FIC: Wherefore art thou, magic? A Snarkier Season 9
Title: Wherefore art thou, magic? A Snarkier Season 9
Summary: Willow's on a mission to restore magic to a world which has lost its creative spark.
Timeline: Buffy Season 9 comics, Angel & Faith comics, and ~other
Word Count: ~1700
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This is Season 9 snark in the vein of all the hilariously bitter Season 8 snark to come before, a la Curse You, FOX, For Tricking Me Thrice! Also, inspired by chats and whinging with local_max.
In a world bereft of magic, where songs suck, the funny falls flat, and characterization craters deeper than a fubar’d soufflé, a geek who became a witch who became the embodiment of darkness and destroyer of worlds who became a goddess who became a geek again after magic got all bereft, WILLOW, goes on a mission to restore magic and save the world from devolving into a soulless story wasteland where a robot Slayer, hell-dimensional instant messaging, and mindless slobbering zompires are the anti-epic status quo.
And nobody wants to rule a lame status quo now, do they?
*
“Please, Will, you don’t have to do this,” Buffy begs, hoping Willow won’t leave her to face the lukewarm hell of a fake-abortion-robot-switcheroo-working-for-Kennedy storyline.
“Buffy, this world needs magic now more than ever. Ever since you smashed the Seed of Wonder, the fabric of reality’s begun to fray. Can we really stand by and damn the world to two centuries of listening to Taylor Swift’s “Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together”? The world is screaming silently as it dies, rotting from the inside out. Can’t you hear it? Of course, you can’t because without magic no one can hear the earth’s molten tears. Oh, the horror, Buffy, the HORROR!”
Buffy shudders. “I know. You’re right. I just… I’ll miss you. You’re my best friend.”
Willow pats Buffy on the shoulder. “There, there, pretty robot.”
Buffy frowns. “You don’t think this is why Spike’s going to ask me to run away with him again? Because I’m a robot?”
Willow nods. “Of course not.”
“Wait, but you just nodded. So it is or it isn’t?”
“Nobody understands why anyone does anything anymore, Buffy. Actions and the motivations behind them no longer make sense. Not without magic.”
Buffy scrunches her forehead. “My head hurts with all the consequences of my destroying the Seed plus my massive guilt and low self-esteem which I alone must bear because it’s all my fault and nobody else did anything wrong to feel bad about. Also, I think Andrew built my left leg longer than my right one and now I’m all lopsided.”
“Poor robot Buffy. I wish I could stay and fix your center of gravity, but the only hope we have of restoring the world’s balance is if I use the Scythe to hop, skip, and jump my way to another universe where magic still exists and bring it back here to this dull creative sinkhole.”
“I understand. Live long and prosper, my friend,” Buffy says, holding her hand up to offer the Vulcan blessing.
Laughing awkwardly, Willow hugs Buffy goodbye. “I promise I’ll whip you up a magic colonic to wipe out all of Andrew’s programming when I get back, ‘kay?”
*
“Mwahahahahaha! All hail your MIGHTY OVERLORD, for I am she! I will rule this poorly drawn excuse for a hell dimension with Connor as my pet and those fluffy demon doggies as my pet’s pets and I demand you all bow before me in wonder at my darkly magnificent darkness, for I am the vain, arrogant amalgamation of a Hellgod and an Old One, known heretofore as GLORILLYRIA!”
“Dammit, Willow! Hold still so I can bite you and calm down your megalomaniac tendencies with a forced orgasm!” Angel rolls his eyes at his son, muttering under his breath. “Bitches be crazy.”
Connor nods. “Riiiight?”
Meanwhile, Willow smites a mountain and laughs for her smiting powers are great.
Faith shudders, lost in contemplation of her dark past. “Damn, watching Willow go all Dark Side is making me worry I might sleep with Xander again.”
“Don’t worry, Faith, you’ve faced your darkness,” Angel says reassuringly. “You’ll never sleep with Xander again. Not while I’m here to stop you.” He taps his fangs.
Faith gets misty-eyed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Angel. Keeping me on the straight and narrow.”
Connor tilts his head back, watching Willow shoot lava from her eyes at the Quor’toth demon. “Should we try to stop her?”
Angel shrugs. “Son, sometimes it’s best to leave a woman be. There’s no point in trying to use reason when they’re behaving irrationally. It’s best to let them make their mistakes, get it out of their system, then force them to see it your way.”
Willow accidentally smites the pack of dogs that worshipped Connor. “Oooh, puppies!”
“Aw, man.” Connor shrugs. “Whatever. Can we go home, Dad? I’m bored.”
“All right, son.” Angel claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll end this madness out of my love for you and you alone.”
And with that solemn promise, Angel leaps into the air, flying majestically up as if propelled by angels’ wings. His fangs sink into Willow’s neck and the horror of Dark Willow 2.0 ends with a whimper (and a bang, kinda, on a metaphoric level).
Willow is grateful, for her darkness was, well, not exactly grave, but heinously characterized. Her gratitude pouring out of every porous fibery molecule of her being, she violates her magical totem, the Scythe, in order to feed Angel’s nipple a piece of Giles’ soul. Like breastfeeding only in reverse, and also stupid.
Faith is assuredly good, better than all, as Willow feels compelled to attest by some outside controlling force.
And Angel, why, he’s the best of them all and he’s taking his son to motherfucking DISNEYLAND!
*
Many moons have passed and Willow now finds herself standing before the final doorway to magic. Wise mages and ancient demons and a greasy guy selling a guide to the stars have led her to this fortress disguised to appear like all the other houses on the block.
“Must be another Wolfram & Hart hell dimension,” Willow mutters to herself, before pushing the doorbell. When the doorbell doesn’t ring, Willow straightens her spine, firms her chin, and opens the door. “Into the breach I go…”
“Umm, hey you!” Willow grabs a short man rushing by with a clipboard. “What’s with the reverse Wizard of Oz?”
The man shakes free from her grip and runs off, shouting, “Don’t worry, Mr. Fillion, the waterslide should be delivered within the hour!”
“What a wonderful surprise,” a man says from behind her and Willow finds herself swept into a loving kiss and hands going in handy places.
Breaking free from the manly kiss with a man, Willow wields the scythe, holding her kiss-attacker at a safe distance, only to blink in shock upon seeing his face. “Wesley?! But you’re dead! Also, I’m gay. Or maybe you’re not dead here? Or maybe I’m dead? This must be heaven. Is the secret to restoring magic in the afterlife now?” Willow’s eyes sparkle excitedly as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. “Of course, I have to resurrect magic!”
Meanwhile, Wesley’s been watching her with growing consternation and concern. “Aly, are you feeling all right?”
“So if this is heaven, why’s it all in black and white? You’d think paradise would be all bright and rainbowy.”
“Well, how else would you film a modern noir Shakespearean comedy?”
“Is that a trick question? Or is that the trick question? Right, so if magic exists in a modern noir Shakespearean comedy, and I have to film it in order to restore magic to our world, then I… I don’t get it.” Willow looks around the house bustling with a small film crew and the sounds of people laughing in between recitations of elevated Elizabethan language.
The frown clears from Wesley’s face and he smiles. “Ahh, feeling a bit left out, were you? You know Joss would’ve loved nothing more than for you to join in. No need to pull a prank, Willow,” he finishes with a big wink.
“Joss wanted me to join the film noir fun? Sure, and who’s Joss again?”
“I love it when you get into character,” Wesley laughs, settling his arm around her waist and guiding her into the living room where a group of people were crowded around the camera being set for the next scene.
“Is that Fred? And Caleb? Oh goddess, does that mean that… Tara? Is she here? Wait, is that Andrew? Since when did Andrew join the realm of the not-living?”
Wesley just shakes his head, chuckling, and waves over the slightly balding man standing behind the camera. “Joss, look who came for a visit.”
“Aly!” the redbearded man bellows in a facetiously deep voice, rushing over to hug her.
“Hands! Watch the hands, stranger danger!” Willow warns, lifting the Scythe up threateningly.
“Wow,” Joss says, snatching the Scythe from Willow’s grip before she even realizes. “Did Dark Horse send this to you? I didn’t even realize they were whipping up these bad boys. All that’s missing is a broken Seed to go with your broken Scythe.”
“Great replica,” Wesley agrees. “Looks even more impressive than the original.”
Joss begins playfully swinging the Scythe in the air, shouting, “BOOM!” as he smashes an imaginary Seed of Wonder in the air before falling dramatically to the floor and curling into the fetal position. Willow swears she hears the muffled cries of “Why…oh god no…not Giles… I’ll…never…love…again…” before Joss jumps back to his feet, handing back the Scythe with a goofy grin on his face.
Willow takes hold of the Scythe again, eyeing him warily. “Are you insane?”
Joss winks, before assuming another pompously deep voice as he says, “Oooh who’s to say? I can only hope there’s a method in my madness.” Then he twirls an imaginary moustache and walks off to give the spirits of Caleb and Andrew notes on their next scene.
“I don't remember magic being this weird,” Willow mutters, glancing from Wesley’s hand resting on her shoulder to Joss now standing on the coffee table, tapping the air with a peacock feather the way a conductor calls for the attention of the orchestra.
All eyes on the redbearded madman with a maniacal glint in his eye, Joss throws his arms wide. “I never thought this day would come. I’d hoped and dreamed and tossed many a coin into an almighty wish fountain. And now, surrounded by you all, my illustrious, talented, and far more attractive than me friends-that day is now. Welcome to Wonderland, my pretties!”
Wesley playfully nuzzles Willow's temple. "Too bad the role of Beatrice is already taken. I'm sure Joss'll find a part for you, though."
Willow freezes up, struck with stage fright. "Oh goddess, what have I gotten myself into?"
*
Summary: Willow's on a mission to restore magic to a world which has lost its creative spark.
Timeline: Buffy Season 9 comics, Angel & Faith comics, and ~other
Word Count: ~1700
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This is Season 9 snark in the vein of all the hilariously bitter Season 8 snark to come before, a la Curse You, FOX, For Tricking Me Thrice! Also, inspired by chats and whinging with local_max.
In a world bereft of magic, where songs suck, the funny falls flat, and characterization craters deeper than a fubar’d soufflé, a geek who became a witch who became the embodiment of darkness and destroyer of worlds who became a goddess who became a geek again after magic got all bereft, WILLOW, goes on a mission to restore magic and save the world from devolving into a soulless story wasteland where a robot Slayer, hell-dimensional instant messaging, and mindless slobbering zompires are the anti-epic status quo.
And nobody wants to rule a lame status quo now, do they?
*
“Please, Will, you don’t have to do this,” Buffy begs, hoping Willow won’t leave her to face the lukewarm hell of a fake-abortion-robot-switcheroo-working-for-Kennedy storyline.
“Buffy, this world needs magic now more than ever. Ever since you smashed the Seed of Wonder, the fabric of reality’s begun to fray. Can we really stand by and damn the world to two centuries of listening to Taylor Swift’s “Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together”? The world is screaming silently as it dies, rotting from the inside out. Can’t you hear it? Of course, you can’t because without magic no one can hear the earth’s molten tears. Oh, the horror, Buffy, the HORROR!”
Buffy shudders. “I know. You’re right. I just… I’ll miss you. You’re my best friend.”
Willow pats Buffy on the shoulder. “There, there, pretty robot.”
Buffy frowns. “You don’t think this is why Spike’s going to ask me to run away with him again? Because I’m a robot?”
Willow nods. “Of course not.”
“Wait, but you just nodded. So it is or it isn’t?”
“Nobody understands why anyone does anything anymore, Buffy. Actions and the motivations behind them no longer make sense. Not without magic.”
Buffy scrunches her forehead. “My head hurts with all the consequences of my destroying the Seed plus my massive guilt and low self-esteem which I alone must bear because it’s all my fault and nobody else did anything wrong to feel bad about. Also, I think Andrew built my left leg longer than my right one and now I’m all lopsided.”
“Poor robot Buffy. I wish I could stay and fix your center of gravity, but the only hope we have of restoring the world’s balance is if I use the Scythe to hop, skip, and jump my way to another universe where magic still exists and bring it back here to this dull creative sinkhole.”
“I understand. Live long and prosper, my friend,” Buffy says, holding her hand up to offer the Vulcan blessing.
Laughing awkwardly, Willow hugs Buffy goodbye. “I promise I’ll whip you up a magic colonic to wipe out all of Andrew’s programming when I get back, ‘kay?”
*
“Mwahahahahaha! All hail your MIGHTY OVERLORD, for I am she! I will rule this poorly drawn excuse for a hell dimension with Connor as my pet and those fluffy demon doggies as my pet’s pets and I demand you all bow before me in wonder at my darkly magnificent darkness, for I am the vain, arrogant amalgamation of a Hellgod and an Old One, known heretofore as GLORILLYRIA!”
“Dammit, Willow! Hold still so I can bite you and calm down your megalomaniac tendencies with a forced orgasm!” Angel rolls his eyes at his son, muttering under his breath. “Bitches be crazy.”
Connor nods. “Riiiight?”
Meanwhile, Willow smites a mountain and laughs for her smiting powers are great.
Faith shudders, lost in contemplation of her dark past. “Damn, watching Willow go all Dark Side is making me worry I might sleep with Xander again.”
“Don’t worry, Faith, you’ve faced your darkness,” Angel says reassuringly. “You’ll never sleep with Xander again. Not while I’m here to stop you.” He taps his fangs.
Faith gets misty-eyed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Angel. Keeping me on the straight and narrow.”
Connor tilts his head back, watching Willow shoot lava from her eyes at the Quor’toth demon. “Should we try to stop her?”
Angel shrugs. “Son, sometimes it’s best to leave a woman be. There’s no point in trying to use reason when they’re behaving irrationally. It’s best to let them make their mistakes, get it out of their system, then force them to see it your way.”
Willow accidentally smites the pack of dogs that worshipped Connor. “Oooh, puppies!”
“Aw, man.” Connor shrugs. “Whatever. Can we go home, Dad? I’m bored.”
“All right, son.” Angel claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll end this madness out of my love for you and you alone.”
And with that solemn promise, Angel leaps into the air, flying majestically up as if propelled by angels’ wings. His fangs sink into Willow’s neck and the horror of Dark Willow 2.0 ends with a whimper (and a bang, kinda, on a metaphoric level).
Willow is grateful, for her darkness was, well, not exactly grave, but heinously characterized. Her gratitude pouring out of every porous fibery molecule of her being, she violates her magical totem, the Scythe, in order to feed Angel’s nipple a piece of Giles’ soul. Like breastfeeding only in reverse, and also stupid.
Faith is assuredly good, better than all, as Willow feels compelled to attest by some outside controlling force.
And Angel, why, he’s the best of them all and he’s taking his son to motherfucking DISNEYLAND!
*
Many moons have passed and Willow now finds herself standing before the final doorway to magic. Wise mages and ancient demons and a greasy guy selling a guide to the stars have led her to this fortress disguised to appear like all the other houses on the block.
“Must be another Wolfram & Hart hell dimension,” Willow mutters to herself, before pushing the doorbell. When the doorbell doesn’t ring, Willow straightens her spine, firms her chin, and opens the door. “Into the breach I go…”
“Umm, hey you!” Willow grabs a short man rushing by with a clipboard. “What’s with the reverse Wizard of Oz?”
The man shakes free from her grip and runs off, shouting, “Don’t worry, Mr. Fillion, the waterslide should be delivered within the hour!”
“What a wonderful surprise,” a man says from behind her and Willow finds herself swept into a loving kiss and hands going in handy places.
Breaking free from the manly kiss with a man, Willow wields the scythe, holding her kiss-attacker at a safe distance, only to blink in shock upon seeing his face. “Wesley?! But you’re dead! Also, I’m gay. Or maybe you’re not dead here? Or maybe I’m dead? This must be heaven. Is the secret to restoring magic in the afterlife now?” Willow’s eyes sparkle excitedly as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. “Of course, I have to resurrect magic!”
Meanwhile, Wesley’s been watching her with growing consternation and concern. “Aly, are you feeling all right?”
“So if this is heaven, why’s it all in black and white? You’d think paradise would be all bright and rainbowy.”
“Well, how else would you film a modern noir Shakespearean comedy?”
“Is that a trick question? Or is that the trick question? Right, so if magic exists in a modern noir Shakespearean comedy, and I have to film it in order to restore magic to our world, then I… I don’t get it.” Willow looks around the house bustling with a small film crew and the sounds of people laughing in between recitations of elevated Elizabethan language.
The frown clears from Wesley’s face and he smiles. “Ahh, feeling a bit left out, were you? You know Joss would’ve loved nothing more than for you to join in. No need to pull a prank, Willow,” he finishes with a big wink.
“Joss wanted me to join the film noir fun? Sure, and who’s Joss again?”
“I love it when you get into character,” Wesley laughs, settling his arm around her waist and guiding her into the living room where a group of people were crowded around the camera being set for the next scene.
“Is that Fred? And Caleb? Oh goddess, does that mean that… Tara? Is she here? Wait, is that Andrew? Since when did Andrew join the realm of the not-living?”
Wesley just shakes his head, chuckling, and waves over the slightly balding man standing behind the camera. “Joss, look who came for a visit.”
“Aly!” the redbearded man bellows in a facetiously deep voice, rushing over to hug her.
“Hands! Watch the hands, stranger danger!” Willow warns, lifting the Scythe up threateningly.
“Wow,” Joss says, snatching the Scythe from Willow’s grip before she even realizes. “Did Dark Horse send this to you? I didn’t even realize they were whipping up these bad boys. All that’s missing is a broken Seed to go with your broken Scythe.”
“Great replica,” Wesley agrees. “Looks even more impressive than the original.”
Joss begins playfully swinging the Scythe in the air, shouting, “BOOM!” as he smashes an imaginary Seed of Wonder in the air before falling dramatically to the floor and curling into the fetal position. Willow swears she hears the muffled cries of “Why…oh god no…not Giles… I’ll…never…love…again…” before Joss jumps back to his feet, handing back the Scythe with a goofy grin on his face.
Willow takes hold of the Scythe again, eyeing him warily. “Are you insane?”
Joss winks, before assuming another pompously deep voice as he says, “Oooh who’s to say? I can only hope there’s a method in my madness.” Then he twirls an imaginary moustache and walks off to give the spirits of Caleb and Andrew notes on their next scene.
“I don't remember magic being this weird,” Willow mutters, glancing from Wesley’s hand resting on her shoulder to Joss now standing on the coffee table, tapping the air with a peacock feather the way a conductor calls for the attention of the orchestra.
All eyes on the redbearded madman with a maniacal glint in his eye, Joss throws his arms wide. “I never thought this day would come. I’d hoped and dreamed and tossed many a coin into an almighty wish fountain. And now, surrounded by you all, my illustrious, talented, and far more attractive than me friends-that day is now. Welcome to Wonderland, my pretties!”
Wesley playfully nuzzles Willow's temple. "Too bad the role of Beatrice is already taken. I'm sure Joss'll find a part for you, though."
Willow freezes up, struck with stage fright. "Oh goddess, what have I gotten myself into?"
*