March 11th, 2003


I Dream of Buffy

I dreamed that I was watching the two-hour BtVS series finale. The only bits I remember are:

- Lindsey McDonald playing his guitar and singing a gorgeous country song to entertain an airplane full of passengers. He looked delighted, adorable boy.

- Giles is meeting with a bunch of watchers. A guy in disguise comes and tries to extort money from them, then holds them hostage. He puts all the watchers into some sort of painful force-field, except Giles, who blinks as he realizes he's not being tortured. He goes over to the guy, who removes his magical glamour, and Giles gets a look of shock and breathes, "Evan,*" with a strange, intense mix of recognition, remembrance, and joy. And then we get, at last, the canonical revelation of Giles's bisexuality, as the two of them roll around in a fountain fully clothed, in a gloriously long, erotic, and semi-comical reunion scene of shagging. (*Not actually Evan, but I couldn't remember the dream name; not Ethan either. Sorry. {g})

- Something to do with Buffy and the entire gang dressed in colonial gear, for reasons I'm unclear on but which are related to a mission. They end up protecting some guy--a local football star, I think--from a crowd of eager fans, and there's this great, angsty, thematic moment when the audience is meant to see the ironic contrast of how the fans clamor frantically for the football guy, when it's really Buffy et al who've just saved the world, and we realize that Buffy et al are anonymous heroes, and always will be.

- Spike, off somewhere, having a vamp minion whip him as a form of almost religious penance for his own evil. Gah. I think I just shorted out my brain remembering that.

In other Buffyish news, here's the "mystical rewrite" story I mentioned yesterday. Which is not so much a story as yet another snippet. At the end are some story notes for an AUish thing I envisioned but didn't write--sort of an alternate way for Spike to get a soul. I'd still kind of like to do something with that idea.

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Oh, and for those who don't religiously track my old entries for new comments (what's wrong with you?! {g}), here's some of the stuff from my hard drive I've been dredging up: my little Snape/Harry thing, and a bit of Stargate slavery here and here.

Seattle's rainy, must be Tuesday.

It is the epitome of rain. I want a sandwich, but I don't want to walk out there in the chilly spit to get one. Lunch prospects are dwindling as the day lengthens.

Great meta thread here on a chicken-or-egg question regarding multifannishness and LiveJournal. Be sure to read lexluvsclark's Top 10 list as well.

During a Perl class today I valiantly batted away distracting, Spandery slave fantasies, which kept going for my throat like rabid dogs, or like the fanged death bunny from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Spike, unsouled and seething, forced to heel to Warrior!Xander. Um, yeah.

(By the way, when I tried to google a proper name for that Monty Python bunny, I stumbled across the Horrifically Honest Guide to Fanfiction Terms, which--at a glance--looked very amusing. I do love glossaries.)

I hate that I will never have time enough to write even half of the fun shit that flits through my head. You'd think I might craft a five-year plan of fiction, but sadly, I know that by the time I got around to implementing fantasy #1254 on my schedule, my creative enthusiasm for Fandom X would have waned and I'd be on Fandom Y, lusting after some new beloved sex object. For all I know, come 2010, I'll be writing for an anime fandom and chronicling the love of cybernetic dolphins.

Dude. That's not even a *stretch*.

Am gritting my teeth and getting a fair amount of work done today. It's painful. And I need to eat something. I'm also incredibly frustrated by my lust to consume certain stories that are not being written--and fuck, it's not always satisfying to write them myself. Writing for yourself is autoerotic cannibalism. Besides, see above. There just isn't enough time. I'd *do* it if I could. Write. All. The. Time. But when I check the help-wanted ads, for some reason I see no listings for, "FT fan-fiction writer. Choose your own subj matter. Work from home. Flex time. 50k a year."




Was rereading Counting the Days again and marveling at how happy it makes me. It's funny how you can be whistling and strolling along, not at all interested in a pairing, and then *bang*, someone nails you with a story that gets under your skin and makes you *get* it for the first time. All its possibilities. A similar thing happened for me with Angel/Wes when reading Wesley Rogue Demon. (Edited to add: Um, wow. Did I say Angel/Wes? I meant Gunn/Wes. Except...Angel/Wes too, you know? *cough*movingalongnow*cough*)

One of the things I love, love, love about "Counting the Days" (my god, I'm lame--I only *just* got that title), is the achingly sharp portrait of an unsouled Spike, shown to have so much potential for redemption even then. I've been a fan of both souled and unsouled arcs for him, but I still harbor a not-so-secret love for the idea that a demon can be redeemed in some way. Can thrash against its nature, can overcome it through sheer will, can regrow its lopped-off soul. In fact, one of the few things capable of making me irrational when it comes to debate is having people toss up this brick wall of inflexible BtVS metaphysics, interpreting everything on the show to argue that demon nature is immutable, in the very way that human nature is not. When we've seen again and again that things are not so simply reduced, and demon nature itself is so often metaphorically reflective of human nature. Yeah, it'd be peachy for our Scoobs if vamps were always two-dimensional monsters we could explode like blips on a video game, if good versus evil were a black and white equation. But clearly this is not the case. And I don't care *what* Buffy says to the potentials about "free will"--if you want to make Buffy, so fallible and willfully ignorant and undereducated in slayer lore, your expert on the laws of the Jossverse, and write off five seasons of unsouled Spike as a dramatic travesty--you go for it. I'll be over here, reading more interesting stories.

Um. Digression. Rant. Shutting that off now, with the vow not to engage in a debate on this subject which could well make me seethe.

Random quote from the story:

There, she'd smiled. Spike smiled faintly in echo, pleasantly aware of having not fucked up too much tonight.

Dreamy sigh.

Was also thinking that some of my criticisms of the story--which almost entirely centered on the ending--might be resolved by a sequel, which I've heard is in the offing. So, yay there. It's kind of noteworthy when my only real criticism of a story is: I wanted *more* of that. Well, okay, that and the very ouchy, unresolved Xander stuff which slapped me at the end and troubled me. But again...sequel. Is there any more beautiful word in the English language?

I love how Angel sends Spike off to fight the tentacled demon alone. And...the aftermath. Won't really try to describe that, as I'm likely to go blind and slump off my chair in a ball of goo if I typed the words. Zoning on the hand-job, too. My god. I don't know when I've ever seen an act that in so many other stories would be a PWP toss-off (er, literally) become so resonant with deep emotion.

The sense of betrayal when you realize that your body doesn't belong to you anymore, that some little blonde girl owns your dick even though she's never seen the damned thing, and now she's gone and there's just nothing to be done.

Spike with his head bowed, shuffling around in silk pajama bottoms, on autopilot with the habits of pleasing his sire even as he grieves.

Ooookay. Must go have some alone time now. And try not to harsh my buzz by dwelling on the agony of Tonio's death.

Man, I am such the little fangirl sometimes.