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08 April 2015 @ 11:22 pm
For a total score of Zero...  
It's the 8th day of Poetry Month, and I have yet to post a single poem. I started one last night, but fell asleep after finishing the first two lines. Lines, not stanzas. This is not impressive...

I have something to share, though: courtesy of matchboximpala, Every Argument About Buffy On The Internet. It covers most of the gamut, if not as brutally as I might like. Maybe I wasn't Internet-vocal enough about my own complaints, and they got omitted? Such as,
  • Bisexuality is an actual thing. Willow+Tara does not negate Willow+Oz or vice versa. Both were real.
  • Tara's Season 6 storyline—what the hell were they thinking?
  • Demon Anya's Season 7 storyline—see above.
  • Re: S7 and the Slumber Party of Slayerettes... whatever happened to "There can only be one"?
  • Kennedy and that whole romantic subplot. Insult added to injury in so many ways!
  • Spike's backstory. Enough said.

  • I have no rants about the Mayor or Mr. Trick. I enjoyed every bit of weirdness those two characters brought to the show.

    We're watching the few remaining Simpsons episodes we recorded during that marathon block in the fall. Sunday, we caught one that featured "Mouse, M.D." as the Itchy and Scratchy episode. It included Dr. Mouse with stubble, a differential-diagnosis whiteboard, and a tiny little flame-cane. \o/

    Oh, now I have a nice, derivative idea for poetry month. Here goes: leave me a fandom (one I know) and perhaps a prompt in the comments, and I'll write a limerick for you. (and why not?)

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    bleodswean: spikebleodswean on April 9th, 2015 03:08 pm (UTC)
    I really don't care for BtVS, but I enjoyed watching it for the tertiary characters, especially Anya and D'Hoffryn. I agree with your Anya feels. Here's a commentfic I wrote years ago -

    ***

    He picked his way through the rubble, moving up and out of the now significantly smaller Hellmouth, a gaping wound reminiscent of battered lips oh-ed open, rocky shattered teeth and broken gumlines. He winced as he moved through it and away from it, ducking under piled granite boulders as big as, well, boulders. He smirked. Ah, destruction and chaos and general mayhem. This had been one spectacular show but he quickly admonished himself with the thought of his mission and sobered by grief he moved forward, threading through rock and climbing steadily upward, the demolition now becoming human in construction, concrete chunks maced with razor-sharp rebar protrusions, splintered wood, twisted metal. And the smell of charred vampire. Thousands of charred vampires. He was getting closer.

    One of his hearts hung heavy as a stone behind his ribs and he brought up a hand to press against the place, just there, where he could feel it beating sluggishly, cold and dark and filled with a black anguish. She was dead, cut down, and death comes to us all, a little more to some, but he wasn’t about to let her body lay here, beneath the ruins of Sunnydale, of that damnable High School, and decompose the way human corpses were wont to do. She would be immolated as she deserved to be. Even before the Grand Finale of Finality he had already set out with full intent of bringing her back to perform the last rites and utter that incantation which would set her flesh aflame and then, only then he would allow himself to be blinded by tears and perhaps rejoice a tiny bit in such Creative Carnage. But right now, he had to find her.

    If he could find her, if on the underside of this earthen crater, somehow, someway her body had fallen with the dirt and rubble and landscaping shrubberies, if it had, he would search until he did. And if it hadn’t, he would search until he could search no more and knowing himself as he did, best not to think how far in the future that time might be.

    The eternal flames of damnation lit his way but the way was growing darker and he chanted under his breath and a yellowish illumination lit the littered path. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, wondering if he could smell her in her dead state. He coughed.

    Then, he bent and stood and rounded another pile of rubble and there she was. Torn and broken and severed nearly in half. D’Hoffryn pulled himself up short – he thought he had been prepared, but he hadn’t been, of course. Slowly he approached and then he went down on one knee beside her and reached for the arm that was splayed backwards and beneath her, he gently, gently pulled it free and took the limp hand in his own. “Anyanka. My dear girl.” But no tears, not yet.

    He scooped her up in his arms, holding her torso together by pulling her closer to his chest, her head lolled onto his shoulder and he looked down at the ruined body of the girl. "I found you." Surprising even himself, he touched his lips to her forehead, tasted grit and sweat and blood, and whispered into her dead face, "Come then. Home."

    And the demon, his arms heavy with his burden, disappeared in a burst of blue flame, the lingering smoke smelling of sorrow.
    The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphorshalfshellvenus on April 9th, 2015 04:51 pm (UTC)
    Ooh, interesting! I hadn't even thought of mourning from the Hell side of things, though Anya was one of their own. There is such love in this ficlet.

    It was the casualness of Anya's death-- especially the lack of grief or acknowledgement from the rest of the Scooby Gang-- that really bothered me. She risked as much as any of them, and the writers did not honor that.

    I loved BtVS, but I really hated S7. It crapped all over its own canon, and there was such a strong sense of "Fine, this is ending-- I'll just break all my toys and go home. Hmmph!"

    I used to fear that's what would happen to Supernatural, but instead it just drifted so far away from what I knew and loved that I stopped caring. Hard to say which is worse! :(
    bleodswean: devilish sideburns - highdreamsbleodswean on April 9th, 2015 04:56 pm (UTC)
    I really wanted SOMEONE to love and honour Anya in her death because YES no one else seemed to care.

    I cannot stand Whedon. So, there's that. I got pulled into BtVS because I do love supernatural themes and vampires in particular...and the first half is good. They should have let Joss quit when he wanted to quit.

    Supernatural lost me, too, out of complete and utter indifference. Yawn.
    cindy: fangirltsuki_no_bara on April 10th, 2015 01:51 am (UTC)
    the mayor was my favorite big bad. he was so... normal, when he wasn't being evil. like, he's the kind of guy who would make sure faith was eating right and getting enough sleep and flossing and wearing her seatbelt. and then he'd send her out to do violence for him.

    wasn't tara killed in s6? she didn't have a storyline in s7.
    The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphorshalfshellvenus on April 10th, 2015 03:14 am (UTC)
    D'OH! on Tara. (edited now) Boy, I hated S7. Clearly, I don't remember the last two years in detail. Except Principal Handsome.

    I loved the Mayor. He was this wholesome, cheerful, upbeat guy... apart from his murdering problems and all. Which he probably sort of regretted, but still.

    Portdesertport on April 10th, 2015 09:13 am (UTC)
    Ooh, can I have a SPN limerick? Prompt: lipstick.
    Vice Captain of the Universesweeny_todd on April 10th, 2015 12:20 pm (UTC)
    supernatural

    dean cuddles
    The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphorshalfshellvenus on April 10th, 2015 06:16 pm (UTC)
    Wincest or other?
    Vice Captain of the Universesweeny_todd on April 11th, 2015 01:02 am (UTC)
    hmmm. I don't mind. I am just a huge fan of Dean cuddles, from anyone and everyone :)
    The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphorshalfshellvenus on April 11th, 2015 04:10 am (UTC)
    I hope you like this, but if not, I'll take another crack at it.

    Thanks for playing!

    Edited at 2015-04-11 04:11 am (UTC)