Title: "Time is on my side (1/3)"
By: "VHS"
Story Rate: "Still in progress"
E-mail: "devil_hunter_shampoo@hotmail.com"
Archive: "CKoS and anybody else can too ... just tell me"
Fandom: "This is a X-men/BtVS crossover"
Pairing: "St. John/???"
Disclaimer: All the original characters of the Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel show belongs to those who made them (Twentieth Century FOX, Warner Brothers, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Sanddollar, David Greenwalt Productions.). The X-men were created by . This just a made up thing by **AVHS**. No infringement intended.
Spoiler: Nothing has gone bad . I think . BtVS 5 Season
Warning: "It contains violence, character death, m/m and f/f relationships, very mild language, some slaying and bloodlust, and something unexpected.
Summary: St. John A. has finally reached the peak of his happiness. What happens when a past haunting begins to emerge? This contains Yaoi, and a special little surprise! Oh and hi, I'm new and I would really appreciate if you tell me what you think. I mean If I continue it or not.
Part 1 ...
It was a dark and rainy night. It had been raining for a while and that night seemed eerie. The streets that were usually crawling with people were almost empty. There were some unfortunate souls that were found wondering where either homeless or hard working people that were going to work or leaved work to go home and rest. In the house-populated area, everything looked still and dark. The habitants of such houses were asleep or were not home. In a certain street, a mansion stood. All of the mansion's windows were submerged in darkness except for one. Inside the lighted bedroom, a young man was sitting silently on his bed. The young man's gaze was empty and blank; he had a sort of catatonic kind of state. It seemed that there was no expression in those shiny blue orbs.
It had been a week since he had remembered the outrageous news. News that had seemed to sent him to rage. The remembrances made him look like a victim who had been distressed to a breaking point but got saved by his rage. He had been emotionally dead to the world, he seemed lost somewhere that was not part of that moment, time or space. The young man seemed like he had just woken up from a nightmare from his past. His strong body was glistering with sweat. He was shirtless and the sweat drops were rolling down his perfectly sculptured upper body. The light of the room made his sweaty body glow. His spiky blond hair was a mess and it seemed as wet as his godly body. His face and his body showed no expression or movement by years of practice. This was a lovely specimen of a manly man. He had liquid mysterious eyes that seemed like they could look into your soul. His blond hair seemed to shine in the room's dense light. He had a pale complexion and had a delicious scent.
It was still raining outside and the young man was in his own world at the time. The deafening rumbling of thunder sounded like a malevolent holler that seemed to cram the heavens with flashes of silvery and colorless light. Inside his beleaguered mind, he tried unsuccessfully to find peacefulness . only to realize that his past demons would always haunt him. He was trying to stop from recollecting his unwanted memories by concentrating on nothing. Instead of recollecting, he tried to focus on something less painful. After a few moments of trying to concentrate, he discovered that he could not. Through all of this time, the young man had not thought about the encounter when it had happened until now. His thoughts were swirling in his head, as the unspoken questions were unanswered. Why did it happen to him? What was the motive behind such unimportant knowledge?
The unfortunate angst-ridden young man's soul was contemplating the questions that seemed to smolder his essence. He was thinking as he was listening to the rainfall, the thunder, and the wind outside his windowpane. The events that followed in all probability knew him better than himself at the time. They happened in such a way that they; touched a nerve in him and motivated some kind of understanding; in other words, he had seen both sides of the coin and began to contemplate his life.
After several possible answers, he pressed the back of his head against the wall. To him it seemed amazing how clear the events were still stuck in his memory. At first, it had seemed impossible to avoid thinking about them. One of the reasons that had not allowed him to let go was an eerie feeling that there was something important that he had missed. He tried to recall what it was, until he almost went crazy, but he was not able to grasp such concept. It had been a normal week for him, but he had had that weird gut feeling that something was wrong.
He kept thinking back on the days following that horrible incident. He could not help but contemplate if he could have made a difference in this or not. He was just sitting on his bed, submissive to his external circumstances. At first, he had debated with himself whether he should tell his friends or to just leave his big secret as a bombshell.
However, how in the world can he justify what was about to happen? The unspoken question echoed through his tormented mind. That he himself did not have an answer to this undeclared question. He did not want to think of it as something appalling but as an endowment from beyond. How can you enlighten someone that had received a weird and wonderful present if it is good or appalling? So many questions flew around him like bloodthirsty mosquitoes that were flying around him waiting to bite. Therefore, he just whisked them away and tried not to think about them or the encounter.
Unfortunately, the rain or wind had not shown any signs of decreasing. He had remembered all of it clearly. Those events punched through his stoical exterior. He had been holding back the tears for several minutes, but now they seemed to just flow over his flushed cheeks. He lay down on his bed again, buried his face in his pillow, and let out a sob after another. He immediately stopped as he went back to a restless sleep. It seemed that every now and then St. John's eyebrow would stitch and his hand would squeeze his bed sheets. It seemed that his dreams were not pleasant but plagued by nightmares of his home life and the rest of his life. It seemed that only in his dreams he always appeared to re live his painful and shameful past repeatedly. In his dreams, he was younger and his mother always appeared in them.
* * * * * *
St. John was dreaming and in his dream, he was in his safe bedroom; he was sitting on his unmade bed. He was circumspectly applying shoplifted make up to conceal the many bruises that his immense, plump, shaggy, atrocious, intoxicated stepmother had given him the night before. Fortunately for St. John, he always seemed to heal fast but those were bruises from just a few moments ago. After checking and making sure that the make up was not noticeable, he then got up and walked towards his window. He got out of the window, walked out into the dark, and desolated streets. He was going to some nightclub; he always went to some nightclub just to get away from his horrible stepmother. When he was there, he would always get drunk and find somebody to fuck. Fortunately for him, he always did manage to find himself in somebody's bed. He always did that just for the sake of not going home. Then the scenery change to a different kind, as it changed he began to remember.
The nightclub scene changed to an elegant looking library. Except that it was not a library but a room that had many books and it looked elegant, a strange looking lady that looked foreign was talking to him.
Her old voice seemed to reach to him, "In each generation, there is a chosen one, a slayer is born. He is born with the strength and skill that will stand against the spread of evil and darkness," she had a heavy British accent. When she noticed that St. John looked confused, she began. "When a slayer dies, then another one is called," she said to him.
St. John looked confused as hell, "You're saying this because you think that I am the slayer. I hate to burst your bubble lady but I am not the slayer and ..." The strange English woman cut off St. John.
" Please come with me," She said, and then left the apartment.
They where walking around in a graveyard until they stopped in front of a grave. At first, it looked like the earth was opening up and then a weird looking person that needed serious dental work came out of it. St. John was feeling odd, since he could feel its presence, so he gripped the wooden stake that the British woman had given him once they had left her apartment. As the thing sensed him, it prepared to attack him but he already had his stake ready and dusted him right on the spot. St. John was so amazed by this turn of events.
"This is fucking unbelievable. I can't wait to kick more butt," he said while smiling sadistically at the thought that he could now beat the crap out of anything or anybody if he wanted to.
It did not take him too long to find the many joys of slaying vampires. He would always enjoy taking all of his anger and hatred at the vampires. However, most of all he enjoyed his fast healing ability. He felt that he got off on that whole experience like any sex session that he had ever had. Everything was great until he found that a very old vampire named "Kakistos" had killed his watcher. Kakistos killed the young slayer's watcher in front of his eyes; then he only did what he did best: he ran away and never looked back.
" Why did I leave her in the face of danger? I'm the vampire slayer and should not have run like that. She was not just a watcher she was like the mother that I never had and I let her down by getting her killed. I needed her and it was all my fault that I could not had saved her," St. John was thinking to himself as he was standing at the bus terminal waiting for the bus that would surely take him away. It seemed that the guilt was too much for him to bear. Therefore, he began to not think about it, he tried to hide his guilt but later on, he found that his guilt had returned to haunt him.
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
A British voice would always yell at him in his dreams.
* * * * *
T.B.C.
By: "VHS"
Story Rate: "Still in progress"
E-mail: "devil_hunter_shampoo@hotmail.com"
Archive: "CKoS and anybody else can too ... just tell me"
Fandom: "This is a X-men/BtVS crossover"
Pairing: "St. John/???"
Disclaimer: All the original characters of the Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel show belongs to those who made them (Twentieth Century FOX, Warner Brothers, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Sanddollar, David Greenwalt Productions.). The X-men were created by . This just a made up thing by **AVHS**. No infringement intended.
Spoiler: Nothing has gone bad . I think . BtVS 5 Season
Warning: "It contains violence, character death, m/m and f/f relationships, very mild language, some slaying and bloodlust, and something unexpected.
Summary: St. John A. has finally reached the peak of his happiness. What happens when a past haunting begins to emerge? This contains Yaoi, and a special little surprise! Oh and hi, I'm new and I would really appreciate if you tell me what you think. I mean If I continue it or not.
Part 1 ...
It was a dark and rainy night. It had been raining for a while and that night seemed eerie. The streets that were usually crawling with people were almost empty. There were some unfortunate souls that were found wondering where either homeless or hard working people that were going to work or leaved work to go home and rest. In the house-populated area, everything looked still and dark. The habitants of such houses were asleep or were not home. In a certain street, a mansion stood. All of the mansion's windows were submerged in darkness except for one. Inside the lighted bedroom, a young man was sitting silently on his bed. The young man's gaze was empty and blank; he had a sort of catatonic kind of state. It seemed that there was no expression in those shiny blue orbs.
It had been a week since he had remembered the outrageous news. News that had seemed to sent him to rage. The remembrances made him look like a victim who had been distressed to a breaking point but got saved by his rage. He had been emotionally dead to the world, he seemed lost somewhere that was not part of that moment, time or space. The young man seemed like he had just woken up from a nightmare from his past. His strong body was glistering with sweat. He was shirtless and the sweat drops were rolling down his perfectly sculptured upper body. The light of the room made his sweaty body glow. His spiky blond hair was a mess and it seemed as wet as his godly body. His face and his body showed no expression or movement by years of practice. This was a lovely specimen of a manly man. He had liquid mysterious eyes that seemed like they could look into your soul. His blond hair seemed to shine in the room's dense light. He had a pale complexion and had a delicious scent.
It was still raining outside and the young man was in his own world at the time. The deafening rumbling of thunder sounded like a malevolent holler that seemed to cram the heavens with flashes of silvery and colorless light. Inside his beleaguered mind, he tried unsuccessfully to find peacefulness . only to realize that his past demons would always haunt him. He was trying to stop from recollecting his unwanted memories by concentrating on nothing. Instead of recollecting, he tried to focus on something less painful. After a few moments of trying to concentrate, he discovered that he could not. Through all of this time, the young man had not thought about the encounter when it had happened until now. His thoughts were swirling in his head, as the unspoken questions were unanswered. Why did it happen to him? What was the motive behind such unimportant knowledge?
The unfortunate angst-ridden young man's soul was contemplating the questions that seemed to smolder his essence. He was thinking as he was listening to the rainfall, the thunder, and the wind outside his windowpane. The events that followed in all probability knew him better than himself at the time. They happened in such a way that they; touched a nerve in him and motivated some kind of understanding; in other words, he had seen both sides of the coin and began to contemplate his life.
After several possible answers, he pressed the back of his head against the wall. To him it seemed amazing how clear the events were still stuck in his memory. At first, it had seemed impossible to avoid thinking about them. One of the reasons that had not allowed him to let go was an eerie feeling that there was something important that he had missed. He tried to recall what it was, until he almost went crazy, but he was not able to grasp such concept. It had been a normal week for him, but he had had that weird gut feeling that something was wrong.
He kept thinking back on the days following that horrible incident. He could not help but contemplate if he could have made a difference in this or not. He was just sitting on his bed, submissive to his external circumstances. At first, he had debated with himself whether he should tell his friends or to just leave his big secret as a bombshell.
However, how in the world can he justify what was about to happen? The unspoken question echoed through his tormented mind. That he himself did not have an answer to this undeclared question. He did not want to think of it as something appalling but as an endowment from beyond. How can you enlighten someone that had received a weird and wonderful present if it is good or appalling? So many questions flew around him like bloodthirsty mosquitoes that were flying around him waiting to bite. Therefore, he just whisked them away and tried not to think about them or the encounter.
Unfortunately, the rain or wind had not shown any signs of decreasing. He had remembered all of it clearly. Those events punched through his stoical exterior. He had been holding back the tears for several minutes, but now they seemed to just flow over his flushed cheeks. He lay down on his bed again, buried his face in his pillow, and let out a sob after another. He immediately stopped as he went back to a restless sleep. It seemed that every now and then St. John's eyebrow would stitch and his hand would squeeze his bed sheets. It seemed that his dreams were not pleasant but plagued by nightmares of his home life and the rest of his life. It seemed that only in his dreams he always appeared to re live his painful and shameful past repeatedly. In his dreams, he was younger and his mother always appeared in them.
* * * * * *
St. John was dreaming and in his dream, he was in his safe bedroom; he was sitting on his unmade bed. He was circumspectly applying shoplifted make up to conceal the many bruises that his immense, plump, shaggy, atrocious, intoxicated stepmother had given him the night before. Fortunately for St. John, he always seemed to heal fast but those were bruises from just a few moments ago. After checking and making sure that the make up was not noticeable, he then got up and walked towards his window. He got out of the window, walked out into the dark, and desolated streets. He was going to some nightclub; he always went to some nightclub just to get away from his horrible stepmother. When he was there, he would always get drunk and find somebody to fuck. Fortunately for him, he always did manage to find himself in somebody's bed. He always did that just for the sake of not going home. Then the scenery change to a different kind, as it changed he began to remember.
The nightclub scene changed to an elegant looking library. Except that it was not a library but a room that had many books and it looked elegant, a strange looking lady that looked foreign was talking to him.
Her old voice seemed to reach to him, "In each generation, there is a chosen one, a slayer is born. He is born with the strength and skill that will stand against the spread of evil and darkness," she had a heavy British accent. When she noticed that St. John looked confused, she began. "When a slayer dies, then another one is called," she said to him.
St. John looked confused as hell, "You're saying this because you think that I am the slayer. I hate to burst your bubble lady but I am not the slayer and ..." The strange English woman cut off St. John.
" Please come with me," She said, and then left the apartment.
They where walking around in a graveyard until they stopped in front of a grave. At first, it looked like the earth was opening up and then a weird looking person that needed serious dental work came out of it. St. John was feeling odd, since he could feel its presence, so he gripped the wooden stake that the British woman had given him once they had left her apartment. As the thing sensed him, it prepared to attack him but he already had his stake ready and dusted him right on the spot. St. John was so amazed by this turn of events.
"This is fucking unbelievable. I can't wait to kick more butt," he said while smiling sadistically at the thought that he could now beat the crap out of anything or anybody if he wanted to.
It did not take him too long to find the many joys of slaying vampires. He would always enjoy taking all of his anger and hatred at the vampires. However, most of all he enjoyed his fast healing ability. He felt that he got off on that whole experience like any sex session that he had ever had. Everything was great until he found that a very old vampire named "Kakistos" had killed his watcher. Kakistos killed the young slayer's watcher in front of his eyes; then he only did what he did best: he ran away and never looked back.
" Why did I leave her in the face of danger? I'm the vampire slayer and should not have run like that. She was not just a watcher she was like the mother that I never had and I let her down by getting her killed. I needed her and it was all my fault that I could not had saved her," St. John was thinking to himself as he was standing at the bus terminal waiting for the bus that would surely take him away. It seemed that the guilt was too much for him to bear. Therefore, he began to not think about it, he tried to hide his guilt but later on, he found that his guilt had returned to haunt him.
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
" You killed me."
A British voice would always yell at him in his dreams.
* * * * *
T.B.C.