Tag: waiting for the end

aaaaand for my 400th post, another ficlet from the nameless SPNXSM universe. 

(oh man… I wanna put the Sam/Jess ficlets up for Schmoop Week, but no one will understand them without the background drabbles. Curses!)

——- prompt: TIME ——-

For humans time is a river that flows in a single direction. 

For the angels, for certain pagans, for a select few demons, it the present is a familiar old swimming hole, where the past is the waterfall that crashes into it and the future are the streams that branch outwards. It still flows in a single direction, but it pools and eddies, creating change and chaos. For these creatures, these otherworldly beings, it is possible to jump in or out of the pool at will. They can run upstream, touching on the past, or down into the future if they so pleased.

Of course, the further one went from the pool, the harder it became to see it. The sound of falling water becomes harder to hear, and timelines branch off. It’s harder to get back to the pool, and it is in the pool that these beings play. It is in the pool where change happens. It is in the pool where the possibility to influence humanity and other lesser beings is greatest.

There is no being that knows, never mind understands, what time looks like to the Creator-Father, but there are a handful of beings who believe that they are close to it. Entities that are capable of seeing all of the myriad of possibilities; they are not limited to the deep pool of the present. They are perfectly capable of seeing the whithered and dying present that could have been and all the possibilities that they would have spawned. 

These are the beings for whom their existence is so inextricably bound to time that they might as well be considered part of it. These are the Moirae, the Parcae, the Norns… Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos… Nona, Decima, and Morta… Skuld, Verthandi, and Urd… and so many others that claimed the titles of Fate and Destiny. They are the spinners, the weavers, the cutters, those who were entrusted to be the guiding hand in the dark, pushing Humankind onwards.

Always onwards, always forwards, always to new and fascinating heights. They have their own rules and guidelines to follow, but they are not supervised. They do not take the choice from the hands of lesser beings. If those lesser creatures stumble and fall into the muck and the mire… well. That’s just free will.

And it is always so wondrous to see men bare onwards. To see them claw their way out of the darkness again and again and again.

There is a subtle grace necessary to play with the strands of the tapestry of time. One must never interfere with man’s ability to chose for himself, of course. He must always be ready to push onwards and upwards, to become the next star in the night sky. If Man is to reach his potential, then their actions must be that of a stepping stone along the path to greatness…

In this ever so delicate balance, Setsuna’s meddling comes crashing through like a landslide. It sweeps up the old world, the old timeline, and reshapes it to her whims and wishes. Entire timelines wink out as a result of her actions, and for this the daughter of Chronos is pleased. Humanity’s chances of survival and their continuing free will begin to dwindle and die as she gathers the possibilities to her and prunes out any that do not follow her plans. 

She does not have the time to be subtle, not if her plans are to come to fruition. If Serenity is to ascend, if the world is to accept her as their Goddess-Queen, then everything must be perfect.

And if her heavy handed manipulations hid the movements of Hell and the actions of Heaven? Well, there was no one left alive who could open the Gates of Time; not that she was willing to listen to at any rate. She was above the demons and angels and pagans as they were above humans. This was the only correct path, the only way she could ensure the future. 

Her fingers tightened around the timelines in her grasp.

Been writing off and on at work the last couple days. I’ve got a handful of ficlets and drabbles done, but as they’re kinda scattered all over the timeline I’m going to wait on a chunk of them before posting.

But here. Have the next one in chronological order. unless I write one in between later.

I STILL DON’T HAVE A TITLE FOR THIS MONSTER.

——- prompt: YEARS ——-

After the fall she had closed herself away, locking the very Gates of Time behind her. Her friends, her family, her people, her Queen… they were all dead and gone. All that she had left to remind her of the most glorious period of her life were those beautiful and cold gates.

She could look forwards through them, look backwards, look sideways… any which way was available to her. Every possible future, every out come, everything was laid bare before her. She spent decades combing through every second that lead up to the destruction of everything that she had known. Decades sifting through possibilities, exploring them in way that no being outside the Creator could even begin to comprehend.

But there was no way to fix this.

Not between Pandeia Serenity’s suicide on an angel’s blade, and Selene Serenity’s desperate gamble to ensnare her daughter’s divinity into a human soul. That one single moment was cemented in time. All paths led to it. All paths led from it. There was no longer any possibility that did not narrow onto a broken hearted goddess and her frantic Titan mother.

No, she would have to work with the gamble instead of against it.

Looking forwards after decades (centuries) of looking backwards… after searching, searching, searching… the glittering webs of possibility were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It left her struck with awe, seeing what could be if only she would act…

Pandeia Serenity would be reborn. Had been in fact, many times over while she had attempted to correct her greatest failing. A pagan goddess, no matter how diminished, would never be allowed into a mortal Heaven; and so after every death Serenity was reborn. With every rebirth she was a step closer to her divinity. Every new life creating new and glorious possibilities. 

There.

There among all the stars of chance and choice came a new and shining possibility. A revival of the old, a rebirth of her beloved Kingdom. Selene was gone, her vessel dissolved into so much ash, her divinity and essence forever entombed in the moon.

But Pandeia. Pandeia could rule. She would rule.

She only had a two millennia to tweak and nudge and shove yank build-tearforcetwist time and probability into order. The Princess would be strong enough then.

Two thousand years…

That should be enough.

supernatural x sailor moon crossover drabble

I really need to come up with a name for this drabble series… I mean. It’s going to be background for the new identity series, but I kinda want all the SPNXSM stuff to be able to stand alone too.

——- prompt: SOUND ——-

Contrary to all expectations, to mortal prophecies, to the beliefs of psychics, doomsayers, and mediums, the first sign of the apocalypse was not a particularly noticeable sign. Not to humanity.

It did not come with warnings of disaster. It did not turn seas to blood or air to ash. There was no cultist, no terrorist, no danger that man readily recognized accompanying the sign. There was nothing at all that would cause those who were not expecting it to understand it for what it was.

The third morning of August, 1981, was the beginning of the end. On that morning the Earth herself began to sing; not in words, and not in any ways that humans could hear but oh how she sang. Murmurs and whispers of sound were crooned into the ears one of newborn child.

The Heavenly Host rejoiced, and the Legions of Hell began to put plans millennia in the making into effect.

Equally unnoticed was the second sign of the apocalypse. At the end of July in 1984, the Moon lent her voice to the song of the Earth. Together their voices rang loudly and echoed through the natural world, almost loud enough to be heard by human psychics. Almost but not quite.

The Prince of Earth and the Princess of the Moon had been reborn; the sounds of joy and rapture drowning out the screams of rage and hate, and muffling the scrape of whetstone across blades. It hid the wails of infants transformed and the screams of mothers burning.

The End of Days began with a song.