I’m a Buffy/Spike shipper. I always felt like he was a more evolved person, but that’s like saying Juliet’s going to be so happy with Benvolio and everyone will love it. Buffy/Angel is for the ages; Buffy/Spike is maybe for me.
Actually, I’m a Spike/Angel shipper. Completely re-write the equation.

Día 21 de #inktober
Fanart de Willow y Tara de Buffy cazavampiros.

#pendientera #ilustracion #ilustradora #luzsanchezaguilar #ilustración #illustration #tara #willowytara #buffy #buffycazavampiros #buffythevampireslayer #brujas #willowandtara #love #amor #lesbians #lesbianas #gay #inktober2016 #lovely #amberbenson #alysonhannigan #ink #myart #drawoftheday #tinta #promarker

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dreadfulcalendarwoman  asked:

calendiles + 85 for the big prompt meme thing??

This kinda ended up sucking and I’m sorry. I’m also sorry for the length. I originally intended for it to be longer, but it didn’t turn out that way. I haven’t written anything for Buffy outside of that prompt I’ve been working on in literally several years, so go easy on me. I hope you don’t hate it too much.

Jenny groaned, rolling around in bed uncomfortably until finally grasping the tea Rupert had prepared for her a few minutes prior. She took a small sip and almost immediately winced, the act of swallowing destroying any comfort the hot liquid bestowed on her monstrously swollen tonsils. She set the tea cup down on the nightstand with a thud, a deep frown etching her features as she looked around the room she was getting increasingly tired of being in. Everything in it, down to the wallpaper, seemed to be mercilessly mocking her with its health. She’d been stuck in bed for the last two days straight – at the start, she’d figured it’d be a breeze. She’d watch a little TV (which she had fortunately conned Rupert into installing in their bedroom a  year ago,) surf the web, and be back at fighting health within the day. That hadn’t happened, and that morning she’d woken up with tonsils so swollen and sore she couldn’t even speak. It made her yearn for the days of the Gentleman, when their voices were stolen by demons they could defeat, rather than health issues that were a touch harder to squash. With a sigh, she put her feet on the floor and rose from the bed, slowly traipsing down the stairs to find Rupert, where he was holed up in the living room with a book and his own tea.
Jenny stood behind him for a few moments, arms crossed over her chest before she impatiently rolled her eyes and let out a huff, reaching forward and tapping her husband on the shoulder.
Rupert looked up at her expectantly, arching his eyebrow, “Yes?”
Jenny opened her mouth to speak before remembering that she couldn’t. With another huff, she reached for the pad and pen on the table beside the couch and wrote, I’m miserable. There has to be some kind of spell or something we can do to fix this. And held the pad out to Rupert, who looked at her exasperatedly,
“Why yes, there is a wonderful spell of sorts that modern science has come up with. It’s called medicine, and I happen to know it works wonders for viruses.” When Jenny rolled her eyes and narrowed them at him, he shook his head, “I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.”
Like the petulant child she was feeling she was, Jenny stomped her feet twice, a deep grown set between her eyes before finally writing the word, FINE on the pad and thrusting it at Rupert’s face.
Rupert arched his eyebrows in slight surprise at Jenny bending her will, which very rarely ever happened. Were she not so ill, he perhaps might have taken a moment to speak with her again about the antique headboard and matching vanity (“They are one of a kind! 18th century!” He’d explained, numerous times. He’d earned a firm “No” from his wife every single time) he’d wanted to procure for their bedroom, but now was not the time. He rose from the couch and walked around it, quickly lifting the telephone receiver off of its base and making a quick call to their local doctor, who luckily had an opening that afternoon. When he hung up, he turned to Jenny, “Why don’t we go and get you dressed, hm?” He suggested, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Jenny hesitated for a moment before finally leaning into his support, resting her weary head on Rupert’s shoulder. Before they made it to the stairs, she looked up at him with appreciation, a small smile over her features, and mouthed the words Thanks, England, ever grateful and thanking her lucky stars that she’d managed to find a man who cared about and loved her so much.


stranger things opening credits in the style of buffy


joss whedon gathered “some people” to talk about why you shouldn’t vote for trump and it’s honestly the best fucking thing i have ever seen


“And I’m trying. Dawn, I am, I am really trying to take care of things, but I don’t even know what I’m doing! Mom always knew.” “Nobody’s asking you to be Mom.” “Well, who’s gonna be if I’m not? Huh, Dawn? Have you even thought about that? Who’s gonna make things better? Who’s gonna take care of us?