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madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Johan gets separated at the worst time.
Word Count: 1131
Rating: Teen
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS
The first time he asks, it’s quiet; enemies are probably lurking around somewhere, even if he can’t see them. But then the anxiety shoots through him. He hammers on the wall separating him from the rest. “Fitz, Darling, Captain, Robin? I’m here!” Pretender glances toward him apologetically as he’s summoned, but as expected attempting to punch through the wall with cries of “Torararara!” only slightly chip the wall and lead to aching knuckles. If he had Star Platinum or Crazy Diamond, this wall wouldn’t serve as much of an obstacle, but he’s only a faded copy, a pretender to the name, useless when it came down to it.
And then, as his breath falls into a familiar pattern and the glow wraps his hands, he calms as quickly as that had come. Well, as calm as he can get right now. As expected, that doesn’t help much with the obstacle either, but maybe the ripple of energy made some kind of obvious sign of his location? If anyone’s likely to be able to get through the wall, it’s either Beefheart or Fitz, but either way their methods are destructive enough he’s pretty sure they won’t attempt it right on top of him. Still, he backs up a few steps, just in case.
The self-doubt is a familiar old song. Xander falls right back into it, because he’s used to old patterns of thinking. Rationally, he’s no less a part of the family than Cousin Shizuka. Ignore the stuff about blood, because by blood he’s also related to the Harrises, and no one could or would argue they’re much of family to him. He’s been in their heads, or a copy of their heads, and knows how they’d feel about him. That they’d welcome him with open arms as one of their own. It’s just that he hasn’t experienced that in real life, which might get the voices to shut up. (It won’t. He knows this. It’d just change their form, that they’re being nice, because Joestars are too nice. It’s easy to claim there’s one single piece of proof that would make it go away.) But then, that’s amusing, and he laughs out loud. He’d already had that, a literal ghost tell him Johan was a Joestar, that the curse of the priest sought to claim him just like the rest of the family. He rubs sheepishly at the birthmark. He should be settled; should be sure in his actions, and yet here he is, haunted by doubt.
He hadn’t bothered, before, to tease out the strand and find where it leads. He closes his eyes and does so now, concerned about the source. What he finds is that it’s not paranoia. The feeling seems to be from Pretender, and it’s anticipation, the kind of channeled adrenaline that steeled him before graduation, or taunting Angelus, or before the final fight with the First. The self-doubt is just a symptom, him picking at his own psychological wounds because his mind’s trying to do the natural human thing and find some kind of logic, some kind of reason behind it all.
Sure, he’s been worried ever since they’d heard about the Ascension, a nervous hum of energy that he can’t seem to fully hide despite himself. His façade breaking. He knows that it made them all worry, even Fitz, but that knowledge just made it worse, fueled the flames, because he had something else to worry about because of that.
He doesn’t know whether to describe it as déjà vu. He definitely doesn’t know what’s coming, but it’s familiar, like the dream-house in The Colour and the Shape or the Pretender, but dark and forboding, a dark mirror to the safety and comfort of his Stand and its powers. This feeling is more like when he’d seen the Mask, like when he’d been put on trial, like the feeling when he’d seen the slaughter on the news and tried to call the Council only to be struck with the feeling of dread. Doom, inevitable and all the more terrifying for the faceless mask it wears, looms above everything.
The fight had been a bit of a reprieve, honestly, because he’d gotten to channel that energy into something productive. Usually, the concern goes into his mouth spouting off just about everything, but this was the kind that required action, only he wasn’t flying the plane or being copilot or driving the car, so he couldn’t do anything about the feeling he was about to vibrate out of his skin. Jojo should probably have tried to determine the source before now—at least that would have been productive—but it’s too late to change the past. All he has now is the present, and it will have to do.
Perhaps the inevitability of this self-fulfilling prophecy is thus: no matter the evil, he’s not about to just stand and do nothing, so the clash is a natural consequence. Just like how Pretender had offered him a ‘choice’ of whether or not to proceed and unlock his powers, when it was obvious what he would choose. Perhaps, in the end, the option was all the more meaningful for the fact that his choice could be predicted, as if it were all fated.
And then, ahead, just around a corner so he can’t see the source, something lights up, as if a firefly responding to his own light of hamon. This is a trap, he guesses instantly, correcting himself almost immediately. Well, and an invitation. The kind spiders send to flies.
“Show yourself!” he calls out, but there’s no reply. He’d consider waiting like a good little boy, but at the very least, if his message had gotten through, they would’ve found some way to reply. He presses his ear to the stone, sending another wave of energy through the stone. Nothing. And it’s not like he can get a message to them, unless they decide to take a nap in the middle of enemy territory. He could see Fitz doing that, really, but he’d been picking up a thing or two—probably the worst things—from Johan.
Fine, I’ll continue forward, parallel to the others—but if there’s a door or opening to the left back to the main passage, I’m taking that and abandoning following the wisp or whatever it is.
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Johan gets separated at the worst time.
Word Count: 1131
Rating: Teen
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS
I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this before, Xander thinks, stumbling and falling, catching himself with soft hands on harsh stone. It never fails to hurt less. But he’s had practice catching himself after the fall, getting up after a fall like that. One minute, he’d been walking with the rest, only he’d apparently leaned a little too hard on the wall to the right, and suddenly he was falling. “Hey, can you hear me?”
The first time he asks, it’s quiet; enemies are probably lurking around somewhere, even if he can’t see them. But then the anxiety shoots through him. He hammers on the wall separating him from the rest. “Fitz, Darling, Captain, Robin? I’m here!” Pretender glances toward him apologetically as he’s summoned, but as expected attempting to punch through the wall with cries of “Torararara!” only slightly chip the wall and lead to aching knuckles. If he had Star Platinum or Crazy Diamond, this wall wouldn’t serve as much of an obstacle, but he’s only a faded copy, a pretender to the name, useless when it came down to it.
And then, as his breath falls into a familiar pattern and the glow wraps his hands, he calms as quickly as that had come. Well, as calm as he can get right now. As expected, that doesn’t help much with the obstacle either, but maybe the ripple of energy made some kind of obvious sign of his location? If anyone’s likely to be able to get through the wall, it’s either Beefheart or Fitz, but either way their methods are destructive enough he’s pretty sure they won’t attempt it right on top of him. Still, he backs up a few steps, just in case.
The self-doubt is a familiar old song. Xander falls right back into it, because he’s used to old patterns of thinking. Rationally, he’s no less a part of the family than Cousin Shizuka. Ignore the stuff about blood, because by blood he’s also related to the Harrises, and no one could or would argue they’re much of family to him. He’s been in their heads, or a copy of their heads, and knows how they’d feel about him. That they’d welcome him with open arms as one of their own. It’s just that he hasn’t experienced that in real life, which might get the voices to shut up. (It won’t. He knows this. It’d just change their form, that they’re being nice, because Joestars are too nice. It’s easy to claim there’s one single piece of proof that would make it go away.) But then, that’s amusing, and he laughs out loud. He’d already had that, a literal ghost tell him Johan was a Joestar, that the curse of the priest sought to claim him just like the rest of the family. He rubs sheepishly at the birthmark. He should be settled; should be sure in his actions, and yet here he is, haunted by doubt.
He hadn’t bothered, before, to tease out the strand and find where it leads. He closes his eyes and does so now, concerned about the source. What he finds is that it’s not paranoia. The feeling seems to be from Pretender, and it’s anticipation, the kind of channeled adrenaline that steeled him before graduation, or taunting Angelus, or before the final fight with the First. The self-doubt is just a symptom, him picking at his own psychological wounds because his mind’s trying to do the natural human thing and find some kind of logic, some kind of reason behind it all.
Sure, he’s been worried ever since they’d heard about the Ascension, a nervous hum of energy that he can’t seem to fully hide despite himself. His façade breaking. He knows that it made them all worry, even Fitz, but that knowledge just made it worse, fueled the flames, because he had something else to worry about because of that.
He doesn’t know whether to describe it as déjà vu. He definitely doesn’t know what’s coming, but it’s familiar, like the dream-house in The Colour and the Shape or the Pretender, but dark and forboding, a dark mirror to the safety and comfort of his Stand and its powers. This feeling is more like when he’d seen the Mask, like when he’d been put on trial, like the feeling when he’d seen the slaughter on the news and tried to call the Council only to be struck with the feeling of dread. Doom, inevitable and all the more terrifying for the faceless mask it wears, looms above everything.
The fight had been a bit of a reprieve, honestly, because he’d gotten to channel that energy into something productive. Usually, the concern goes into his mouth spouting off just about everything, but this was the kind that required action, only he wasn’t flying the plane or being copilot or driving the car, so he couldn’t do anything about the feeling he was about to vibrate out of his skin. Jojo should probably have tried to determine the source before now—at least that would have been productive—but it’s too late to change the past. All he has now is the present, and it will have to do.
Perhaps the inevitability of this self-fulfilling prophecy is thus: no matter the evil, he’s not about to just stand and do nothing, so the clash is a natural consequence. Just like how Pretender had offered him a ‘choice’ of whether or not to proceed and unlock his powers, when it was obvious what he would choose. Perhaps, in the end, the option was all the more meaningful for the fact that his choice could be predicted, as if it were all fated.
And then, ahead, just around a corner so he can’t see the source, something lights up, as if a firefly responding to his own light of hamon. This is a trap, he guesses instantly, correcting himself almost immediately. Well, and an invitation. The kind spiders send to flies.
“Show yourself!” he calls out, but there’s no reply. He’d consider waiting like a good little boy, but at the very least, if his message had gotten through, they would’ve found some way to reply. He presses his ear to the stone, sending another wave of energy through the stone. Nothing. And it’s not like he can get a message to them, unless they decide to take a nap in the middle of enemy territory. He could see Fitz doing that, really, but he’d been picking up a thing or two—probably the worst things—from Johan.
Fine, I’ll continue forward, parallel to the others—but if there’s a door or opening to the left back to the main passage, I’m taking that and abandoning following the wisp or whatever it is.
