Felt compelled to doodle some screenshot studies today in light of news that Anthony Stewart Head has left us, and got carried away with color on this. Mortality has felt heavy lately, and we lost another good one.
Rest well, Tony Head - thank you for Giles, your voice, and your kindness.
It’ll never not be funny to me that the two most emotionally perceptive characters on Buffy are Tara and Spike. Like you have the textbook definition of a Good Witch who’s spiritually gentle parenting the scoobies out of killing everyone and then themselves and then you have… This fucking guy.
Being restrained by their arms from behind as they try to struggle forwards
An unanswered phone call
Slumping, suddenly dead weight in the arms holding them
A blood-stained sink
Gripping tight to another's hand as a crowd presses in
The world closing to tunnel vision, only the sound of their breathing thundering in their ears
Hot skin pressed against cold tiles
Storming out of the room
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
these are all inspired by actions or scenes from my own writing, some posted, some not. please feel free to reblog, use in your writing, art, whatever you like!! I would love if you tag/credit me if you use any of these prompts as inspiration, I really want to see what you create!😊
So, I saw a fanfic refer to Buffy as the "love of his life," and, no. Just, no.
I'm not even talking right now about how predatory and abusive their relationship was on his part, though we can certainly talk about that and I have before, at length.
Angel was involved with her for all of two-three years. Out of his centuries-long life. Ending so badly they're barely on speaking terms, when its literally life and death.
But do you know who was there through all (well, most) of those long centuries?
Darla.
Perhaps its inconsistent characterization, but it is notable that someone as callous and nihilistic as Angelus, someone supernaturally-certified by a judging demon (literally called "the Judge") to have "nothing human" in him, stayed with Darla for centuries. And someone as cynical as Darla stayed with him. Even when he got a soul, and remorse for what he'd done, he tried to go back to her. And even though he wasn't her Angelus any more, she still went to considerable lengths to get him back. And this isn't all retcons from Angel's spin-off series either- the seeds of this relationship were very clearly planted way back in Buffy's first season.
She made him a monster, and they did monstrous things together and eventually betrayed each other- but as toxic and fucked up as it was and as much as they ABSOLUTELY made each other worse (which is impressive, considering where they started out)... those two did absolutely care about one another. For centuries.
And then they both experienced regaining a soul, having to live with what they'd done, dying and being reborn again, being the only vampires known EVER to have a child together...
They are literally the only beings in their universe who could ever really understand what the other has been through.
Darla nailed it when she said she and Angel were "soul mates".... with all the bitterness that that term deserved.
(I remember a post about "Gargoyles" once that referred to Macbeth and Demona as "Soulmates (derogatory)" and I feel that's almost the perfect description of Angel and Darla's relationship).
Some btvs studies have been chilling on my desk for a while now so I thought I’d share… Hopefully this will urge me to work on a couple more unfinished pieces.
these are all inspired by actions or scenes from my own writing, some posted, some not. please feel free to reblog, use in your writing, art, whatever you like!! I would love if you tag/credit me if you use any of these prompts as inspiration, I really want to see what you create!😊
• A character almost admits they were wrong and then pivots
• Two people sitting in a car after an argument, engine off, neither leaving
• Someone practicing a speech in the mirror and hating how it sounds
• A character lying for someone they resent
• An inside joke that no longer feels funny
• A public setting where private tension is simmering
• Someone seeing their ex unexpectedly and performing indifference
• A character giving advice they absolutely do not follow
• A confession interrupted by something mundane
• A person rereading old messages they shouldn’t
• A gift that misses the mark completely
• A character realizing they’ve outgrown someone mid-conversation
• Someone saying “It’s fine” and meaning “I will remember this forever”
• A moment where a character notices they are no longer the favorite
• Two people who used to be close struggling to find a topic
If your story feels stuck, it likely needs friction. Not explosions. Just a little pressure.
On their knees, someone else's blood covering their hands
Falling asleep curled outside another character's door
Dragged between two people, barely able to walk by themselves
Bones cracking under boots
Just running, not knowing where to
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
these are all inspired by actions or scenes from my own writing, some posted, some not. please feel free to reblog, use in your writing, art, whatever you like!! I would love if you tag/credit me if you use any of these prompts as inspiration, I really want to see what you create!😊
Feel more than free to ignore this request, there’s absolutely no pressure 🫶 But you’re like one of the only people on the internet writing for Griffin soooo… Could you maybe write something for him of when he realizes he has feelings for reader? Like the “oh shit” moment? I also like to think of Griffin as someone who is very much in denial regarding his own feelings for a long time especially considering what happened last time he had feelings for someone. So bonus points if the reader is completely aware of their own feelings and very nonchalant about the whole thing. Reader knows they like him, so the figured might as well take it slow, eventually Griffin will realize it as well.
Once again no worries at all about writing this!!! Take your time and I hope you’re well!
Thank you sm that's so sweet!! There are a couple more, if you wanna check out my incredible moots @gr1ffins and @scrumdiddlywhumptious, absolute incredible works!!! (hope i didn't forget anyone, if so lmk!!!)
Home
Griffin x fem!reader
Warnings: modern au
Wordcount: 1k
You had long settled into a comfortable rhythm. He woke earlier - not one to sleep much anyway - and by the time you stumbled out of your bedroom, hair mussed and dream still clinging to your lashes, he greeted you with an amused "Look who the cat dragged out. Already?", flighty eyes unable to stop themselves from glancing at the tea he'd prepared, steeped to your own personal perfection.
You'd hum a thanks, sighing into the warm gust coating your skin, and then the taste, a sweet bitterness on your tongue, slowly pulled you awake.
In the evening, after boring events and secret meetings, waiting for him was a smell that made him realise that he was hungry, watching warily as you rose from your seat on the worn-out sofa to wordlessly prepare two plates. The silence was comfortable, at least it always had been. But lately, it had started to settle on him heavily.
"What'd you put in there?" he murmured, one night.
"Hm?" You briefly glanced at him before digging back into the food. His gaze remained on you, the flutter of your lashes as you relished, the tip of your tongue darting out to catch sauce attempting to run its course down the corner of your lips. His finger twitched.
"It tastes good."
You laughed. "Then say that."
"'s it those new spices you got?"
You hummed, trying to catch another potato with your spoon, though it proved harder than expected, always slipping down again. "Among other things, yeah."
"Did you go to the park?"
"What?" The spoon stopped mere inches before your mouth and the potato fell back unto the plate. You didn't seem to notice, looking at Griffin in surprise.
He shrugged, hoping you wouldn't see the red crawling up his neck. "The weather was good."
"I - yeah, I guess it was." You shook your head with a smile. "I went downtown for a bit. Got myself a new book."
"Nice," he nodded and turned his attention back to his food. The clink of your spoon lowering back on your plate made him tense and he started to feel a little sick. Briefly, he wondered, if you had mixed something into his food, but he knew better than to believe his paranoia.
"What is going on with you today?" you laughed. "Since when do you want to chat? Full stop but this late especially? Did something happen?"
He shook his head and mumbled a "forget it" and was glad that you didn't press. If he thought about it, there were many things he was glad about. For one, he was glad for your smile. Then again, lately the comfort settling on his body at the sight did not come. Instead, he would feel sickness pool in his stomach, settling heavy and uncomfortable.
He had started to notice how sunlight caught in your eyes. It made his frown deepen and teeth catching the insides of his cheeks. His hand felt like lead whenever he patted you on the head, pointedly looking away when you would inevitably look up at him with a laugh on your lips, his jaw tense. There was something about you, no matter how firmly he set the bounds to your familiarity, no matter how much he insisted to himself that you were just a friend, not unlike a sister; it all felt inadequate. It all felt off.
But pushing you away was impossible; you were always around, you had even started to plague him in his dreams. His bed felt lonely. It hadn't felt lonely since he had been a little kid, cruelly dragged out of his first home by his father (not that he remembered more than that vague loneliness, like he'd lost something he had never truly known).
He was glowering more than usual, muttering unintelligibly when you asked him to drive you downtown, but already shuffling to get his keys. You noticed, christ you had to notice, and yet you never said a word. Nothing more than a glance and that was it. You fell into the new pattern far too quickly, far too comfortably. And he hated that it pulled him even deeper into dread.
It was a comfortable afternoon when it happened. A Sunday; the streets were calm where you lived, and as the golden sun fell into the room, he watched as you busied yourself in the kitchen.
There was much he didn't pride himself in. But he was always true to himself, and, if you asked him, that was an indispensable trait to have.
So then why did his eyes linger on your gloss-stained lips? His jaw tensed and he pointedly looked away, shaking your hand off his shoulder when you reached out to check on him. He felt guilty for it, even more so when he sneaked a look to check on you and found you now humming away as you shuffled around the living room.
You were different from Evie.
The thought startled him, and he was unsettled, asking himself where the thought had hidden itself away until now. Still, it held truth. You were different. You were intelligent and sweet and true to yourself in the way Evie had always portrayed herself as but never truly had been. You were stubborn, too, and your tongue could be sharper than a blade and he liked to think he had a hand in that. But what undid him, finally, was you. You in your entirety. You when you stayed up for him, sleep clinging to your lashes, tiredly stumbling to sit him down to eat, your hand warm in his. You when you pulled Robin into a hug, squeezing him tight and swaying to have him laughing in your arms. You when you were exhausted and sad, tears pooling in your eyes and seeking him out first. Out of everyone. And lastly; You and the comfort you brought. All patience. All peace. And maybe, just maybe, he could see it now, vague and fuzzy around the edges, but there nonetheless. A life he hadn't entertained in a long time; if ever. One where his eyes would linger on your lips before leaning in, brushing away a stray strand of hair, and pressing his mouth to yours, finally returned home.
AAAAAAA sorry it took me so long to get to this, but this was the sweetest thing ever! such beautiful writing and structure, omg
First of all hitting us with dream still clinging to your lashes so soon had me gagged like !!!!! this is such a gorgeous imagery, I swooned immediately😍and HE'S MADE HER TEA!! THE WAY SHE LIKES!!! oooough yes gimme those little things griffin I SEE YOU
HE'S TRYING SO HARD BUT HE'S SO SCARED OOF😭🥰 I LOVE HOW YOU SHOWED IT!! you paint his complex feelings soooo so well, the way he's becoming aware of the way he feels, and even though the feeling is positive towards you, it's the dawning awareness that makes him sick and suspicious like cmooon that is SO griffin😫the tension of his fear and dread while he can't pull back and keeps going through these affectionate motions is SUBLIME! like that's why we love him lmfao
the you were different from evie moment also made me gasp, the way it was delivered among his thought train, singled out on its own, it just hit so well. that realisation was so important
But what undid him, finally, was you. You in your entirety. THIS WHOLE ENDING IM MELTING😭
the whole theme of home tying this together is so beautifully done and a great choice! I love the little moments you chose to let us see into, how domestic and familiar they were, and I adore the note it ended on. And maybe, just maybe, he could see it now, vague and fuzzy around the edges, but there nonetheless. This just makes me feel so waaaaaarm🥰🥰
Yeah yeah "graphic design is my passion 🐸" I was trying to make a tool to explain how I have problem deciding where a fic should fall on this arbitrary "sense of danger scale" and I think I accidentally defined some words in a way that will be useful for me in the future.
So I think that a whumpy fic can be defined by its ratio of hurt to comfort, but that doesn't mean that a whump fic contains 0 comfort. If someone has been disemboweled in the mountains with no communication and no medical supplies, their friend can be rocking them and singing to them and wiping their damp forehead, but the ratio of hurt to comfort is still going to be greatly skewed because that's a mortal or near-mortal wound.
Likewise, a fic where a character gets a papercut can still enter into "whumpy/whump-lite territory" if it's really bothering them and no one cares, because the comfort level of 0 skews the ratio.
There's also a matter of delving. A high-ratio (which is to say, fluffy) fic can still be a satisfying sickfic if the author delves into the symptoms (which imho is usually what differentiates a satisfying vanilla fic from a disappointing one)
ANYWAY
All that to say, when I don't have a fic idea beamed into my head by the gods, I tend to to struggle with where to put it on the scale. Because I generally tend to prefer lower ratio fic, but I know at a certain point it can get off-putting for people, so I end up torn between two sort of lukewarm desires: the desire to write a fic with slightly more appeal to me vs the desire to write a fic with slightly more appeal to other people
We can assign each scenario a “hurt” value and a “comfort” value on a scale of 1-5, plot it on the graph, and then categorize it into one of four quadrants:
