Prompt Fic # 5, 10, 14-16
I hope I did those pretty ideas justice.
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Her long, dark locks, her doll-shaped face. Her limbs that seem to never end, her waist, tiny enough to span with his hands. The grace in her fingers, the curve of her lips.
The similarities do not end there. The glint of mischief in her eyes, the sparkle something beautiful under her skin. Her capacity for compassion, for love, even for one such as him. Her magic like a living thing against his cold flesh. They burned her a witch for loving him, for loving Jean-Claude, never understanding how true their words were, and how merciful she was.
True magic, true power, slept within her but even as she burned, she did not turn it against humans, did not take life. She swore an oath to protect and protect she did. He should not have survived their torture and he knows it.
It was her last gift to him, this half life, this ugliness he bears now and would gladly bear for a thousand more years if only he had her back.
And now here she is again, Julianna reborn, brought back to him by some gracious twist of fate, looking at him with the same adoration, the same love. Seeing past the monster to the man, who has forgotten he even existed.
Here she is again, calling herself Dawn - sunrise - and remembering nothing of her past life and its gruesome end, an end she met because of him and Jean-Claude.
An end she met because she was a soul too beautiful, too gentle for this world.
And for all that he knows now, for all that he fears a repeat of history, for all the pain and suffering, for all that he wants to spare her the fate of loving him, he know he is not so strong.
She says his name with a smile, hand held out to him and he should run, should run far and fast. To spare her.
But he is not so strong.
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Beth’s first birthday falls on a Thursday and the whole week leading up to it, everyone mopes and if Puck has to look at Finn’s and Quinn’s blotchy fucking faces for one more second, he’ll scream. So he drives his ass to the airport and gets on the first plane out of there. He’ll be back on Monday. He’s not running away. He just needs to… whatever.
He lands in LA and more or less simply starts walking. He’s got a couple hundred bucks left from raiding his account and there’s no-one here to remind him of the kid he only got to hold once or the girl who gave birth to her.
Somehow, he lands in a mall. It’s kinda funny. He crosses the whole country to get away and then goes to the one place that’s the same, no matter where you go. He could’ve had that way cheaper. But, whatthefuckever.
Food court. Double of everything and he’s slurping his milkshake when a gaggle of cheerleaders invades the place, all in uniform, all long legs and tight little butts in tiny skirts. Plastic smiles and shiny hair. He tells himself to go and hit that, but he can’t quite work up the energy, remembering full well what happened the last time he got groiny with a cheerio. Which doesn’t mean that he’s reformed or anything it’s just that… this is a bad time of year, okay? He’s still the stud, the Puckerone, the goddamn cock of the walk, as Berry says, only without the swearing. But hitting up on cheerleaders is… boring. That’s it. Boring. He’s been there before and believe you him, he’s done it, too. Them. Anyway.
He watches them from across the court, amusing himself with assigning positions in a surprisingly nonsexual way. That one’s the alpha bitch, but not for long. Throne’s still shaky. That one’s the rival. And there’s the omega chick-y, kind of shy and probably actually nice. He feels like one of those guys on Discovery Channel, all cool and suave (thanks Berry), when a latecomer shows up.
She’s tiny. Like, as small as Berry, and blonde. There’s a nasty bruise hidden under her make-up and he notices the others stare at it. Her smile’s bright as she waves hello and abruptly, the others fall silent. The shy girl smiles at her, the alpha bitch almost growls. The blonde snaps at her, the girl snaps back and then the collective bitch-pride gets up and walks away, leaving the blonde standing alone at the table, looking half angry, half sad. She touches her bruised cheek and looks after her teammates, tears standing in her eyes.
Fallen Queen. He’s seen it before, how the most adored girl went to leper in less than a week. He felt bad then, because it was his fault, kinda, or at least his spawn growing in her belly. He had reason to feel bad. This time he has no reason at all to feel for the tiny blonde chick with the bruise.
But you see, almost two years ago he joined this club of losers and they taught him that most people are actually, you know, people, under all the bullshit and this chick looks like Quinn did, back in the day. Hurting and trying to hide it.
And suddenly he feels like hitting on a cheerleader after all. But not any cheerleader. This one. Because it’s like, they kinda seem to be in the same place here, yeah?
And, he thinks as he gets up and puts on the swagger, they can help each other out. He can be the untouchable jock and she can be the adored cheerleader. Just for a roll in the hay, maybe two.
And then they can go home and… ah, screw this. No thinking. He came here to LA so he doesn’t have to think. He’s gonna go over there now and he’s gonna tap that for no other reason than that she’s blonde and a cheerleader and he’s never been able to resist that combination.
That’s it. So shut the fuck up about it.
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This isn’t a love story because it’s not a story.
It’s two people who, incidentally, have known each other all their lives and never looked twice. There are distractions and red herrings to this non-story. Quite a few actually.
Vampires. Kidnappings. Broken bones, old tales, treaties and losses. Heartbreak. And werewolves. Actually, the werewolves are probably the most important detail.
They do this thing, legend says, where they look at their soulmates and click. Game over. Done for. Head over heels, one way ticket, no escape, no question, no nothing. They come, they see, they love.
That’s what happens. Girl and boy grow up together. Girl falls in love with vampire, bla bla, details, bla, red herring. Birthday party. Blood. More details. Boy turns into a werewolf and looks at girl and click. Forget the vampire, forget the details, forget everything.
This it is. Boy, girl. Werewolf, imprint. There’s no drama, no great heartbreak, no doubt.
No story.
It’s two people who, incidentally, were made for each other.
This isn’t a love story. This is simply love.
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“Forget it, I’m not doing it,” Buffy stated decisively, shaking her head for good measure. Jack, standing beside her, backed away a step and waved his hand in her face, mouth opening and closing.
“You… you… it’s your duty!” He zeroed in on her suddenly in typical Jack fashion, getting way too close for comfort, finger almost up her nose. “Your sacred, holy, absolutely… absolute… duty.” Then he backed away again quickly, afraid she was going to come after him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“That is not part of my duty,” she snapped, ignoring his fumbling and stumbling with the practice of too many years spent in too small quarters with the man. Somehow his crazy got a lot less impressive after a few years. “Why don’t you do it? You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place.”
The finger was back in her face as the pirate floundered for words. Since he was carefully keeping track of it out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t manage much more than a helpless, “Nuh-uh!”
Buffy huffed, looked down at the object of their little crisis and returned the favor by getting up in Jack’s face for a change. He received the change in pace with a slow blink and backed away a few steps. Right up until he realized he was getting within range of it. Then he almost jumped the slayer to put distance between himself and the thing. God, the smell alone…
“Jack Sparrow-,” Buffy started, not impressed with the fearless pirate trying to hide behind her, dramatically pinching his nose closed.
“Ahh, Captain, love, Captain Jack Sparrow.” She always, always, always forgot the Captain.
Buffy made a grab for the finger as soon as it reappeared and missed as he pulled it back lightning quick, cradling it against his chest. “Jack Sparrow,” - she did that on purpose, she did- “You are the one who told Will and Liz that you would gladly babysit their spawn for them. I had nothing to do with it whatsoever and the fact that I’m a woman does not make me an expert in all things baby. So you are going to pull on your big boy panties and you are going to change little Will’s diapers. Now!”
She crossed her arms and glared.
Jack gulped. Junior cooed.
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There’s a door that leads to a world where Sammy never drank demon blood. When Dean first found it, he was so happy, so glad that Sam could be saved, had saved himself. Happy, right up until the world ended in fire because Sam didn’t have the juice to end the apocalypse Dean started.
There’s another door behind which Mary listened and Dean and Sam Winchester were never born. In that world, the Devil’s running around in Adam and Michael wearing John because blood is blood and one suit fits as well as another. They duke it out across the globe, burning anything in their wake. Mary lives alone, hiding, desperate because of all she lost and the looks on the faces of men never born, thinking that anything but this would have been better.
There’s a door behind which John never became a hunter. A world in which Mary Campbell never made a deal. A world where Azazel died from a bullet to John’s heart and his plan went up in flames with him. A world where Dean got out of his deal and Sammy never wavered. A world where the angels pulled their thumbs outta their asses in time and actually did something. A world where John lives, one where Mary lives, one where Samuel and Deanna live. One without Lilith and one without Ruby, one with Dean as the younger brother, one with Sam as the loyal son. On where the goddamn sun rises in the goddamn west and sinks in the east.
All those worlds have one thing in common. Only one. In the end, they all burn.
Dean slips in and out, stays just long enough to figure out what’s going on, to taste the fire and brimstone on the air, the weight of death all around him. He comes and goes and returns to the misty hallway between worlds, heading for another door.
Searching.
Somewhere, there has to be a world where it turns out alright.
Somewhere, they all live. He just has to find the right door.
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Her long, dark locks, her doll-shaped face. Her limbs that seem to never end, her waist, tiny enough to span with his hands. The grace in her fingers, the curve of her lips.
The similarities do not end there. The glint of mischief in her eyes, the sparkle something beautiful under her skin. Her capacity for compassion, for love, even for one such as him. Her magic like a living thing against his cold flesh. They burned her a witch for loving him, for loving Jean-Claude, never understanding how true their words were, and how merciful she was.
True magic, true power, slept within her but even as she burned, she did not turn it against humans, did not take life. She swore an oath to protect and protect she did. He should not have survived their torture and he knows it.
It was her last gift to him, this half life, this ugliness he bears now and would gladly bear for a thousand more years if only he had her back.
And now here she is again, Julianna reborn, brought back to him by some gracious twist of fate, looking at him with the same adoration, the same love. Seeing past the monster to the man, who has forgotten he even existed.
Here she is again, calling herself Dawn - sunrise - and remembering nothing of her past life and its gruesome end, an end she met because of him and Jean-Claude.
An end she met because she was a soul too beautiful, too gentle for this world.
And for all that he knows now, for all that he fears a repeat of history, for all the pain and suffering, for all that he wants to spare her the fate of loving him, he know he is not so strong.
She says his name with a smile, hand held out to him and he should run, should run far and fast. To spare her.
But he is not so strong.
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Beth’s first birthday falls on a Thursday and the whole week leading up to it, everyone mopes and if Puck has to look at Finn’s and Quinn’s blotchy fucking faces for one more second, he’ll scream. So he drives his ass to the airport and gets on the first plane out of there. He’ll be back on Monday. He’s not running away. He just needs to… whatever.
He lands in LA and more or less simply starts walking. He’s got a couple hundred bucks left from raiding his account and there’s no-one here to remind him of the kid he only got to hold once or the girl who gave birth to her.
Somehow, he lands in a mall. It’s kinda funny. He crosses the whole country to get away and then goes to the one place that’s the same, no matter where you go. He could’ve had that way cheaper. But, whatthefuckever.
Food court. Double of everything and he’s slurping his milkshake when a gaggle of cheerleaders invades the place, all in uniform, all long legs and tight little butts in tiny skirts. Plastic smiles and shiny hair. He tells himself to go and hit that, but he can’t quite work up the energy, remembering full well what happened the last time he got groiny with a cheerio. Which doesn’t mean that he’s reformed or anything it’s just that… this is a bad time of year, okay? He’s still the stud, the Puckerone, the goddamn cock of the walk, as Berry says, only without the swearing. But hitting up on cheerleaders is… boring. That’s it. Boring. He’s been there before and believe you him, he’s done it, too. Them. Anyway.
He watches them from across the court, amusing himself with assigning positions in a surprisingly nonsexual way. That one’s the alpha bitch, but not for long. Throne’s still shaky. That one’s the rival. And there’s the omega chick-y, kind of shy and probably actually nice. He feels like one of those guys on Discovery Channel, all cool and suave (thanks Berry), when a latecomer shows up.
She’s tiny. Like, as small as Berry, and blonde. There’s a nasty bruise hidden under her make-up and he notices the others stare at it. Her smile’s bright as she waves hello and abruptly, the others fall silent. The shy girl smiles at her, the alpha bitch almost growls. The blonde snaps at her, the girl snaps back and then the collective bitch-pride gets up and walks away, leaving the blonde standing alone at the table, looking half angry, half sad. She touches her bruised cheek and looks after her teammates, tears standing in her eyes.
Fallen Queen. He’s seen it before, how the most adored girl went to leper in less than a week. He felt bad then, because it was his fault, kinda, or at least his spawn growing in her belly. He had reason to feel bad. This time he has no reason at all to feel for the tiny blonde chick with the bruise.
But you see, almost two years ago he joined this club of losers and they taught him that most people are actually, you know, people, under all the bullshit and this chick looks like Quinn did, back in the day. Hurting and trying to hide it.
And suddenly he feels like hitting on a cheerleader after all. But not any cheerleader. This one. Because it’s like, they kinda seem to be in the same place here, yeah?
And, he thinks as he gets up and puts on the swagger, they can help each other out. He can be the untouchable jock and she can be the adored cheerleader. Just for a roll in the hay, maybe two.
And then they can go home and… ah, screw this. No thinking. He came here to LA so he doesn’t have to think. He’s gonna go over there now and he’s gonna tap that for no other reason than that she’s blonde and a cheerleader and he’s never been able to resist that combination.
That’s it. So shut the fuck up about it.
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This isn’t a love story because it’s not a story.
It’s two people who, incidentally, have known each other all their lives and never looked twice. There are distractions and red herrings to this non-story. Quite a few actually.
Vampires. Kidnappings. Broken bones, old tales, treaties and losses. Heartbreak. And werewolves. Actually, the werewolves are probably the most important detail.
They do this thing, legend says, where they look at their soulmates and click. Game over. Done for. Head over heels, one way ticket, no escape, no question, no nothing. They come, they see, they love.
That’s what happens. Girl and boy grow up together. Girl falls in love with vampire, bla bla, details, bla, red herring. Birthday party. Blood. More details. Boy turns into a werewolf and looks at girl and click. Forget the vampire, forget the details, forget everything.
This it is. Boy, girl. Werewolf, imprint. There’s no drama, no great heartbreak, no doubt.
No story.
It’s two people who, incidentally, were made for each other.
This isn’t a love story. This is simply love.
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“Forget it, I’m not doing it,” Buffy stated decisively, shaking her head for good measure. Jack, standing beside her, backed away a step and waved his hand in her face, mouth opening and closing.
“You… you… it’s your duty!” He zeroed in on her suddenly in typical Jack fashion, getting way too close for comfort, finger almost up her nose. “Your sacred, holy, absolutely… absolute… duty.” Then he backed away again quickly, afraid she was going to come after him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“That is not part of my duty,” she snapped, ignoring his fumbling and stumbling with the practice of too many years spent in too small quarters with the man. Somehow his crazy got a lot less impressive after a few years. “Why don’t you do it? You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place.”
The finger was back in her face as the pirate floundered for words. Since he was carefully keeping track of it out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t manage much more than a helpless, “Nuh-uh!”
Buffy huffed, looked down at the object of their little crisis and returned the favor by getting up in Jack’s face for a change. He received the change in pace with a slow blink and backed away a few steps. Right up until he realized he was getting within range of it. Then he almost jumped the slayer to put distance between himself and the thing. God, the smell alone…
“Jack Sparrow-,” Buffy started, not impressed with the fearless pirate trying to hide behind her, dramatically pinching his nose closed.
“Ahh, Captain, love, Captain Jack Sparrow.” She always, always, always forgot the Captain.
Buffy made a grab for the finger as soon as it reappeared and missed as he pulled it back lightning quick, cradling it against his chest. “Jack Sparrow,” - she did that on purpose, she did- “You are the one who told Will and Liz that you would gladly babysit their spawn for them. I had nothing to do with it whatsoever and the fact that I’m a woman does not make me an expert in all things baby. So you are going to pull on your big boy panties and you are going to change little Will’s diapers. Now!”
She crossed her arms and glared.
Jack gulped. Junior cooed.
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There’s a door that leads to a world where Sammy never drank demon blood. When Dean first found it, he was so happy, so glad that Sam could be saved, had saved himself. Happy, right up until the world ended in fire because Sam didn’t have the juice to end the apocalypse Dean started.
There’s another door behind which Mary listened and Dean and Sam Winchester were never born. In that world, the Devil’s running around in Adam and Michael wearing John because blood is blood and one suit fits as well as another. They duke it out across the globe, burning anything in their wake. Mary lives alone, hiding, desperate because of all she lost and the looks on the faces of men never born, thinking that anything but this would have been better.
There’s a door behind which John never became a hunter. A world in which Mary Campbell never made a deal. A world where Azazel died from a bullet to John’s heart and his plan went up in flames with him. A world where Dean got out of his deal and Sammy never wavered. A world where the angels pulled their thumbs outta their asses in time and actually did something. A world where John lives, one where Mary lives, one where Samuel and Deanna live. One without Lilith and one without Ruby, one with Dean as the younger brother, one with Sam as the loyal son. On where the goddamn sun rises in the goddamn west and sinks in the east.
All those worlds have one thing in common. Only one. In the end, they all burn.
Dean slips in and out, stays just long enough to figure out what’s going on, to taste the fire and brimstone on the air, the weight of death all around him. He comes and goes and returns to the misty hallway between worlds, heading for another door.
Searching.
Somewhere, there has to be a world where it turns out alright.
Somewhere, they all live. He just has to find the right door.
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