Entry tags:
Nertz to you Joss Whedon Ficathon fic.
For anyone around on DW - here's my last ever thing written on s8. (I hope. *crosses fingers*) Enjoy!
Many thank yous to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathyh for the beta and to ubi4soft and beloved4always for their help! :)
Title: Don’t You Want To Be Happy?
Summary: Buffy manages to keep hold of her faculties for a while longer.
Setting: AU from near the end of #33.
Characters: comic!Buffy, Twangel.
Rating: Teen.
Genre: s8. (So crack, mostly.)
Word count: 900 approx.
Notes: Written for Barb’s Nertz To You Joss Whedon ficathon, and should be pretty digestible for all and sundry. :)
Don’t You Want To Be Happy?
She looks at him, then blinks away the tear in her eye, as she tries to ignore the way her insides twist.
They’re both glowing and she (still, again, vividly) remembers the sensation of him holding her.
To be happy...
Wait.
Happy?
She frowns, trying to clear the fog in her mind.
“What’s happiness got to do with… anything?” she asks, and he looks adorably bewildered.
“You – me – we’re destined to be together. And be happy,” he says simply, taking a step forwards. She has to forcibly stop herself from walking into his waiting arms, and instead takes two steps back, something suddenly clicking into place in her mind.
Because she remembers this feeling – this absolute certainty, this primal need…
Need… She needs to… Kiss him. Hard.
No wait. Stop.
Two more steps back. Pretend she’s not glowing. Pretend that the hurt look on his face doesn’t threaten to break her heart.
“OK, this? Is a love spell,” she says firmly, carefully taking several more steps backwards, because now she is fighting very hard not to ruffle his hair just so…
Focus, Buffy, focus! He just brushed aside your dead girls like they never mattered. Like he didn’t help kill them.
Yes, there was that anger again. Good. Anger very good.
“No Buffy,” he says, sounding all calm and reasonable. “This isn't a spell, trust me. This, what we share, is something much deeper, much more profound. Our love will give birth to Twilight, where we will live happily ever after.”
Several more layers of fuzziness descend on her brain, although this time it’s caused by the bizarre brand of troll logic he's spouting.
“But… you are Twilight!” she replies, confused. “You and your army. Like… like some lunatic super villain. I mean - have you looked at yourself recently? You’re one step away from wearing your underwear on top of your pants!”
Ignoring her plea to examine his outfit – and there’s a clue if ever there was one – he starts arguing, reaching out for her, and she thinks that maybe she should uproot another tree, just so she has a physical barrier to put between them. Her self-control is impossible to shore up, like an hourglass that keeps running out, forcing her to turn it over and over and over.
“It’s all part of the same thing Buffy. Me, my followers, you… everything is in the service of a new and better world! It’s because we are special. Don’t you see? You and me falling in love - it was a long shot that paid off!”
She slowly shakes her head, barely knowing where to start. Also she wants to tear his clothes off. Because they’re ugly. Hideous, as a matter of fact. And he’s so very gorgeous naked.
Hang on, what did he say? The two falling in love somehow ‘paid off’? Her incredulity momentarily overrides her x-rated brain.
“Paid off how? By turning you evil, nearly destroying the world and forcing me to kill you? Please tell me where the payoff is, because I’d love to know!”
“I- we’re special,” he repeats, stubbornly.
“Oh you’re special alright!” she retorts, and then holds up a hand when he tries to approach her. It is only with a huge effort that doesn’t extend her hand and pull him towards her.
But he notices her uncertainty, and his eyes light up.
“I am. We are. It’s a prophecy, Buffy. The biggest one the Powers have ever seen. And it’s about us. Stop fighting it…”
His words do not have the intended effect as Buffy can feel her resolve hardening.
“I am not having sex with you because of a prophecy that seems to have slipped both of us some kind of supernatural roofie!”
“But the dog said…” he mumbles, petulantly, and her eyes widen.
“The dog… You met a talking dog?” she asks, slowly, and he nods.
“Although sometimes it was a squirrel. Or a bird. Or… other things. It helped me, told me what to do, how to prepare.”
For a few moments she is literally dumbstruck, beginning to grasp that Angel hasn’t just lost a few marbles, he’s flat-out bug shagging crazy.
Really, what is it about evil forces taking over her exes, turning them into loony puppets and getting them to kill lots of girls? If she didn’t know better she’d begin to think that the universe itself was misogynistic…
But enough thinking – especially since she’s now remembering a certain fantasy about Spike and Angel and oil…
She points to the sky.
“OK, here’s the deal. We are going straight back to my base, and getting Willow and Giles and… everyone on this case. You go first. And don’t come too close, or try anything, or I will do my best to knock you out.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but she shakes her head.
“Go!” she orders, and thankfully he flies off without any further arguments. She looks after him, absentmindedly admiring the way the tight fitting costume outlines his physique…
Stop, Buffy. Remember the girls!
Sighing deeply, she gets ready to fly after him. (Although better leave a significant gap.) This has, without a doubt, been the weirdest day of her life - he’d wanted to make her happy…
It would actually be funny - sweet even - if it wasn’t so sick.
Many thank yous to
kathyh for the beta and to ubi4soft and beloved4always for their help! :)Title: Don’t You Want To Be Happy?
Summary: Buffy manages to keep hold of her faculties for a while longer.
Setting: AU from near the end of #33.
Characters: comic!Buffy, Twangel.
Rating: Teen.
Genre: s8. (So crack, mostly.)
Word count: 900 approx.
Notes: Written for Barb’s Nertz To You Joss Whedon ficathon, and should be pretty digestible for all and sundry. :)
She looks at him, then blinks away the tear in her eye, as she tries to ignore the way her insides twist.
They’re both glowing and she (still, again, vividly) remembers the sensation of him holding her.
To be happy...
Wait.
Happy?
She frowns, trying to clear the fog in her mind.
“What’s happiness got to do with… anything?” she asks, and he looks adorably bewildered.
“You – me – we’re destined to be together. And be happy,” he says simply, taking a step forwards. She has to forcibly stop herself from walking into his waiting arms, and instead takes two steps back, something suddenly clicking into place in her mind.
Because she remembers this feeling – this absolute certainty, this primal need…
Need… She needs to… Kiss him. Hard.
No wait. Stop.
Two more steps back. Pretend she’s not glowing. Pretend that the hurt look on his face doesn’t threaten to break her heart.
“OK, this? Is a love spell,” she says firmly, carefully taking several more steps backwards, because now she is fighting very hard not to ruffle his hair just so…
Focus, Buffy, focus! He just brushed aside your dead girls like they never mattered. Like he didn’t help kill them.
Yes, there was that anger again. Good. Anger very good.
“No Buffy,” he says, sounding all calm and reasonable. “This isn't a spell, trust me. This, what we share, is something much deeper, much more profound. Our love will give birth to Twilight, where we will live happily ever after.”
Several more layers of fuzziness descend on her brain, although this time it’s caused by the bizarre brand of troll logic he's spouting.
“But… you are Twilight!” she replies, confused. “You and your army. Like… like some lunatic super villain. I mean - have you looked at yourself recently? You’re one step away from wearing your underwear on top of your pants!”
Ignoring her plea to examine his outfit – and there’s a clue if ever there was one – he starts arguing, reaching out for her, and she thinks that maybe she should uproot another tree, just so she has a physical barrier to put between them. Her self-control is impossible to shore up, like an hourglass that keeps running out, forcing her to turn it over and over and over.
“It’s all part of the same thing Buffy. Me, my followers, you… everything is in the service of a new and better world! It’s because we are special. Don’t you see? You and me falling in love - it was a long shot that paid off!”
She slowly shakes her head, barely knowing where to start. Also she wants to tear his clothes off. Because they’re ugly. Hideous, as a matter of fact. And he’s so very gorgeous naked.
Hang on, what did he say? The two falling in love somehow ‘paid off’? Her incredulity momentarily overrides her x-rated brain.
“Paid off how? By turning you evil, nearly destroying the world and forcing me to kill you? Please tell me where the payoff is, because I’d love to know!”
“I- we’re special,” he repeats, stubbornly.
“Oh you’re special alright!” she retorts, and then holds up a hand when he tries to approach her. It is only with a huge effort that doesn’t extend her hand and pull him towards her.
But he notices her uncertainty, and his eyes light up.
“I am. We are. It’s a prophecy, Buffy. The biggest one the Powers have ever seen. And it’s about us. Stop fighting it…”
His words do not have the intended effect as Buffy can feel her resolve hardening.
“I am not having sex with you because of a prophecy that seems to have slipped both of us some kind of supernatural roofie!”
“But the dog said…” he mumbles, petulantly, and her eyes widen.
“The dog… You met a talking dog?” she asks, slowly, and he nods.
“Although sometimes it was a squirrel. Or a bird. Or… other things. It helped me, told me what to do, how to prepare.”
For a few moments she is literally dumbstruck, beginning to grasp that Angel hasn’t just lost a few marbles, he’s flat-out bug shagging crazy.
Really, what is it about evil forces taking over her exes, turning them into loony puppets and getting them to kill lots of girls? If she didn’t know better she’d begin to think that the universe itself was misogynistic…
But enough thinking – especially since she’s now remembering a certain fantasy about Spike and Angel and oil…
She points to the sky.
“OK, here’s the deal. We are going straight back to my base, and getting Willow and Giles and… everyone on this case. You go first. And don’t come too close, or try anything, or I will do my best to knock you out.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but she shakes her head.
“Go!” she orders, and thankfully he flies off without any further arguments. She looks after him, absentmindedly admiring the way the tight fitting costume outlines his physique…
Stop, Buffy. Remember the girls!
Sighing deeply, she gets ready to fly after him. (Although better leave a significant gap.) This has, without a doubt, been the weirdest day of her life - he’d wanted to make her happy…
It would actually be funny - sweet even - if it wasn’t so sick.