Tag: spnxsm

I found a receipt for booze in my writing pad. Obviously this means it’s time to share the ficlet it was bookmarking. More SPNxSM stuff. 

side note. despite what it seems like in this ficlet Mamoru is not actually a bad guy. The piece is just from Usagi’s point of view. 

——- prompt: CHANGE ——-

She didn’t want to be Usagi anymore. 

It was hardly the first time that she had felt this way; it had come and gone numerous times during her teenaged adventures, but it had definitely been a few years since the last time. Not since… well, not since before Galaxia. Not since the last time that Mamoru had walked all over her heart, if she was being honest. It was hard not to be when she hurt this much.

Each time previous, she had only seen one solution: to change herself into something that would be more attractive to Mamoru. To fix herself for him. She had tried to be prettier. She tried to be more mature. She had dug in and clawed frantically at the faded and fractured memories of her life as Serenity in an attempt to become the Princess that had once been his True Love. She could remember a love so deep and powerful that his death had inspired her previous self to suicide, and she had tried so hard to force herself into that half remembered mold. 

Each and every one of those attempts had been for naught. Every change that she had tried to make of herself, everything that she had reached for had eventually been dropped. She had been ‘perfect’ the way she was when they had first met— waves of long blonde hair, and brilliantly blue eyed. The same as that long lost Princess that had haunted his dreams for years. So she had kept dying her hair and wearing the contacts long after she had tired of the look. This is what Serenity had been, and so it was what Usagi would be. There was no other choice.

She didn’t want to be Serenity anymore, either.

Serenity’s love for Endymion had been all encompassing, a vine that had grown and twisted through every facet of her life. So Usagi had dug in at fourteen, when the memories started to come back, to make sure that she did the same. She was Serenity reborn, after all. It only made sense that they would mirror each other that way. So when Mamoru had returned to America for his studies, had, in fact, decided to finish them there, she had decided to follow him. 

It was their love that saw her through her tears, saw her through depression and through stresses that would have broken her before. Every time that she thought to give up on her dream of being with him, she would remember Serenity and she would persevere. It was an awe-inspiring change, and her friends had rushed to help her reach her dreams before she could change her mind. It was their love that had her applying for and getting into Stanford. That love that had sent her across an ocean just to study politics.
 

After all, if she was going to be the Queen of Earth, she should probably understand how governments worked, right?

Usagi had wanted to surprise her love. She had kept not only her visit, but the fact that she had been accepted into the same University that he had, a secret. She had fantasized about their reunion in her head from the moment she had gotten on the plan in Narita to the moment she turned the corner towards his residence. Mamoru would be surprised when she knocked on his door, of course. His eyes would grow wide, and she would offer him her sweetest smile. She’d cover his started exclamations with a cheerful greeting even as she pushed him back into his room and sealing their lips together. It would be a sweet kiss, as beautiful and perfect as their first, and then—

Usagi had seen pictures of Mamoru’s lab partner, of course. She was a pretty young thing, with short black hair and sharp brown eyes. Caucasian, not Japanese. She wore her make up thick and her shirts thin. She had always been a non-thread in Usagi’s eyes. The girl was the opposite of Serenity, just this tiny little thing that couldn’t possibly get in the way of predestined love.

Maybe… maybe if Serenity hadn’t been so confident. Maybe if she hadn’t believed so whole heartedly in their immortal love… well, maybe then Usagi wouldn’t have rounded the corner just in time to see the lab partner sling her leg over Mamoru’s hips. She wouldn’t have seen the stubby and calloused fingers slide up and tangle in Mamoru’s hair. She wouldn’t have seen the gentle tug that brought Mamoru’s head down. 

She wouldn’t have seen the absolutely filthy kiss that broke her heart.

Usagi fled. What else could she do? She was barely managing to hold all the piece of her crumbling heart together as the jagged edges of betrayal tore into her chest. She almost made it back to her own room before she could only collapse against the wall and fall apart. Her legs refused to hold her weight and down she went, a crumpled ball of blond hair on the floor, face buried in her hands.

There were no great wailing sobs. She did not shriek or throw a temper tantrum. There were only the tears boiling trails down her face, her shoulders shaking and breath coming in harsh gasps.

An arm looped loosely around her shoulders, while fingers brushed her hands away gently and tried to tilt her chin up to get a look at her face. “Oh jeez… Rabbit… what happened?”

She didn’t look up. She only turned so that she could bury her face into Brady’s neck, hands curled in his shirt. 

“I don’t want to be Usagi anymore.”

another sweet Sam/Jess set in the SPNxSM ‘verse. sweet and sad. no schmoop tag for this one. Stupid last line.

——- prompt: FIRST ——-

Jessica isn’t his first girlfriend. Sam isn’t her first boyfriend. Their first kiss is as much an accident as it is a fond memory. There is nothing truly amazing about the first time they hug or hold hands or go on a date or make out. They just slide together, two halves of a whole that just needed to find each other. 

(Jess teases him about being cliche. Sam’s response his to press a sloppy kiss to her cheek, then remind her that she’s the one who insisted he buy her the biggest possible stuffed bear for Valentines.)

The firsts that matter aren’t the romantic ones. Jess is the first girl who doesn’t leave when he refuses to talk about his past. Sam is the first boy who doesn’t disappear when she breaks down for reasons she can’t explain. Jess is the first girl to ignore the scars on his body to focus on the man inside. Sam is the first boy who understands her nightmares without ever asking about them.

Jess is the first girl that he can see himself growing old with.

Sam is the first boy that she knows she’ll grow old with.

(It’s really too bad that tearing them apart is the first step.)

Okay wow. After tonight’s episode… I need cheering up. So. I am going to write up a couple of the sweeter Jess/Sam prompts for my SPNxSM thing. Hopefully they’ll make sense, even without a lot of the background stuff.

——- prompt: FRIENDS ——-

Jessica is sprawled across one end of the couch when Sam comes home that evening. She is slowly swinging her legs back and forth over the arm of the couch, and one hand is twisting and tangling in her hair. The other arm is extended over her head, a red ribbon hanging down from whatever she is looking at. An open letter rests face down on her bare stomach.

She tilts her head back to smile up at him as he sits down. “Hey Sam.”

“Hey yourself.” He smiles back at her as he tugs her up, pulling her head into his lap so he can untangle the mess she’s made of her hair. “What’s that?”

“A gift,” and her smile turns teasing as she holds the ribbon out towards him. Hanging from it is a thin crystal vial that catches the setting sun in a riot of colour. Gently Sam takes it from her and inspects it with mild curiousity. The vial is a couple inches long, maybe a quarter of one in diameter, and filled with alternating layers of particles. His lips quirk a bit as he places the strange mixture: sand, salt, and coffee grinds, of all things. 

The vial is also decorated with a cross that is carefully etched into the side of the vial, and the cap looks like it might just be sterling silver. It speaks for how determined he is to leave his old life behind that he doesn’t dwell on what the strange little gift could be used for when it came to a hunt.

Jess is giggling at the intensity of his expression, and Sam sticks his tongue out at her in retaliation.

“Rei set it to me. To keep ghosts out of the apartment, since she isn’t here to exorcise it for me.”

It takes Sam a moment to remember just who Rei is; while he doesn’t talk much of Dean and Dad, Jess’ stories of her high school friends may be slightly stilted, but she still tries to let him into that part of her life. “The Shinto priestess who went to a catholic school, right?”

“That’s the one!”

“Does she do exorcisms often?”

Jessica’s laugh is bright with happy memories. “Oh Sam… didn’t I tell you how we first met? Rei tried to exorcise me!”

His laugh joins hers at the mental image: a small Japanese girl trying to cast the evil out of the younger version of his girlfriend…? He knows that Jess wasn’t as tall as then as she is now, but that’s the image that’s in his head. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she’s still giggling, though her smile turns rueful. “There’s… well, there’s not a whole lot of blondes in Japan, you know? So… some people associate it with delinquents and gangs. Rei wasn’t the first person to make that mistake.”

“Somehow, I just can’t see it,” he murmurs, running a finger down her cheek. “So… how is this little thing supposed to ward off the big bad ghosts?”

He has some ideas of what the sand and salt could be used for, can even still name off a number of spirits and creatures that they’d be effective against. The problem is those coffee grinds; he couldn’t think of anything that had to do with ghosts, which meant it was probably one of those new age wicca things.

“Well, let’s see… Rei wrote it down here somewhere…” she picks the letter up off her stomach to scour the contents for the answer. “Hmm, well spirits are apparently incredibly neurotic and have to count every single grain before they can move past the vial. And this will give me— and I’m quoting here Sam, don’t laugh— time ‘to find someone who can exorcise the ghost for me’.”

He can’t help it. He just has to laugh at that. He doesn’t tell her that with a little bit of brushing up he would be able to perform the possible future exorcism himself. He doesn’t tell her that it wouldn’t be the first time he’d located a corpse to do a little salt and burn to ensure that it never comes back. He doesn’t tell her any of that because they are normal people living a normal life in a normal world.

He does, however, lean down to press a kiss to her forehead. She tilts her head back and claims his lips instead. It is gentle and chaste, just a sweet brushing of lips, but it makes him feel so much better about keeping his secrets secret. She tangles her fingers in his hair, breaking the kiss with a soft smile.

“You’ve got some weird friends, Jess.”

“You have no idea.”

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.