Congratulations! You're a Slayer. Now, Plz Go Die.

Sep 02, 2010 17:22

So, Fender has been thinking a lot about what it means to be a Slayer for the past few days, and I realized that the only way I could suss things out is to do things my way- i.e. make up a hypothetical type of ficlet and draw a comic... and this is what happened...

Word of warning: Don't hate me because I make my own fun. I love you guys. :D

The Day Fenderlove Became a Slayer. )

buffy, s8, comic, fanfic, digital illustration

Leave a comment

mulder200 September 2 2010, 23:02:47 UTC

Fender: Prewritten before whom? Being a Slayer sounds more like a genetic mutation or a generationally random STD.

LOL! I never thought of Slayerhood as an STD before.

Fender: You spent seven years complaining about how you didn't get a choice, which is fair. It sucks to be the only one who has to shoulder a burden. We get it! But you weren't alone; you had friends and a support system that no other Slayer ever had! So the big show comes down, and you're offered one chance to save everyone yourself- take in more demon essence which is already a part of who you are- but instead you foist your burden on others, hoping that maybe you won't feel so horribly alone but it didn't fix anything. You made everything worse, and you're no better for it. Get over it and do something to help the people who are asking for it. Stop space-frakking your childhood crush and let go of the glow.

Hell to the yeah! This is awesome and so true!

Fender: The only thing that will happen if you do that is the cockpit will get a whole new meaning... and by that I mean I'll make Spike and Angel have naked fun-times in there.

Oh yummy!

Reply

fenderlove September 2 2010, 23:18:57 UTC
I also came up with the analogy today that getting Slayer powers was a giant cosmic ruffie what with the Slayers being born with their power- just because the pill was in the glass didn't mean that Buffy should have come along and popped the capsule with a swizzle-stick-scythe.

Reply


Leave a comment

Up