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madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Xander is fairly sure he's in trouble.
Word Count: 1015
Rating: Teen
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS
The names. He fought for them, he knows, fought to survive, to live just like all born into the Joestar line, but reaching out, grasping for more has his thoughts scattering. He’s not fully awake, then, not yet, because otherwise he’d have a clue how he ended up here.
It seems sensible, though. Inevitable. And that’s just the sort of certainty that makes sense in a dream or on a subconscious level, something that feels true without any proof. It just is.
Like the chanting, which sounds familiar. It’s not in English, nor a human language, but he swears he’s heard it before anyway. But that’s more dream-logic, isn’t it?
Nightmares should be his domain, though. He should be in control of this one, so why—why is it so hard to remember, why is he powerless again, why—
“Good evening.” That over there—it’s Wesley. He’s wearing an outfit that Johan vaguely remembers from dreams of things he’d never actually seen. Had that actually happened? His face—no, his entire front is covered in blood, like he’d faceplanted directly into the pool of blood visible in the torchlight, in this small stone chamber with a sacrificial altar and not much else. He chuckles as Xander, befuddled, tries to wade through the haze of his muddled thoughts and comprehend everything. They’d come to stop this, whatever this was. “Well, I suppose it’s good for me, not for you, and I’m not sure how much control you have, at the moment.”
That sends a thrill of fear through the Joestar, and he tries desperately to send a signal to his limbs to move, move now. All that he manages is a full-body twitch, which apparently Wesley finds funny, because he laughs again.
And those are fangs visible, but no Game Face, and he thinks he might make out an outline of a Stone Mask behind the man on the stone floor. “The Watcher became a vampire?” he blurts, incredulous, before he can think better of it, because his mouth hasn’t gotten the memo that some things really shouldn’t and don’t need to be said out loud. Fortunately for his status as a captive, somehow, though he’s pretty sure he can’t feel bonds of any sort as he waits, apparently patient, for whatever fate Wesley has planned for him.
“It’s not the first time. Two other cases before, actually, never mind the fact that I am no longer a Watcher, and I was dead before this,” he gestures at the blood. “It’s academic in any case. You won’t be able to report your findings to the new Council.”
“Pretender!” Johan calls, panicking a little, and in response Wesley smiles. It’s supposed to look benevolent. Like the Watcher he had once been. It’s as ill-fitting as a snakeskin ready to be shed, particularly with the mask drawn, most likely in the blood of the countless people and demons littering the hallways.
“Don’t you remember how you ended up here?” It’s a rhetorical question. Xander’s heard this before what feels like a thousand times. This is the part where the villain starts monologuing. You’d think it wouldn’t happen in real life, not being realistic and all that, but demons and vampires don’t seem to care too much about that, probably because they’re not all that worried. Of course, there’s the issue of a Vampire Slayer, but they’re usually a little too cocky to consider that an issue until they’re already staked.
He’s usually the rescuee, in these situations. The dude in distress. He’s not the same useless guy he’d been, say, a year ago. He can rescue himself, if he could only—why won’t Pretender come?
“A side effect of my Stand, Writing’s On the Wall. You saw it and delivered yourself as per the instructions, and now wait for your death, helpless. Because that’s what Writing’s On the Wall foretold.” He sounds so sure, but then, he was a part of Wolfram & Hart for so long. He probably tested it out on subordinates, ones that wouldn’t be missed.
That sounds like a controlling Stand. Just to check, he concentrates on his breathing, as much as he can focus. Tries to summon even the smallest ripple, let it run over his body, but that feels blocked too, like it’s just out of reach. He could fight back, if only he could call his Stand, if only he could use Hamon, but it sounds like Wesley’s Stand won’t let him use either, won’t let him fight back at all. Like Rohan’s safety lock, he thinks vaguely hysterically, only given that he’s now beginning to remember the blood-writing on the wall gathering in a pool of blood and leading him like a particularly twisted Pied Piper to this room of sacrifice, he’s getting the feeling that there’s a limitation here. Why else would he have been lured away from his friends, other than the likelihood that the Stand only works on one person at a time? If that’s the case, then, if Fitz and the others can make it here first, Wesley will find it considerably harder to fight them. Which is beginning to feel like his only hope.
The walls have begun to bleed, and there’s a feeling in the air, like something’s building, a rising crescendo of power that will only end in one way if they don’t stop him in time. Of course, no one and nothing is invincible, so even if they get delayed just long enough, they can still take him out, but it’ll be a lot harder and he’s a little concerned about what will happen to him in the meantime. After all, no one performing an arcane, forbidden ritual just kidnaps someone and places them on a stone altar alive without some sort of gruesome plan that he’s not particularly going to enjoy.
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Xander is fairly sure he's in trouble.
Word Count: 1015
Rating: Teen
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS
This, Johan—Xander?—realizes, is a nightmare. The revelation comes in the same sudden moment as awareness, both hitting him with a speed that’s leaving him breathless, trying desperately to catch up, to find the logic between here and there.
The names. He fought for them, he knows, fought to survive, to live just like all born into the Joestar line, but reaching out, grasping for more has his thoughts scattering. He’s not fully awake, then, not yet, because otherwise he’d have a clue how he ended up here.
It seems sensible, though. Inevitable. And that’s just the sort of certainty that makes sense in a dream or on a subconscious level, something that feels true without any proof. It just is.
Like the chanting, which sounds familiar. It’s not in English, nor a human language, but he swears he’s heard it before anyway. But that’s more dream-logic, isn’t it?
Nightmares should be his domain, though. He should be in control of this one, so why—why is it so hard to remember, why is he powerless again, why—
“Good evening.” That over there—it’s Wesley. He’s wearing an outfit that Johan vaguely remembers from dreams of things he’d never actually seen. Had that actually happened? His face—no, his entire front is covered in blood, like he’d faceplanted directly into the pool of blood visible in the torchlight, in this small stone chamber with a sacrificial altar and not much else. He chuckles as Xander, befuddled, tries to wade through the haze of his muddled thoughts and comprehend everything. They’d come to stop this, whatever this was. “Well, I suppose it’s good for me, not for you, and I’m not sure how much control you have, at the moment.”
That sends a thrill of fear through the Joestar, and he tries desperately to send a signal to his limbs to move, move now. All that he manages is a full-body twitch, which apparently Wesley finds funny, because he laughs again.
And those are fangs visible, but no Game Face, and he thinks he might make out an outline of a Stone Mask behind the man on the stone floor. “The Watcher became a vampire?” he blurts, incredulous, before he can think better of it, because his mouth hasn’t gotten the memo that some things really shouldn’t and don’t need to be said out loud. Fortunately for his status as a captive, somehow, though he’s pretty sure he can’t feel bonds of any sort as he waits, apparently patient, for whatever fate Wesley has planned for him.
“It’s not the first time. Two other cases before, actually, never mind the fact that I am no longer a Watcher, and I was dead before this,” he gestures at the blood. “It’s academic in any case. You won’t be able to report your findings to the new Council.”
“Pretender!” Johan calls, panicking a little, and in response Wesley smiles. It’s supposed to look benevolent. Like the Watcher he had once been. It’s as ill-fitting as a snakeskin ready to be shed, particularly with the mask drawn, most likely in the blood of the countless people and demons littering the hallways.
“Don’t you remember how you ended up here?” It’s a rhetorical question. Xander’s heard this before what feels like a thousand times. This is the part where the villain starts monologuing. You’d think it wouldn’t happen in real life, not being realistic and all that, but demons and vampires don’t seem to care too much about that, probably because they’re not all that worried. Of course, there’s the issue of a Vampire Slayer, but they’re usually a little too cocky to consider that an issue until they’re already staked.
He’s usually the rescuee, in these situations. The dude in distress. He’s not the same useless guy he’d been, say, a year ago. He can rescue himself, if he could only—why won’t Pretender come?
“A side effect of my Stand, Writing’s On the Wall. You saw it and delivered yourself as per the instructions, and now wait for your death, helpless. Because that’s what Writing’s On the Wall foretold.” He sounds so sure, but then, he was a part of Wolfram & Hart for so long. He probably tested it out on subordinates, ones that wouldn’t be missed.
That sounds like a controlling Stand. Just to check, he concentrates on his breathing, as much as he can focus. Tries to summon even the smallest ripple, let it run over his body, but that feels blocked too, like it’s just out of reach. He could fight back, if only he could call his Stand, if only he could use Hamon, but it sounds like Wesley’s Stand won’t let him use either, won’t let him fight back at all. Like Rohan’s safety lock, he thinks vaguely hysterically, only given that he’s now beginning to remember the blood-writing on the wall gathering in a pool of blood and leading him like a particularly twisted Pied Piper to this room of sacrifice, he’s getting the feeling that there’s a limitation here. Why else would he have been lured away from his friends, other than the likelihood that the Stand only works on one person at a time? If that’s the case, then, if Fitz and the others can make it here first, Wesley will find it considerably harder to fight them. Which is beginning to feel like his only hope.
The walls have begun to bleed, and there’s a feeling in the air, like something’s building, a rising crescendo of power that will only end in one way if they don’t stop him in time. Of course, no one and nothing is invincible, so even if they get delayed just long enough, they can still take him out, but it’ll be a lot harder and he’s a little concerned about what will happen to him in the meantime. After all, no one performing an arcane, forbidden ritual just kidnaps someone and places them on a stone altar alive without some sort of gruesome plan that he’s not particularly going to enjoy.
