SCRIBES OF ANGEL
Fan Fiction
________________________________
Disclaimer: Joss and ME own the couples and
their crazy, mixed-up love lives. Various fanfic writers own the other pairings
and Miss Mary Sue. I own the 'Ships Saga.
Note: Didn't I swear I wouldn't do this anymore? Well, I lied. The situation on
Angel certainly warrants one of these things. Not even the most twisted
fanficcer could have come up with the craziness that is the state of 'ships on
that show this season.
Note II: This fic is all but a collaboration with Tanja Kinkel. She not only
goaded me into this, she provided some of the best lines (like Cordy's diapers
and incest rants). So she takes at least some of the blame.
Loose
Lips, Sinking 'Ships
By
HonorH
(Angel, Cordelia, Connor, Fred, Gunn, Wesley, and Lilah all sit around a large,
round table piled high with 'shipper fic. None of them look remarkably happy,
though Lilah's got a nasty grin on her face and Connor's *very* involved in
what he's reading. Fred is scribbling notes as she reads.)
LILAH: Want to get into bondage, Wes?
WESLEY: "What brought that on?" he asked with great trepidation.
L: The last two stories I read are practically primers on BDSM. Everyone thinks
we're into it.
W: Which just goes to show why you shouldn't take 'shippers too seriously.
(Tosses one fic down, picks up another.) Really, it was just the once. Well,
twice.
L: What about that thing with my fox stole and the ceiling fan?
W: Piffle. You could've gotten free anytime.
CORDELIA: Could we not hear about this? Please?
CONNOR: Cordy, do women really do this?
ANGEL: (to Connor) I still don't think you should be here.
Con: I'm doing it; why shouldn't I read about it?
A: Correction: you did it once.
Con: Twice.
(Angel glares at Cordelia, who blushes and ducks her head.)
A: Care to answer my son's question, Cordy?
(Cordelia primly looks over the fic Connor hands her.)
Cor: Yes, and don't even think it, Junior.
(Connor looks deflated.)
GUNN: Oh, my God!
FRED: (not looking up from her own fic.) What?
G: This one's got me doin' it with English!
(Wesley looks like he's having a Vivid Mental Image. So does Lilah. It has very
different effects on each of them.)
F: Put it down if you don't like it, Charles.
G: (dropping it like a hot rock) People really write that stuff? Do I look gay?
F: (distractedly) Sure. (Flips fic over to the blank side of the page and
continues scribbling equations.)
Cor: You could if you dressed better.
G: But why would they think I'd . . . ugh! I mean, he's skinny, and white, and
. . . (looks at Fred) Never mind.
Cor: Don't look for sense; if a fanficcer likes the thought of a pairing, they'll
write it, canon justification or no. Get used to it.
Con: Cordy, who's this girl?
Cor: What girl?
Con: The girl I keep supposedly meeting in Quartoth. I mean, she goes by
different names, but it's all the same girl.
W: Is she your only childhood friend/sister/protector/long-lost true love?
Con: Um . . . yes. All of that. Sometimes all at the same time. I don't get it.
There weren't any girls in Quartoth. Why else would I be in such a bad mood all
the time? (Sets fic aside, reaches for another.)
W: She's called "Mary Sue," Connor, and we've all run afoul of her
from time to time. Give it time, and she'll go away. All fanfic writers have a
Mary Sue in them. If they're lucky, they get her out of their systems early and
go on to write slash.
G: They're whacked. Oh, God, not again. (Tosses another fic over his back.
Looks over at Fred.) What're you doing?
F: Trying to figure out if this story violates the laws of physics. And a few
other things don't seem to add up. (Scratches head and frowns at the pile of
fic.)
Con: (eyes going wide at new fic) Wow!
(Angel's had it. He snatches Connor's story and uses his superior size to keep
it away.)
Con: Give it back!
A: (taking a look at the pairing) Do you have any idea what Buffy would do to
you if she read this?
Cor: What?
A: It's got Connor deflowering Dawn.
Cor: Buffy's little sister? She's, like, sixteen!
(The entire table stops what they're doing to give Cordelia a Look.)
Cor: Or maybe I shouldn't throw stones about robbing the cradle.
A: (grouchy) Maybe you shouldn't.
Cor: Not that you can talk. Or do I need to remind you about your adventures
with teenaged Slayers?
A: I never changed Buffy's *diapers*!
Cor: (throwing down her latest story) I am so unbelievably sick of diapers!
Why's everybody so obsessed with the diapers?
F: (not looking up from her equations) Well, the image of you changing Connor's
diapers seems to imply there was a mother/son relationship which has now been
turned into a quasi-incestuous Oedipus/Jocasta archetypal pairing. Thus the
squick factor, which, according to my calculations, is about a 9.8 for much of
the fandom.
Cor: Thank you, Fred. Incest? They think it's incest?
Con: I don't remember you changing my diapers.
Cor: See? And if incest squicks them so much, then Darla and her
"boy" and Drusilla and her "Daddy" should all go to the
head of the frickin' class!
A: Spike.
Cor: What?
A: Don't forget Spike. Serious Daddy and Mommy issues there.
L: Incest. It's all relative.
W: I may have to hurt you for that pun.
L: Go for it, big boy.
Cor: Again with the asking you two to please keep a lid on the twistedness that
is you.
L: Well, we've really got the lot of you to thank for driving us together.
After all, if you hadn't dumped Wesley on his ass, he and I would never have
gotten under each other's skin and into each other's pants.
W: True enough.
F: (throwing down her pencil) Well, I give up. I don't see how that threesome
is physically possible.
G: (looking intrigued) Threesome?
F: Me, Wesley, and Lilah.
(Wesley takes a brief vacation to Happy Land. Lilah looks vaguely disgusted.
Gunn looks outraged. Fred doesn't notice.)
F: And I'm sorry, Charles, but the chances of us staying together for the rest
of the season are pretty slim.
G: What? Baby, don't say things like that!
F: But it's true. According to my calculations, the happiness of a couple at
the beginning of the season has an inverse relationship to their chances of
being together for the season finale in the Jossverse. (Pouts) Why didn't
anybody tell me this is what happens on these shows?
L: (shrugging) I expect it. Even though Wesley and I aren't incredibly happy or
in love, I still don't expect we've got one chance in ten of coming out of this
relationship alive.
F: More like five percent. I calculated it. And that's for both of you. I could
calculate individual odds, if you'd like.
L: Thanks, but really, no. On the other hand, you could calculate the odds of
us having a threesome with Angel. He's been threatening to screw with me since
second season, and I'm pretty sure Wesley wouldn't protest too long. (Winks
lasciviously at Wesley, who blushes, but doesn't deny it.) 'Sides, it looks
like so much fun in this fic.
F: Um, I don't think so. Some of this stuff defies quantification. You need a
wall chart just to keep track of who's doing whom around here.
A: Not to mention all the messy love triangles. How many are we up to now?
W: Three, I think.
F: Well, either three, or one love triangle and one love quadrangle.
W: We need exposition. Where's Lorne?
(LORNE steps in, freezing the action.)
LORNE: All right, my doves, let's take a look at the situation thus far: First,
we've got the bodacious Miss Cordelia. Angel has a major jones for her, as does
his son, the Hormonal Hellspawn. Cordy rejected the father and quite probably
would have let the son down as well if not for an Impending Death Situation.
But since we're all going to survive that, we now have a situation in which a
depressive Cordelia has de-virgined young Connor, who is hopelessly in love
with her, and Angel saw the whole thing, but no one else currently knows. (Sets
his hands on Cordelia's shoulders.) Aw, sweetcheeks-what're you going to do?
Now let's get to the others. In this corner, we've got Gunn, who's been in a
happy relationship with Fred. Well, at least until they had a mutual
falling-off-of-pedestals over that whole professor thing, which only they know
the whole story of. Now, Wesley helped Fred, and Gunn knows Wesley helped Fred,
and Wesley knows Gunn knows, but Fred doesn't know that Gunn knows or that
Wesley knows Gunn knows. Anybody for an Alpha Male Smackdown? Well, more like a
Beta Male Smackdown, with these two. (Rubs hands together gleefully.) And all
that's before we get to the really fun couple! Wesley and Lilah here have been
sharing kinky sex and betrayals for a few months now. Angel knows, and they
know Angel knows, but no one else knows. Meanwhile, Wesley has a major jones on
for Fred, and Lilah knows he does, and Wesley would have to be a lot dumber
than he is not to realize Lilah knows. Fred, for her part, doesn't know about
Wesley and Lilah, but the disturbance in her relationship with Gunn has left
her open to Wesley's somewhat darker charms. My advice? Watch your head, Fred.
Hell hath no fury like an evil bitch scorned. (Looks at them all.) You know,
with all the free-floating lust in this crowd, you'd think I could get some.
Just don't know what they're all missing. Toodles, my darlings!
(Exit LORNE. The crew comes un-frozen.)
G: (after a moment) Did Joss hire a bunch of soap opera writers to take over
this season?
W: That's not an unreasonable explanation.
L: (deviously) What could possibly make things more complicated?
F: (wincing) Did you really have to ask that?
L: I'm evil, remember?
Cor: Here's food for thought: Charisma's pregnant. Guess what that could mean
for me?
Con: I could get your visions. I so don't want that.
A: I could go evil.
G: I could go crazy.
L: I could sleep with Fred.
(Wesley takes another vacation to Happy Land.)
F: Okay, I've calculated it: One more complication, and at least one of us will
be dead by the end of the season. That factors in the current apocalypse, by
the way. Any more and we'll be lucky if even one of us survives.
(They all contemplate that unhappily. LORNE enters, unnoticed.)
LORNE: Poor little lambs. They don't deserve this. (Thinks) Well, okay, Lilah
does, and maybe Angel, just a little. (Addresses readers, pulling a curtain
across the imagination.) But they need some happiness as well. So keep writing,
you crazy cats. Pair 'em up, throw 'em down, do whatever your sweet, depraved
little hearts desire, because compadres-nobody can do any worse by them than
the Powers already have. (Disappears behind the curtain as all goes dark.)