Laura Stone (stoney321) wrote,
Laura Stone

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Fic Post of the KEE-RACK variety

Inspired by some... AMAZING bad!fic I read today, and to cheer up dancetomato. (And secretly to make everyone laugh. Come on. Bad!fic is AWESOME. This is what happens when I'm bored.) Let's take a trope and make it fic of the OOC/AU variety!

Title: Spikerella, a Love Story For the Ages
Author: Stoney
Fandom: OOC/AU BtVS fic (because let's face it: it's a fandom of its own now, isn't it?)
Warnings: Check your brain at the door. Abuse of "little one," misspelt character names, weeping men, girlification of Spike, and there are two benevolent toads within.
A/N: Also, apologies to Monty Python for taking a reference and sticking it in here. Heh.
Gracious Slave-like Love: To Kita0610 for being the original coiner of the term "Little One." ;)

Spikerella: A Love Fairy Tale For The Ages


Once upon a time a rich man was married to a nice but unhealthy woman, which was smart of him, because he had gotten his money from her dowry. She died after her baby Spikerella was born. Spikerella was fair and lovely and cooed and gurgled and did other precious thing that women who adore babies and ignore their husbands love. So when she died, there wasn't anyone around to admire the precious fair and lovely child, because the dad was from a time where men didn't care about things like mental health of their offspring and paternal responsibility beyond making sure there was food on the table.

This made Spikerella lonely, but never sad because he was such a happy little girl. He chose to talk to the mice and the cats and the animals in the barn as this was the time before suburbs and select soccer teams, so there were no children for him to frolic with. He would hold the mice in his sweet delicate hand and talk to them and sing in his unsurprisingly beautiful and perfect voice and they would lie still and listen, as if enchanted!

These were the days of magic, but the magic only helped move you from one poor house to a richer one; it didn't save you from TB or polio or starvation, which was shortsighted of the magical world.

The widowed father chose another woman to marry, but as he didn't have to worry about her having money, he had his own after all, he decided that his second wife wouldn't be a trophy wife, she would be a cold and forgiving woman with baggage in the form of two homely daughters. Men were not the brightest in those days. As karma is a bitch, the widower died, leaving the Stepmother, evil of course, with all his money. Spikerella was no longer welcomed to any wing of the house because let's face it, she brought vermin into the house and sang to them. This was not in the days before some understanding of sanitation, you see.

Spikerella came in to clean the house and mend shoes and scrub the pots and wash the walls and put a perfectly beautiful, sad face upon his sweet countenance while his homely and spotty step-sisters put on gaudy clothes and tacky jewelry that had an air of bling to them. This was THE time of bling, children. All of this would make a lesser, smaller, or more petulant child throw a temper tantrum. Or rightfully fly into a rage. Or call Child Protective Services, but this was before Child Protective Services and Abuse Understanding, so she continued to sing her beautiful songs to her mice, Zander and Willough, who were also best friends.

One day, after playing hop-scotch in the garden with a pair of frogs and a swallow, (Andrew, Jonathan, and Warren) Spikerella was called into the large and imposing home that was covered in ivy and decorated within with rich tapestries and other period decorations denoting the family's wealth and station. Also, there were flower arrangements that were lavish.

"Whatever have you called me in for, Stepmother?" Spikerella sang as she madly twirled with delight for being alive and in the most gorgeous of worlds and free to sing of her love.

"Stop that twirling," the Stepmother Buffy spat. "Go dress your sisters. I want them to look especially lovely for the ball tonight." This was the time when women needed help being dressed, and before the age of Velcro.

One of the homely stepsisters, Tara, who wasn't all that bad except for being a little dumpy and slopey-shouldered and having an irritating stutter, stuttered, "M-m-m-other, I-i-i-i d-d-d-don't w-w-w-w-wan't to g-g-g-g-g-go." See what I mean?

Evil Stepmother Buffy backhanded her across the face. "You'll go and you'll make the Prince Angel love you. And that is my final word! Now, move!"

The ugly and mean stepsister number two, Cordelia, laughed, "She'll never get the Prince to love her. He'll love me. I'm absolutely gorgeous."

She patted a powder puff to her many, many whiteheads all over her face and adjusted her dried and brittle locks so they covered her low-hanging dugs. (This was definitely the time before 18 Hour Bras.)

"He'll love me and I'll live happily ever after," the mean dark-haired bitch snapped, because she was born a girl and was nasty and mean.

Spikerella was too sweet and kind and two-dimensional to say anything ugly about the two ugly stepsisters. He followed along behind them both and tied a satin sash to Tara's dress, noticing all the oily grease on her scalp. Maybe the Prince will see that as a sign of her eating healthy foods. Perhaps he has a staff that can wash her hair for her more often. He patted his own luxurious platinum bleached and slicked-back short hair. Not a hair out of place. He fastened a burgundy velvet ribbon into a bow, in case his bangs decided to move, which they wouldn't because didn't you just read that they were slicked back?

"Spikerella, fix my shoe." Cordelia slammed her size 11 boot on the delicate nightstand next to her grand and period-specific bed and pointed at the scuff marks. She was frowning. She frowned because she was mean and nasty and an actual girl.

"As you wish," Spikerella sang in her perfect voice, a voice that could cause flower blossoms to fall to the earth for shame of not measuring up to his dulcet tones. He spat upon her boot and used his own bedraggled and rough skirt fashioned from an old linen oat bag to polish her boot to a glorious shine. It was made more beautiful by his own reflection beaming back at him. Cordelia snatched her boot away. "Don't get your stink all over it."


"Spit it out, Tara, GOD."

"T-t-t-t-t-that's n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-"

"Oh, enough of you both." Cordelia whirled around and caught the hem of her ball gown on the dresser's edge and it tore. "Dammit! Now I won't be ready to go to the ball. I know! I'll just wear YOUR dress, Spikerella."

Spikerella, for the first time in his life, felt his face fall from the beautiful and benign smile he'd held on it since the day he was born. Which means he didn't even sniffle when his mummy snuffed it. But that's because Spikerella was a lovely creature beyond this mortal coil of woe and strife. Except when it came to ball gowns.

"But, if you wear my dress, what will I wear to the ball?"

Cordelia laughed cruelly, and Tara joined in sycophantly, which is a word I looked up to say that she chimed in, but it sounds better and like I am a very smart author that you should think of when fic awards come around.

"Wear? Why, you won't wear anything to the ball! Whatever gave you the idea that you would be going?"

Cordelia stomped to Spikerella's broom closet, which served as her bedroom as well, and ripped the beautiful pink lace gown that resembled a Miss America fish-tail sequined gown off the hanger, but this was the time before Miss America - but not hangers - as America was a place that hadn't been discovered yet. It was full of frotting Indians at the time, but they didn't know that.

"That won't fit you, you'll ruin it!"

"How dare you!" Cordelia made to hit the poor, delicately structured Spikerella - really, he had a bit of a point, there, she towered over him - but he ducked under her large, meaty, and mole-covered arm and dashed down the many flights of stairs in the luxurious house and made his way through the many richly appointed rooms to the many luxurious gardens and picked one of them, which is where he sank against a cool, soothing, moss-covered rock and wept. He wept and his body shuddered with the force of his sorrow at the loss of his most prized gown and the potential to meet and marry the Prince.

The mice Zander, a black mouse with a sweet disposition, and Willough, a red-haired mouse that was both shy and evil depending on what happened that day, heard the poor and tender Spikerella's cries and rushed to comfort him. In their tiny, friendly voices they cried, "Spikerella! Spikerella!" but Spikerella was too far gone in his grief to hear their kindness. Also, they were mice, so they probably didn't say anything. This was the time before clinical diagnosis of mental illnesses were made available to the public.

On and on Spikerella wept. The hour grew late and a carriage appeared, whisking the hideously malformed step-sisters to the ball, accompanied by their Evil and Blonde Stepmother, Buffy. He could hear her evil laugh taunting him across the cool night air as the richly-appointed carriage pulled away. It only served to make him cry harder.

A veritable river of tears coursed down his delicate and sensitive features. He looked down at the small pool of salty woe and beheld a marvelous sight! Sparkles, like all the stars in the sky rushing towards him, were reflected in the water! He whirled about, clutching at pearls that should have been at his neck, but were given to the stuttering sister to hush her cries one afternoon.

The light and sparkles and shimmering made a beautiful tinkling noise, like water upon chimes hanging in some far off mountain top temple, most likely in Asia, which Spikerella hadn't heard of yet, so didn't say. The lights swirled and coalesced and formed a person! Not just a person, but a fairy!

"Well, hello there!" the fairy batted at him in a coquettish manner. "Fancy meeting you here, aha, ahaha ha!"

Spikerella blinked. "What... who are you?"

"I'm your fairy godmother, girlfriend, and my name is Rupert Giles!" The fairy stuck out one hip and shot a hand out, knuckles up, in greeting. "Enchanté, handsome."

"But, I don't understand! My fairy godmother, did you say?"

"Ab-so-lay-mo! Now, lets get you off this dirty rock and into some Valentino, what do you say?"

"I'd say... my prayers have been answered!"

Giles adjusted his violently purple neckerchief in his burgundy velvet smoking jacket and smoothed his hair back. "Honey, you're not the first to say that when I've shown up, aha ahaha, ha."

He pulled a wand from his pocket, very large and sturdy, and whisked it about the air in a light, wrist-bending manner. "And-a one, and-a two, and-a you know what to do!"

The garden came alight! Vegetables in the garden sparkled from within, vines and flowers lit up as if stars were glowing inside them, and they all began to shimmy and shake with music that poured out of the wand's tip.

"What...?" Spikerella was caught up in a mist of pink and shimmer, taken up off his delicate and small feet, stripped of his rags. The pink mist enveloped him and carried him up into the night, turning him in a slow circle as the magic dressed him. He was set upon his feet as tenderly as a mother sets her babe in a cradle before dying heroically.

"Well, let's have a look at you. Oh, aren't you a sight!" Giles clapped his hands in glee and spun in a circle, pleased with his work. Spikerella stood before him in the most beautiful of white ball gowns. A princess neckline, thin straps to accentuate his broad, but lovely shoulders, and a gathering of flowers at his thin and enviable waist completed the dress. Upon his pure snow-colored hair sat a tasteful and rich tiara, shining like the tears in Spikerella's eyes.

"I'm... I'm beautiful! But what about my feet? I can't go without slippers!"

"Well, don't ruin what I'm doing here, lover. The shoes," Giles popped his cuffs and simpered, "are the best part!"

He held his stiff, thick wand in one hand, low, and pointed it at the estate's pond. He groaned and stroked the wand, and a great gout of water shot up and turned into icy glass. Light emanated from within and burst apart the large block of glass. Two delicate, hand-carved shoes floated down softly as the magic light faded all around them.

"That," Giles gasped, "was absolutely fabulous." He lit a cigarette and offered one to the lovely vision before him.

"No, thank you. I'll smell like I kissed an ashtray, and I hope to kiss a Prince!"

"You'll do more than kiss a Prince if I have anything to say about it," he leered.

Spikerella, so sensitive and delicate, didn't understand the innuendo (this was the time of innuendo but poor public education, so....) but he knew that his heart was full of promise, and a grand night was waiting for him. "But, oh! However shall I get there? I haven't a carriage nor a horse, oh no!" He began to cry again.

"No, no, don't do that, you'll absolutely devastate those false eyelashes." Giles thought for a minute, tapping his chin, then snapped to attention. "I have it!" He pulled his heavy, solid wand out again and pointed it at both the small mice. He bit his lip, closed his eyes, and threw his head back. Instantly, the mice were caught up in a gush of yellow and became two horses! He then pointed his massive wand at the frogs Andrew and Jonathon, who turned into a carriage and footman!

"Now, off you go, show a bit o' shoulder and flash some ankle, that'll get that Prince coming." If Spikerella was confused at the rough accent coming from his Paul Lyndian benefactor, he paid it no mind. He was going to the ball!

"Good bye! Good bye!" He waved a hankie out the window as the gold and silver carriage pulled out of the gates by a black and a red horse, and a frog-like footman held frightened onto the back.

"Oh, bless him. Did I tell him to be back by Midnight?" Giles shrugged. "Oh, well. Other gits to magic and all." And he disappeared with a POOF, which is innuendo for him being gay, in case my referring to him as a fairy didn't tell you that much.


The carriage pulled into a long and perfectly manicured drive. Looming ahead was the largest building Spikerella had ever seen! It looked to be carved out of a mountain of marble, white as the driven snow. A long line of carriages waited in front of his, so he took advantage of the time to sing a lovely tune and admire the beautifully manicured shrubs along the roadside.

Finally, it was his turn to be taken by the delicate ivory hand and led into the ballroom to be announced. Fortunately, as he forgot to devise an alias to keep his Evil Stepmother and Sisters from divining his presence, the string orchestra, comprised of many violins and cellos and other stringed instruments to indicate granduer, played a loud introductory bit of music that captured everyone's attention. Everyone accept Spikerella. No, his eyes were riveted by the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen: a man had walked across the dais, a man more beautiful and virile and larger than he thought possible.

The man was the Prince Angel, and a more aptly named man may have never existed. He was tall as he was broad, with thick dark hair that made Spikerella instantly wonder how it would feel to touch it. He longed to run his hands through it and see it mussed. He blushed at his own boldness! He had never entertained such thoughts before, such a sweet girl he was at home, but his wantonness was not to be denied.

The Prince moved across the dais, accepting accolades and, to Spikerella, looking quite bored with it all. The Prince's pants fit tightly across his hips and Spikerella couldn't help but notice the large bulge in front. That must be his sex, he wondered, then blushed anew. This was the time when people just didn't come out and say "penis."

Available women from the court were being presented to the Prince, and a rush of panic, like a covey of doves being frightened from a meadow by a thoughtless hunter, fluttered within Spikerella's breast. The Prince couldn't want to be with any of them! Spikerella didn't understand what being with a man meant, which really, could his mother not have told him anything before she offed it? It wasn't like her neglectful father would talk about the birds and the bees. Spikerella only knew that he wanted that man like he had wanted nothing else.

He moved to the edges of the large and lavish ballroom filled with things of richness and glamour, keeping the Prince in his sight at all times. He saw his stuttering step-sister attempt to introduce herself by name for a painful ten minutes. He noticed that the Prince had kindly eyes and seemed genuinely concerned for his awful, dumpy, tongue-tied step-sister. "He's that handsome and nice, too? I was satisfied with him just being handsome!" Spikerella fell in love all over again.

Next was his step-sister Cordelia, who, for all her makeup and zit-popping, was still visibly covered in horrible, purple pustules on her cruel face, her sagging breasts straining the delicate fabric of what was once Spikerella's most favorite ball gown. He smoothed down the front of his perfectly flat virginally-white gown and admired the feel of silk on his fingers. He looked up and saw disgust on Angel's face. He wasn't swayed by her cruelness, so perhaps there was still hope!

The music started anew and people began to dance. Spikerella was afraid of his sisters spying him in the crowd, such was his beauty that he would inevitably stand out. He slipped between the curtains and out into the night air to cool his hot cheeks. He sat on a cool marble railing and felt instantly more comfortable.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of an introduction."

Spikerella's hand once again flew to her throat. "I....I...."

Prince Angel held out his hand in an invitation. Spikerella took it and was instantly pulled into a loving and somehow familiar embrace, like he belonged there. They began to sway to the music, Angel cupping Spikerella's delicate and small hand tenderly in his, his large and powerful arms wrapped around the flower of a girl he'd discovered as if he feared a strong wind would gust her away from him. I mean, goodness. Spikerella was such a tender and delicate little thing, unable to care for herself beyond making herself happy with song and woodland creature.

Never had Spikerella felt so content, so loved. Mostly because no one had ever loved her, but that ruins the specialness of this moment, so let's forget that part. Never had Spikerella felt so content, so loved. They swayed to and fro on the balcony, bodies held closely. Spikerella dared lift his eyes to look into the majesty of that handsome face and found Angel looking down on him with wonder.

"Oh, my Little One. However did you escape me until this moment? No matter, for we have each other now, don't we?"

Spikerella barely managed a startled "meep" when Angel's powerful and full lips came crashing down on hers, flooding her senses with lust and want and need and desire and wishes and stars and magic and birdsong. Their arms circled each other as their lips continued the dance their feet no longer performed. It's important to note that this was the time before the samba, as that would just pull a muscle in your face.

Angel was first to break the kiss, pressing his cheek against his newfound love's.

"We'll have to tell them the search is over. Never before have I seen such a beauty, nor such a sweet and toothsome countenance as yours. We will be married upon the dawn, say you'll have me!"

Spikerella was overcome with love. Of course she would marry the Prince! They would marry in a lavish and glamorous and extravagant and completely spontaneous celebration of their romance and all would be right with the world. Spikerella cupped the strong, large man's cheek, tenderly placing kisses upon Angel's full and luscious lips. "Yes, yes, a thousand times, I will marry you!"

Angel crushed their bodies together, and Spikerella felt stirrings in his loins he'd only felt once before when he rode the McCaffrey's horse without a saddle! Prince Angel trailed kisses down Spikerella's neck, his hands moving from her amazingly small and delicate waist in opposite directions, one to her small and tight breast, the other between her legs, cupping her sex! Her eyes flew open, she gasped hotly into his mouth and sagged into his strong, gorilla-like arms. This was the time when India and Africa were just being exploited and explored by the British, so they knew about things such as gorillas, then. Also, Angel knew all about doing it and was quite good at it, but Spikerella doesn't know that. Yet.

"Take me, oh, take me, my Prince!"

Angel growled and thrust against her, driving her delicate form against the cool white marble wall. Just then, a clock began to chime the midnight hour.


Spikerella finally got her wish to rake her hands through the thick mass of black curls at Angel's brow. He slowly pulled one of her straps off her shoulder and the clock continued to chime.


Angel smiled against her cool, satiny flesh above her completely flat breast, Spikerella's hands gripping his head, and whispered, "The hour is late. Perfect time for lovers."


After a few seconds of his careful ministrations to her neck and the top... curve of her breast because she hadn't been willing to hit third base yet, (this was the time before baseball, but the terminology existed for some reason) Spikerella threw all caution to the wind. "Take me! I don't know what that means, but I know that I want your sword in my sheath. I want to know what it is to be impaled! Teach me the meaning of the dreams I keep having of snakes and tunnels and cigars! I want you to churn my butter! Plow my field! Let's have a meeting of the bellies! And I want to be captured and taken and plundered and other euphemisms for something I don't understand!" She looked fire into his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat at such beauty.


"Make me understand," she throatily purred, her eyes looking icy blue fire of lust and need and want and havingness and desirefully getting but not yetitude.


It was the twelfth bong. Spikerella thought the light glowing from her body was the force of her love for this man she had just met a few moments before. She felt sparkle and light tingle in every molecule of her being and thought this, this is what love is.

It was, unfortunately, what magic was. Her beautiful dress, her carriage and horses, her footman and her tiara all gone in a trice, which is an old-fashioned word for "with a quickness." Left in a heap was just Spikerella in her sooty knapsack that passed for clothes. The mice Zandar and Willoughe scurried into her hand, frightening the Prince, who after all, was a Prince and wasn't familiar with vermin.

He made to stomp them with his large boot, but she stopped him. "Enough! They are my friends!" Please remember reader that she was a little lonely, and possibly tetched in the head, which was why she was friends with mice.

Spikerella tucked them into a little pocket at the front of his dress and flew away into the night, sobbing. Such was his shame that he didn't see the bereft expression on the Prince's face as Angel watched his One True Love run away into the night. The black-haired Prince didn't even know his new beloved's name.

Prince Angel brought himself to his considerable height and shook himself out of his sorrow. He saw something sparkle on the veranda. One of the hand-cut glass slippers had remained. He held it to his nose and breathed in the scent that was indicative of love to him now, which wasn't the wisest of things to do as this was the age before Lysol and anti-bacterial cleaners.

The large and imposing and powerful and broad-shouldered man would find his bride. He wouldn't rest until he did. Better yet, he would rest after he found his bride and loved her thoroughly. Then he could rest. With her by his side in a marriage bed. (As this was the time of bed bugs, he would be sure to hire a servant to make sure none were present. He was, after all, a romantic at heart.)


Spikerella stumped home on one shoe, tears flinging themselves from his eyes as she flung herself into a hay loft.

"Everything's ruined! How could that fairy godmother betray me like this? What a bitch! At least I have a memento..." she clutched the shoe to her face, because back in these days, people didn't mind used footwear against their noses and cheeks.

The mice friends scurried out of the pocket sewn into the sooty oat bag dress and rubbed their sweet and furry noses to Spikerella's face.

"Oh, my friends. I don't know how I'd survive without you." It was a good thing that she didn't know that her mother had died of the Hanta virus.

Spikerella rummaged about the barn and found a half-eaten apple and gave it to her wee little mouse friends. The delicate boy settled in under the starry night with only memories of love lost to warm him. (Personally, I feel she was torturing herself on purpose. There were blankets for the livestock in the barn, after all. But then, what's a fairy tale without a tortured princess-to-be?)

The next day, the whole kingdom was a-buzz with the tale of the mysterious flat-chested and short-haired blonde girl that had stolen the heart of the prince! The step-family was talking about nothing but this incident at the breakfast table, except to snap at Spikerella, who's mind wasn't on her duties of serving, but rather off far away in the land of love and rainbows and strange stirrings in her loins.

Buffy snapped her fingers. "Get me more coffee! And I'll take seconds of that delectable egg dish." Spikerella poured coffee into her step-mother's cup and tried to read the announcement over her shoulder.

To The Court:

The Prince wishes for all Citizens with Marriable Daughters to allow a fitting of a Glass Slipper to their Feet to locate the missing Bride to Be.

~signed, The Court etc. etc.

As this was the day before germs had been discovered and no one though that it was disgusting to cram hundreds of dirty, medieval, unwashed feet into a glass slipper, everyone felt this was a wizard idea. Cordelia wouldn't stop talking about it.

"I'll need to put some powder on my bunions and corns so they won't stop my foot from slipping in like a tube of butter. I'm going to marry that hottie, just you watch."

Buffy nodded and simpered at her anachronistic-spewing daughter. One less mouth to feed, after all. Tara sat and brooded. Her feet looked like bread dough rising from pans. She'd shatter the shoe if she tried jamming her meaty bases into them. She planned on hiding in her room until it was all over. Everything rested on Cordelia, it seemed. Then Spikerella spoke up.

"Well, I better have a bath before they arrive, shan't I?"

A moment of stunned silence, then they all broke into raucous laughter.

"Whatever do you mean, Spikerella?" Evil Buffy asked.

"Well, it clearly states in the second line that all marriable daughters should be present. I'm marriable."

Buffy looked daggers at her ward. "Now listen up, and you listen good. If you get married, I'm not your blood relation, see? And that means I won't gain anything from it, see? So you'll march out to the barn, slop out the stable, and maybe we'll let you have a slice of wedding cake from Cordelia's lavish and glamorous and elegant and spontaneous wedding to the handsome, large and powerful Prince."

If Buffy would only stop waxing, she would have had a mustache to twirl, to better underscore her point.

Spikerella's hands flew to her reddened cheeks. She cried a single, perfect and shimmering tear down her alabaster cheek, her pink plump lip wobbled, and she ran elegantly and delicately to the stable to let her grief pour from her like water from a gem-encrusted chalice that possibly had magical qualities. She didn't hear Buffy come up behind her and lock her in with her heavy golden key-set.

"Let me out! Oh, let me out, what will I do! My Prince! Oh, my Prince."

She sank to her thin and delicate knees, sobbing. Her friends the mice came to nuzzle and support her. The frogs hopped up on the top of the split door. This was back in the days when doors had tops and bottoms, and you would never climb over a door, because that wasn't done and was possibly cheating, although simpler. Which goes to show you that when older people tell you, in relation to a story from the past, that "times were simpler," they meant the people's brains, not the situations.

Jonathan and Andrew croaked a happy little woodland song to cheer their friend up, but it was to no avail. Even the crafty and wily swallow, Warren, appeared and chirped a sweet lullaby to bring a smile to Spikerella's face, but alas! The future loomed before her, bleak, and with no love or burning in her loins forevermore. It seemed her inner song of happiness would flame no more.

Warren the swallow twittered to the frogs, who ribbetted in agreement. (This was the time when all species could talk to each other.) The swallow flew away, and the mice looked questioningly at the frogs, who croaked a reply. (Mice had bad hearing in those days.) Spikerella looked up with her tear-streaked face and the swallow flew back in through the very large, human-sized opening made by only half of the barn door being shut. The swallow dropped a heavy golden key-ring into her lap. She marveled at how a swallow could carry such a heavy object! Spikerella wondered if it was a matter of where he gripped it, as a swallow of English origin needs to beat its wings 43 times per second to maintain velocity. (This was the beginning times of science, like knowing that a witch would float, because she was made of wood, and so: burn her.)

Just then, a bit of coconut husk floated down, and she remembered her need to get to the estate! Surely the Prince had arrived! She kissed all of her animal friends right on the lips (again: they didn't care about sanitation then) and dashed to the large, wealthy-looking, richly appointed house. A contingent, a word that means a lot, of horses, carriages, and persons of importance were gathered outside the estate. Surely she wasn't late!

She dashed about the vast estate, looking for an opened door. When Spikerella managed to find his way through the maze of richly appointed suites and rooms and around the many lush sofas and paintings and chairs that cost many, many dollars, she found Cordelia biting her lip and powdering her bunion-covered clod-hopper of a foot, trying to jam it into the delicate shoe.

The Prince looked on all this with an air of disgust. "Clyde, I've told you. This isn't the one from last night. I aught to remember who I jammed my tongue into, right?"

Clyde, the powdered and wigged footman just carried on with his task. With a haughty air, he simply stated, "Your lordship, I beg pardon, but your father the King has ordered me to this task, and I daresay that I'll finish it. If you would be so kind?" And he pointed the Prince to sit in a chair.

"I can... dammit, this fit last night!" Cordelia laughed apologetically, oily sweat breaking across her simian brow. "If I could just... Mother?" She stuck her thick, unshaven leg out and motioned for Buffy to help jam the delicate glass slipper on her foot. They pushed and grunted, swore and shoved, but the slipper wouldn't budge.

"SON OF A-" Cordelia slammed her foot onto the hard wood floors of the estate, shattering the shoe into a million, tiny pieces, like those candies on that book cover that the liar wrote. Everyone gasped, hands clapped to their mouths. The color drained from Angel's face.

"Oh, my lord! What shall be done?" the footman cried. "We'll never be able to find her, now!"

Spikerella stepped from the shadows as delicately as a fawn stepping into the morning sun, quivering with excitement at a brand new glorious day. "But... I have the other!"

Everyone gasped again, all but Evil Stepmother, who reached up and twirled the faint mustache she forgot in her excitement to wax that morning.

The Prince jumped to his powerful, masculine feet and exclaimed, "It's you!"

Spikerella nodded and flung her arms wide, "It's me! And I'm yours!"

They fell into an embrace and kissed passionately, so passionately that the others began to feel weak and embarrassed for them. But as this was the time before fraternity parties, no one shouted "get a room!"

"Marry me?"

"I will!"

Angel scooped up the delicate, tiny, elfin-like Spikerella and whisked her away to his castle where they had a lavish and glamorous and elegant and spontaneous wedding celebrating their love. As a burst of fireworks (the clever Chinese had invented them centuries ago, in case you didn't know) spelled out "I love my Spikerella" - because he finally discovered his love's name - in the nighttime sky, they stood on the veranda and held each other, enjoying their first sunset as a married couple.

Then, Angel plowed her good and proper, and made her cry out his name with the power of his mantool's thrusting, and Spikerella finally understood what "buttering my bread" meant. And they lived, and loved, happily ever after.

El Finis Completemente
Tags: angel, fic, funny fic, parody fic, spike

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