Time is Relative
Jan. 17th, 2022 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerSo I've been rewatching Classic Who and while I love the Twisting the Hellmouth Xander as Doctor (9 or 10 or unknown, usually) fics, I really like the idea of him as Five. Because I think Five could help hold him back (most of the time; he could be as ruthless as Giles|Ripper sometimes) and put him on a more even keel. Four would have him regenerating in no time because he'd just accentuate the reckless streak, and Six is one of the most selfish Doctors if you ignore MoffWho, which I do, generally, as a matter of principle.
I don't have a clue about the writing style this time.
As far as I know, this is going to be a one-shot. That being said, now that i have said it a plotbunny will probably appear, because Murphy.
edit: because I forgot I put this in idle thoughts and it isn't going to post for forever and I beat myself to it writing-wise: i love the xander dresses as ten fics don't get me wrong i love it but you know what would be the absolute best is xander as five. quiet, friendly, thoughtful. it'd be good for him.
Main Points:
Buffy/Doctor Who/light Marvel
Chapter Summary: Nothing's normal following Halloween.
Word Count: 620
Rating: Teen
Since Halloween, seeing Buffy with an obvious headache is fairly normal. She’s been slowly starting to get better with the training exercises Giles has been using to try to train her to turn the telepathy off. Or at least tune it out. Xander hadn’t quite been himself either, given the rather conspicuous lack of Professor X jokes. They’re both still trying to adapt to the situation and haven’t quite achieved something even resembling Hellmouth normal yet.
To be fair, Willow occasionally finds herself phasing through matter sometimes, but on the whole it’s been super useful for keeping herself safe and didn’t require too much in the way of adjustment. Not like them.
Buffy is rubbing her forehead. Xander is staring into space, vacantly looking at the stacks of books but not really seeing them. Before Willow can even ask, Buffy answers, though it’s entirely possible she’s just reading minds again. “He’s been arguing with himself this whole time.”
Willow glances at Xander, who outwardly has been quiet and calm the entire time she’s been here.
“I don’t know that he’s even realized I’m here,” the blonde continues, and Willow just sighs. He’s always had trouble adjusting to change. Not to the monster-of-the-week of the Hellmouth or whatever, but then, that’s a constant, in its own way.
“What’s he arguing about?” Her first words out loud. It’s probably just courtesy that her friend actually waited for her to ask them.
Buffy groans and kind of slumps over the table. “The Doc is saying it’s useless to complain about things and that they just have to make do with what they’ve got. Xander’s arguing that whining is a time-honored Earthly tradition of catharsis.” Gallifreyans apparently had techniques to shield their minds, which was good, because right after the spell had broken he’d regenerated and the pain and trauma had been enough to give Buffy her first migraine. Not her last, unfortunately, but still, useful. Alien minds are apparently stronger, especially when emotional, a condition made all the worse, they were informed, by the hormones of the adolescent human body. So it’s good that Xander’s a touch telepath, sort of, even though the most he can do is try to stay out of Buffy’s way mentally and can’t, to the frustration of both, teach her. It’s hard to tell if Xander still has the crush or just wants to be useful in general, while the Slayer is…not enjoying being telepathic. At all. To be fair, it sounds like a whole barrel of not-fun. He must be arguing with himself pretty loudly to be breaking out of and forgetting his own mental blocks.
Willow shrugs. “At least all Ethan had was the cricket outfit. Can you imagine how our Xander-shaped friend would be if he’d still had the scarf? Or if Xander decided to actually spraypaint the jacket?”
“Good lord!” Giles exclaims, having apparently come out of his office just in time to hear her last statement.
“I can’t, but Giles can.” It’s a small smile, but the humor does seem to be helping. “Can I have an ibuprofen? Please?”
“I really should be letting the nurse do this,” he says for the nth time and goes to fetch it anyway.
Xander’s eyes focus, and he looks innocently befuddled. “When did you lot get here?” he asks.
Xander with an accent might be worth the price of admission, even if she doesn’t intend to act on it, she decides, and lets Buffy’s elbow phase through her, because come on, even she knew that was coming.
“Play nice, children,” Giles admonishes, returning with the painkiller and tea (because if a problem is not solved, you have not thrown enough tea at it, Willow has learned).
I don't have a clue about the writing style this time.
As far as I know, this is going to be a one-shot. That being said, now that i have said it a plotbunny will probably appear, because Murphy.
edit: because I forgot I put this in idle thoughts and it isn't going to post for forever and I beat myself to it writing-wise: i love the xander dresses as ten fics don't get me wrong i love it but you know what would be the absolute best is xander as five. quiet, friendly, thoughtful. it'd be good for him.
Main Points:
Buffy/Doctor Who/light Marvel
Chapter Summary: Nothing's normal following Halloween.
Word Count: 620
Rating: Teen
Since Halloween, seeing Buffy with an obvious headache is fairly normal. She’s been slowly starting to get better with the training exercises Giles has been using to try to train her to turn the telepathy off. Or at least tune it out. Xander hadn’t quite been himself either, given the rather conspicuous lack of Professor X jokes. They’re both still trying to adapt to the situation and haven’t quite achieved something even resembling Hellmouth normal yet.
To be fair, Willow occasionally finds herself phasing through matter sometimes, but on the whole it’s been super useful for keeping herself safe and didn’t require too much in the way of adjustment. Not like them.
Buffy is rubbing her forehead. Xander is staring into space, vacantly looking at the stacks of books but not really seeing them. Before Willow can even ask, Buffy answers, though it’s entirely possible she’s just reading minds again. “He’s been arguing with himself this whole time.”
Willow glances at Xander, who outwardly has been quiet and calm the entire time she’s been here.
“I don’t know that he’s even realized I’m here,” the blonde continues, and Willow just sighs. He’s always had trouble adjusting to change. Not to the monster-of-the-week of the Hellmouth or whatever, but then, that’s a constant, in its own way.
“What’s he arguing about?” Her first words out loud. It’s probably just courtesy that her friend actually waited for her to ask them.
Buffy groans and kind of slumps over the table. “The Doc is saying it’s useless to complain about things and that they just have to make do with what they’ve got. Xander’s arguing that whining is a time-honored Earthly tradition of catharsis.” Gallifreyans apparently had techniques to shield their minds, which was good, because right after the spell had broken he’d regenerated and the pain and trauma had been enough to give Buffy her first migraine. Not her last, unfortunately, but still, useful. Alien minds are apparently stronger, especially when emotional, a condition made all the worse, they were informed, by the hormones of the adolescent human body. So it’s good that Xander’s a touch telepath, sort of, even though the most he can do is try to stay out of Buffy’s way mentally and can’t, to the frustration of both, teach her. It’s hard to tell if Xander still has the crush or just wants to be useful in general, while the Slayer is…not enjoying being telepathic. At all. To be fair, it sounds like a whole barrel of not-fun. He must be arguing with himself pretty loudly to be breaking out of and forgetting his own mental blocks.
Willow shrugs. “At least all Ethan had was the cricket outfit. Can you imagine how our Xander-shaped friend would be if he’d still had the scarf? Or if Xander decided to actually spraypaint the jacket?”
“Good lord!” Giles exclaims, having apparently come out of his office just in time to hear her last statement.
“I can’t, but Giles can.” It’s a small smile, but the humor does seem to be helping. “Can I have an ibuprofen? Please?”
“I really should be letting the nurse do this,” he says for the nth time and goes to fetch it anyway.
Xander’s eyes focus, and he looks innocently befuddled. “When did you lot get here?” he asks.
Xander with an accent might be worth the price of admission, even if she doesn’t intend to act on it, she decides, and lets Buffy’s elbow phase through her, because come on, even she knew that was coming.
“Play nice, children,” Giles admonishes, returning with the painkiller and tea (because if a problem is not solved, you have not thrown enough tea at it, Willow has learned).
