Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

turkey, turkey, porn, turkey.

On rare occasions the stars in my subconscious align and I have the kind of beautifully cliched fan-fiction dream that I could have written when I was awake. This morning I dreamed that Xander's father was actually his step-father. His parents had divorced when he was very young, and when they split, his real dad had taken his twin brother away to live with him. His dad, as it happens, was in the Mafia. He rose to become a respected capo, and raised his son in the business. So one day dad comes back to Sunnydale for obscure reasons and is knocked off. Xander's brother Alec turns up looking for him, and then stays to hunt the killer. When Alec meets the Scooby gang, they're like...whoaaa, because he is Mister Rico Suave: Jag convertible, sleek expensive suit, dangerous eyes that look strangely shaded, as if they might be kohled. Sort of a Mafia version of Vamp!Xander, but not so pale. And of course he's got, like, a gun and shit. Serious bad-ass, scarily calm and professional. And then there were a few tiny interstitial scenes I can't remember, where he and Spike start to bond. I think there may have been cigarette-smoking and fondling. Then they go out together, Alec and Spike, to try and retrace dad's path. They go to a bar and Alec questions a guy, doesn't like his answers, and takes the shmuck to a back room and ties him to a chair, then rolls up his own sleeves and gets a few tools, preparing to torture the answers out of him. Spike is impressed, and then when he really gets the extent of what's going to happen, goes gimlet-eyed, scenting the chance for blood. It's true love, man.

And then I woke up.

So on Thanksgiving I went and had the Best Turkey Dinner EVER at anaxila's and kjv31's and we watched old X-Files episodes. Had such a great time. Friday and Saturday I perfected the art of doing nothing. I ate turkey sandwiches and pie and made cookies, and then ate them, and caught up on first-season Dead Like Me and watched all of season two in more or less one long couch marathon. I think I cried at some point during every episode. And I am seriously out of clean laundry.

Oh, and for the last three days my running fantasy abruptly switched to the Spike/Lorne channel, all day, every day. It's shadowscast's fault. You just can't mention these things around me. This is the first time I've ever actually played out the idea to full conclusion though. I've decided it makes perfect sense. Lorne is the swishy queen, the soft touch who takes in strays and feeds and comforts them, the kind of guy who wears his big heart on the sleeve of his silk dressing gown. And Spike's the rough trade. Who turns into a pussycat when he's petted, naturally.

I scare me.
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