storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2014-10-26 07:55 pm
storypaint) wrote2014-10-26 07:55 pm
[Madoka Magica/Sailor Moon] a world possibly not born (Homura gen)
Title: a world possibly not born
Fandom: Puella Magi Madoka Magica/Sailor Moon
Length 128 words
Prompt: fic_promptly: Puella Magi Madoka Magica/Sailor Moon, any, what if the Puella Magi and the Sailor Scouts existed in the same universe?
Pairing: Homura gen
Other: PG for creepy.
Excerpt: They have died so many times for their princess, and they will die again. They rise like zombies and they fall like mountains and they get up again, again.
They have died so many times for their princess, and they will die again. They rise like zombies and they fall like mountains and they get up again, again.
Usagi wished, she wished--
Homura has never seen magical girls this old. She clutches at her guns and sometimes she fires at them, because she has no other choice. They are wild women, silent women, lightning-cold women. They always have a theme. They always laugh together for a little while.
I never want to lose my friends.
Homura stands in the entrance to the alley. They are arrayed before her, gleaming gold and battered bronze. They are missing fingers. They are missing hearts. They are shielding the blonde in the white dress.
Homura moves. The glaive falls.
Fandom: Puella Magi Madoka Magica/Sailor Moon
Length 128 words
Prompt: fic_promptly: Puella Magi Madoka Magica/Sailor Moon, any, what if the Puella Magi and the Sailor Scouts existed in the same universe?
Pairing: Homura gen
Other: PG for creepy.
Excerpt: They have died so many times for their princess, and they will die again. They rise like zombies and they fall like mountains and they get up again, again.
They have died so many times for their princess, and they will die again. They rise like zombies and they fall like mountains and they get up again, again.
Usagi wished, she wished--
Homura has never seen magical girls this old. She clutches at her guns and sometimes she fires at them, because she has no other choice. They are wild women, silent women, lightning-cold women. They always have a theme. They always laugh together for a little while.
I never want to lose my friends.
Homura stands in the entrance to the alley. They are arrayed before her, gleaming gold and battered bronze. They are missing fingers. They are missing hearts. They are shielding the blonde in the white dress.
Homura moves. The glaive falls.