this is war - BtVS/CoN
coppersinger asked for BtVS/Chronicles of Narnia, Buffy/Peter, To The Ground!verse
, Sometimes, they were surprisingly cute.
Possibly holiday themed.
.this is war
No-one is quite sure when the tradition of the yearly snow ball fight on Christmas Eve started, but the Pevensies brought it back with a vengeance during their first winter back in Narnia.
Five years into Caspian’s reign, it’s as big and ridiculously funny as it was a thousand years ago.
Half the castle is taking part and the snow balls have been flying for hours. There are no teams here, and no sides. It’s each man for themselves, kings, queens and chamber maids alike. If you have hands to form a snow ball, you’re in.
Every now and then, small groups form to attack someone specifically and then scatter again, when the attacked turns into an attacker, gathering their own allies around themselves.
In short, it’s a very cold, very wet war that lasts from noon well into the night and leaves more than a few people sick as dogs every year.
Worth it, though, Edmund points out every single time Susan starts fussing about it, knowing full well that she will never tell him not to go out and have fun. It’s been a thousand years and more, but Edmund still gets quiet in the winter. When the cold comes, so comes the memory of the Witch. Better to have fun and get sick than to stay healthy and brood all winter.
So the snow ball fight happens. Every year. Without fail.
Recently, though, there’s been a new development and that development is called Buffy-and-Peter.
They are absolutely, bloody vicious
Not against others, no, but with each other. They recruit whoever crosses their path to attack the other, they pack their balls as hard as possible and throw like the actually mean it. They mock fight all through the castle’s gardens and into the fields beyond, tumbling each other into snow banks, giving snow-rubs and generally being brutal.
It’s like they’re on a battlefield without their swords and with no-one to kill.
It’s only their competitive streak coming through, Edmund says. Caspian and Lucy agree that those two are simply made for and both as bad as each other. Susan worries that one day, competition will turn into a real fight. The rest of the castle mostly rolls their eyes and says nothing about the royal couple, long since used to the two blondes’ explosive tempers and impressive screaming matches, wherever and whenever the mood strikes them.
Still, everyone agrees on one thing perfectly: Don’t get between them.
Which is why, as dusk settles over Narnia and more and more people return to the castle, the assorted kings and queens stand at the edge of what was once a tranquil, snow covered field and watch Peter and Buffy go at it like they haven’t spent all day chasing each other.
Currently the former High King has his wife of two years flat on her stomach and is pushing her face into the snow like she doesn’t have to breathe.
“Well,” Edmund comments, rather drily, “That can’t taste too good.”
“She’ll get him back,” Lucy assures her brother, hanging onto his arm in a futile attempt to leech some warmth from him.
He hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t look away from his brother’s manhandling of his wife. It’s only because of that that he sees Buffy’s retaliation. She uses one of those moves where she bends in ways humans are not meant to bend to kick Peter, who is sitting on her bum, in the back with both her feet. He goes sailing over her head and she flips to her feet, taking a moment to brush snow from her front and spit out a mouthful of ice-water.
Peter is almost back on his feet when she grabs his calves and pulls them right back from under him, landing him in the position she was in a moment ago. Only instead of straddling his behind, she sits down smack on his back, legs crossed daintily, as if riding side-saddle, which she has, to the best of Edmund’s knowledge, never done in her life.
Peter makes a rather interesting sound as all air is pushed from his lungs and Susan purses her lips in displeasure. Caspian pats her hand on his arm reassuringly. “Domestic dispute,” he tells her, “Best not to get involved.”
“Let me up,” Peter demands, sounding a bit wheezy. Edmund grins widely. Oh, the blackmail material.
Buffy makes a show of looking down at him with a quizzical expression. “Did you say something, honey?”
“Yes,” he grinds out. “Let. Me. Up.”
She smiles and pats his head like he’s a particularly amusing dog. “Sure, darling. In a moment. I’m enjoying the view.” To clarify, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just what that ‘view’ consists off, she smacks his bum. It cracks satisfyingly and Lucy muffles her giggles behind her mittens.
“Buffy,” Peter threatens, which would sound more impressive if someone weren’t sitting on him. “I will murder you.”
“No, you won’t,” she informs him briskly, patting his head again just because he hates it.
“Try me,” he growls and then suddenly one of his hands shoots out, grabbing her by the end of her long braid and pulling. She goes tumbling backwards and he rolls them until he’s sitting on her stomach, looking smug.
She pouts, not the least bit intimidated by his glare. “You cheated.”
“Did not. I am also not having this fight with you.”
“Someone has to. And since you’re sitting on top of me…”
His glare turns into a smirk. “I know better things to do while sitting on one’s wife,” he tells her.
“This,” he says and scoots down enough to plant his hands in the snow on either side of her head, lean in, and kiss her, once, very quickly. He pulls back, one eyebrow arched in question. Buffy hums in quiet contemplation before reporting, “I’m not sure yet. I might need another try.”
“As you wish, my queen,” Peter mock bows and kisses her again and after a moment her arms come up and around him, pulling him closer.
Susan, leaning with her head against Caspian’s shoulder, holding Lucy’s hand, laughs quietly. “Look at them,” she says, “Vicious like wasps all day and now this.”
Lucy bumps into her sister’s side and nods her agreement. “They can be surprisingly cute at times.”
Behind Peter’s back, Buffy raises one hand and extends a single digit in their direction.
“Or not,” Edmund adds.
So this is it, game over, literally. I hope you had fun reading these because I know I had fun writing them. Wherever you are and whatever you do for the next couple of days, I wish you a happy time. Don’t let the relatives bite!