, finding a slice of peace in the middle of a war, it’s all so good. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but you’re so happy. You need to tell him something, but you don’t know if you have the words to convey exactly what you want. You try anyway.

“The bartender hit on me earlier.”

Spike grins unexpectedly. His teeth seem very sharp. You’re worried he might have eaten the man somehow when you weren’t looking when he says, “I saw.”

“I want you to know I didn’t—” You’re not drunk, certainly not drunk from only two drinks even though they were Bronze strength, but it takes you a minute. “Guys like that used to be my type. But I didn’t even think about it. I only want you.”

“That’s the only reason why I didn’t kill him. That and the chip.”

“That’s not funny,” you say, but he’s holding you in his arms and smiling down at you like he’s going to swallow you whole and it is, a little, because for the first time you’re sure he doesn’t mean it. He trusts you. And you trust him.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t protest when he leaves to go buy you another drink.

[prose-for-hire]

How the women of the Buffyverse would care for a s/o with ptsd:

Request: Your depression hc's were so nice and comforting. If you’re willing to write it could you do similar hc's for a s/o with PTSD with the girls of the buffyverse (and optionally any guys you'd personally like to add)?

Characters include: Buffy Summers; Willow Rosenberg; Cordelia Chase; Faith Lehane; Tara Maclay; Anya Jenkins; Darla; Drusilla

Requested by: Anonymous

Warning: Discussion of ptsd (but mostly its about how the characters would support you). Mention of medication. Mention/implication of destructive coping methods. (You can ignore the parts that do not apply to you)

A/N: Female buffyverse characters were requested, if you would like male readers you can drop a request when they are open again. 

I’m so so sorry this took so long to do, I lost my motivation after I lost the first draft but I hope these are okay !! I made this as generic as I could so that it could be accessible.💖🖤

Buffy summers:

She will always be there

Even if you try and keep a distance, isolate yourself

She won’t let you cut yourself off

Will suggest activities if you’re feeling particularly low or alternatively just cuddle up to you if things really aren’t going well

However will always have a suggestion that gives you something constructive to do

Patrolling, walking around the mall, maybe even helping her train

If you’re struggling with sleeping she will stay up with you

Or at least always be on hand if oh need her

If you see something that triggers you she would know exactly what was going on

Knows about painful experiences (she’s died twice she has buckets of trauma)

You would feel less lost, less alone whenever she was around

Lots of physical affection and cuddling as long as you were comfortable

Her number one priority is you being as comfortable as possible

If you really struggle leaving the house/staying in rather than doing things you might usually

she will encourage you slowly but will never push it

will ride out any periods of depression with you, you are not alone

always presses the softest kiss to your cheek whenever she has to go anywhere, always lingers, you know she never wants to leave your side

Cordelia Chase:

Cordelia will always encourage you to see a therapist/doctor

but will always be there herself to listen if you want to talk over the painful stuff

She has a reputation for non-stop talking

But she is a really intuitive person

Will listen for hours if it’s something that would help you

Also would understand if you just needed time or not to have to relive anything

This is where her talking comes in

Has so many ideas up her sleeve for distractions it’s unreal

Will always speak sense, the way you feel is not your fault

It’s a mantra she’s always repeating

if you have a period of particularly bad feelings (whether its flashbacks, anxiety attacks, anything)

she will help you in her own way. 

Looking up techniques to combat it, riding it out with you

will insist you try meditation, she’s seen on some talk show that it helps with relaxation and clearing the mind

she wants to cover all bases, anything that has the ability to alleviate the way things can get even a little she’s all over it

she’s not often seen as the most practical, but she really can be. She knows when she should ‘step up’ for someone she loves

and has absolute faith and knowledge that if the roles were reversed you would be there for her in the same way

will hold you to her at night, hoping you felt safe in her arms

Willow Rosenberg:

caring is in her nature

You would never ever feel a burden with willow

She loves nurturing and caring so you don’t feel that you’re taking from her in a way you might with anyone else

She would have little reminders for taking meds or doctors appointments

She would make teas and warm drinks for you before bed

always looking up ways to improve your sleep or thinks up dorky (and incredibly cute) activities to see your smile

loves it when you smile so much

if she can get even a half smile out of you she will glow for the entire day

your happiness means so much to her

she will do little sleepy/sweet dream spells for you if you’re having trouble sleeping

Doesn’t always work, but it’s the thought that counts

if you have bad dreams she will pull you into her, stroking you softly until one of you falls back into sleep

If you’re slipping into destructive coping methods she will understand

She has felt the same but she will never make you feel ashamed or leave you when you most need her

She may be firm because she knows you need it

But will never ever deny you comfort if it’s something you need

Anya Jenkins:

If you’re avoiding leaving the house or going certain places she might not understand at first

But catch her in the magic box with every known book on ptsd

Telling customers to go away because she’s reading something important

That’s how much you mean to her

She’s turning away customers trying to understand

Will come home to you and not so subtly hint that she thinks there’s something wrong

Will talk over, very practically all of your options

therapy, meds, the works

don’t get her started on all of the alternative medicine she stumbled into on her search for information

Try not to roll your eyes at her being so by the book she is really trying

Will open her arms looking at you, nodding and smiling

Will give the most loving and comforting parts of her for as long as you need

she will take days off with you if you need to take time out of work/education

will rush around and tidy things up, offer to make snacks or petition to get that show you really loved back on air after they cut it

literally nothing is too big an ask for her

when she loves, she really loves 

literally only wants the best for you

if you’re struggling to get out of bed

will make your favourite breakfast and be really excited about it

brings it to you on a tray

the best part would be sitting with you in bed and sharing it with you while she dotes on you

Tara Maclay:

would have a tea to brew for any mood or situation

sleepy teas, calming ones, etc

she keeps you grounded

the woman is so empathetic, so in tune with your mental state

its as if she shares your brain sometimes

its spooky

If you’re feeling on edge

she would know about it

has the most sweet and honest approach to your mental health

She will always encourage you to open up to her

But won’t ever be annoyed if you don’t

She’s quiet so will understand when words just won’t cover how you’re feeling

Would never judge you no matter how graphic or shameful you believe your thoughts are

Would never pressure you to share anything

but it is in her nature to do small things to make your life easier

incredibly selfless love

would tidy up around your shared space if you haven’t had any motivation to do so

would stop every so often, probably kiss the tip of your nose soflty or something

would gently bundle you up in blankets and make sure she had your favourite movies or a show on hand

plenty of comfort as well as practicality

Faith Lehane:

when you first tell her she listens, wrapping her head around everything

she loves you and nothing like that would ever change the way she felt

in fact she loved you more for baring yourself to her in such a raw way

some days she just wants to fight your trauma

Wants to literally fist fight your brain sometimes for doing this to you

If you’re cutting yourself off she will very subtly (yes she can do subtlety) make suggestions or invite your friends over

even if she doesn’t like your friends

will endure events and hanging out with them even if she doesn’t care for them

Chaotic in her methods but never fails to make you feel supported

will be very secretly soft for you

especially in periods where you’re suffering particularly badly

would do anything to show you she was there

incredibly protective

 if anyone blames you for the way you feel or is wilfully ignorant about mental health she will shout at them

(she will probably make sure you’re out of earshot though)

wouldn’t baby you (unless you asked lol), or treat you different 

would be firm with you, making sure you took meds and went to the doctors if you needed to

no wouldn’t be an answer

but you always know its because she cares

becasue she only ever wants the best for you

Drusilla:

would probably relive any flashbacks with you

So would 100% understand

she would know exactly what you needed and when you needed it

Would never let you face anything alone (unless you told her you needed space)

Such soothing, calming touches

Wants you to feel she’s always there

Maybe it will help ground you too

she has her own pain and trauma and would definitely share with you equally to what you would tell her

you would bond so intimately

you would never feel alone

she would recite such sweet prose

such beautiful stories that she may have written herself or have been picked up from long ago

would distract you from your low moods

if you were in a period of depression, she might begin to plan lavish events 

(ensuring you agreed to them of course)

each would be more ridiculous than the last

she would decorate accordingly too

and have a fit at anyone that got anything wrong 

(never directed at you, ofc and would quieten down immediately if she sensed the noise disturbed you)

you would celebrate a holiday every night

St Patrick’s day, St Vigeous, World recycling day

demon and human holidays alike

all in your honour. all to try to cheer you up

Darla:

would have picked you out of a crowd

and just known

you were the one

she adapted very quickly to you, wanting you with her as much as possible

by her side

wouldn’t be used to taking a caring role, but would definitely do so for you if you needed it

if you have a period of particularly bad nightmares

She would be there

For anything you needed

She sleeps in the day so would literally stay awake all night laying beside you

would stay holding you as you slept

Stroking you, comforting you if it was so bad you woke up

if you could not get your mind to relax and images or thoughts kept replaying in your mind

she would talk, tell you stories

she has hours worth of stories

she would try to keep it light, but may get carried away if she remembered a particularly gruesome story from her past

would embellish or change the story if she saw your look becoming more and more spooked

she has a very guarded soft side

only for you

[reanimatedgoblin]

୧ *·˚ First Meeting

୧ *·˚ Faelynn (s/i) x Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne

୧ *·˚ 1,002

Another night playing at the Bronze wasn't too bad in Oz's opinion. His eyes scanned the crowed; bad dancers, guys bothering girls with their 'best' pickup lines, the odd couple enjoying the night out. He probably would have missed the lone boy sitting by himself in the middle of the Friday chaos, if it weren't for the glint of his necklace hitting the light at the right time, drawing his eyes back.

Oz had seen the boy before, never in the Bronze, when he went to Sunnydale high he would see the boy making his way toward Buffy and her friends in the school library, though he couldn't remember the male ever actual attending classes at the school. He did remember Willow talking about him sometimes when they hung out... What was his name again?

The guitarist forced his eyes away as the boy notice he was staring. He hadn't meant to, just got lost in thought. He wondered if the male attended Sunnydale College, he had never seen him before - not that it was hard on the surprisingly big campus.

Oz shook his head a bit and focused on playing before he messed up or was tempted to look at the boy again.

The normal DJ took over as they got done, and the crowd thinned a bit more as they pack their stuff up. Oz found himself scanning the crowd for the boy he had seen before, managing to catch a glimpse of him at the bar are tipping a soda can in a circle. Waiting for someone, maybe?

He stared for a moment, before being gently tapped by Devon's knuckle.

"Would you go talk to whoever you're so interested in? You look like a lost puppy" he took the cord Oz was holding.

Oz gave a small scuff and looked toward the boy again. Maybe that wasn't the worst idea. He tapped Devon.

"Fine, I will" he smirked "See you"

He walked toward the bar and ordered a soda for himself, leaning on the bar next to the boy.

"This seat taken?" he didn't want to impede if he was waiting for someone.

The boy looked around for a moment, seemingly looking for whoever he had been waiting for, before shaking his head and gesturing for him to sit down. He took in the atmosphere while trying to think of something to say to the boy.

"You waiting for someone?" he asked, "Can't imagine anyone ditching you" a half confident smile appearing on his features.

"Yeah..." once more he was looking "Someone was supposed to meet me here, probably just got held up"

There was more silence between the two, luckily the music took up that space.

"Oz" he introduced himself finally.

"Faelynn" finally a name, he tried to remember if Willow had ever said that name.

More silence, Oz was thankful it wasn't a tense silence though, he liked someone he could just be quiet with.

"You... play good" it came out a bit awkwardly but made Oz perk up anyway.

"Thanks, have you heard us before?"

"A few times when I come to the Bronze, always liked it"

"I know its not some people style but -"

"I like all music, but your band is one of my favorites locally at least" Faelynn cut him off with a smile.

"Me too, I mean... I like all music too, rock is my favorite though" Oz wanted to kick himself for the small flutter he got from that.

Oz wondered if the smile on his face looked as dopey as it felt at the moment. He was confident, sure, but in all of high school he had never gone up to any boy he liked in fear of his smaller body being shoved into the lockers by some homophobic jock - so this felt different, off... but in a good way, a way that he liked.

They chatted over the topic, Oz figured out that Faelynn did go to the same college, which he may regret learning since now he'd probably be looking out for him. At some point, Fae looked down at his watch.

"I should probably get home"

Oz didn't want the night to end quite yet, he supposed there was a way to extend it, "I can give you a ride"

He paused a moment, before nodding. Oz got up and walked to his van with him, the band must have loaded up the gear and then found their own way home since Oz was occupied. He opened the door for Fae without thinking but luckily he didn't comment on it.

The drive was silent, his radio was broken, and he had yet to fix it, so they didn't even have that to break it, but it was comfortable silence. It was being this comfortable with someone after just meeting them, but he liked it.

Oz parked the car outside of Faelynn's house and looks at him.

"Thanks..." Fae says "Not just for the ride, for keeping me company"

"This guys you were waiting for... does he ditch you often?" he can't help but itch that curiosity.

"Yeah, but he's just a friend, so hard to get that upset about it"

"You want more than?"

Fae opens and closes his mouth a few times before shaking his head, "I don't think so"

Oz wasn't sure what thought process brought him to that, but it was good news for him at least, he can't help but smile a little.

"Well if that's true..." he paused a moment to collect what he wanted to say, "Then possibly you'd like to hang out sometime... I promise I don't ditch" starting out slow felt natural.

Faelynn smiled and nods, "I'd love to" he opens the door and gets out, "see you at school?"

Oz silently nods and watches him as he closed the door and turns away from him. His head hits the head rest as he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. Maybe Sunnydale wasn't all cursed.

[xayneimagines]

Part Time Immortality (pt 1?)

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Warnings: Cussing?

Genre: I think it’s cute and funny.

Summary: Y/n is a vampire with a soul who works a normal human job and does a lot of normal human things. Spike doesn’t get it. Featuring, Spike pinning and Y/N being a little hard to get? (This isn’t a request. I just started a new job and my body is hella mad at me for it).

  “I don’t get it, pet.”

  “And I don’t get why you’re even here. Now both of us are confused.” The kitchen was mostly loud and crowded, but luckily the spot of the dishwasher had some space away from the racket. For a while, Y/N enjoyed the extra space and the separation from others, though recently that space has been filled by a vampire who, for some reason, has been allowed to enter the establishment with little to no questions?

  “It just makes no sense. You do realize you’re an immortal being, right? All-powerful, grr, and what have you.” As Spike spoke he fished a cigarette out of his jacket, placing it lightly between his lips before lighting it. Spike had been at this same tangent for what seemed to be days. It wasn’t until today that he actually followed Y/N into the establishment, complaining about their odd choice in income. Really, he just couldn’t stand the idea of the somewhat object of his affection slaving away at some shit show that only gave them minimum wage. 

  Y/N let out a sigh at the sound of the lighter, not fully turning towards the vampire to address his oddly mortal addiction. 

  “Do you have to do that in here?” They didn’t hate smoking generally, but in a small place that was already humid and stuffy, it threatened to make them just a little more uncomfortable and that extra discomfort could cause them to snap.

  “What, is it illegal?” His face tightened, not liking being told what to do. Granted, he’d make a lot of exceptions for Y/N, but he couldn’t just roll over and be lovey-dovey when the bloody person wasn’t even with him. 

  “Uh, yeah. Passed 1995 in California...not that it hasn’t just been ignored for the most part...” Pulling the rack out from the dishwasher had hot steam blowing up into their face, irritating them further. 

  “Ugh, still so annoying.” They quickly wiped their wet hands on the apron before moving onto the next batch of dirty dishes, rinsing off the ones that wouldn’t just get washed in the dishwasher.

  “Yes, well, immortality doesn’t make you immune to getting annoyed...in fact, it tends to make it worse.” He took another long drag of his cigarette as he watched them move around the line. It was odd how they could make the most lackluster movements entrancing to him. They didn’t add anything special to their movements, but he could write a poem of how he felt it was a show nonetheless. 

  As they loaded in the next part of the dishes, y/n turned around with another heavy sigh and stared at Spike. They leaned against the counter behind them and crossed their arms, a pout setting in on their face. 

  “Okay, what is it? Why are you here? Actually, why did they even let you in?”

  “Well, for the last question, most of your coworkers including your boss is at least buzzed if not drunk. Something about kitchen service brings out the worse in any creature. Secondly, I’m just trying to figure out why you’ve subscribed to this bullshit? Aren’t you a bit young to have a soul? You should be out killing and stealing. Unliving up the good life.” His tone carried his disbelief and his arm gestures added that flare to sell home the point.

  “Well, the whole soul bit was a choice and I’m working so that I can get money so that I can pay bills and blah blah blah. I don’t do the dine and dash thing.” This wasn’t the first time Spike shared his disbelief over their choices. Heck, he wasn’t even the only vampire that used their choices as some quip against them.

  “Fine, you don’t have to. I’ll provide the all you can eat buffet.” The way he spoke was nonchalant and confident. 

  “Oh yeah? And what’s the price for that?” They couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped them. It was odd to be at the end of his praises, especially considering their past was filled with literally trying to kill each other. 

  “Just for you to be on my side. I think I’m being very generous.” He locked his eyes onto Y/N to gauge their response. It wasn’t as though he was simply testing the waters by this point, he all but declared the word ‘love’ since he had come to terms with his feelings. Looking at their response was more of a service to see if they were at least opening up to the idea. 

  “No, you’re being very demanding and persistent. I’m friends with the scoobies and an enemy to the big baddies, which includes you by the way! In case you forgot!” Their arms had dropped and they looked at him with such an expression of disbelief that it could almost hurt his feeling. It probably would have added to the sting of rejection if he didn’t have a good bet on them feeling the same.

  “...You think I’m a big baddie?” A mischievous smile spread across Spike’s face at the perceived compliment. 

  “Oh my god, Spike. What has gotten into you? You literally tried to dust me a few mo-”

  “BACK TO WORK Y/N! SAVE YOUR LARP TALK FOR OFF THE CLOCK. YOU TOO….BLONDEIE...” The boss had rounded the corner and had apparently decided to get strict on the amount of work being done. Y/N rolled their eyes before turning back to the dishes, shaking their head as they tried to brush off the shout.

  “...Honestly, it is amazing the human race has lasted this long.” They couldn’t help the exclamation, frustration building up with every moment spent inside of the kitchen.

  “See! You’re too good for them. You should be with your own kind-” Spike quickly went for it, figuring now was as good of a time as any to accurately show what he was meaning. 

  “You mean you.” Y/N interrupted with some annoyance written on their face but not nearly as much as earlier when the boss had spoke up. They had turned back to the vampire, already losing their motivation to continue the job at hand.

  “Yes, you should be with me. Glad we agreed to this!”

  “Spike!”

  “Y/N!”

  Y/N groaned and turned away from the vampire once again, annoyance causing their body to feel as though it was heating up despite knowing that wasn’t likely. While they were trying to will themselves to put forth the effort into their job, they simply just stared at the dishes. They stayed quiet for a moment, their thoughts racing with the conversation they were having. 

  “Spike, even if I said yes, you have that chip. You couldn’t provide if I wanted you to.”

  “Oh sure, rub it in love.” 

  “I’m not mocking you, Spike. At least not right now.” Their voice had gone somewhat quiet by the end of their sentence before they looked back to Spike, confusion, and a sort of vulnerability showing in their eyes. The look risked causing Spike’s heart to start beating.  

  “So, why are you being like this exactly? Last time I checked you hated me about as much as you hate Buffy. Something about me being a no-good vampire like your old friend Angel?” 

  “Well, you are an awful vampire. I’m not going back on that.” He snorted, eyes glancing to his hands as he fidgeted ever so slightly.

  “So then whats going on? Are you okay?”

  He hesitated at the question, always caught off guard when they expressed any concern for him. Of course, they would ask questions like that and then wonder why he was so intent on providing literally anything for them.

  “Why do you care if I’m okay?” He tried to egg them on, wanting to get them to confirm something he already knew. The question obviously backfired as their face went back to a look of exasperation.

  “Okay, if you’re just going to act like this the-” They were interrupted by Spike holding his hands up, trying to show he was backing off with his motions. 

  “You’re right, you’re right. Look, I-”

  “I TOLD YOU TWO-”

  “OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP CLENT! Jesus Christ, I swear, everyone else here can dick around, however, and whenever, but the moment I just breathe he fucking bites my head off.” They hadn’t realized how hard they had been gripping the lip of the sink behind them until a noise of metal crushing got their attention. They looked towards the now bent sink before looking back to Spike, already wanting the night to be over with. 

  “Listen, I get you want to do the whole human thing, but at least go after a different job. You’re fucking miserable, and coming from me that’s saying something. All these centuries I’ve tortured people and not once was I evil enough to put them into food service.” Spike shook his head as he watched Clent leave the area, his attention only being drawn from him when he heard Y/N bark out a laugh. A smile spread across his face at the pleasant sound that accompanied their smile. God, he’d kill to be able to hear that for the rest of his undead life.

  They stayed quiet for a moment before they shrugged. 

  “Fine. I’ll at least quit this shit job. But I’m still not being a bad guy with you and I’m getting another job when I can.” Y/N couldn’t keep their smile down, small chuckles continuing to escape them as they untied their apron. Spike clapped his hands together, standing up straighter. 

  “Good to hear. Now let’s get the hell out of here!” 

[cosmiceverafter]

𝔸𝕝𝕖𝕩 𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕎𝕖𝕖𝕜 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟕: 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 (𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝)

A/N: Things are getting weird as I mash-up two worlds: Roswell meets Star Wars. A bit of canon divergence au going on here. This fic is dedicated to my good friend @saadiestuff​ (sorry it took me so long)! 

Summary: The galaxies collide during what seems to be an ordinary night in Roswell, New Mexico. Alex and Michael receive an unexpected visit from a different type of alien from a galaxy far, far away.

Rated: G

Read on ao3

***

When Galaxies Collide

It was an average Thursday night. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Michael and Alex were getting a bit cozy on their couch in front of the roaring fire, just the way Alex liked it. 

They were getting in the mood when they heard it. A loud boom and what seemed like a crash from behind the cabin.

Michael jumped up in protective mode, and put his hands out—Alex thought it was rather cute. 

They raced out the front door and slowly made their way behind the wooden house with their flashlight. 

There was smoke, that was spiraling around the late-night autumn fog. Being curious, yet cautious, Michael and Alex walked closer crunching the leaves beneath their feet.

Buried slightly below the ground, was a small pod. It was shaped in an oblong way and looked to be covered in a foreign metal, one Alex had never seen before. By the look Michael was giving it, it was unfamiliar to him as well. 

Suddenly the hatch on the side popped open with a hiss and slowly rose up. 

Michael put his hands up again, clearly ready for just about anything. What was in there, however, was not what Alex was expecting at all. 

Sitting inside the pod was what Alex assumed could only be a small green alien with long, long ears. Its eyes were big and its mouth seemed to hint a bit of a smile. Something about it seemed wise to Alex as if it were older than it appeared to be. 

“What the hell is it?” Michael asked getting a bit closer.

“I think, and it might just be a hunch here, but an alien,” Alex answered. 

Michael laughed, “You think? I mean, it looks how a typical alien should seem.”

“What if it’s your family?”

“Baby,” Michael replied with a smirk and shaking his head so his curls swayed, “do I look similar to that thing?”

“You’re both extremely cute. Similar long ears.”

“Ha, ha.” 

Alex winked and walked over to it. Michael grabbed his arm firmly, “We don’t know what it is, Alex. It could be dangerous.” 

The alien looked more like a baby, and honestly, it was the cutest thing Alex had ever seen. Well, not counting Buffy of course. 

“We can’t leave it out here though,” Alex replied, worrying about wild animals getting to the creature. In addition, winter was quickly approaching as snow began to fall all around them. Soon the temperature would drop. 

“Ok, I’ll try something.” Michael focused on it and squinted his eyes. The little alien floated up and slowly started moving towards the inside of the cabin. Alex quickly opened the door and looked as Michael started shaking slightly. 

He gently set it on a soft blanket on the couch. And fell in Alex’s arms. Alex wiped the sweat away and kissed Michael’s forehead gently. 

Alex helped Michael to the ground to rest and then walked over to their leather couch. He saw the little one tilting its head to look at them both. It looked curious, but not scared. 

Then it cooed. 

“It has to be a baby,” Alex said with a small smile. “I don’t think it’s going to hurt us.” He noticed it cowering slightly as he walked closer. “If anything, it’s trying to figure us out.”

“I’m trying to figure it out as well,” Michael replied, his eyes fluttering closed. “Why is it here? What does it do?” 

“And what if it has some answers about where you come from,” Alex added. 

Michael nodded, “That too. So many questions.”

“Should we try to feed it?”

“What does it like to eat?”

“Well,” Alex said slowly, “you’re an alien...what do you like to eat?”

They both laughed, marveling at what a weird situation this night had become. 

The little one didn’t move much. 

Then Buffy came walking in the room and the alien’s ears perked up as it made a little sigh. Michael and Alex stopped laughing and just observed. 

A ball slowly started to move across the floor from one side of the room all the way to Buffy. The beagle leaned down and put it in her mouth, then plopped to the ground with a grunt.

“Oh my God… it has powers, too.” 

“Like I said,” Alex replied, “you two might be related after all.” 

***

A while later, they attempted feeding it. But it didn’t look satisfied with anything they brought out. 

Alex did have to laugh as Michael brought out his favorite cereal in a bowl. Not looking impressed, the alien turned away. Michael shrugged and took a bite. When Alex gave him a look, Michael gave the ‘what...I’m hungry’ look.

Finally, Alex held up a steak on a plate, “What about this, little guy? I can cook it up for you.” 

At that, the alien’s ears wiggled and it cooed again. Alex felt the raw steak move out of his hands and watched in amazement as the meat floated towards the baby. 

The alien held open its mouth and gnawed on the steak. 

“Well then,” Michael laughed, “guess it likes it raw.” 

After it ate the entire steak, they watched as the little one slid down off the couch and walked over to Buffy who was eating her bone. It held its small hand up and Alex could make out three small fingers with long nails. Alex took one step forward unsure what it was going to do to his beloved dog. But that little green hand simply patted Buffy’s head. 

Buffy looked thrilled as she rolled over. The alien patted Buffy’s stomach and Alex could’ve sworn it smiled. There was a sweet connection between the two, and Alex wondered if it felt a familiar feeling around the dog. 

As Buffy was relaxed and closing her eyes, Alex and Michael sat on the couch. Alex noticed Michael looked tense. “What’s on your mind, love?” 

Michael sighed, “I just want some answers about this thing is all. I can’t help but wonder how many other life forms are out there.” He looked over at Alex, “I want to know where I come from, ya’ know? Just wanna know where I belong.” 

His boyfriend leaned back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. Alex so badly wanted to say the right thing. He knew how desperately Michael wanted to know more about his beginnings and his family...how could he not? But he still was going to attempt to reassure him, the only way he knew how. With love. “Listen, I wish I could give you all the answers you’re looking for, Guerin. However, I want you to know something.” 

“What’s that?”

Alex took Michael’s hand and placed it on his own heart, “You belong right here. This is your home, forever and always.” 

Michael’s face broke out into a smile, “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

“Hmm, I think you did this morning when you were making sweet, sweet love to me.” 

“Oh, that’s right,” Michael grinned even further at the memory. “What a way to start to the day.” But then his expression changed to a more serious one. “I love you, Alex Manes. Thank you for being my constant here on earth.”

They leaned closer together as their lips touched softly. This was heaven; all that Alex would ever truly need. 

Just then, he felt a warm sensation of peace and love tingling all over his body. He opened his eyes and looked down. The alien was touching his leg and Michael’s as it looked up at them both. 

“Whoa....do you feel that?”

Alex nodded. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful. 

“I guess we should take that as a sense of approval?” Michael said leaning forward. He outstretched his hands and the creature jumped into arms. Michael gasped in surprise as if he didn’t really expect it to trust him. 

Now that it was up close to them, Alex took the alien in. It’s bright big black eyes were full of wonder, and as you looked into them, you knew that it was much older like he originally had thought. 

Alex held out his hand, and it grabbed his finger softly. Its green skin was as smooth as velvet. The alien held out its other hand and grabbed Michael’s finger. 

Just then Alex saw a flash of bright white light. He closed his eyes quickly and saw stars swirling around the galaxy. Alex felt like he was flying through space. The colors and the speckles of lights surrounding him were dazzling. And then it was over as quick as lightning. 

Letting go of the child’s finger, Alex gasped and looked at Michael, “What was that, Michael?”

Panting, Michael shook his head, “I dunno… but it felt….”

“Cosmic,” they both said in unison. 

Maybe the two of them truly were meant to be together; it was clearly written in the stars—the alien had shown them that.

***

Through the cabin, the warm early morning light was starting to shine through the windows. Alex yawned and looked down. The alien was curled up in his arms and a blanket was embracing them both. Buffy was lying right next to his feet in a ball breathing in-and-out slowly. He felt so at peace.

None of them had been able to sleep during the late-night hours, so instead, they had watched E.T., which had been Michael’s idea. He loved movies with aliens. Their little alien had been so entranced, that it had sat close to the TV, touching the screen. It had been simply adorable. 

Halfway through the movie, they must’ve fallen asleep. Alex now watched as the alien’s long ear twitched and he felt its steady strong heart. At that moment, he was filled with a different type of love. 

He looked over to where Michael had been, but he wasn’t there.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” Michael was leaning in the door frame holding two cups of coffee. His feet were bare and his curly fry curls were tousled in disarray. Alex had never seen him look more beautiful. He walked over quietly and whispered, “I didn’t wanna wake y’all. You looked so peaceful.” 

Michael leaned down and kissed Alex’s forehead. Alex tilted his head back and puckered his lips out making a face. Smiling, Michael leaned in once more to kiss him. 

Comfy mornings with the ones you loved, that’s how Alex liked starting his day. He looked down at the little one nestled in his arms and realized he could get used to this. He had wanted to start a family with Michael, and what better way than to start now? “We could keep him, you know? He could be a part of our family.” 

“Really?” Michael replied with a soft smile. “I mean...we know nothing about it and that’s a big responsibility thinking into the future.” 

“I’m ready to take on this challenge, as long as I do it with you.” 

Michael’s bottom lip trembled slightly and he nodded, “Me too, babe. Together we can do this.” 

“I think it chose us for a reason. We can keep it safe.” 

Michael nodded, “I think you’re right about that one.”

But fate had different plans because, at that exact moment, the front door slammed open. 

Alex jumped up and held tightly to the alien. Buffy growled and barked at the intruder covered in metal armor and a mask with what looked like a ‘T’ on the face. The person had a long black cape and was clearly armed. 

Michael was already in position with an outstretched hand, “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in our house?” 

There was no answer. The cold air mixed with the freshly fallen morning snow was starting to blow into the house. The hair on Alex’s neck began to stand on edge—this wasn’t good. 

The intruder looked around, boots slamming down on the wood floor when finally they stopped and tilted their head, “The child.” 

His voice was morphed, yet powerful. 

Alarmed, Michael’s eyes widened, “What? What child?”

Alex’s arms went tighter around the alien. Whoever this person was, it wanted the bundle in his arms. Alex suddenly felt very protective. 

The intruder pointed towards the alien, “The child. Give me the child and no one will get hurt.” 

“How do we know you won’t hurt it?” Alex replied with a glare. 

“I was sworn to protect it.” 

“Great job,” Michael scoffed as he rolled his eyes.

“Michael…” Alex warned, shaking his head. Now was definitely not the time for that. 

“We were trying to escape from our enemies off of our ship, I was trying to keep him safe but the pod malfunctioned and left without the proper coordinates. I have never been to this planet, but luckily I was able to track him. It was a mistake for him landing here.” Alex frowned—it had not been a mistake. “I need to take him home. That was always the plan. He has a family. His kind. It’s my mission to see it done.” 

“Who are you?” Michael asked again. It came out more of a demand. Alex was impressed. 

Alex could hear the man take a deep breath in, “I’m the Mandalorian.” 

“The Mandalorian? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Never mind that, we need to leave before our enemies infiltrate onto your planet,” the Mandalorian replied, walking up closer to Alex. Michael immediately moved in front of him and the child. Alex loved him for it. 

Just then, the alien wiggled and jumped out of Alex’s arms. It ran over to the man and put a green hand on his boot. Slowly, the intruder picked the little one up. Immediately, it nestled in the man’s arm. 

Whatever the relationship was between the two, there was clearly a connection and a bond. Alex now knew the man was telling the truth. He could feel it, even though it made him sad to say goodbye.

The Mandalorian held out a small metal ball and the child cooed and its ears wiggled as it grabbed onto it. 

As the man turned to walk away, the child made a whining noise. The Mandalorian shook its head but finally groaned and put the alien down. It ran quickly to Michael and held its arms up. 

Puzzled, Michael bent down to pick it up. “What’s up, little dude?” 

The alien put his small hand and touched Michael’s temple. Michael gasped and closed his eyes. 

It was showing Michael a vision...but of what? 

After a few moments, the child removed his hand and touched Michael’s cheek. 

Michael cleared his throat, “Thank you...thank you for that.” 

The alien did a small nod and Michael gently placed it back down to the floor. It walked over to Buffy and patted her head. Buffy’s tail slid across the floorboards in response. The child looked at Alex and smiled making a little noise of approval. 

Returning back to the Mandalorian, the man scooped him up once more and headed towards the door. But he paused and looked back. Muffled through the mask he wore he said, “Thank you for keeping him safe. You’re good people.” 

“Of course,” Alex replied. “Different doesn’t scare us,” 

“Maybe he was meant to meet you after all then.” The alien’s ears wiggled happily. “May we meet again someday,” the Mandalorian said with a nod. Then they went into the morning sun. 

Alex rushed towards the cabin door and saw in the distance a small ship. The child’s pod reattached to the side of the ship. It rumbled and hissed, and then hovered in the sky. Then away it went as if a distant memory, but not to be forgotten. 

He hoped like hell that the military hadn’t witnessed that, or they were in for it. 

“Wow...that was something, wasn’t it? Feels kind of like a weird lucid dream.”

When Michael didn’t reply, Alex turned around. His boyfriend was standing next to the window, frozen in his shocked expression. 

Alex walked over and touched Michael’s arm gently, “What did he show you?” 

Michael came to the present moment and looked at Alex, his beautiful hazel eyes filled with tears, “My home.” 

As his heart started beating out of his chest, Alex held on to Michael’s hand, “I can’t wait to hear all about it.” 

Michael smiled and pulled Alex into his arms. “I’m now even more certain though, that this… you, are my home, Alex.”

Alex held onto his cosmic soulmate tightly as he realized that the galaxy had all but collided and yet their love had only seemed to grow with the confirmation that they were clearly meant to find one another. 

Their love story would simply continue to live on within the stars.

[dclevinson]

2/19/21: The Panda Thing

(see foto on previous post)

I don’t recall first learning of Cindy’s Panda Thing.

 When we became a couple, she idolized Jane Goodall and identified with doomed 19th Century Romantic heroines on lonely heaths.  There was something about the difficult life of pandas that resonated. They were meat eaters too slow to catch meant, ate primarily bamboo of rare sorts that were practically extinct. Their digestive system is not  really set up for it, so they eat about 40 lbs a day, just to scrounge enough nutrition to survive. Then when she had trouble getting pregnant, the identification doubled, since pandas are notoriously poor reproducers. Every possible pregnancy in captivity anywhere around the world lifted her spirits. There are only a few days a year they can conceive, and the babies (if born) are only about four inches long and weigh about half a pound. particularly vulnerable. And, of course, as Desmond Morris explained, their key features --- large eyes, soft rounded outline, contrasting colors --- make them especially cute. We now have a collection of kitchy Panda art/artifacts and various sized/quality stuffed animals. Do not get her any more!

Some of this she remembers, sort of, but after her bleed she still loved them.

It’s hard to distinguish between sentimental attachment or vestiges of being a childhood doll collector (she still had at least some evidence of such when I first met her).  Maybe her pandas now are another example of (sometimes) a simpler, more elemental, child-like response to things. Right now she has three in her bed: a large one I think her sister once gave her and two small ones, each gifts of our children’s significant others. Plus a fourth teeny one that wraps around her bed safety rails. They help calm her when she’s floating in a time/space void, reassure her, shift her mood. They tie us to our past life together. 

Though she won’t acknowledge it, the pandas have shifted names. All called the same name mostly (sometimes with a Big appended in front) but they have been Buffy, Buddy, Buzzy. The latter now. Different ones have been here favorite and alone in her bed (not that she remembers shifts), and different ones have meant different things at different stages of recovery.

She greets them with enthusiasm coming into the room, looks for them if displaced for one reason or another, lines them up in different ways, worries if they are momentarily smothered by blankets. She’ll crane her head around at night ---  Where’s Buzz? --- relaxing for sleep when she sees the big one. These are rare, evanescent moments, when things are normal and all is right with her world. They make whatever comes next easier, for both of us.

[dvp95]

meet me in the afterglow

pairing: dan howell/phil lester rating: explicit tags: getting back together, smut, hurt/comfort, light angst, happy ending, introspection word count: 1.5k summary: It had been Phil's decision, after all. Okay, technically, it had been a mutual decision, but it had been Phil who actually said the words. They're supposed to be past it by now.

written as a commission fill for ros ♥

read on ao3 or here!

They're sitting on opposite ends of the couch, idly scrolling on their own devices while Buffy acts as a comforting third party on the TV. Ever since he'd first gotten Dan to watch the show, Phil tends to just keep restarting it every time they hit Chosen again. Nothing else is quite as effective in breaking the quiet that could easily get into awkward territory as the familiar snappy dialogue and fight scenes.

Phil hasn't been paying enough attention to the episode they're on. He glances up and sees Tara in the doorway, hears her say, "Things fall apart. They fall apart so hard."

He stands up and mumbles something about going to the bathroom. Dan barely looks away from his laptop, but he asks if Phil wants him to pause the show. Even though they've both seen it so many times, Dan always offers. He's considerate that way.

"No, don't bother," says Phil. "I know how it ends."

Tara is asking if they can skip the hard part of making up and just be kissing again when Phil leaves the lounge. He wonders if Dan is invested enough in the plot to hear the speech, cognizant enough to make the connection to Phil abruptly leaving, or if he's too focused on whatever Reddit thread he's come across to give Tara and Willow any spare thought. Maybe the scene doesn't hit as close to home for Dan as it does for Phil.

It had been Phil's decision, after all. Okay, technically, it had been a mutual decision, but it had been Phil who actually said the words.

They're supposed to be past it by now.

Maybe things would have been easier if they weren't still best friends. They hadn't wanted to get their own places, didn't want to make a bigger deal of the breakup than absolutely necessary. That was a few years ago now - Phil acts like he can't remember the exact date, but he thinks Dan can probably see past his fake cheerfulness every time the anniversary passes - but sometimes it still hits Phil like a fresh wave of bitterness and remorse.

It's not like he's had a lot of experience with this sort of thing. He hadn't had anything that looked like a relationship before Dan tumbled into his life, and there were a lot of things that he thinks he could do better now, if he was given the chance.

They're different people now. Phil has a better handle on his anxiety and a better perspective on what he can do to keep his private life private; Dan has settled confidently into his own skin and gotten through so much of his baggage with his therapist that he's tried to use some of the techniques on Phil whenever he won't talk about his feelings.

"If I wanted to be in therapy," Phil had recently snapped, strung taut by plans of a second world tour coming together to create a terrifying, overambitious picture, "then I'd be in therapy, Dan."

Dan had only shrugged. He rarely seemed to feel any guilt for attempting 'healthy communication', as he always called it. "Just trying to help."

Sometimes Phil hates him for that, but it never lasts. Phil might be able to hold a grudge with the best of them, but that had never applied to Dan. They're too entwined in each other at this point, too purposefully connected in every facet of their lives, for Phil to allow the irritation to make any sort of home in his chest. It's always been easier to let the arguments happen and then let them go.

Phil waits until he can hear Dawn Summers shrieking with happiness over the witches getting back together before he goes back to the lounge. He wonders if anyone would be that happy if he and Dan were to - but that way lies madness. He can't think about that. It's too easy to cling to faint hope that never really went away.

--

Phil can't be sure if it was Buffy that did it or not, but he's inclined to believe that it is. It's too much of a coincidence that Dan would knock lightly on his bedroom door a couple days later and give him a tired sort of grin.

"Hey," he says, and Phil wonders if he forgot to unload the dishwasher last night or something.

"Hi," says Phil. He slides his finger between the pages of his book and closes the cover gently, keeping his place while he gives Dan his attention. "Everything okay?"

Dan shrugs, hands shoved deep in his sweatpant pockets. He looks like he's been awake for too long, like he forgot to sleep again, and Phil's surge of protectiveness feels instinctual. He hates when Dan doesn't sleep, whether it's on purpose or not. It feels like he should be up with him, at least, keeping him company while thoughts ricochet around Dan's brain like a pinball machine.

"Things are," Dan hesitates for a fraction of a second, "fine."

It's pretty obvious to Phil that things aren't fine. He puts the receipt he's been using as a bookmark into his book and sets it aside. "C'mere."

Dan's whole body seems to slump forward in relief, and Phil feels like he's made the right decision. He sits up against his headboard properly and fluffs up the pillow he never uses. It’s the only thing on the side of the bed where a lanky boy took up too much space for so many years. Dan fills it again, sitting next to Phil and curling in on himself a bit. He leans into Phil, his curly head finding somewhere comfortable to rest on Phil's shoulder.

Wrapping his arm around Dan would jostle him, so Phil settles for putting his hand on Dan's knee and squeezing. He doesn't know if this is just one of Dan's hard days, which seem to be getting more and more frequent as the tour looms, or if it's something else entirely.

The room is quiet for a little while. It doesn't get anywhere near the realm of awkward, even with the cuddling. Phil's hope - dormant, insistent - flares again.

"I've been thinking," says Dan.

"Dangerous activity," Phil can't help himself from joking. He wonders if Dan is rolling his eyes or smiling. Or both, he supposes. A lot of the time, it's both. "What have you been thinking about?"

"I've been thinking that I don't want to do this without you," Dan says, a bit rushed. Phil is opening his mouth to ask for clarification when Dan's patented rambling barrels through. "The tour, yeah, but also the - the telling my family about me, which I want to do, but I don't want to do it alone. I don't want to do any of this alone."

Phil risks the grumbling to wrap both arms around Dan, pulling Dan against his chest in a proper cuddle. "You aren't alone. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Dan says. He looks up at Phil, brown eyes wide and full of meaning and close, and Phil momentarily forgets how to breathe. "I know you're gonna be there for whatever I need you to be there for. I just. I want to do it with you, not just... beside you."

There's a chance, however small, that Phil is misreading the situation. He thinks about that and about the choices he'd made that led to this and about Tara's speech, and he decides that he can't keep pushing his hope down like it's an excitable puppy. He lets it consume him, instead, lets the warmth spread through his whole body before he rests his forehead against Dan's in supplication.

Dan doesn't seem to be asking for penance. Dan is asking for something much simpler.

--

There are a lot of things that Phil loves in this world. Pancakes, Buffy, the way a dog's tail wags when he says hello to them, so many things he could list for days and not even be close to hitting the end. Even so, there's nothing quite like the needy noises that echo around the room when Phil takes Dan's cock deep into his throat, twists his fingers inside Dan, keeps eye contact with Dan to watch the way he falls apart. He watches Dan arch up, sweat beading on his forehead, and feels Dan's hand pushing and pulling in his hair. Dan falling apart - that's what Phil loves most in this world. He can't believe he went so long without it, no matter what his reasons were at the time.

--

"Like riding a bike," Dan laughs and collapses against Phil's chest. His mouth follows a path from Phil's collarbones to his jaw, ending at his well-abused lips.

Phil grins into the kiss. He wants Dan closer, impossibly. He's got his arms around Dan, Dan's legs bracketing his hips, he's still inside of Dan, but it doesn't feel like enough. They trade lazy, sweaty kisses until Dan eventually starts complaining about needing a shower.

He isn't ready to let go of Dan again, even for a handful of minutes, but that's not a problem - although it hasn't been taken advantage of yet, the shower in this flat is definitely big enough for the two of them.