TITLE: "Shameless Angst-o-rama"

AUTHOR: Aiobheann

RATING: R for language, suggested m/m nookie.

PAIRINGS: John/D'Argo, Jim/Blair, Jay/Silent Bob, Methos/John

SUMMARY: Humor. Muses From Hell. Crossover From Hell. Not quite CordeFic, but damn close.

NOTES: I am co-authoring an excruciatingly angsty story with Sabrina Cross, and waiting impatiently for her to send it back to me so I can write another one of my sections. My Muses, who all live in my office closet and eat ramen noodles, are not pleased by this turn of events. Ungrateful little bastards.

DISCLAIMER: John and D'Argo belong to Henson. Jim and Blair belong to PetFly. Methos belongs to Panzer/Davis. Jay and Bob belong to Kevin Smith/ViewAskew. Nothing belongs to me except for the words and my worldly possessions, which are all packed in boxes scattered hell to breakfast at this very second. So a big *pfffbbbttt* to everyone.

ARCHIVE: I'll get around to archiving this at FSA eventually. In the meantime, Corde can have it, Peja can have it, Xen can have it. Literature wants to be free.

Now, while this may not be literature, it wants to be free too. So archive it, if you want, but let me know where it went, 'kay?

SHAMELESS ANGST A RAMA

By Aiobhean

Aiobheann determinedly ignored the Muse standing next to her chair for as long as possible. This was not an easy task, considering that the Muse in question was of the AngstyFlyboy!John species, and was staring at her with soulful, sorrowing blue eyes, his lovely face drawn into a scowl of mingled anguish and consternation. Aiobheann did not have to look up at him to know this; such an expression is the normal mien of this kind of Muse.

What was distracting her, however, was that not only was her Muse employing the Look, he was, well.*wiggling*. Hands were being wrung, and he was bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet as he waited for his author to finally pay attention to him. It was the bounce, in particular, that Aiobheann found most distracting -- especially since the last time she had stopped writing this Muse's latest story, he had been quite naked and very sweaty.

*Thud.*

(Pardon me, I'm terribly sorry. I must have blanked out there for a moment. I know, it's bad form for a narrator to succumb to the vapors while carrying out their duties. To continue -- )

When she finally stopped typing with a sigh and looked up at her naked. um. sweaty.delicious -- (all right, all right, I'm fine! I won't look at him anymore, dammit.)

*Ahem*.

When she finally stopped typing with a sigh and looked up at her Muse, he stopped wringing his hands and concentrated solely on using the classic AngstyFlyboy!John look with full intensity.

"Aiobheann.?"

"What, John?"

"Um, D'Argo and I were wondering."

"*What*, John? Does it not look like I'm busy here? Because I am. Spill it."

After glancing back at the office closet, from which the sounds of soft sobbing could be heard, John plunged ahead. "Has Sabrina sent you the next part of the story yet?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, um, I know that we're both Angst!Muses and all, but this story is really just *killing* both of us. I mean, D'Argo's been crying for three days now, and since you said no nookie unless it was in the story, I just don't know how to cheer him up. And when D'Argo cries, *Silent Bob* cries, and when *Bob* cries, Jay just yells at him about being a little bitch with a skinned knee, and when *Jay* starts yelling, those other Muses you haven't written anything for yet get all upset -- and, well, it's just awful in that closet right now!" John cried pitifully. "You just don't know!"

"Have Ellison and Sandburg been giving you a hard time, too?"

"No. Jim just tunes it all out and goes into a zone, and then Blair 'stimulates his other senses' to bring him out of it, and after a while it goes all quiet in their corner except for the occasional moan, so no, they aren't giving *us* a hard time. But Methos starts muttering about how in the Bronze Age you just took your angst like a man, and then he starts polishing his sword and just *glares* at us. I really think you ought to get him a Duncan Muse before he and Jim get into a fight over Blair, Aiobheann."

"Why would Methos and Jim fight over Blair?" Aiobheann asked.

"Well, Methos keeps eyeing Blair, and that sets Jim off and he turns into TerritorialSentinel!Jim, and then the jaguar spirit-guide-thingy shows up, and it gets really crowded in there. And the jaguar sheds."

"Look, hon -- I can't do a thing about your story until Sabrina sends me the next section. And with the move in three days, I don't have time to be writing PWPs for everybody just to keep them happy. You're gonna just have to deal with it until I get some time to write."

"Could D'Argo and I go and stay at Sabrina's house, then? I mean, just for a few days, until you get the next section of the story written, you know?" John asked, looking at her beseechingly.

"Cut it out with the eyes -- you've been hanging around Sandburg too much. I don't think you'd like it at Bri's house right now, babe. She just got a CharmingSociopath!Scorpy Muse."

John shook his head frantically, horror writ large on his features. "No! I mean, no, that's okay, we'll just stay here, I guess."

The closet door slammed open and Jay stomped out, brushing disgustedly at the jaguar-fur clinging to his hoodie sweatshirt. "Aiobheann -- Toni -- whatever the fuck you wanna be called this week -- you gotta do somethin! Tentacle Boy is bawling like a baby, and that just makes Lunchbox cry like a queer that just ran outta mascara. And I swear to god if that fucking cat sheds on me one more time, I'm gonna kick his spirit-animal ass!"

As if sensing that the floodgates had been opened, all of the other Muses poured out of the closet, all of them loudly making their grievances known.

"Look, Toni, I know you're busy -- I so hear that -- but I can't take much more of this!" Blair cried.

"Aiobheann, dear," Methos purred. "We really need to discuss better accommodations for me. The little stoner there tries to drink all of the beer -- and you know that one of my conditions for remaining patient until you found the right story for me was an unlimited supply of beer. And this throwback to primitive man here --" Methos pointed at Jim, who narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. " -- seems to think I have designs on his precious Guide." Methos took a moment to leer at the Guide in question. "Which, now that I think about it, isn't such a bad idea."

"You tell that Really Old Guy that if he looks at my Guide one more time, I'm gonna cut his fucking head off myself!" Jim bellowed, putting a protective arm around Sandburg.

Silent Bob and D'Argo just stood by the closet door and sobbed. Bob sniffed loudly, wiping his streaming eyes on his sleeve, and Jay, totally out of patience with him, whacked him on the back of the head with a Bluntman and Chronic comic book.

"Shut up, you tubby bitch! I ain't got no action since you been writin that goddamn angst-o-rama, Toni! He's too busy cryin to get with the lovin. This sucks!"

All of the Muses fell back in fear as they saw their beloved author finally, inevitably, decide that she had Had Enough of This Shit.

Slamming her chair back from the desk and rising to her full height -- from which she still had to crane her head and look up at everyone -- she bellowed, "*I have had enough of this shit!* You!" She pointed at Jim and Blair. "Back in that closet, now! I don't care what you do -- test Jim's senses, fuck like wild animals, whatever -- I just do not want to see either of you! Got it?"

Jim grabbed Blair's hand and hauled him back into the closet. The moans and screams began before the door was even properly shut.

"Now, you two." She turned to Jay and Bob. "Bob, go wash your face -- you've got snot in your mustache. Jay, you and Bob get your asses in that living room and watch cartoons or something. Smoke a bowl, anything. Just stay out of my hair for the next couple of hours. And no pay-per-view pornos. Understand?"

As soon as the sounds of Ren and Stimpy could be heard drifting out of the living room, Aiobheann turned to John and D'Argo. "Look," she said in a calmer tone. "I'll take pity on you two. You can use my bedroom, on two conditions: one, you change the sheets when you're done, and two, you keep it down to a reasonable level. Ellison and Sandburg are already serenading the neighborhood --I don't need you two making me listen to humping in stereo, okay? And leave my stuff alone! You can use the lube -- nothing else!"

Once the room was empty, save for Methos, Aiobheann sighed tiredly and sat back down.

"And you. What do you want?"

Methos sprawled out on the office sofa, grinning. "Not much. Since you haven't yet seen fit to get me a Duncan Muse, and you seem most terribly busy, I'll settle for a visit from Ms. Cross's BiSlutJohn!Muse."

"And that will keep you happy and out of my way? You won't keep messing with Jim? And you'll stop giving impromptu lectures about how 'Things Were Much Better In the Bronze Age'?"

"Um-hmm. I swear on my honor."

"Humppff. I know exactly how much that's worth."

"You wound me!" Methos cried dramatically. "So do we have a deal?"

"I suppose so, if it's okay with Bri. I didn't realize John was your type."

"He's a Boy Scout at heart, dear. Of course he's my type."

Aiobheann thought for a moment. "Okay, I'll let you have a romp with BiSlut!John -- on one condition."

"I knew there was a catch," Methos muttered.

"Wash the dishes and you've got a deal."

"Again, you wound me! You would have me whore myself out for the price of a sinkful of dishes?"

"Absolutely. Deal?"

Methos sighed, putting down his beer and rolling up his sleeves. "Deal."

"Cool. Just think happy thoughts about naked writhing astronauts and you'll be done in no time."

*Thud.*

(Pardon me, I'm the stand-in narrator. I'm afraid the narrator has passed out cold, due to the aforementioned happy thoughts, and will be unavailable to finish this story. Please accept my apologies.)

THE END