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suki_blueTitle: Whoops: A Pointless Spangel, Buffy!Death Fic
Genre: Comedy, bad!fic
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: R for references to death and sex.
Summary: Buffy is dead. No-one really cares.
Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kitty_poker1
This fic was written in response to the alarming amount of Spuffy we've been seeing this summer and also becauseamejisuto egged me on. Blame her for the method of death.
This fic is posted in celebration of Kittypalooza. Happy birthday, luv!!!!
And yes, well observed, this is my first ever Spangel. I'm starting off slow.
“Whoops.”
“Yup. You can say that again, luv.”
“Whoops.”
“Well, what a bloody stupid place to put an anvil.”
Angel nodded, crossed his arms and stared down at Buffy’s lifeless body. “Spike, tell me again why we have an anvil in the first place.”
Spike lifted his arms in exasperation. “For my new hobby! Don’t you ever listen to me?!”
“Oh, the amateur blacksmith thing. Yes, I’d forgotten about that. And what exactly were you planning on doing with all those horseshoes?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, I’m gonna start writing all this down. I want the horseshoes for the pub.”
Angel stared with an expression that was completely blank - except for a slight twitch to his left eye that meant he was trying to think very hard. “Pub?”
“You really are a total plank. *Our* pub, remember? The one that we’re gonna have in England? I’m collecting horseshoes, Toby Jugs and silver tankards.”
“Oh, *that* pub thing.” Angel had a quick think. This time his right eye twitched and his left nostril flared. “Aren’t the horseshoes supposed to be brass?”
Spike shrugged. “Who cares? We’ll be serving the best bloody ale in the South East of England. I don’t think anyone is going to care what the horseshoes are made of. And besides, I looked on Ebay for some brass ones; they were all crap.”
Angel nodded in agreement, toed Buffy’s leg, and sighed. “You’re just not getting the quality on Ebay anymore.”
“Naaah.”
“Hmmm.”
“Anything on telly tonight, luv?”
“New season of Lost is starting.”
“Yeah? Give it a go, shall we?”
“I don’t see why not. Then we’ll have an early night.”
“That’s a bloody great idea.”
The front door opened and Wesley bounced in, full of the joys of spring. “Ah, there you are. Have you heard the…news? Good heavens, who’s that?!”
Angel flapped a casual hand. “It’s just Buffy.”
“Oh!” Wesley exclaimed, clutching his heart and staggering back slightly. “Thank goodness for that! I thought it might be some poor innocent.”
“News, Wes? You said something about news?”
“Yes, yes. Have you heard…? Erm, why exactly do you have an anvil?”
“Pub,” Angel and Spike said in unison.
“I see. And the reason that it is currently residing upon a rather dead Slayer?”
Angel and Spike looked at each other and shrugged. “Because it was funny?”
“Oh, well, that explains everything.”
“News, Wes?”
“Ah, yes, sorry, Angel. I was distracted by the anvil. It is rather magnificent.”
Spike beamed with pride.
“But anyway, news. Poor Rupert Giles slipped on a copy of Demons' Weekly and has grazed his knee.”
“Blimey!”
“Oh my god, Wesley, is he okay?”
Wesley nodded solemnly. “He will be. But it was a bit of a blow to the others. Miss Rosenberg went into deep shock and was unable to babble for a full minute, and Mr Harris has turned suddenly gay.”
“Harris? Gay? Really?” Spike asked.
“Yes indeed. Rupert is most pleased at the development.”
“I bet he is,” Spike said with a smirk. “Always thought those two had the hots for each other. Making a go of it, are they?”
“I do believe so, yes. But, putting all that aside for a moment, what should we do with Miss Summers' body?”
“Who?” Angel was genuinely puzzled.
“He means Buffy,” Spike prompted.
“Who?”
Wesley pointed to the squashed body.
“Oh!” Angel said with an embarrassed chuckle. “Whoops. Spike, what do you think?”
“Drag her arse outside and wait for the coyotes to get her?”
“Splendid!” Wesley cried, joyfully. “You two grab the anvil and I’ll sit over here and watch.”
Ahhhh, life was good, gay sex was good, anvils were great and Slayers were totally insignificant.
THE END.
Genre: Comedy, bad!fic
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: R for references to death and sex.
Summary: Buffy is dead. No-one really cares.
Beta'd by
kitty_poker1This fic was written in response to the alarming amount of Spuffy we've been seeing this summer and also because
amejisuto egged me on. Blame her for the method of death.This fic is posted in celebration of Kittypalooza. Happy birthday, luv!!!!
And yes, well observed, this is my first ever Spangel. I'm starting off slow.
“Whoops.”
“Yup. You can say that again, luv.”
“Whoops.”
“Well, what a bloody stupid place to put an anvil.”
Angel nodded, crossed his arms and stared down at Buffy’s lifeless body. “Spike, tell me again why we have an anvil in the first place.”
Spike lifted his arms in exasperation. “For my new hobby! Don’t you ever listen to me?!”
“Oh, the amateur blacksmith thing. Yes, I’d forgotten about that. And what exactly were you planning on doing with all those horseshoes?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, I’m gonna start writing all this down. I want the horseshoes for the pub.”
Angel stared with an expression that was completely blank - except for a slight twitch to his left eye that meant he was trying to think very hard. “Pub?”
“You really are a total plank. *Our* pub, remember? The one that we’re gonna have in England? I’m collecting horseshoes, Toby Jugs and silver tankards.”
“Oh, *that* pub thing.” Angel had a quick think. This time his right eye twitched and his left nostril flared. “Aren’t the horseshoes supposed to be brass?”
Spike shrugged. “Who cares? We’ll be serving the best bloody ale in the South East of England. I don’t think anyone is going to care what the horseshoes are made of. And besides, I looked on Ebay for some brass ones; they were all crap.”
Angel nodded in agreement, toed Buffy’s leg, and sighed. “You’re just not getting the quality on Ebay anymore.”
“Naaah.”
“Hmmm.”
“Anything on telly tonight, luv?”
“New season of Lost is starting.”
“Yeah? Give it a go, shall we?”
“I don’t see why not. Then we’ll have an early night.”
“That’s a bloody great idea.”
The front door opened and Wesley bounced in, full of the joys of spring. “Ah, there you are. Have you heard the…news? Good heavens, who’s that?!”
Angel flapped a casual hand. “It’s just Buffy.”
“Oh!” Wesley exclaimed, clutching his heart and staggering back slightly. “Thank goodness for that! I thought it might be some poor innocent.”
“News, Wes? You said something about news?”
“Yes, yes. Have you heard…? Erm, why exactly do you have an anvil?”
“Pub,” Angel and Spike said in unison.
“I see. And the reason that it is currently residing upon a rather dead Slayer?”
Angel and Spike looked at each other and shrugged. “Because it was funny?”
“Oh, well, that explains everything.”
“News, Wes?”
“Ah, yes, sorry, Angel. I was distracted by the anvil. It is rather magnificent.”
Spike beamed with pride.
“But anyway, news. Poor Rupert Giles slipped on a copy of Demons' Weekly and has grazed his knee.”
“Blimey!”
“Oh my god, Wesley, is he okay?”
Wesley nodded solemnly. “He will be. But it was a bit of a blow to the others. Miss Rosenberg went into deep shock and was unable to babble for a full minute, and Mr Harris has turned suddenly gay.”
“Harris? Gay? Really?” Spike asked.
“Yes indeed. Rupert is most pleased at the development.”
“I bet he is,” Spike said with a smirk. “Always thought those two had the hots for each other. Making a go of it, are they?”
“I do believe so, yes. But, putting all that aside for a moment, what should we do with Miss Summers' body?”
“Who?” Angel was genuinely puzzled.
“He means Buffy,” Spike prompted.
“Who?”
Wesley pointed to the squashed body.
“Oh!” Angel said with an embarrassed chuckle. “Whoops. Spike, what do you think?”
“Drag her arse outside and wait for the coyotes to get her?”
“Splendid!” Wesley cried, joyfully. “You two grab the anvil and I’ll sit over here and watch.”
Ahhhh, life was good, gay sex was good, anvils were great and Slayers were totally insignificant.
THE END.