The Elevator of DOOM

A Spuffy parody by Lady Wenham

It was one of those elevators. The kind of elevator where you know the minute you step into the blasted thing, it's anything but safe. Buffy's eyes narrowed in suspicion as the doors swept shut with a happy ding, trapping her inside. Something definitely wasn't right. Her Spidey sense was all a'tingle. Sure enough, moments after it started climbing, the elevator shuttered to a dead halt. Buffy cursed long and slow under her breath.

"Try pushing the little buttons," Spike chimed in behind her. "Heard that helps."

Buffy glared at the vampire. Where had he come from, anyway? "I did. It's not moving."

"You mean we're stuck?"

"Um … duh?"

"Eloquently spoken. So what are we going to do about it?"

Ignoring the question, Buffy turned to Spike with wide eyes. "Forget about that for a second. I think I just had an epiphany."

Spike's brow creased. "An entire epiphany? That's more thinking than you've done in years, pet." He grasped her shoulders in concern. "You didn't sprain anything, did you?"

"You're not listening," Buffy said, her eyes beginning to shine in wonder. "I-I just realized something. I think … I think I love you, Spike. It just came to me all of the sudden. I know that I've hated you for like, four seasons now, but that doesn't mean anything. Screw Joss and his sordid Bangel hang-up. You and I are meant to be. Like … blood and Wheetabix."

"Erm …"

"What? You don't believe me?"

"No, I really don't. You're full of shit, Slayer. You don't love me." Spike shrugged and pouted and ruffled his hair so it looked really cute like it did in Intervention. "But thanks for saying it."

Buffy grimaced at his words and wondered how long they would haunt her every waking dream after he was DEAD. "How could you say something like – no, wait a second. You're right. I really don't love you. Everyone knows it's impossible for me to love, because I'm emotionally constipated and a raging bitch."

Spike nodded understandingly. "Exactly. So what's the what?"

"Oh, no …" Buffy whispered, her green-blue-turquoise-gray-gold-and-silver-flecked eyes widening in realization. "I think I know what's happening. The broken elevator … the random spouting of I love you at inopportune moments … your Intervention hair … and my eyes keep changing color. Oh, shit!"

"You really get off on this suspense crap, don't you, love?"

Buffy turned to face Spike, her lower lip quivering. "I think we're trapped in a fanfiction cliché elevator."

Spike's jaw dropped. "Again!? Sodding hell, you're right! Even the fact that we're trapped in a fanfiction cliché is a bloody fanfiction cliché! Fuck!!"

"All right, let's not panic. We're okay."

"No, we're bloody well not!" Spike yelled, gesturing wildly. "Any bloody minute now I'm going to bloody start misusing the bloody Queen's bloody English. We bloody well have to bloody get out of here! Bloodybloodybloodybloody!!"

Buffy took a deep breath. "You're right. It's getting worse. What do we do?"

"Call Giles or something. He'll know what to do. He's seen plenty of clichéd stories before." Spike shook his lovely Intervention hair in pity. "Poor bastard. I don't think he or Wesley will ever walk straight again after that last ficathon. He's bound to have some insight into this sort of thing."

"Oh look!" Buffy cried, rummaging in her non-existent purse. "I conveniently found a new cell phone with a super-way-cool faceplate! Would you like me to describe it for you? It's hot pink with leopard prints and lots of cool hearts and glitter all over it and …"

"Yes, love. I can see it right in front of me."

"Oh," Buffy pouted, flipping open the phone and staring at the really cool flashing number pad lights. "Well, I thought the readers would want to know. They like stuff like cell phones described to them. In exhaustive detail. What does yours look like?"

"Just call your bloody Watcher already, yeah?"

She did. Giles was at home, licking his red convertible. "This had better be good, you infuriating child," he growled when he answered the phone. "I was almost to second base, you know. I had Velvet Underground on the turntable and everything."

Buffy quickly explained their dire situation. Listening intently to the conversation, Spike tilted his head slightly. was immediately on the scene, taking notes and video footage.) "Buffy, is it just me or can you hear Giles cleaning his glasses over the phone?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "You know, I think I can. This is bad, Spike. The clichés are coming more and more frequently."

Giles sighed a knowing sigh. "Oh beloved surrogate daughter who I'm planning to abandon – I understand all too well why you're upset, but I'm afraid there's nothing to do but complete the cycle. Once all possible clichés are worked through, there will be an inevitable happy ending, which as you know is a cliché in and of itself. The elevator should start up again in the end. Now sod off. I want to take my car to Jiffy Lube."

Buffy hung up in disgust. "Well, that's that. We're stuck in the elevator until this thing works itself out. I suppose there's nothing else for us to do but have HOT SWEATY MONKEY SEX."

Spike heaved a great sigh of relief. "It's about time. There was beginning to be way too much plot in this story."

Buffy punched him savagely in the face over and over until he had sexy Dead Things bruises to match his sexy Intervention hair. "Shut up!! No talking during monkey sex! This is where everything gets dark and sinister. Now rip off my panties, bitch."

Spike perked up. "You know, some clichés aren't all that bad …"

Buffy pulled out his enormous, gigantamous, weeping COCK. She climbed on top of his hot, muscular-yet-compact bod and cried out in agony as his huge, uncut COCK pressed into her magic flower. It hurt because the Slayer healing made her heal virginal every. single. time.

Buffy had 34,204 orgasms. She sang an Italian aria on number 2,103. On the last one, she finally released her death grip on Spike's balls (now a lovely shade of cerulean that matched his eyes) and allowed him to come, too. "Ggggggaaaaauuuuurrrrrrgggg!" he roared, and he came and cummed and cameded and orgasmed and spilled his cold, dead seed all over the freaking elevator.

Buffy looked down at her stomach and started pouting. "Damn it, Spike! You got me pregnant!"

Spike gasped. "Bloody bleeding buggering sodding hell, pet! It wasn't me! I'm dead, and so's me sodding sperm bank!"

Just then, Buffy had another epiphany, which really hurt. She really had to stop doing so much thinking. "You must have magical cold, dead seed. Possibly tied to some convenient prophecy about how slayers are intrinsically linked to vampires, making me really, really horny for them. It all makes perfect sense! Can we have more sex now? I think I need more magic vampire seed to sate my lust."

Spike's cerulean blue balls screamed in horror. He cupped them protectively. "Back off! Leave my magic seed alone!"

Buffy smiled sweetly. "I'll swallow …"

"Oh. Well, if you insist."

By the time Buffy had another 340,203,204 orgasms (Spike wept blissfully as he reached his second), nine whole freaking months had passed, and Buffy was ready to deliver the baby. It was a girl. Duh.

Spike looked down at his newborn daughter happily. "Wow, she looks just like all my dead sisters. Hope she doesn't die of consumption or get kidnapped by the Initiative."

"Let's name her Elizabeth Joyce Dawn Anya Willow Tara Summers-Giles-Harris," Buffy suggested.

"No, let's go with something more sentimental. Like Ed."

"Ed." Buffy did that thing where she didn't blink for ten minutes and managed to squeeze out one tear of joy. "Oh, Spike … I'm so happy."

"No, no. Call me William. We're having a schmoopy moment. That means you have to call me William."

Buffy gasped. "And I shall be your Elizabeth. Isn't that poetic?"

"Poetic …" Spike inhaled slowly. "That reminds me of this song I heard once. Would you like me to interrupt this story to type the lyrics for you?"

Buffy's eyes glittered with grateful tears. "Oh, William. A songfic for me? Would you really?"

Every night in my dreams …

I see you. I feeeeeeel you.

That is how I know you … go on.

Buffy shivered in ecstasy. "Oh, lover …"

Far across the distance …

And spaces betweeeeeeeeeeeeen us …

You have come to show you … go on.

Buffy kissed her newborn daughter and turned to Spike. "I think we should get married. Right the hell now."

"Shut up, Slayer," Spike growled. "You're putting too much dialogue and actual story between the lyrics."

But before the mysterious song could continue, the author of the story dropped through the ceiling of the elevator and landed on top of the Slayer. Buffy died instantly. Spangel fans around the world gave a mighty cheer. Spike, however, wailed in utter grief and horror, clutching Ed protectively to his sexy, heaving chest. "Who are you?!" he demanded.

"My name is Lady Wenham. LW for short. Or you can just call me Mary Sue. Whatever." LW tossed her looooong, flowing, silver hair over one slender shoulder – in slow motion with little stars and glittery things raining down upon her. Her crystal clear violet eyes shone with a wisdom far beyond her years. "I somehow got magically dropped into your universe. It's really crappy timing, too, because I'm freaking distraught, man. My date for the senior prom just dumped me, and I don't have anyone to go with. Can you believe it? My life is SO OVER OMG."

"I know that I don't know you, but I feel drawn to you somehow, love. So much so, that I think I can instantaneously forget about someone I loved with my entire being," Spike declared, not noticing that he tripped over Buffy's dead body as he took a step towards the immaculate beauty that was LW. "I would be honored to take you to your prom, but we're trapped in a bloody elevator. I don't think we'll make it in time."

"OMGLMAOWTF?!?!??!!!1!!11" LW cried for no reason whatsoever.

"Good idea!" Spike exclaimed, jumping to his feet even though he was already standing. He went over to the elevator controls and hit the Call button. Help came immediately and they got out of the elevator and went to the prom and danced and made out and had hot monkey sex for, like, EVA. OTP!!!!1!!!

THE END OMG!!!!1!!

Pllleze review thiz is my f1rst storie. i wont writ ne-more if u dont lmao!!!!

Note: Please know that this is all in good fun, authors. Chances are, you're one of the authors who wrote good stories with the above clichéd storylines (before they were clichéd to begin with) – and then a billion authors in junior high copied you. Feel honored. You must have done something right. ;)