10 Endings to 10 Stories That Never Happened
Fandoms: BtVS, HP, PotC
Spoilers: Noted before each part.
Summary: The title is quite apt.
Author’s Notes: Er. I am a bit unhinged today/tonight/tomorry. Sorry. And some of these are clearly meant to be jokes. Terrible, terrible jokes, while some are serious, and some are wistful. It's a mystery, really.
Feedback: Kthxplz and other random grammatical misspellings.
"...that’s all cleared up. Any madder and she’d have needed a hat, eh Remus?" he added, after they slowly made their way down the dais. Harry was securely protected by Dumbledore, and had a face flush with relief and shame, an odd combination. It reminded Remus of a morning years ago, when he awoke in the hospital wing, to Sirius’s ashen face, no longer overshadowed by careless arrogance.
When the events sorted themselves out, it was decided that it was indeed quite fortunate that Remus had been able to catch the end of Kreacher’s lies to Harry and quickly go to the Department of Mysteries to rescue Harry and his friends before it was too late.
Sirius agreed most vehemently.
...falling onto the soft bed as though boneless , on real, clean sheets, and signing with a bone-deep contentment. “Freedom. It’s – Moony, nothing’s going to take this from me, you know?”
“Now that you have nothing in your path,” he sat cautiously beside Sirius, not having anything else to say.
A thin hand, too bony but vaguely familiar, encircled his wrist, and softly replied, “I’m arse at subtlety; care for a snog?”
Remus laughed, a sound even he knew was quite rare and happily leaned forward.
He mourns and mourns and mourns. He grows older by every waking and sleeping moment, gets lost in too much liquor, and finds comfort in the worst places.
And then he dies.
He finds hope in the afterlife, a cozy fireplace, a comfy chair, a stack of books waiting to be opened with a crisp crack, and all the wonderful accoutrements befitting someone’s eternity.
And Sirius, no longer haunted by the past, joins him, a smile blossoming across his face, and now this is home.
So he rejoices.
Post Graduation Day Part II:
...and he stood in the mist, in the swell of it all, and she felt the solitude between them growing like something vast and unknowable, and she sighed, hoping to breathe away the last of the pain, but finding it stick sourly inside her.
He was supposed to vanish, this goodbye was on well-treaded ground, and she knew as much, but all the same, he stood there, simply looking.
And she did not believe until his lips were upon hers and she only broke away to gasp, “Why?”
“I can’t leave you,” and he held to her fiercely, and something inside of her began to live again.
Post Not Fade Away:
She pushes down on his chest cavity, noting the strange sound of bones cracking underneath, strange, for while she has broken many a bone, these sound dusty and old, as though they are being maintained by only by the thought that they should remain.
Indeed, that is how they are surviving, her and the two vampires, remaining in the center of massacre. They have somehow defied all odds and she feels a particular sense of satisfaction, that is not very uplifting, but it is particularly fascinating and a new emotion to register amongst the many in this mortal world.
And she waits there, feeling her body slowly mend, and she hopes.
“...I reformed, y’see, now it’s Honest Jack Sparrow, no more the dread pirate of the Seven Seas, savvy?”
Will pauses, his tankard halfway to his lips, eyes narrowing, and he says with grim finality, “If this were another time, Jack, I’d report you to Norrington at once. However…”
He takes a long, long drink, draining nearly all of the contents, before continuing, “I’ll say you met an untimely end and you can continue living on like this. I owe it to you. A blacksmith’s word.”
“And a pirate?” Jack’s grin is reassuring, mad, and perplexing. Will shall miss it when he departs, back to his home.
“Yes. You have my word as a pirate.”
They clasp hands for a long time, and do not break contact until Jack’s mad gleam in his eyes soften, knowing that this is their final adventure, and it hadn’t even ended on the ocean that Jack so dearly misses.
“...fucking carry my own goddamn bags, damn where the hell did I get all this shit?”
“Faith,” comes the simple answer.
She turns around, still fighting with her many suitcases and duffel bags, and rolls her eyes. “Little help?”
There’s a dark grin, and he walks up the few steps of the brownstone, and begins to help her with her bags, putting them in the trunk of the cab.
When they’re finally settled in the back of the cab, she asks, “So what did you turn down to run off to Europe with me, Wes?”
He is very close next to her, but when he speaks, she can barely hear him, “It wasn’t worth the cost of my soul.”
They make their way to Europe, and to freedom.
He’s the fucking hero of the bloody world, and not a spirit is allowed to forget that fact. He spits it out to anyone who will listen, and everyone listens, because listening is all that’s left here, so they do, and sometimes, they allow him an indulgence, and properly, “oooh” and “aah” at the appropriate moments. Which rather occur more than they’d frankly prefer.
He died so that the world could be saved, you know. That’s how it always begins. And the spirits pause, knowing that they must be patient for this shall continue on for all eternity, for how one dies forever leaves an imprint on how one exists afterwards, and they listen to him, and if they must, they sigh and simper, and yes, he indeed is quite the hero.
Although some of them secretly wonder what exactly that amulet had to do with his heroic act.
She was old, and well loved and missed by many. There was no gravestone to mark her passing, no obituary to capture her spirit in the feeblest of words, there was nothing but that, a knowing of the great loss of Buffy, and the legends lived as a record of her unique essence.
Her tales continued on, though she did not, and if there was one thing to remember her by, it was the first thing that began her story, there once was a girl who had to defeat the forces of darkness.
And how it ended was that she managed to, despite all odds, live happily ever after.
...and nothing bad ever happened again because Good triumphed over Evil, and redemptions were handed out to the tarnished souls, and no one died, because if you really wanted to, you could always come back, and everyone was young, virile, and could engage in anatomically impossible acts.
There was fucking, sucking, copious amounts of cocks strutting about, ridiculously huge breasts, even on women who rather were noticeably lacking in the department when wearing clothes, perfect asses, long lean limbs, orgasms that went on forever, a never-ending crest of good feelings, figuring out complicated positions with great ease, no questions as to what This All Really Meant, and in the end:
Perfect morning afters, some slightly angsty moments, and a solemn promise, that right here, things were really going to get better.
Cue the musical dance routine. Everyone lived happily ever after.