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ohheyitsokay · 4 years ago

Text

slowly

Pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x (f) ace!reader

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings: discussions of sex and related topics, maybe some angst? a lot more analogies than actual descriptions

Summary: a drive in theatre, a budding relationship, and a whole lot of mutual support

Notes: okay obviously this is a wildly personal topic - I fully understand that asexuality looks different for everyone. For full disclosure, in this story, the reader knows they are somewhere on the asexuality spectrum, but is not aromantic. They are also are on a path of self discovery and are open to learning about themselves. This IS NOT saying asexuals who are like this are growing "better" than those who are not interested. Asexuals who do know what they do and dont want are perfect and do not need to change or compromise as part of their personal growth.

There will be an optional part 2 where they have more conversations about intimacy and explore together what works for them, but again, this is not everyone's story, or the "right" way, it's just... one story.

That being said, I genuinely hope yall enjoy!

You stared at the bashful man in front of you openly, your hands stilling on the groceries you were halfway done unloading.

Even the slightest rustle of the cloth bags was painfully loud in the silence that stretched between you.

Jack had burst through your door, confident as always, but it was a thin layer over his anxious heart. With two long strides, he was pulling you into his arms, almost crushing you against his chest.

Arms winding around his middle, you held him just as tightly before you found your voice again.

“You’re back,” you said, simply amazed that he was a whole week early from the long mission. “When did you get back?”

You hadn’t realized he had picked you up until your feet were on solid ground again, and he was pulling away.

“Just a few hours ago, I had to make it back in time for opening night, right?” he grinned winningly.

You tried not to overthink, feeling a jolt of excitement that he remembered – tonight. The drive-in theatre in town was opening for the season and you had been more than excited. As one of your most consistent movie night friends, Jack had promised to take you, full of butterflies and subtext.

For as close as you’d gotten over the past few months, you weren’t sure what to make of his expression.

“If that’s okay? I should’ve double checked,” you hadn’t responded and it was apparently making him nervous.

“Yeah, Jack, that sounds great,” you reassured him, turning back to your groceries, equally nervous.

If you were being honest, you hadn’t expected him to remember because it had almost felt like an off-hand comment at the time, and you hadn’t wanted to get your hope up to much.

Something was welling in your stomach as you turned away from him fully, putting each item in its respective home in your kitchen. You liked him, of course you liked him. He was bold and kind and passionate, and more handsome than seemed reasonable for a single person. And… and when he was nearby, there was a feeling of safety, just out of reach, like water lapping at your feet at the beach.

It was more than tempting but, same as the ocean, there was also an uneasiness in the unknown. The same uneasiness was present in every relationship you’d ever had – because you had a secret.

Well, it was less of a secret and more… something you were figuring out that you hadn’t talked about much. Despite long late night talks and months of growing close and even slowly falling for each other, you hadn’t quite found the courage to talk to Jack about it yet. The more real the soft, sweet moments between you got, the more the unease filled your bones. You knew how he was with other women, and each time his hand lingered on your hip, your shoulder, your cheek, a quiet voice whispered that he deserved better.

Jack was staring at you, lost in your thoughts as you mechanically worked your way through the bags. His heart ached for you, and he wished more than anything that you trusted him with whatever you were holding back. But he was a determined man �� he would do whatever he could to show you that no matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere.

After awhile, Jack coaxed you back to your normal self, telling you as much of his mission as he could and helping you cook dinner. Moving around your kitchen was wonderfully peaceful, a little bubble of intimacy. Food was great for neutralizing anxious thoughts.

The feeling continued into his truck as you excitedly packed blankets and he fought the urge to kiss your adorable face when you found the snacks he’d picked up. Even before he left, in anticipation for tonight, he cleaned the front seat thoroughly, and made sure his radio was in good condition.

The movie went well too, but as much as he wanted to pull you into his arms, press you into his side, be the warmth against the cool night air, there was a hesitation that held him at bay.

Every time he’d reach for you, cautious and gentle, your skin would twitch, almost jumping away before you’d smile at him and lean into it. You seemed happy, but part of your mind was holding you back. As friends, you two were relatively physically affectionate, so he made a mental note to tread light and watch for more cues. Jack never wanted to impose himself on anyone but with you, even less.

So he waited. He had no doubt you’d talk to him when you were ready, and heavens knows that he had plenty of things he had kept buried. It was still nice, hearing you laugh next to him - just him – and seeing the light reflecting off the movie dance across your skin. Talking with you was always easy, even more so without friends or family around and it made Jack ache with eagerness.

As he pulled up to your home, he gently took your hand.

“Darlin, it was plum delightful to take you out tonight,” he said, cursing himself internally for how nervous he sounded. You looked his, eyes catching the streetlight like magic and your gentle squeeze gave him courage.

“I really would like to take you out again, on a proper date,” he couldn’t look away from your eyes, trying to read them through the murkiness. “I really like you,” Jack added, quieter, “but you don’t have to respond right now.”

You nodded, your eyes closing tight as though you were at war with yourself.

You think you like me, but I’m not the type of girl you want to date.

“You don’t have to… tell me, if you’re not ready, but,” he offered after a long moment, his free hand flexing on the steering wheel as he forced himself to examine the bushes on the side of the parking lot. “But I’m listening.”

You felt both hot and cold at the same time. All evening you could feel it coming, knew it was going to happen, knew it had to. He deserved this conversation, and honestly, if there was anyone who made you feel like you did, too, it was Jack.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale -

“Okay,” - exhale.

Remembering that neither of you had work the next day helped. Slowly you let go of your hand and unbuckled your seatbelt, shifting to get comfortable again, the actions thick with significance. He returned it, unbuckling too, and killing the engine.

Jack was so respectful you could cry, his obvious anxiety under control enough not to jump to conclusions – to wait for you.

“I like you, too, Jack, but I don’t think we can ever date,” you forced the words out and his heart nearly shattered, confusion barely holding it together.

Eyebrows so drawn in they almost looked like a solid line, he waited, unable to stop a small shake of his head.

Why not? His entire being screamed. With each second that passed, more and more determination seeped into the cracks of his heart, sticking it together. If you liked him as he liked you, it seemed impossible there was anything between you that couldn’t be overcome.

You saw the question in his eyes and the explanation tumbled out.

“It’s just, I know you – I know the girls you go after and the type of relationships most men want. And,” you were sucking in air, the vulnerability raking through your lungs. “And I don’t know if I can ever give you that.”

He started to protest before his hand covered his mouth, irritated movements over his mustache, his jaw working. What he wanted was you. But he needed to let you keep talking. If he interrupted you now, he might never understand what you meant.

You watched his movements, desperation to give him the explanation he deserved growing in you.

“I’ve had people break up with me because I wont sleep with them,” you shoved the words into the space, the most honest you’d maybe ever been.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Your voice was trembling and so quiet only your moving lips confirmed the words as you continued.

“For me, it’s not something I need, or am particularly comfortable with. You,” you swallowed hard, unable to look at the man beside you. “You deserve someone you can be with, however you want.”

You took another deep breath, feeling light and surprisingly at peace with your honesty. Even the impending rejection felt less scary, now that you had said it all out loud. The trembles settled as you concluded, “I’m still figuring myself out and I just cant guarantee I’ll ever give you what you deserve.”

Of all the conversations with all the others before this, this moment felt the most freeing. It was wild to have such an intimate conversation before you even kissed, but… the foundation of trust that Jack had given you had not been lost on you. You found yourself smiling, looking at him, finally.

His expression had loosened, processing and connecting the dots, his deep eyes unfocused before they slid closed.

Now it was your turn to wait, to be patient, and listen.

Part of him wanted to yell that he wasn’t like the others, that he didn’t care and even that he would wait and work until you were ready. But that wasn’t right, and he knew it.

Inside him, deep, deep down, there was a small light. A candle of flame underneath a glacier: a touch of hope slowly warming its way through layers and layers and centuries of expectations, fear, confusion, and chaos. It was going strong, it just need more time.

“Darlin,” he looked at you, finally, meeting your eyes and feeling for the first time that they were a clear window into your soul. “You are… everything, to me. So… so let’s just take some time to process this. Would that be okay, sweetheart?”

That was the first time anyone had ever responded that way. It was the scariest thing, but it was perfect. You were overwhelmed with the rawness and a glance at the radio told you it was 2 am. Not a time to be making life altering decisions, anyway. Nodding, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. The movement was intimate and confident – something that shouldn’t have been possible, but it was.

Jack’s large hand grasped at your neck and jaw, pulling you into him, pressing his forehead on yours. The hairs of his mustache just ticked your lip, but he made no move, respecting one final boundary for the night.

With a squeeze, he let you go, watching with longing eyes as you hopped out of his truck and ran to your front door. The smile you gave him before you slipped inside was the seal, engraving tonight into his memories forever.

And he drove home, his thoughts louder than the wind and the crickets and his pounding heart.

Jack invited you over a few days later, a Sunday afternoon. It would be the first time you’d talked, and you were surprisingly calm. For some reason, you felt like you’d be closer to him no matter what happened.

He heard your car on the long gravel driveway and greeted you with an all-encompassing hug. You held each other, like lifelines, for long moments before he pulled you inside.

“My mama sent cookies,” he said, motioning for you to sit at the tall table he had as he set down the plate. You couldn’t help but smile, knowing their Sunday lunches and her beloved baking well. He remained standing across from you, aware of the awkwardness, but eager to get his words right.

“This is all new to me,” he said, wishing suddenly that he’d made tea so his throat wouldn’t feel so dry. “If you really don’t wanna be with me, that’s your choice,” he said, knowing it was right and hating the option, “but I really – you’re just so – I can’t let you go,” his thoughts were jumbling together on his tongue.

It was grounding, when your hands found his, reaching across the table as you sat forward on your stool.

“What if we just took it slow?” you said, and his heart stopped.

“Please,” he managed, and your own chest felt like it would burst. “Would it be alright, darlin?” Jack’s hands held yours, his expression eager.

“Could – could we figure out what works for us? Figure this all out together?” You were close to crying, you wanted that so bad.

“I can’t promise I’ll change or… or what direction I’ll grow,” you said, needing to say it again, needing to be sure.

“I can’t, either, darlin,” he said, and you realized he was right and you would support each other, no matter what.

“But all I need is you. Whatever and however much you’ll give me. That’s more than enough.”

He didn’t say for now.

And you believed him.

Since he was still standing, it made it easy for you to tug him around the table, and you leaned into his chest. It felt safe, safer than you had ever thought was possible for you.

“Okay,” you told the flannel he was wearing, “Let’s figure it out together.” And even though you couldn’t see him, you knew he was smiling, too.

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @0celestialbitch0 @scribbledghost

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #ace!reader #ace reader #maybe i don't know people

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angelinasway · 3 years ago

Text

Regaining Hope

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Sexual Assault Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever. Authors Notes: Thank you all so much for being so very supportive. You guys have been absolutely wonderful. Seriously I couldn't ask for a better group of readers. I need to warn you all that this chapter has quite the graphic and gruesome scene in it, so if that's not your thing I highly recommend skipping the part where Clark starts to watch the video. Some major questions answered here. Hope you all enjoy, and keep the reviews coming. Special thanks to my ever amazing beta Hipkarma. She always helps and inspires me. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Chapter Eight

Dawn smirked as she saw the caller ID flash. So, Buffy had talked to Wes. That was good. She really didn’t want to have to break into the Watchers Council just because she was nosy and worried for her sister. Buffy hadn’t told her much when they talked yesterday, just that there was some sort of prophecy about her and this Clark guy, which just raised all sorts of red flags for her. Dawn had insisted on seeing a copy of the prophecy and her hackles raised even more when she found out how quiet Wes and Willow were trying to keep this. Looks like big sis came through however, and now it was time to give the man on the other line hell for keeping something this important from her.

“Xand, honey, can you take Abby? Wes is on the phone and it’s time for her nap anyway.” Dawn said, reaching for the phone.

“No!” Her one and a half your old screeched at the top of her lungs, making Dawn cringe. When they coined the phrase, ‘children are your parents secret revenge,’ they weren’t lying. Abigail was just like her too, even in looks.

Xander came out of their shared office, a crooked and amused smile on his lips. “You should know by now not to say that word in front of her,” He said, kissing Dawn on the forehead before reaching out and swooping up their toddler. “Come on Abby,” he said as Dawn answered her call. “Daddy will read you your favorite story.”

“Try to get Joyce down too,” She added, before saying into the phone, “Hello Wes, so good of you to finally call me.”

She heard the groan on the other end of the line and smiled. “How much do you know?”

“That there’s a prophecy about my sister and some uber-powerful guy she’s been spending time with, on your instruction I might add.” Dawn said in a mockingly sweet voice.

She heard him sigh. “Yes, that is all true. Look Dawn, I’m going to send you a copy of the prophecy through your secure fax now. We’ve been able to translate some of it, but there are certain areas where…I don’t think the language is of this world. It’s nothing like we’ve ever seen in any human or demon writings before.”

Dawn got up and walked into the office, a frown on her face. “You mean like interdimensional, there’s gotta be a reference somewhere Wes.”

There was silence over the line and for a second and she thought Wes had hung up. She’d just opened her mouth to see if he was still there, when he finally said, “No Dawn, that’s not what I meant at all.”

Her frown deepened as the first page spat out of the machine. She slid it off the rack and looked at the prophecy. There were several different languages written on the copy, Etruscan, Ancient Sumerian, Ancient Greek, and Latin. At the top were strange symbols unlike anything she’d ever seen before, almost flowing together like cursive. The next page that came out was Wesley and Willow’s translation of that page. She bit her lip, walking over to her desk and went to work making sure what they had translated so far was correct.

“So,” she began casually, “what I’m getting from the first page is that this guy is much farther from home than just another dimension.” She paused, huffing in annoyance as she snootily added,” It was Sun God by the way, not Star God.” She sighed. “Who are you using anyway, Basile?”

“Vonten,” He answered and Dawn rolled her eyes. Of course, he was using that moron’s guide.

“Vonten is an arrogant prick Wes, that book confuses people more than it helps. Burn it, it’s better as kindling. Bachman is the best at Etruscan and Ancient Sumerian, and you already know Ancient Greek and Latin enough not to need a reference.” She said, before frowning as she came to the part about the soulbond. “Wes, what the hell is a soulbond, and why is this referencing my sister and Mr. E.T. having one?”

As Wesley began to explain what they knew so far, Dawn's face began to pale. Oh, this was not of the good. Buffy was gonna wig to the nth degree when she found out.

"Does she know any of this?" Dawn asked, turning around and grabbing more of the pages that were still spitting out of her printer.

"She knows about the bond. I told her this morning." He answered.

"And what, you’re waiting until she gets pregnant before you tell her the rest?" Dawn asked angrily. "You know this is gonna freak her out..."

"Which is why I decided not to tell her." Wes interrupted.

"If you'd let me finish," Dawn snapped, slamming her hand on the desk. "I was going to say this is gonna freak her out, but it would be better if you tell her now." She huffed in frustration. "This just proves how little you guys know my sister. She absolutely will freak and she'll probably fight it at first. Just the idea of her own children having to live the life she has, is not gonna be a happy, joyous moment for her. She's already worried that Joyce or Abby, or maybe even both will be called one day.” Dawn said, before emphasizing her next words, "However, my sister is not stupid, and when push comes to shove, she'll make the right decision like she always does. I get that you’re worried about the Slayer line Wes, we all are, but keeping this from her is not the right way to go about it.”

She heard Wes’s sigh, “I realize that Dawn, but with the bond itself needing to be fulfilled, I thought that was more than enough for both of them to handle at this time.”

Dawn looked at the pages covered in the strange flowing script, similar to the symbols on the first page. Wes was right, it was a language. "We need to find a way to translate this. Do you think this is Clark's language from his home world?"

The line was silent for a moment, before he said in annoyance, “Yes, that’s what I meant when I said I don’t think the language is of this world.”

“Do you think Clark knows how to read it?” Dawn asked.

A sigh came over the line, “I honestly don’t know. I believe he just discovered where he came from, so I don’t see how he could.” He paused in thought and then murmured to himself, “But even if he can’t, perhaps the ship has a historical archive or maybe there is some form of AI technology that could translate it for us.”

Dawn frowned, “What ship?”

As Wesley explained how Buffy and Clark met and the danger Buffy had recklessly put herself in, Dawn found her ire sparking at Buffy’s stupidity. “I’m gonna kill her!” Dawn growled. “She hasn’t done something that reckless since Joyce was born. God fucking dammit, she promised me!”

Wesley sighed. “In her defense, it could have very well been her fate that made her act so rashly.” He paused before saying, “In any case, Clark was there and according to Buffy, he saved her and watched over her after she went into a healing sleep.”

Dawn was quiet as she processed that information. So, she didn’t die, which meant Buffy actively tried to stop it from happening. That was good, she was still getting smacked when Dawn saw her, but at least she hadn’t completely broken her promise from three and a half years ago. It was also good to see that this godlike Champion the prophecy spoke of wasn’t just a creature with a penchant for destruction playing at being a white hat because of a curse. That was a nice change.

“What else do you know about him?” Dawn asked. “I’m assuming you started trying to find him as soon as you started translating this.”

“Well,” Wesley began, “We first caught wind of a possible candidate about a year ago. We’d been monitoring airwave chatter for possible beings with superhuman strength when we caught a lead. A distress call came in about an oil rig off the coast of Canada in flames and about to explode. In that communication there was talk of a man rescuing the crew members aboard the rig and preventing the tower from collapsing on the rescue helicopter with his bare hands.” He paused for a moment, before saying. “We managed to find a few other incidents of him saving people, one that happened when he was thirteen. According to the incident report, his school bus went off a bridge and into the river. Three witnesses stated that a young Clark Kent managed to push the bus out of the water and rescue his classmate.”

Dawn whistled, “So this guy really is the real deal white knight, huh?”

“It would appear so.” He sighed.

“Wes we’re gonna need to access that ship.” Dawn said, looking over a small section of Sumerian that talked about a trial of choice. The rest of the page was in the alien script however, so any clue as to what that meant was beyond her.

“I know,” Wesley agreed.

“Which means, we’re gonna have to tell Buffy and Clark everything.” Dawn reiterated.

She heard Wesley groan, but he conceded nonetheless. “Alright fine, Willow needs to bring them some pendants to stave off the worst of the compulsion the bond is creating. I’ll have her stop by and get you on her way, unless you want me to tell Buffy myself, that is.”

Dawn shook her head, “No, no. I think it will be safer for everyone if I’m the one to do it.” Then she bit her lip in thought, “And don’t bother with Willow, just call me when she gets back. I think I need to do this one on my own.”

“Very well,” Wes agreed. “Willow should be finished within the next few hours. I’ll call you as soon as I know she’s returned.”

“Alright, in the meantime I’m gonna go over this and make sure all the parts I can read are translated correctly.” Dawn said, adding, "Talk in a few," before hanging up.

She sighed, rubbing her fingers along her forehead. "Well fuck," she muttered to herself.

"Everything alright?" Xander asked, coming into the office.

"No, not really," she answered handing him the translated first page of the prophecy.

She watched his eye scan the words before he blew out a breath. "So, this guys an alien?"

"Looks like." She answered.

Xander snorted, "Man the Buffster really knows how to pick 'em, doesn't she?"

Dawn mock glared, before she couldn't contain her amusement at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, you know Buffy. She doesn't do anything by halves."

****<S>**<S>****

As Clark followed Buffy down the hallway, his thoughts were a jumbled mess. He knew she had been trying to reassure him, but her words only had the opposite effect. Were they only feeling any of what they were because of the prophecy and furthermore, given the choice, would she even choose him? She had basically confessed to falling in love with her best friend. The history they had both shared, as disturbing as it was, was an important one to her. She had cared very deeply for this man. How could he ever live up to the memory of a man who had essentially changed a piece of himself for her? Part of him wanted to erase Spike’s memory from her mind, to do whatever he could to drive this man, this demon from her past and another part of him just felt wholly lost. He didn’t want to be anyone’s second best and he certainly didn’t want her to want him only because some guy thousands of years ago decided they were destined. God, he wished his dad was still alive. This would definitely be the type of thing his dad could help him through.

She stopped at a large set of double doors and turned, catching his expression before he had time to school it into a much more neutral one. She blinked in surprise, "Clark...what’s wrong?"

He shook his head, “It’s nothing Buffy.”

Her frown deepened, “Oh no, you definitely have something face. Talk to me. I promise whatever it is, I’ll try to understand.”

Clark shifted uncomfortably, before finally admitting, “I’m just feeling a little unsure about all this.”

Her eyes widened slightly, “Because of Spike?”

Clark sighed, “Well I mean think about it Buffy. You basically told me that you fell in love with your best friend and were willing to marry him for eternity, but the only reason you didn’t is because you were too scared. Would you even look twice at me if he was here now? Are the feelings I’m having for you even real, or is this just destiny trying to force us together?”

Realization flooded her expression, and she quickly shook her head. “I can’t speak for what-ifs, because I would be lying if I answered that either way…” She swallowed, “As for how you’re feeling, I’ve been under love spells before and granted you usually don’t know you’re under one when you are, but if the feeling’s part was being fabricated, we…we wouldn’t be able to fight this like we are. We would have probably already slept together.” She blushed, looking down. “Fabricated feelings they’re false obviously, but they’re very strong…strong enough to make people dangerous. If what we were feeling was a manifestation, you wouldn’t have these doubts Clark, you wouldn’t even realize there was doubts to be had.” She met his eyes then, her expression serious and stoic. “And as for the fear part, I didn’t want to get into it because…” She sighed again. “You remember how I told you that Angelus showed up right when I was starting to get my life back together?”

Clark nodded, “I remember.”

“Well, what I didn’t say is that I was planning on retiring.” She rolled her eyes, “I had this grand plan of going back to school and getting a degree in Art History and moving to Hawaii to open a gallery.” She shook her head, “It was stupid, I know.”

He immediately shook his head, “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

Buffy blushed. “I just mean it was stupid that I ever thought it could happen.” She shook her head, “Anyway, I started training a girl named Rayanne when we were first getting the new Watchers Council on its feet. She was bright, witty, resourceful and she already had the makings of someone who could be an excellent leader.” She looked at her feet, her hands clenching. “Me and Giles had agreed, in three-years-time, when Ray was eighteen, she would step in and fill my shoes. Faith didn’t want the position and the only other possible candidate that actually did, I flat out refused due to her inability to get along with just about anyone but Willow. I mentored Ray for over a year and she became…well, like a little sister to me. After the whole General Voll fiasco, I was ready to promote her to Senior Slayer status. She had been on it more than any other girl at the compound, helpful and demanding when need be. She’d fought through a horde of zombies and we came out of it with zero losses. The attack was completely unexpected and if she hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.” She met his eyes, “I was so proud of her.” Buffy sighed, “A few months later is when the first girl, Alicia went missing, and by the time Ray disappeared, there were already six that seemed to have just dropped off the planet.” She swallowed, “Angelus revealed himself and killed Giles a few weeks later, and almost three weeks after is when we found Alicia. She was the first and youngest to go missing and she was the first he dropped on our doorstep.” Buffy shook her head squeezing her eyes shut, “I knew what he was doing to Rayanne then, and that she would probably get the worst of it because of her association with me. Alicia was just a taste of what Angelus was capable of.” She opened her eyes, meeting his. “I wanted to have Spike claim me so we would be strong enough to save her and the rest of them, and I was scared because I knew I’d be asking for the wrong reasons. I was afraid Spike would know it too and I would only hurt him by asking. Does that make sense?”

It was Clark’s turn to avert his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly.

She pulled out her phone and began to scroll through it, “Well just in case you have any doubts…” She swallowed, “I don’t even know why I kept this. Angelus loved tormenting me and we didn’t know it at the time but there were several Watchers from the old regime who were very unhappy with the way we were running things. Some of them made deals with Angelus, gave out my email and phone number and my location.” She looked at him, her lips pursed in anger. “One of them would even take video or pictures, documenting my pain for him when he couldn’t be there hiding in the shadows to see it.” She handed him her phone, “I’ve never watched this one, it’s the morning I found Rayanne, he saved her for last. I don’t need to see it, I lived it.” She nodded at her phone, “When he sent it, I didn’t even open it. I just dropped it in an archive and it’s been there ever since.” She shook her head, “I highly recommend only opening the third video file, the one that says, ‘Are you broken yet?’ She met his eyes then, “The first two will be what he did to her. So, unless you feel like throwing up, I would skip those.” She gestured with her chin at the double doors. “I’ll be in there beating on a bag, meet me when you’re done.”

She turned without another word and went through the double doors not looking back. Clark looked down at the phone swallowing heavily, before opening the file. The video began with the image of the front of a house, not unlike the one they were in now, except there was a large tree in front and something very obviously dangling from it. It looked to be sometime in the middle of the night or perhaps early morning, but he couldn't tell either way due to the lights on the house illuminating everything.

The person carrying the camera ran towards the house and a refined British voice in distress yelled, "Ms. Summers, come quickly. I think it may be Miss Stevenson."

The front door flew open and there she was, except she looked nothing like she did now, her eyes were wild, feral even, and she was so pale and sucked up. She looked hollow, worn-down, nothing like the girl he’d spent the last couple of days getting to know. The scream that tore from her lips and the look on her face when she saw what was hanging from the tree, tore through him like a tidal wave of emotion. Clark felt himself growing angry at the Watcher, who was obviously playing both sides. Another man with bleached hair and nothing on but a pair of black jeans came flying through the door next, his eyes wild and worried.

The camera panned and followed Buffy as she ran out to the tree, falling to her knees and screaming again. Clark saw what was in the tree then and his stomach almost rebelled right then and there. It was a young girl, no older than sixteen and the only skin left on her body was on her beautiful face and near her pelvic region. The girl’s expression was frozen in a horrified scream that no one who cared ever had the chance to hear. A large white sheet wrapped itself tightly around the girl’s wrists and tied over the lowest branch, the excess linen draping behind the dead girl as some sort of sick backdrop silhouette for the body hanging lifelessly from the tree. There was hardly any blood to speak of, just a pinkish residue from where the body had touched the clean white linen, which told Clark she had been dead for more than a few hours. It wouldn’t be visible to a human through the recording, but because of his enhanced vision Clark could even see puncture wounds in places and deep gashes from where the girl had been restrained.

The blond man came into the picture then and the Watcher came towards them, circling around so he could see Buffy’s expression, or at least that’s what he assumed the person with the camera was doing. Buffy's mouth was open in silent gulping sobs, giant tears dripping down her cheeks.

��Love,” The blond man whispered in an apparent British accent not nearly as refined as the Watchers Clark had heard so far. The man fell to his knees behind her looking up at the tree. He shuddered as tears sprang to his electric blue eyes. “Don’t look Buffy…please kitten, please go back in the house.”

The man placed his hand on her shoulder, and Buffy turned at the gesture and Clark could no longer see her face as she flung herself into the man’s arms and began to sob harder. “It’s Ray,” she howled. “Oh god, it’s Ray.”

“Shh,” The blond man hushed, rubbing hands along her back in a comforting gesture. “I know,” He choked. “I know, love.”

“We…we can’t leave her like that.” She sobbed. “I-I have to get her down.”

Clark watched the blond man close his eyes and shake his head, “I’ll do it. Go back in the house, please Slayer.”

“No,” Buffy shook her head as Clark caught the silhouette of another man flying from the house and over to them. The sound of retching could be heard, and it took Clark a second to realize the sound came from whomever had just come from the house and seen the body. “It has to be me. Don’t you see, don’t you get it? I knew,” she sobbed. “I knew what he was doing to her and I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, sweet girl, you’ve been trying to find her. We all have. This isn’t your fault.” The man choked.

“It’s not good enough,” She screamed, shoving away from him and falling on her rear, “And it is my fault, all of it! They were called because of me, because I was too chicken shit to just except the power that was offered to me!”

A sob broke from her lips, and she turned looking directly at the cameraman a sudden realization dawning in her hollow eyes. “You!” She snarled, her eyes flashing. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She started marching towards the cameraman.

“Ms.…Ms. Summers,” Whomever was holding the camera stuttered and then she was there, a well-aimed kick flying towards the camera before Clark saw sky for a few seconds.

“I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” She screamed suddenly hovering over the man, the wild fury in her eyes telling Clark that she had every intention of killing this man, and part of Clark couldn’t agree more. “No one else but an Angelus minion would have called me out here for Rayanne! Everyone else would know better!”

Clark watched as she threw a punch, the sickening sound of cartilage breaking ringing through the speaker as the guy howled in pain. The way her arms were angled next and the gurgling sound through the phone told him she was choking the man before three sets of arms suddenly grabbed her, pulling her off. Clark could hear the man wheeze as he tried to catch his breath while Buffy screamed and fought the three people who had pulled her away. Faith was one of them, and then the blond man, which Clark was pretty sure by now was Spike, and another man, tall, brunet, with an eyepatch. He saw Willow in the distance coming towards them and when she reached them, she touched Buffy’s shoulder before she could react and muttered a few words that sounded like Latin. Buffy suddenly collapsed and Clark realized Willow had put her to sleep. All eyes then turned towards the cameraman.

“Get her in the house, Xander.” Spike growled.

“Uh, Spike–” Xander started to say when Spike turned on him.

“Get her in the bloody fucking house, now!” He snarled, a sound like grinding bone emanating from the man as his voice altered to something more sinister. “I’m not going to kill him.” He said turning back towards the camera as two glowing amber eyes stared at Clark.

“Speak for yourself,” Faith said marching towards the man. “I’ve been getting those fucking emails too.”

“So have I,” Willow said, her eyes black as she stared the camera down.

“We won’t have to kill him,” Spike clarified as he fell in step with Faith. “Angelus will do that for us.”

“How you figure?” Faith asked, her eyes just as enraged as Buffy’s had been.

Spike suddenly sprung forward, his arm reaching out and a ripping sound emanated as the man screamed. His hand came back with what looked like a wad of hair. “This enough Red?”

“Plenty,” Willow said, sudden realization dawning in her black eyes.

“Now,” Spike said, a sinister grin stretching his fanged mouth, to the whimpering man. “The way I figure it, you got three options. The first being, you can go back to Angelus and give him this tape, at which point he finds out we now have a way to track you, and oh trust me Marcus, he will most definitely kill you for that.” Clark heard the man begin to sob, and part of him wanted to turn off the video at that point but couldn’t look away at the furious amber eyes that stared back at the camera. “Option number two, you can destroy the tape and run, which if we’re being honest would be the preferable of the three, but I’m sure you are well aware of the kind of wrath he would bring down on you if he didn’t get to see his almost masterpiece complete, so I’m sure you won’t.” Spike’s hand suddenly flew forward and the man screamed in pain, “Or option three,” He growled, “Where you run like a coward and keep the tape for leverage, hoping that your usefulness hasn’t run its course.”

He suddenly had the camera in his hands, staring directly into the screen his eyes burning into the lens. “Looks like your mole got ousted. This is your last one, Angelus. We’re coming for you and when we’re done there won’t be anything left.” The screen suddenly went black as the video cut off.

Clark let out a trembling breath looking around him and realizing he had slid to the floor at some point, his heart pounding in his chest. God, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand until that moment. That poor girl, no wonder Buffy was desperate. How many girls did she find like that before this one was left for her? How many videos did she force herself to endure before this one was sent, even Faith and Willow had said this wasn’t the first one? Clark squeezed his eyes shut, she had told him, so had Gunn but to see it. She was driven half-crazy by what that vampire had done and he could not blame her for that. What would he do if it was his mother in that position? God, he could only imagine.

He shakily got to his feet, listening as he heard the sound of a fist hitting leather, he walked to the doors and threw them open, not stopping when she paused to look at him. He had to reassure himself that she was okay, that she wasn’t that angry creature that he saw in the video. He went straight to her, his arms coming around her in a crushing embrace before his lips met hers. God, she was so strong, he didn’t realize how much until that moment. Buffy immediately melted into him, her lips parting for him as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She was such a small woman, everything about her was deceptively tiny, except her strength and fortitude both physically and emotionally. To go through what she had and still be able to function on a normal level was just short of a miracle.

He pulled away and looked down into her green eyes, haunted by her past but not dead and hateful like in the video. He bent down and laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I…” He started, “I didn’t…I’m so sorry Buffy.” He whispered, and he could still feel himself trembling. “I didn’t… You hear words like torture, rape, and murder but–”

“They’re not real until you see it for yourself.” She finished in understanding.

Clark sighed, hugging her closely, her head resting against his chest. “I get it now, not…but I understand how desperate you must have been to try and save the girls from that.”

He heard her sniffle, “I didn’t know what else to do. I watched all the others you know, even…even what he did to them. It was my fault, you see; those girls lost their lives because they had a connection to me.” She shook her head, “If they hadn’t been called, they would still be alive today.”

Clark pulled away and used his hand to raise her chin so he could see her eyes, “You blame yourself for every one of them that dies no matter how it happens, don’t you?”

She closed her eyes a shuddering breath hissing through her lips, before she opened them, meeting his gaze head on. “How can I not?”

He sighed, hugging her close again and shook his head. He had no response to that; he didn’t think she should. He didn’t think it was healthy, but he didn’t want to get in an argument about it with her right now either.

They stayed like that for a little while before she whispered, “You’re shaking.”

Clark nodded. “I know, the video…I’m still upset.”

She pulled away, meeting his eyes again. “Do you want me to show you how to throw a punch properly? The heavy bags have been warded well, we can start there.” She looked down, “It will…it will help relieve some of what you’re feeling at least.”

“Yeah,” He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, okay.”

****<S>**<S>****

To say Clark was a fast learner when it came to training would have been the understatement of the year. He was an absolute natural. He moved with precision and grace, sometimes striking so fast she almost didn't see him move.

As of now she was simply holding the bag for him as he got comfortable with the rhythm of landing punches and even with the wards on the bag, she could feel the impact of his strikes. At this rate she would need her suit within a few days to let him get the feel of fighting a moving target. At some point she might even bring him back to Cleveland to put him up against multiple fighters and see how he did.

"Remember to move your feet,” She reminded. "A moving target is harder to hit."

He nodded, bounced on the balls of his feet and struck, the impact of the punch making her bones rattle. "Whoa, nice one Clark." She laughed, "Felt that one in my toes."

He grinned, striking the bag again harder. "You were right," he said casually in between punches. "This does help."

She grinned, "Nothing like getting your aggression out with a bit of violence." And then she blushed, smirking, "Well almost nothing."

He chuckled as he threw a few more punches in quick succession, his own smirk forming on his lips. He had a mischievous look in his eyes and had just opened his mouth to comment when Buffy’s phone rang.

Buffy sighed, releasing the bag. "That will either be Wes or Willow."

It was now around three in the afternoon; Clark had told her he had to pick his mom up at six and it was an hour drive to Smallville from where they were. So, she was grateful that they were going to be able to get this taken care of before meeting his mom.

Buffy walked over to her phone and answered. "Hey Wes," she said in greeting. "What's the haps?"

He was silent for a moment and she could almost hear him roll his eyes at her butchering of the English language. "Willow," He began, "should be there shortly. Dawn would also like to see you. I told her I would call her once Willow was done securing the pendants."

Buffy frowned, “What? Why?”

“Dawn and I have come to the conclusion that one of the languages in the prophecy that I have been unable to identify, is most likely written in the script of Clark’s home world.” He paused, “We are going to need access to the ship, unless of course Clark can read it.”

Buffy looked at Clark and raised an eyebrow, but he quickly shook his head. “Only a few words,” He confirmed. “I think the computer on the ship might be able to translate it though.”

“That’s a negative, Wes,” Buffy answered, beginning to pace. “But he agrees that the computer on the ship should be able to do the job.”

“Very well, I’ll inform Dawn to dress accordingly. The ship is still in the same location I presume?” He asked.

“Whoa,” Buffy said halting her steps, realizing what he was suggesting. “You want us to go tonight? Clark has to pick up his mom from work, Wes.”

“I think it would be for the best. The sooner we get this prophecy translated, the better.” He paused. “Lorne told me I needed to send out more Slayers to India, Kansas, and Metropolis within the next two weeks and I would very much like to know if I should be sending two or a few hundred. If this prophecy gives any indication of what’s to come, I would very much like to know what it is.”

Buffy and Clark exchanged worried looks. “He only told me something was coming for Clark, and we’re gonna need all hands-on deck when it does.”

Buffy watched Clark swallow nervously. “He told me my time for hiding was almost up, but he said it was in the coming month.” His eyes widened in realization. “We need to translate that prophecy.”

Buffy nodded in agreement, “And I need to train you harder than just beating on a bag, which means it’s gonna be eight-hour days from here on out.” Clark opened his mouth to argue and she held up her hand, “We’ll get as much as we need to do in the mornings done, but if for whatever reason we can’t, I would loan you the money before I would let you lose your home.”

Clark frowned, “Buffy–”

“Take it from someone who knows what those kinda money troubles feel like,” She interrupted again. “I think in the scheme of things saving the world is a little more important than pride, don’t you?”

His frown deepened. “You think it’s going to be that big?”

“Lorne said all hands-on deck and it’s you. Someone coming after you has got to be as powerful, if not more.” She watched his face fall and reached out her hand out running it down his arm, “You’ll be ready, and now that we have a general idea of where this stuff might take place, we’ll all be even more prepared.”

“Wes,” she said, addressing the Watcher once more. “Were gonna need Willow to keep close, and I would call Illyria back from Cairo.”

“I agree,” Wesley said, just as a portal opened up and Willow walked through. Her smile melting away at the look on both Buffy and Clark’s faces.

“Uh-oh,” Willow said nervously. “I know that face.”

“Is that Willow?” Wesley asked over the line.

“Yeah,” Buffy said.

“Let me speak with her, please.”

Buffy held out the phone to Willow, who frowned but took it anyway. “Hey Wes,” Willow said in greeting as Buffy walked over to where Clark was standing looking more than a little worried.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

He attempted to smile but he couldn’t pull it off. “Hey, yourself.”

She bit her lip watching him, seeing the turmoil play across his face of having an unknown enemy out there that could be responsible for hurting others when they decided to rear their ugly heads. She didn’t blame him, if she needed to pull out her big guns as Lorne hinted then it could definitely get bad. She was optimistic however, because of what she’d had to face in her past. Clark didn’t have that same luxury.

“I-I know you’re not exactly used to going up against big bads, or having to fight gods,” she started. “But I promise you Clark, no matter what it is we’ll deal with it together. Tonight, I’ll have my sister meet us at your place and we’ll go to the ship and find out what this prophecy says. Whatever’s coming, we’ll deal. I promise you; we won’t lose.”

“How do you know?” He asked, a bit of hope showing in his eyes.

She stared at him seriously, “Because I don’t lose when it’s the world.”

His lips quirked slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something when Willow walked up to them. “Wes wants me to fit you for a suit,” She said to Clark, handing Buffy her phone before saying, “And, he wants to talk to you.”

As Buffy reached for the phone Clark said, “I already have a suit and it’s Kryptonian.”

Both Buffy and Willow blinked in surprise at his words, their voices ringing out in unison. “You do?”

He nodded, “Yeah, it’s on the ship still, but I have one.”

Willow smiled, “Well then, that’s gonna make this quicker. Can you bring it to me? I can enhance it with magic, add some safety features and protect you against the mystical.”

“Will that still work, even if the material isn’t of Earth?” He asked.

“Yeah Wes,” Buffy finally said into her phone, pulling herself away from the conversation. So, Clark already had a suit, she wondered what it looked like.

“So, for the time being I’m going to send fifty Slayers to each location, but keep the others on standby incase things go pear-shaped.” He said, already planning ahead. “I’ll also be moving quite a few closer to all three locations, that way all the girls have backup nearby. I think Willow should stay there at the safehouse that way she’s not far from either of you.”

“And Dawn, Xander, and the kids? They live in Metropolis after all.” Buffy asked.

“Perhaps you should explain the situation to her when she gets there. Staying there at the safe house with Willow might also be a wise move for them.” Wes said, adding, “As well as a few Slayers. I know Faith’s been itching to get out of Cleveland for a mission, maybe she and a few of the other girls should accompany her.”

“Just as long as it’s not Tanya, that girl’s a liability and she doesn’t listen to anyone.” Buffy said.

“I concur,” Wesley agreed. “Only the girls who are focused and dedicated will be allowed to participate in this mission. I would like as little casualties as possible.”

“I agree,” Buffy nodded, “What about the mystics, how many of those can we tap?”

“I have sixty-eight on file, I’ll start making phone calls now.” He sighed. “I’m just glad we have this much to go on.”

“Me too,” Buffy agreed. “I’ll call Dawn when Willow gets done here and tell her where to meet us and to put on her suit and a warm hat.”

“Very well,” he said. “Call me when you know more and I’ll begin the preparations.”

Buffy hung up, walking back over to Willow and Clark as they spoke to each other a bit awkwardly. “So, let’s get this over with Wills.”

Willow quickly nodded opening a small bag she brought with her. “So,” she said quickly. “These were a bit difficult to make since from what we’ve read the compulsion itself seems to be based purely on hormones as well as a need to unite your souls.” She looked at them both, “It took me a little while to find what I needed and even longer to put the spell together.” She sighed, “The pendants themselves will be made out of several crystals used to block compulsion, amethyst, ametrine, chrysocolla, and ruby.”

Willow pulled out two small corked vials filled with multicolored stones and handed them to both Buffy and Clark. “Now, hold out your hands and link your free ones together.”

Buffy and Clark did as she asked, holding their hands out palm up. Willow placed a vial in each of their hands and then covered them with her own hands, closing her eyes and beginning to chant. Buffy immediately began to feel her hand heat up and for a second it almost became unbearable and Buffy even watched Clark wince from the heat. It was gone just as quickly however and in its place were two hard looking marble like multicolored stones with a dark metallic chain that would hang from each of their necks. Buffy heard Willow mutter one more spell that she recognized to be a ward against breaking.

“Well go on.” Willow said smiling happily at her work. “Try them on, see if it worked.”

Buffy quickly slipped the necklace over her head and a sigh of relief left her lips. The sexual tension that had never fully abated her all day finally easing enough to where she wasn’t thinking about sex every few seconds.

Clark had a similar reaction, his face seeming to ease slightly, but Buffy was surprised when he turned to Willow and asked, “You said the compulsion is only based on hormones, does that mean any feeling we have that aren’t sexual are real?”

Willow nodded, “Of course, real love is something that can only be based off of free will. Its why love spells don’t ever work. You can’t force someone to love you.”

Buffy watched amused as Clark seemed to sigh in relief, and then quickly blushed when he noticed her watching him. “Come on stud,” she said hooking her arm through his and dragging him towards the door of the training room. “Let me go grab my stuff before we go get your mom,” a grin creeping over her face as she turned and wished Willow a good night and a promise to catch up tomorrow. “And for the record”, she added quietly as they walked out of the training room. “I still want to jump you, that hasn’t changed even with the necklace on.”

He quickly reached out to grab her arm, but she easily dodged him and took off down the hallway, a blush and a giggle leaving her lips.

Clark was suddenly there in front of her, a crooked and devilish smile on his lips. “Is that so?” And then his lips were on hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth as she squealed in surprise.

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karlaaqualight · 3 years ago

Text

The Little Witch of the Forest

Chapter 1

It was a good day when he caught sight of her, even if she disappeared almost immediately.

She hasn't tried to lure him into a trap this time, which he considered a small victory. She hasn't led him astray, but on the other hand she hasn't spoken to him much either. Nadarr was desperate for a conversation, a chance to speak to her. She was obviously a creature of intelligence – there was no mistaking the glimmer in her eyes – only a sharp-minded person would behave the way she did.

She had proceeded with caution, studied her stalker, kept her distance. He supposed that if she hadn't tried to hex him into oblivion despite her clear threat the day of their first meeting it meant that she wasn't past seeing reason.

She lived secluded, and only the gods knew what she was truly capable of. It was a thought worth pondering – especially since Nadarr had so much time to think when she reverted to silence.

The more he thought about it, the more inclined he was to reconsider his mother's tales and the legend surrounding the witch. Could it be that she was the owl and the raven that seemed to follow him during his first weeks of wandering? Would she answer truthfully if he asked? If it was him he wouldn't tell a soul.

Sometimes he thought she was there but didn't see anything. On other occasions he saw her, and then she walked round a tree and was no longer there. On rare instances he thought he heard footsteps, or the rustling of leaves and branches indicating someone was coming, but nothing moved at all.

Branwenn sighed, and knelt to the ground. This man was tenacious, she had to give him that. Her hands dug in the wet ground and ripped out the roots she needed, storing them in her basket before she rose to her feet again. A slight shiver made her hair stand on end, and she knew he wasn't far.

He was good. Very perceptive – for a man. Despite the wards she cast about her he somehow always found his way back towards her, even forcing her to use tricks to lure him away. The sun had barely risen in the foggy morning, but already she sensed he was near, the sound of his footsteps against the ground growing closer.

“Um, hello,” he says almost shyly. He’s greeted with silence. Not a surprise.

It has been like this for weeks now; he finds her, chats mostly about trivial things. She rarely talks back, a few nods, a quiet hmm, follows her around for a while then says his farewells. Only to repeat the next day, everyday.

She walked on, her eyes fixed on the ground, looking for herbs and mushrooms. Would he ever give up? He was young and reckless, but she sensed no danger from him. When his eyes locked with hers, she saw not fear like she usually did in the eyes of men, but profound respect, awe, and envy. Truly she pitied the poor creature. She wished her fate to no living being, not even the highly superstitious people.

Having found a tree with the mushrooms she was looking for, she stopped walking again. Her mind constantly jumped back to the Direnor, unable to push him out of her thoughts. So far she has been able to keep her home hidden from view, leading him in the wrong direction every time he came too close, but she knew it was but a matter of time until he slipped past her vigilant eyes and saw where she lived.

Why couldn't he give up like the others? Run away in fear? She greeted him in the worst way possible, in the middle of the night, by surprise, and let her shadows loom over him like the wide open jaws of a predator ready to rip his head clean off. And here he was, still walking in her tracks.

It’s been a few years since she found her place under the sun here in the woods of Glacier's Forge, a little hut right next to the waters, living a peaceful and quiet life, learning everything she could from her mother, and staying mostly away from others. It was either a life on the run, or a life in isolation. Her mother chose the second, and Branween and her brother followed. She didn’t have much of a choice anyway.

When their mother passed, Uhtred and Branwenn were left alone, with no soul to rely on but at each other. Hunting and gathering to survive. But soon summers turned shorter, winters longer and crueler than the last.

It was just then that they started to show their faces on the busy roads of the village, her presence quickly becoming the never-ending source of whispers across the town’s market. Her visits were short and widely sporadic but Uhtred didn’t sink well with the wide attention others gave them, especially to his sister. Branwenn didn’t mind much, however. She found her little fun in being the wellhead of other people’s stories, having everyone think she’s a witch.

If only they knew she was something far worse.

People feared her and she would be lying if she said she didn’t take advantage of it. They talked about how she could bewitch a man with her smile, so it was a smile that became her weapon of choice, along with her imagination. She would play around with them, usually inventing a variety of stories about her newest potions or curses, and tell to the few traders from whom she would buy her beams and necessities, and all with a smile most charming anyone has ever seen.

It had been easy back in their village; people more or less knew of them. The mysterious woman, mother of two children that lived in the woods, apart from the village. Uhtred fought alongside the warriors when Frost Ones were near, while Branwenn and her mother tended the wounded if there were any. They were wary about them but knew they’re ultimately trustworthy. In Glacier’s Forge was a different story. People there were in a permanent state of vigilance and tension.

After a while, Naddar stopped talking. Silence fell between them but she could feel his eyes on her. It was becoming unnerving.

Finally, she spoke. “What is it?”

The question caught him by surprise. She stared at him while he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Today his autumn hair was braided back in two tight braids. Only a few locks of hair rested on his forehead and over his green eyes. The lean muscles of his body only accentuate his youth. He was strange even by Direnor standards.

The physical appearance of her and Uhtred was much like any Direnor but in close inspection, people could notice the otherworldly energy around them. Most of the time they are ignored but always on guard around them. Few knew about their nature and that was good, if the rest of the Direnors knew…well, they would be far less “friendly”. Like the lovely death glares of some of the mages.

Nadarr looked at her, a little sheepishly. “Well, Prince Halvar and his crew came back from their mission. And a friend of ours, Revy, lost an eye in the conflict. Is there any balm or remedy you could make to help her heal? I mean, she was given something to ease the pain, but I don’t know if it will help with the scar.”

Tilting her head to the side with a frown, she narrowed her mismatched eyes ever so slyly.

“Ah, I-I’ll pay you, of course.” He added quickly.

“I’ll need to know the condition of the wound,” Branwenn uttered.

“Um, would it not be best if you go see it yourself?”

Branwenn faced him deadpanned. “No. Describe it.”

After Nadarr described Revy’s condition, silence spread on for a few minutes while he observed her.

“Very well,” she finally said. She then looked past him and said, “You came quicker than usual, brother.”

Nadarr quickly turns only to face the chest of the very displeased Uhtred. The siblings were very disturbing to be around with, even more so Uhtred.

The first time he met the man, Nadarr saw how he tore a Frozen One in half without breaking a sweat. When he had found out that Branwenn and Uhtred were siblings, a strange wave of relief washed over him. But when the thought of the mute man thinking he was after his sister, Nadarr felt a stone sink in his stomach. It was more than obvious he didn’t appreciate his attention towards his sister. Although Uhtred shared the same predator glance of Branwenn, Nadarr was a little more terrified of the first than the latter. He was more aware of the damage the massive man could do to his body.

“G-greetings, Uhtred.” His greeting came out creaked and nervous, much to his embarrassment.

Uhtred stared at him up and down, to finish with an acknowledging nod, a disapproving look still in his eyes. He had found the presence of the young man more irritating and bothersome. The constant visits of his could bring trouble. Silence stretched awkwardly to Nadarr until Branwenn talked again.

“You may retrieve the remedy tomorrow,” she inquired. A mild quo for him to take his leave.

But nevertheless, Nadarr smiled, and fixed his brilliant eyes on her. She had asked him to come back, finally. Even if it was for something of little significance like this, he couldn’t avoid feeling butterflies in his stomach. With that smile, in spite of herself, Branwenn’s chest warm even after there was no sight of Nadarr left.

She felt the gaze of her brother. She queried, raising a brow. “What?”

He placed the kill of the day on the ground and quickly hand signed, “I thought you had tricked him enough to not find you, again.”

The traces of a smirk tilted up on her lips. “Worry I’ll start looking at him as a suitor? I’m past my breeding age, after all.”

He frowned hard this time, twisting his mouth, “By Rotar, don’t joke with that.”

“I have placed traps more often than not, but he is quite persistent and intuitive.”

“Try harder,” he demanded.

It was her turn to glare at him. Before she could say something, she took a deep breath.

“Look, I know you worry but you know quite well I can take care of myself,” she started. “If I knew he was ill-intended, I would have killed him the first time he approached.”

“I know, I know,” Uhtred signed admittedly. He knelt down to take the hunt on his hand to place on his shoulder once more. He then places his free hand on his sister’s shoulder and mouthed, “Just be careful.”

“Always,” she said with a reassuring smile.

___________ § ___________

Some days he doesn’t see her at all, like today. She had left the remedy tied on a tree’s branches with two notes. One with instructions for the remedy, the other with an order:

Leave the payment here.

Nadarr looked around cautiously as he tied the small basket with the pastries and other sweets he had made where she asked. He worried something or someone would take it while he left it, but the woman most likely had made sure for the payment to not be picked by anyone but herself.

Nadarr is left with the bitter taste of disappointment of not being able to see her that day. Even he could not ignore the loneliness of his daily endeavour and relished her company – although she mostly ignored him or lectured him, he found her rather endearing.

He was sure that she had grown to appreciate his presence just as he did hers. After years of living alone in the woods, surely she must seek out conversation and company other than her brother? What about friends? A lover?

Nadarr’s mind wandered as he sat on the table, while he listened to one of the men tell an elaborate - no doubt somewhat false - tale of the time he took on an angry mother boar. Mead had a way of making men do such things, the more they drank, the sillier they got. Inside the tavern was warm, as the fire in the center roared bringing a glow of life to its surroundings.

Shouts of disbelief whooped from the other patrons sitting around, listening to the tale. The soft, drunk giggles of Lex. Nadarr eyed her from his seat, sated by the drink and food. She was jovial with her sister, along with Revy and Halvar.

“Dude, this smells so nice!” Rev says while inspecting the salve. “I don’t know how you find this, but thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Nadaar grins at her. “I hope it helps.”

“You have been going regularly to the forest. How is it going?”

Nadarr tensed for a second. He got a feeling he shouldn’t divulge his encounters with Branwenn. At least not yet. “Oh, um, it was good. Got plenty of game once in a while.”

“That’s great!” Rev exclaims excitedly. “It has been quite hard these days to hunt. Next time, I will go with you.”

Taking on hunts alone in the Dead Forest was rarely something that should be done alone unless you had the utmost confidence in yourself. But Nadarr has always liked to do so on his own, although he had always welcomed Revy’s company in huntings. Moreover, there were no more Frozen Ones roaming the forest so it was safe to go there now. Sort of.

“Uh, sure,” he answered without thinking. There was no way Branwenn, or Uhtred, would let him bring someone else in their terrains.

“You should be careful in those woods,” Halvar says concerned. There was a hidden meaning in those words. Nadarr was suspicious Halvar knew something was up, he was his best friend after all.

“Well, of course,” Lex said, lowering her cup of mead. “You never know when you'll find a freaking Frozen One.”

“It's not just that,” Halvar turned to her. “My father used to tell me stories when I was younger.”

“Stories?” Nadarr asked, his shoulders tense.

“About mystic creatures and things that go bump in the dark. It’s dangerous for those tempted to sneak out at night and venture too far into the woods. Something maybe as dark and evil as the Frozen Ones.”

An alarm went off in Nadarr’s brain while his friend talked. And the night he met her came crashing to his mind.

He followed the whispers and gossip of the villagers. Hearing the tails of merchants, fishers and others who would buy remedies from her from time to time. The sun had set hours ago and the moon hadn't been full that night.

The frightful sight before him nearly caused his heart to stop. He stopped breathing, and he would swear the forest also held its breath at that moment.

She looked at him with intent, a sharp glimmer in her glowing eyes. Nadarr turned momentarily into stone, not moving a muscle, not even to breathe. She blinks, as though she was gazing upon a curious creature she had never seen before in her life.

Her face remained hidden in the shadow of her cloak, clothing so dark he couldn't see where it ended and where the night began. Nadarr could make out a nose and a mouth, but before he could fully study her face, she moved.

A brisk, silent movement that seemed to finally free Nadarr of her spell and allowed him to take in some much needed air. She stood a mere few meters away from him but the air was already much more breathable and he could think straight again and not just stare in fascination.

“You are trespassing,” her voice came disembodied, whispering and screaming at the same time, coming from here and there, from the sky above and the earth below, from in and out. The words echoed in his mind as though Nadarr was the one who thought them. He blinked and she was gone.

“What?” He whispered when his voice was returned to him.

Nadarr looked around, seeing nothing in the pitch black night but the glowing eyes of small animals and birds. He still felt her. She was there, watching him, like a predator watching their prey.

“Hags, onis, and banshees are still powerful and dangerous creatures.” Halvar’s voice brought him back to the conversation.

“No one had seen either of those in ages, Halvar.” Liz chuckled.

“But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist anymore,” Lex countered at her twin.

He grew up with these stories. They all did. They were ancient tales passed onto the next generations. Bogeymen parents told their children about how to make them behave, but their people knew very well of their existence. Dineros weren’t the only beings inhabiting Uskar. All sorts of creatures existed in this heavy snow covered land.

And even though her Direnor appearance, Nadarr had the feeling Branwenn was something entirely different.

——————-

Hey there guys! It has been ages since I posted something here. This is a story that hopefully would be short. More to come soon. Branwenn, Nadarr and Uthred are my original characters. Liz, Lex, Revy and Halvar are property of @mrneighbourlove @ridersoftheapocalypse and @s-kinnaly

#legend of zelda #Branwenn #Uthred #Uskar #Glacier’s Forge #fanfiction #Nadarr #original characters #The little witch of the forest

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secret-engima · 4 years ago

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Ok though, but what are the GLAIVES' reactions to Xanxus' new Shield? Hell, what do the glaives think of Xanxus?

*cackles* okay so-

-The general reaction of the Glaives to Xanxus is Pure Terror and Confusion™. Because- this is Captain’s nephew? CAPTAIN’S NEPHEW? AND THE KING’S SON???????

-BUT- BUT HE’S SO ANGRY AT EVERYTHING.

-They’ve hardly ever seen Captain yell and the king, for all his faults, has the patience of a freaking glacier. They have no idea where this walking storm of Fury, Rage, and Violence came from or why he’s Like This but can they put him back pls? Wherever he came from can they return him???

-Then of course the Galahdian Instinct starts to kick in and they see all the signs of Trauma and Abuse that Xanxus has had for most of his second life and they are a Concern because Xanxus is just a teenager.

-Captain has anyone been around your nephew that Really Really Shouldn’t Be?

-Captain: No. He was literally born like this. No I don’t get it either.

-There’s probably a Meeting called without Captain’s knowing on What To Do With The Murder Child and the general answer is to treat him like a feral Couerl just out of kittenhood that they need to tame with a side of Feral Bellum mixed in.

-Xanxus is entirely confused as to why his uncle’s men start to tentatively leave offerings of food and soft blankets and sharp weaponry near his person when he’s around. At first he thinks they’re kissing up to him to get on Titus’s good side, but they don’t ... act like it. They treat him- with wary respect. Like they know he’s an apex predator and they aren’t and the offerings are signs of their submission to his superior wrath. They treat him just a little bit like his non-Officer Varia did (like a proper Sky and not a broken, mad, half-blood tool like the rest of Vongola did) and it slowly soothes some of his screaming instincts.

-The day Titus realizes that the reason Xanxus gets along so well with his glaives and understands them way better than he understands 90% of humanity as a whole is because they blatantly treat him like a Feral Apex Predator they’re in the territory of, is the day he wants to murder someone. Because Why Is His Nephew Like This. What Did He Do Wrong. (note this would be pre-anyone realizing Xanxus is Walked Twice).

...

-MOVING TO SQUALO.

-No one is happy with this arrangement at first. Just- this NIF KID broke in, shamed all their security efforts, and Xanxus just ADOPTS HIM AS SHIELD?? They are super suspicious and angry.

-And then they realize Squalo is EVEN MORE FIGHTEY AND FERAL than Xanxus but is just moderately house trained (read: will actually do his paperwork and grudgingly follow protocols) and that somehow Squalo’s brand of feral keeps Xanxus’s brand of feral in check.

-Welp looks like they have another feral coeurl kid to tame.

-They quickly learn that taming Squalo won’t be like taming Xanxus. Squalo does not appreciate being given food or blankets and just looks at them in paranoia or gives them to Xanxus, Squalo is also LOUD when he’s displeased and is fully willing to throw down with anyone who looks at Xanxus wrong and guess who has to deal with that mess since Squalo is on probation as a Nif defector?

-Honestly the Glaive are still seethingly angry over Squalo’s presence for a while even as they try to tame this kid because NIF. NIF NOBLE. HOW DARE AFTER ALL THE NIFS HAVE DONE.

-Then something unknown clicks in Squalo’s brain (read: Squalo figures out that since Xanxus is Titus’s nephew and actually loves Titus, that means all of Titus’s Glaives are by extension under XANXUS’S protection, which means they’re under Squalo’s protection too) and the Glaive just get to sit back and watch with wide eyes as Squalo turns his howling fury on anyone who looks at THEM wrong.

-It’s almost endearing if it didn’t risk blowing out their eardrums and causing national incidents.

-(look, Xanxus and Squalo have Opinions on refugees and “street rats” okay? Xanxus because of his past and Squalo because of Xanxus, but once Xanxus actually pulls out of his perpetual rage fugue enough to notice the glaive and get attached/interested in them it’s only a matter of time before he and Squalo start a crusade on their behalf through all of Lucian royal politics. Regis is a Headache™ even as he is a Pride™, and of course Tsuna is right there with them helping even though he’s a lot more subtle about it).

-With this Feral Nif Boi for some reason firmly on their side now, the Glaives ... grudgingly start getting attached. They also figure out the fastest way to trigger Squalo’s rare Quiet and Calm setting is to give him something sharp and shiny to fuss over.

-Squalo accumulates a very impressive collection of swords, daggers, and giant shuriken in short order after that and it makes Xanxus snicker because he knows exactly what they’re doing every time the Glaives find an excuse to give Squalo a new sword to sharpen and polish.

-More than a few people suggest adopting this boy into the Bellum and letting him work out his aggression in the forge.

-Then they remember that Squalo is Xanxus’s Braincell™ and so encouraging his already rampant Bellum Tendencies would probably be Bad™. XD

#SE asks #a-world-in-grey asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Fangs and Feathers verse

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honourablejester · 4 years ago

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A couple more meeting-the-ancestor moments for draconic sorcerers, to go with A Question of Lineage (human sorcerer with green dragon ancestry realises that the old ‘family advisor’ to her crime boss family is said utterly-amoral-but-also-quite-loving green dragoness)

AKA two more tiny mortal/dragon romance stories:

Tiefling Sorcerer with Gold Dragon Ancestry

The tired ‘elven’ spymaster curled his hand gently closed around the locket.

“In so many ways, she was the bravest person I’ve ever met. There were … several cults growing in the capital at the time. In particular, a cult of Asmodeus. I used her. Her features, her heritage. I sent her knowing she would be more easily believed by the cult. And more suspected by her own allies. She knew how I used her. But the job needed to be done, and she … allowed it. She went, at my order. Every time. She forgave me so many times, for sending her to what could have been her death. I couldn’t … It needed to be done. But after a while, it became … hard. She got so hurt. So often. We did what needed to be done. But she was so tired. So used to being used. So used to my using her. And after a while I couldn’t anymore. I am immortal. So hard to hurt by comparison. I had a job to do. But I couldn’t let her be hurt for it any longer.”

He paused. Smiled. His eyes flashed a strange, reptilian gold, for just an instant. He brought the locket to his lips and kissed it gently, before slipping it over his head and tucking it into the high collar of his robe. He looked up, and smiled softly.

“She forgave me many things, your great-grandmother. And taught me … a great many others. In all my years, no one has ever showed me the things she did. Remember that. No matter what anyone says about you and your heritage. Remember that, once upon a time, a tiefling spy showed one of the most respected men in the world what courage and sacrifice meant. And when he finally understood how much it cost her, she found it in her heart to forgive and love him regardless.”

(AKA an adult gold dragon masquerading as an elven spymaster, who fell in love with the tiefling rogue he used as an operative against infernal cults)

Firbolg Sorcerer with White Dragon Ancestry

The great white head loomed closer, scenting the air ominously. She huddled back against the ice of the overhang, barely daring to breathe. Oh, this was turning out to be such a lovely day …

“… I know that scent,” a vast voice rumbled abruptly. “I know …”

The dragon flowed down from the top of the overhand, a fluid fall of scale and muscle, landing with perfect grace on the ice and stone twenty feet below. Despite herself, despite the terror, Snow had to admire the natural beauty of the creature. One of the most awe-inspiring in creation.

The white dragon turned, swinging his head around to glare at the shadows beneath the overhang. Snow swallowed sharply. The great creature, radiating cold and fury, loomed close.

“You’re not her,” he growled furiously. “You smell of her, but you’re not her. Who are you?”

Um. But there was no point refusing to answer. And Snow suddenly … had an inkling …

“Do … Do you mean my mother?” she asked, unable to keep a note of sorrow and maybe longing from her voice. “She looked like me. She was a druid. She looked after the ice, the glaciers. I know she … She loved these mountains. Is that … who you mean?”

The dragon was silent for a long moment. Dangerously quiet. And then, slowly, he said:

“Mother. What … happened to your mother?”

Snow laughed brokenly. It was that or sob. It had been such a lovely day. “The … The same thing that almost happened to me,” she said. She closed her eyes, and tipped her head back against the ice. “Ogres have moved into the lower valleys. They … didn’t like company. They drove us out. And killed—”

The dragon reared back. Violently. The icicles on the ceiling rattled dangerously at the motion. Nostrils and icy blue eyes flared savagely. Spines flared along the dragon’s crest. He didn’t roar. He hissed.

“In my mountains?!” he snarled. “They dare?!”

He swung away, a furious clatter of claws and ice. Heading for the entrance to the cave. Then he paused. Froze, rage and hatred coiling through his body. He swung his head back over his shoulder. Glared at her once more.

“Stay here,” he growled. “If you leave I will hunt you down. There is nowhere I cannot find that scent. Stay. I will return when I have shown your ogres whose mountains they trespass in!”

Then he was gone, an avalanche of ice and scale flowing down the mountainside, and Snow … sagged back against the icy wall. Closed her eyes and slid down into a puddle on the floor.

Well. At least a dragon was a more interesting death?

(AKA a firbolg druid glaciologist who bullied/persuaded a white dragon to help her look after his mountains better, and later on persuaded him to a few things more, and murdering the bright and daring mother of his child is most definitely not a good survival plan)

I REALLY LOVE DRAGONS. Also, white dragons particularly, also green and gold, need so much more love.

#d&d #dragons #sorcerers #original fiction #dragon romances #backstory ideas #draconic sorcerers #if you have dragon ancestry you better give me the dragon love story #heh

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peacefiresky-archive · 4 years ago

Text

hunting song

Eleski’s brows furrowed, her anger ebbing further upwards. “Everything falls to an arrow to the chest.” “Not everything,” Ma said. Her arms began to tremble - she would sometimes have fits of weakness, where she could barely hold herself upright. “No arrow can fell the Fanged Stag.”

the beastfolk company belongs to @mothermara !

Eleski Ahlealdottir hadn’t earned her name yet. She had just seen her seventeenth winter, and she thought she might starve before she had the chance.

Shor’s Stone was a mining town, making their meager profits from the iron inside the mountains; they were poor, they were tired, and they were hungry. Eleski started hunting when she was young, apprenticed under her father, running through the forests of the Rift with laughter in her lungs and joy in her heart. Pa said she would be a natural, and she was - she could track a stag from Ivarstead to Riften without losing its trail, always knowing just where to land her arrow that it would fall without suffering.

“Easy,” her father would whisper. “Focus your breathing. Keep your eyes on the stag.”

It was as easy as drawing breath for her, her heart beating to the notes of a song she knew since birth. Her mind felt clouded and cleared all at once. Her eyes focused, her muscles tensed - and her arrow found its mark.

“Blessed by Kyne!” Her father cheered in his rolling accent, clapping her back when they came into the village. The doe was taken from around her shoulders, and Pa’s voice was like thunder congratulating her. The miners ate well that night, and Eleski crawled into her furs with a full stomach and a new deer-hide cloak. She hovered on the edge of sleep, imaginary scenarios drifting through her mind.

What if I find a dragon, she thought, her mind conjuring up images of the glorious beasts. What if I kill a dragon? Can you eat dragons? Can you ride them?

Just as she was about to drift off, there was a voice - on instinct, she laid still, quiet, silent, as her mother - when had Ma came to her side of the house? -whispered something she couldn’t understand, caressing her forehead. She traced the mark of the Eldergleam and Eleski fought back a flinch. It felt wrong when Ma did it. She couldn't explain why. “Child of the chase,” she sighed wistfully, before drawing away.

They were prosperous, her and Pa working jointly to bring in enough food to keep them fed through the winter. They never took in excess - Ma had warned her of a deer, with antlers crafted by Kyne and teeth sharpened by the daedra, who came in the night to steal away those who took more than they needed.

She had been terrified, and her Pa was amused, but compliant. “It’s about respect,” he told her when she was curled into her furs, clutching his hunting dagger in case the deer decided to take her away. “Respect the creatures you hunt, respect the woods you stalk, respect the men and women you work to feed, and Kyne will protect you.”

It was a lesson she learned easily. Every other day, she would disappear into the woods, listening to the steady music of her heart, and return with rabbits and deer and, if she was lucky, a wild pig, wolf, or moose.

That was all before Helmar Thaneson.

His father was some noble from Solitude, coming to Shor’s Stone after a scandal involving ties with the Bear of Windhelm; despite living among the miners and poor folk, he managed to afford his son every entitlement, every privilege. Helmar got away with anything he wished.

He was huge, and terrifying, and Eleski’s best friend, though not by choice. He would hurt her if she tried to leave him - he had said as much, and proved it through the scars on her face. He was touched in the head by Uncle Sheo - he was strong, sure, and a damn good brawler, but messy, uncaring, stupid. He chased the foxes and rabbits around the village and when he caught them - and he always caught them -, he’d throw them into the boiling stew, still alive and squealing. He thought it was funny to pounce on her like a wild cat, leaving her features marred and slashed by ribbons of red.

He hunted with her, too. Not properly; there was no careful footing, no learning the land, what creatures were mature and which were too young to give good meat. He left that to Eleski. That was how he grew so attached to her- they would venture off together into the thick woods, Eleski wincing at the sound of his heavy footfalls as he marched carelessly through the Rift. If she strained her ears, she could hear the wood’s creatures fleeing through the trees.

He was also bloodthirsty. She had watched, helpless, as he used his warhammer to savagely crush a stag’s ribs; all the while, he just laughed as it died, slowly and painfully. The meat was unusable, and the poor creature suffered a cruel death. Helmar's eyes were bright with mirth and joy - and that laugh set frost in her heart. Eleski didn’t like to watch her marks suffer. It was cruel - they were living creatures, just as much as she and Helmar. When she objected, he marched right up to her and cracked her cheek, the sound like wood splitting. The bruise had yet to heal after three weeks, and there was still a divet in her cheek where the bone had cracked. It ached in the winter.

The rabbits and foxes stopped appearing in the village’s outskirts. The deer were slaughtered wholesale, and so stopped grazing in the woods nearby. The wolves, starving, followed their prey; all that was left were the rats and vermin. Even the skeevers were skinny and disease ridden, barely enough meat to cook into a cabbage stew, but that was only when it didn’t fester moments after harvesting.

“We’re cursed,” she told Ma. “We’re cursed and it’s Helmar’s fault.”

“You seem so certain,” her mother replied, voice light and airy. Pa always said that he mistook Ma for a wisp mother when they first met; her hair was blonde, nearly white, her skin a luminescent alabaster, unmarred by freckles or moles. Even her eyes were ethereal, bluer than the glaciers to the north. Eleski took more after her father - tawny skin, thick, honey-gold hair, dotted by freckles and moles and crinkled, laughing eyes.

“I am.” Eleski set her bow down, slamming the door shut and roughly tugging her braids loose. She didn’t bother combing them out. “He killed the fawns before they could grow and mate. He ate through our crops like a starved rabbit.” She sat at the wooden bench, crossing her arms. Her father was tending to the hearth, the ghost of a smile on his lips. His amusement only angered her further. “He and his pa grow fat with fortune and food and the rest of us starve!”

Pa clicked his tongue, stirring a pot of boiling water. A chopped, skinny carrot and wilted cabbage leaf floated lazily within it. “And just what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll kill him myself,” she replied. She knew she might just be mad enough to do it.

“Don’t be silly,” Ma hummed. “You’re not a killer.”

“I’ve killed plenty!” Eleski stood from her seat, eyes flaring. So fierce for one so young; wolf-blooded, Pa always said. “I’m a hunter! I’ve killed more than anyone in this village!”

“Don’t be so naive.” Pa tapped the wooden spoon against the pot, and set about pouring the soup into bowls.

Ma just laughed, the sound hollow and empty, shaking her head. “No, she may be right. But it would do her well to remember there’s a difference between killing a deer and killing a person.”

Eleski’s brows furrowed, her anger ebbing further upwards. “Everything falls to an arrow to the chest.”

“Not everything,” Ma said. Her arms began to tremble - she would sometimes have fits of weakness, where she could barely hold herself upright. “No arrow can fell the Fanged Stag.”

Pa raised his brow, and Eleski paused. Ma’s eyes stared dispassionately towards her, and slowly, she lowered herself to sit back on the wooden bench. Pa placed a bowl in front of Ma, then Eleski, and then took a seat for himself.

Ma raised the bowl to her lips, drinking deeply as though it was something holy, and sighed longingly as she placed it back onto the table. Her hands were shaky as she flattened her palms on the table. “He always collects the Hunter’s debts. May he take that blasted child’s heart and use it to breathe life back into these woods.”

Eleski’s ma looked like a woman out of a fairytale, and acted like it too, always reminding Eleski and Pa of old superstitions to be mindful of, murmuring vague prophecies and curses. Pa’s eyes, bark-brown and softened by age, met Eleski’s, sharp and vengeful. They never quite understood. Eleski wasn’t sure they ever would.

They didn’t speak until late that night, when her father traced the mark of the Eldergleam on her forehead - a nighttime blessing, his thumb connecting the leaves to the trunk. Eleski sighed and flopped onto her cot, and prayed that sleep would ease the pains of her stomach.

Her rest was fitful, as it always was. She dreamed of chasing, of being chased, her legs aching as the Game reversed; she dreamed of her frost-bitten hands warmed by blood, her mother’s, her father’s, Helmar’s; she dreamed of a red moon, hung in the sky like a blood boil ready to be lanced -

She woke to the sound of a scream.

She jolted upwards, her heart racing; she had a nightmare, but couldn’t recall of what - there was every chance that the scream was just an echo of her mind’s terrors, she told herself. And if it wasn’t that, it was a fox - she used to bolt out of the house every week, convinced some poor woman was being slaughtered, only to find Shor’s little fox laughing gleefully, satisfied at his prank.

The scream echoed again. It was deep, guttural; too human, too pained to be a fox’s cry. She pushed herself from her bed, flung the doe-skin cloak around her shoulders, pulled on her leather-soled shoes, and rushed towards the door, grabbing her father’s hunting dagger from its place by the hearth as she went. She threw open the door, the cold air stinging her face and eyes, before she gasped -

Her mother, ethereal and half-present in the moonlight, stood facing her. Her eyes, silvery blue and unblinking, bore into hers. She looked like a ghost, a fae, a wisp floating in the fields. She looked anything but mortal.

“The Stag always repays the Hunter’s debts,” she echoed, her voice like a bell.

Eleski tried to calm her racing heart. “Ma?”

“He comes and He hunts and He chases. He is His Father’s Son, though he wishes it not so.”

“Ma, you need to go inside.”

“He’s calling for you,” Ma sing-songed, pausing just long enough for that terrible screech to echo, bouncing through the village. “Can’t you hear him? You should go, watch the hunt; partake, if you want. I would. Oh, how I would.”

Eleski stared at her mother and saw a stranger. Her mother stared back, without warmth, without love - her eyes were empty.

“Go inside,” Eleski said, before turning towards the woods and running.

It was harder to navigate in the night, the only light being the dappled moonbeams filtered through leaves. Her feet thumped steadily below her, twigs snapping softly in time with her heartbeat. Tha-thump, tha-thump, her blood sang. A tree trunk in the shape of a bear marked the one-mile mark. An eagle’s nest marked the second. The thickening of the tree trunks marked the third. She ran, following those shrill wails, ears straining - before hands grabbed her from behind.

She stifled a scream as she was pushed against a tree trunk, a meaty hand muffling her - she slashed uselessly at it with her dagger, before the figure suddenly backed away. It left something on her face, some kind of liquid, warm and smelling of copper.

“Eles?” The voice was shaky, deep and familiar.

“...Helmar?” She hissed, panting, wiping away the liquid on her face with her sleeve, still brandishing the dagger threateningly. “What in Oblivion are you doing out here?”

“Running,” he whispered. She could see him trembling, even in the low light. “I’m running.”

“Running from what?”

“From it-” He tried to take a step forward, his knee buckling from under him. He groaned as he fell, reaching out to her - though she only took a step away from him, staring as he laid there, kneeling.

“Help me,” he whimpered. “Please. Please, I don’t wanna die.”

Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the wound. Her first thought, superstitious and silly, was the Stag.

Don’t be so naive. “What did this?” She asked, looking down at him. Some great beast had taken a chunk out of Helmar's leg. She could see the bone, and it called to her. Her heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm. She heard music.

“I - I don’t know, I didn’t see-”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

The boy faltered, his breath hitching. Eleski’s voice had chilled from a fluttering panic to a strange sort of calm. “Y-Yes,” he muttered.

“I bet it does.” Her chest was still heaving, her voice breathy. “You’ll never walk again, not with that wound.”

“I - I -” Helmar stuttered uselessly. She had leaned forward, her body moving on its own accord; he fell backwards, palms pressing against the dirt as he tried in vain to scramble away. Eleski felt a rush of power, looming over him. Quietly, she kneeled beside him.

The forest was silent, save for his heaving breath, and the wind through trees.

“You’re - you’re nice, Eles,” He pleaded, smiling fearfully. “You’re nice. You can - can help me walk again, help me - help -”

“It’s nice to put animals out of their pain,” she hummed, blood pounding through her ears as she raised the dagger.

“No,” he sobbed, voice cracking, smile fading. “No, please, I’m sorry -”

She raised it higher, her free hand going to clutch at the hilt. The music soared joyfully.

“Eles - Eles, please -”

The sound of a branch snapping broke her out of her torpor, the melody broken; her head snapped towards the sound.

Her eyes searched in the darkness, but - nothing. Nothing, save for the flash of a stag’s antlers. She glanced down to the sobbing boy beside her, and shakily lowered her dagger.

“Let this be a lesson,” she whispered, voice not entirely her own.

She pushed herself to her feet, glancing back to the source of the sound. There, barely visible in the moonlight, she could just make out the shape of a huge deer, his antlers stretched above him like the branches of the Eldergleam; as its gleaming eyes bore into hers, she clutched her dagger so tight the hilt made an indent in her palm.

It could feed us for weeks, she thought. She felt herself shake with the force of the thought, images of her parents well-fed, her hands bloody, flashing through her mind. The beginnings of a melody sounded in her ears. That meat could save us. Hunt it. Hunt it. Hunt-

She took a step backwards, not breaking its gaze. It stepped forward in time, hooves leaving no tracks. She paused, before shakily lowering her head.

It stared, and lowered its head - it seemed to nod, and so she turned and she ran. She pretended not to hear the sound of bones cracking under hooves, of flesh squelching between teeth. She pretended not to hear Helmar’s wailing screams, broken cries for mercy, and bitter curses. As she bolted further away, lungs burning from the exertion, she pretended not to hear as Helmar Thaneson’s dying screeches came to a sudden stop.

She broke from the treeline, dried blood still caking the side of her face. Ma wasn’t on the porch; in fact, it was as if no one in the village was awake. She came to a stumbling stop, chest aching as she struggled for air. She rested her hands on her knees as she doubled over, and emptied the cabbage-carrot soup by the porch of her home.

***

When Eleski Kyne-Blood, who had just passed eighteen winters, returned to the village, she was dragging a moose on a skiff behind her. It had taken time, but nature’s blessing returned to Shor’s Stone - birds sang in the trees, hearty meals of venison and goat and boar were had every night, and the rabbits and foxes played at the village’s edge.

Her eyes looked forward - her father was there, as he always was when she went off on her own, awaiting her return. He seemed to be talking to a group of adventurers - that’s what she assumed, at least. A moss-skinned Orc in heavy armor, a scaled Argonian in mage’s clothes, a green-eyed Khajiit in robes, a wood elf in light armor, a Nord in an iron cuirass, a gold elf in master’s robes - they were outsiders, and Pa seemed happy enough talking with them. He loved outsiders.

His amber eyes lit like a wildfire when they fell on her and her prize. “Just in time,” he called. Eleski squinted against the sun, waving in response as she grew closer. “We’ll be having guests tonight!”

Her arms ached from dragging the damned moose as she finished her approach - a fact the Orc woman seemed to notice. She gave a tusk-toothed smile, and Eleski went a bit red despite herself. The Orc gestured to the skiff. “Here, let me get that for you.”

“Ah, uh - thanks.” Eleski moved so she could take hold of it. She watched as the woman dragged it with ease to the center of the village, until her father clapped her on the back.

He cleared his throat, and with a dramatic flare that made him seem much younger, he declared, “Meet the Beastfolk Company! These fine mercenaries took care of a few bandits who’d planned a raid. Stopped them before they could get to the village.”

Eleski again looked over the Company. They were raggedy, a bit bruised, and covered in dirt and mud. She smiled. “Wind be at your back,” she greeted. “You’ll fit in just fine.”

“We’re not planning on staying long,” said the elf. “Ah - I am Syrabane. We ask for nothing but a warm meal and a place to sleep.”

“And a bath,” said the Argonian towards the elf. They turned towards Eleski. “Hi. I’m Weedum. Praise be to Todd.”

“Oh, are we doing introductions?” The Khajiit’s ears perked up, their tale lashing excitedly behind them. “I’m Aldra!”

“I’m Maces,” said the Nord. He seemed a bit quiet.

The wood elf was silent until Weedum poked his side. “Rindolin,” he said simply.

“Badbr!” called the Orc woman, armor clanking as she jogged over to join them. She flashed that same toothy grin. “Good to meet you.”

“Eleski,” she responded. They were a motley crew, and yet something about them struck her as warm. Welcoming. “We’ve a few bedrolls to spare, and I’m guessin’ my father already opened our hearth to you.”

Pa beamed.

“Make yourselves at home,” she continued, nodding to the group. “We’ll get some stew started.”

They made their way around the village, chattering among themselves. Badbr and Syrabane went first, with Rindolin following them, and Weedum following him. Aldra spared a glance towards Maces, before disappearing into the hut. Soon, all that was left was Pa, Eleski, and Maces-the-Nord.

There was a short silence, before one spoke. “There’s not normally just one hunter in a village,” Maces said, staring off into the woods. “It’s safer in groups. What happened to the others?”

Pa answered before she could. “I’m gettin’ too old. We’re a small enough village - we make do with just the one.” They didn’t talk about what happened to Helmar. No one really knew. Maces hummed absentmindedly, eyes still trained on the forest, and Eleski got the feeling he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

“You should get inside,” Eleski said. “Sundown’s approaching.”

Maces glanced towards her, raising a brow. “You don’t stay out past sundown?”

“Strange creatures lurk in those woods.”

He laughed quietly, eyes glinting, and Eleski went to bed that night after endless stories with a full stomach, a warm cloak, and a secret shared.

#god. god this took me forever #eleski kyne-blood #friend's ocs #i'm tired of looking at it so hERE #/lh

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avehi-the-adamant · 4 years ago

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Are We Dead Yet? Pt. I - Piercing the Veil

[[ Co-written with @sylaess & @kidcatgemini ]]

~*~

The summons came for all of them.

Every single Knight of Acherus could hear that call, knew that call. It wasn’t one you fucked around with.

They stood in ranks, watching the portal open. Waiting. Somehow, they were going to help. The icy winds atop Icecrown snatched at cloaks and fur-trimmed armor alike. Stole the wispy breath of the living and tossed it to the glacier beyond. A very solemn time.

A very anxious time.

They filed through. Rank by rank.

It took forever, in Sylaess’s humble opinion. All for a bloody portal. To the deadlands. Shadowlands. Syl hated portals. They always fucked her up. She cut a glance to see if she could spot Avehi one more time. Had tried to get into formation with her, but who knew if they were still near each other? There had been so much shuffling about.

The rank before her moved up. Started popping through, one by one. So the rumors were true, then. Bolvar had had his ass handed to him by Sylvannas. And then she messed everything up. Again. Sylaess was careful to keep herself still, steady, and cool. At least outwardly. It was tiresome. But she did an excellent job of that mask.

Sigh.

Syl stepped forward unthinkingly. Just muscle memory in the line, headed into the portal. The less she thought of the insanity she was about to partake in, the easier it got.

That was a bold-faced lie, but she was grasping every thin thread to keep herself from launching off the side of Icecrown instead of into the afterlife. Both options sucked, to be fair.

Took a breath, hands on her swords hilts like they were a lifeline. Stepped through the blue-black mass of magic that would lead her to the exact place she’d been avoiding all these damned years. Literally.

Tried not to scream.

The Maw was unchanged from when Avehi was here last-- but it was still an entirely new experience. Before, merely a fragment of her consciousness could wander freely through the desolate wastes beyond the veil. Now, she was here wholly, fully… with no guarantee of any way out again. Her body never felt more cumbersome, reminiscent of when she was first risen. That bitter, ashen taste. The way the air felt so thin and yet stifling at the same time. The amber skyline was piercing, a burning contrast to the somber grey dust beneath her hooves. Immediately, the wailings of the damned assaulted her ears, in a symphony of suffering. This was no place for a mortal.

Thankfully, she wasn’t one.

Foolishly, however, she’d brought two along with her. She looked back to her companions; imposters, both adorned in Ebon Blade recruit armor. Argonas’ barely fit over his muscular physique. An oversight on her part-- she should’ve procured a Tauren-sized set for him, just in case. Raetos’, however, fit just fine. Though his brighter skin tone betrayed his Light-suffused body beneath the dark Ebon plating. Both of them would’ve been easy enough to pick out… if anyone were looking hard enough. Too focused on Bolvar, Avehi presumed. She wasn’t sure about the Highlord. Helm or no helm, it was hard for her to reconcile how she felt about the presence that had set up shop in the back of her mind since the fall of Arthas Menethil. Familiarity, yes. But overwhelming distrust trumped it. Like an estranged brother.

She put it from her mind, for now, attention back on Argonas and Raetos.

“Muster your senses.” she instructed. “We must move-- quickly!”

Argonas did just that; he was much more prepared for the terror this place instilled in the depths of the soul than Raetos was. Having died somewhat recently, he was already accustomed to this place, and the heavy draw that permeated the air. He expected it. Prepared for it. Shrugged it off, and moved to follow Avehi into the wastes. Somewhere here, they’d find Sinafay. And he’d make good on his promise to free her from this terrible place! That alone was all the drive he needed to suffer through.

Raetos wasn’t as fortunate. Despite all the time he’d spent on the Fel-suffused planet of Argus, it did nothing to protect him from the wave of absolute dread and hopelessness that permeated his senses.

“--Light,” he muttered under his breath, kneeling down and throwing his helmet off to bring his hands to his head.

Thankfully, his Lightforged body offered him some protection. He couldn’t imagine how much more horrible this place would be without it’s soothing properties. It took him a moment, as he waited for his senses to acclimate. When he looked up, Avehi and the others were already far ahead. He removed some of the extra pieces of plate armor Avehi had told him to wear. The atmosphere was already too heavy, and the weight of the gear was unbearable. At this point, it didn’t matter if the Ebon Blade realized they’d brought a mortal through.

Not like they could force him to go back...

Gritting his teeth, he got back on his hooves and followed after his companions. He was one step closer to finding Fable.

Sylaess’ skin felt prickly. Like someone had chopped the sides of her neck with the blade of their hand and jolted all her nerves at once. A cold sweat made her armor lining cling uncomfortably.

She wanted to vomit.

Two steps onto the other side, and she held it all back. Held her breath, too. Did a half-turn to check for an ambush and--

Came loose from herself. Drifted away from her own body.

Ah, shit. The thought was haphazard at best. A remote acceptance. The world went away.

Sylaess stiffened up like she’d been struck on the head and went over like an ominous pillar of saronite. No hand came out to break that fall. Crashed to the ground unceremoniously with a dull thud. Absolutely unresponsive for a solid moment, other than a faint tremor in her hands. Unnatural.

“I waited, nonetheless.”

He took another bite, and chewed that one too for a while. Thoughtfully. The only times Argonas was really so quiet was when he was eating or sleeping. His mouth stopped running long enough for his thoughts to get a turn. Most of his thoughts were on Sylaess, and his gaze followed them. He swallowed.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, motioning roughly over his own face where Sylaess’ exacerbated scarring was. “It looks as if you took a few hits. Did you learn anything of the truths you are seeking?”

She blinked at her hands, considering the question for a hanging moment. “...I don’t know if I feel qualified to name worth about this, but I learned enough that I...” Want to take a scalding damn bath, my friend, badly. “...want to leave. I have enough control, I feel.” No, you don’t.--

The taste of rust and dirt in her mouth. Black, watery rushing in her ears. A flicker of lights. Pushed away from the fragmented memory. Didn’t recognize much of it, anyway. Didn’t make too much sense.

And awake again.

She gave a hell of a start. Limbs felt loose, uncoordinated. Standing up felt a little clumsy. Shit, how many times was that? Sylaess tensed, willing herself to look like iron again. Hoped beyond whatever frail hope she had that most of her companions looked past that little... episode. Destarion had made sound mention of her new ailment. She had an idea of what happened, but never a full understanding. Her skull felt like it throbbed, and yet was airy all at once. It was incredibly hard to refocus.

The fragment of memory, or fictitious image was fleeing her mind already. Little snippets. Some were true, but she couldn’t tell what was real. It was harrowing to try and winnow it all out.

Truthfully, she felt like her bones were made of windchimes. Hollow.

Avehi eyed the elf, a mixture of worry and annoyance upon her countenance. The poor thing shook and wobbled like a newborn talbuk finding its legs in this treacherous place. The Draenei couldn’t fault her too terribly for it, though-- everything about this place was an affront to the senses. She was, in truth, surprised Argonas seemed to take it in such stride. But then… he’d been here before, rather recently. She examined the trio, and grunted. This was it. This was the team. With no plan to get back out, and no telling what to expect inside… they proceeded.

“Stay close.” came her only instruction; her only warning.

The Vindicators trudged forward, driven by their respective purposes. Avehi had finally made it to the other side, and took strides now in correcting this problem that had haunted her for so long. Argonas’ purpose was far more specific. Yet both moved, in a show of their shared training, keeping a close-yet-loose and wary formation. Hammers drawn and ready for the horrors the Maw would surely throw their way.

Raetos stayed further behind, both to watch their backs, and also to keep an eye on Sylaess. She was the only one in the group he didn’t know at all. She was such a tall and skinny thing, so lanky and sickly looking. And from the looks of it, she’d taken the entrance into the Maw harder than he had. He wondered how long she'd been dead, but then Avehi had made it clear that it wasn’t a question to ask a Death Knight. A sensitive subject.

Now wasn’t the time to make friends and start conversations anyway. Quite the departure from his regular self. Instead, his golden gaze scanned the rocky cliffs. Oddly enough, it wasn’t too far off from the rocky and desolate landscape that Argus had been… except Fel was replaced by… well… death and mist of some kind. So he had no issues blending and moving quietly about the area. Thankfully so, because the mist made it hard to see at a distance, and there were constant eerie screams in the background that made things difficult for his ears to pick up other sounds --not to mention the sounds of battle! It would make hunting the enemy harder for him.

He wondered if Avehi knew where she was going. She seemed to anyway… So he followed. For now.

The worst of it faded slowly. Not that the ominous air of the Maw itself was helpful in any sort of recovery.

To be fair, she’d been here before. A few times. They had to find Sinafay as fast as they could. Every second in this place was a threat to the very fabric of a soul.

She should not be here. So many should not be here. That would have to be solved later. It was a much grander scale issue.

Sylaess shook her head slightly, chasing off the thoughts before they took hold. Glanced over the rest of the party and resolved to ignore her indiscretion. Such as it would be. A brief flicker of concern for Argonas, but she let it slide. Had to. No room for that here. She wasn’t particularly concerned with Raetos, disguise or no.

There was a feeling that the Jailer would be able to sense them regardless of any shade or misdirection and that bothered her. Bothered her a lot. She slid a hand into her cloak, a hidden pouch there. Reassurance. The tiny vials were wrapped securely in cloth and leather layers, protecting them from a lot of damage. They seemed intact. “Avehi, do we have a specific direction, or should we try to command a soul to give us an idea?”

Her voice was quiet and gravelly, but clear enough. Such an odd thing to hear out of her own face. She sighed softly through her nose. At least she’d spent the last few weeks with the ritualists in Acherus, learning what she could of the other side of being a death knight. Less battle, more magic fuckery.

"Once we have our bearings, that's a good idea." Avehi replied without breaking stride. "Let's get up this ridge, and see what we can see."

"--Command a soul?" Argonas repeated, clearly uncomfortable with the notion. "Have they not suffered enough without such compulsions?"

"Probably. You can ask your wife the specifics after we compel a wayward soul to lead us to her." came Avehi's curt response.

It silenced Argonas well enough.

“Geez… I mean, it doesn't hurt to ask nicely at first,” Raetos couldn’t help but throw his opinion in, “If they’re being a pain in the ass, then by all means, but Argo’s right. No need to hassle an already suffering spirit if it’s not putting up a fight.”

He held his rifle ready, keeping his senses sharp despite his mouth working.

“Like… from the looks of things, there are some obviously bad things picking on helpless looking spirits,” he mentioned, taking a peek over the ledge where he spotted the commotion, “We intervene, the nice spirit tells us what they know out of gratitude, and then we can compel the baddies for extra information. Win win. Oooh! Leave that hound-thinger down there alive, though. I want that.”

“Was it worth it?”

The memory echo gave her half a pause, but it slid away like oil on water. She sighed softly, the tightness in her jaw not settling.

Maybe it was the half-echoed whispers from the souls damned to this place. She could hear them. Assumed Avehi could, too. “More than half of these souls are ... remnants. Shattered pieces. The Maw is where they are sent to be slowly obliterated. Now that all souls are sent here, it's ... the worst fate you could wish on anyone. No hope for rebirth here, just swift annihilation if you’re lucky.” Sylaess said. Gave pause, side-eyeing Raetos. “They’re constructs, but ones that feast on souls. Fine sport, I’m sure.” She had meant to be calming, reassuring even. But her words raked like gravel, gashing out the hideous truth of this place. The end was colored by sarcasm. No mercies indeed. There was regret, but she couldn’t pluck the words from the air. Nor did she feel she could’ve found better to say. The elf tugged her cloak over her shoulder, black hollow eyes scanning the area in a slow sweep. Old habits were never far. At least, she assumed it was a habit.

She eyed the hound. Then it came together. “But we could harness it to travel faster. At least, one of us.”

This place was grating on Avehi’s nerves. The sounds most of all. Words no mortal could hear, but registered as whispers to the Death Knights, one foot in and one foot out of their graves. Half-truths and intrusive thoughts given soundless voices, all speaking directly to her mind.

“You belong here, too.”

“None escape…”

“The Jailer sees all!”

It was distracting. Overwhelming. And Argonas’ and Raetos’ sanctimonious protesting only irked her further.

“Feel free to see how far asking nicely gets you.” Avehi chuffed, growing in irritation. “But if you want your respective loved ones saved from this infamously-inescapable place? Cast aside your Light-bleached sensibilities and be prepared to do whatever it takes. Let the undead handle the undead, if you can’t stomach it.”

The ridge crest overlooked everything… and nothing. There wasn’t much to see of this desolation. A ‘river’ of aetherial miasma cut through the land some distance ahead. And following it to their left revealed ramparts of some manner of fortification. Beyond that, ever-looming in the sky, was an infinitely tall tower. Unsettlingly menacing, it dominated the skyline, casting its shadow over the already dismal landscape.

“--There.” Argonas spoke up, motioning to the fortifications. “I… I saw Sinafay near there, when I died. I remember the wall.”

“You’re certain?” Avehi asked, turning to him.

He nodded once, eyes affixed to the distant keep. It was recent enough, still fresh in his mind. Avehi grunted, but nodded in response.

“Then we make our way there. Any soul we manage to find on the way, we question.”

She waved her hand dismissively at the construct and his ‘dog’ down below.

“Leave those sentries be, if we can. The creature will serve us no purpose, anyway.” she directed. “Splitting up here is the worst thing we could possibly do.”

And yet, that was exactly what Raetos decided to do. As the others turned away and continued their journey, the Lightforged kept his eye on the hound and its rider. He always worked better alone anyway. And it would be easier to sneak around without the heavy plate wearers. Brows knit into a frown as he looked over to his friends once more, only to see them already a good distance away; pushed forward by Argonas recognizing a rock formation.

Fable wouldn’t be with Sinafay. It was a gut feeling the Draenei had. Their times of death had happened so far apart and differently. The chances of finding them together in this hell hole was slim to none. His three companions obviously cared more about finding Argonas’ mate than his. Avehi had promised to bring Raetos into the Maw. That done, it was time for him to walk his own path. His partner needed him, and he wasn’t going to waste any time following the wrong trail.

Silently, he stepped away from the group and hid into the cliff. And just like that, he was gone, silently moving down the cliff to stalk the hound and rider, hunting rifle in hand.

“Perdition...” It was more of a mumble to herself, thinking over the location. She frowned, watching Raetos go--but who was she to stop him? If you want to disappear into hell, literally, by yourself, then that’s on you. She honestly wished him well.

The wash of voices became loud in her ears for a moment. She grit her teeth.

“If we’re headed that way, we should get going. “ A pause, and she stared at Avehi. Tried to gauge how much she knew of this place, gave up. “He’s watching.” Softly. “There’s not much I can do about it.” Stepped up to be vaguely beside the other Knight a moment. “The best thing is that he’s busy with the sudden swarm of Acherians. He can’t focus.”

The Draenei’s tail flickered in irritation, as Sylaess put so well into words what she was feeling. The master of this domain exuded a too-familiar omniscience in this place. The power behind the Helm of Dominion worn by the Lich King could be felt here. Its origins, perhaps? It felt far too similar to be coincidence.

“There’s nothing any of us can do about it.” she affirmed, bluntly. “May his focus be elsewhere as we get done what we’re here to do. Everyone stay cl--”

She narrowed her eyes in search; the brightest of their group was nowhere to be found! For his otherwise inept and naive countenance, Raetos was particularly adept at forging his own path and vanishing when he felt it was time. His impatience and disobedience would be his doom here, Avehi thought, as she shook her head.

“We need an escape. A rally point. Somewhere to fall back to and regroup as necessary.” she grunted, eyes flickering to Sylaess. “Can you secure one? Argonas and I will go ahead into the keep, and see if we can’t find Sinafay.”

Sylaess nodded. “I’ll hold to one spot as well as I can, but I feel I might need to move. May this be a quick endeavor.”

(( Mentions: @avehi-the-adamant / @argonas / @raetos / @sylaess / @sinafay1 / @darkestfable ))

#character stories #Shadowlands #The Maw #Avehi #Sylaess #Argonas #Raetos #Sinafay #Fable

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butshedidnotknow · 4 years ago

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OCtober: Sunrise

@oc-growth-and-development

John awoke with pain in his leg and curses gritted between his teeth, held on his tongue, tasting them like the blood he’d just awoken from. Dreams, as every night, were a sanguine hell, and age and years hadn’t taken the edge off of them, and so he rolled over, though his leg ached at the very thought of movement.

Dusk was already awake, pale eyes staring at him, watching him to see how he was.

I’m fine.

It wasn’t the truth entirely, but they had known each other for long enough to know what their own respective truths were, to be able to read between those lines. They had been around for long enough to be certain of that, if nothing else.

“Coffee?” Dusk asked, his voice husky and still full of sleep, though his eyes were wide awake.

John nodded, reached out a hand to his husband, brushed some spindly white hairs out of his face. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

It was still dark out, but Dusk opened the curtains anyways when he stood up, walked downstairs. They’d been together for years, and John had no shame in the fact that his leg had never healed, even so many years after, but Dusk had never not given him the privacy and the space that he needed in the mornings, when he didn’t want anyone else to see how badly it hurt to move.

He pulled on a shirt, flannel that matched the pyjamas that he wore--and he was pretty sure that they were both red, or at least he hoped so, to have some dignity at least this one morning--and reached over as he approached the door, taking his cane in his hands from the vase in which they stood.

By the time John got downstairs, the coffee was already made, and there was already a cup sitting on the cupboard for him. A cat was curled up next to it, already asleep again after no doubt being disturbed by Dusk. John reached out and gave her a quick kiss. Stepped out to the garage and grabbed a bag of dog feed and slung it over his shoulder, balancing it precariously as he walked out to the porch.

Dusk reached up and grabbed the bag of dry food from his shoulder, walked down the steps as John sat in his chair, pulling a blanket over his legs to keep out the autumn chill. The chains rattled as Dusk opened up the dog run, poured out some food in the sectioned areas for the dogs, locked it behind him before the dogs could get in.

When he sat back down, John reached across the table and took his hand, looking out at the horizon. The mountains stuck up, like angry gods had torn up the earth and left it out in fragments, but the light was beginning to shine on them from the east.

A cat stepped out through the flap at the bottom of the door and jumped up onto Dusk’s lap, clambering up his jeans before curling up. Behind the house, John heard a dog bark, and a rooster crowed in response from the henhouse across the property. Mornings were never silent and peaceful, and quite frankly, John was alright with that. Peace and quiet sometimes left too much time to think, but he squeezed his husband’s hand a little harder and took a sip of coffee.

“Pancakes and sausage today?” he asked, watching the mountains still. The pink and gold light shone off the white caps, the glaciers and snow still unmelted, the stone standing tall and proud for so many years.

Dusk nodded, and after a minute John stood up. “I’ll get the dogs if you check the hens.” It was unnecessary to say so out loud, after so many years together, but he still did. The dogs bayed in their houses as John opened up the gate, and they followed him out, trained so well after so many years. A few puppies trailed behind, but their mother nudged them along, and soon enough they were all waiting outside of the dog house, howling at one another while he stood on the inside of the dog run.

John could hear the hens clucking in irritation as Dusk checked for any eggs, fresh enough for breakfast, and he grinned to himself as all of the cats ran out of sight. He opened up the gate and let the dogs in, tripping over one another to get to their respective bowls, and stepped out.

Sausage and pancakes and eggs, fresh coffee, sunlight on the mountains, roosters calling and hens clucking. Forty years of shared life on that ranch with Dusk, and John was certain that it would never get old, no matter how much the two of them aged.

He waited until the food was gone, and then left the gate open for the dogs, before going inside. It might only be six in the morning, but he had breakfast to cook, and a day to get on with.

#oc-tober #writblr #writing #my writing #my character #friend's characters #oc: john barron #oc: dusk opal #carry-on-my-wayward-brain #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #gay fiction #lgtbq fiction #bronwrites.txt

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thewritewolf · 5 years ago

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In Due Time Chapter 22: Kiss

Countdown to the New Year.

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Read on Ao3

“What’s your take, babe?” Alya asked as she leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter, watching her best friend tentatively chat up the surprisingly shy model. They’d found a pair of chairs and set up in the corner.

Nino followed her stare. “Dude’s nerves are shot, babe, but no doubt he’s got a thing for her. It’s pretty cute.”

“And you know what’d be even cuter?”

“Hm?” It suddenly clicked with Nino. “Woah, babe. You know how she feels about you gettin’ involved with her whole shebang. Plus they’re making progress.” He glanced over at them, still seated a far too respectable distance from each other and struggling to make prolonged eye contact. “I mean, I’ve seen glaciers move faster, but still.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “I love my girl and all but she tends to get too caught up in her own head to ever act on her heart. We gotta do something about that or she’ll just let this chance slip by again.”

“Well…” Alya turned around to see Nino tugging at his beanie.

“What?”

“You might not be too off the mark there, now that I think of it.” He joined her in leaning on the counter and gestured to Adrien with his chin. “I’ve been talking to that bro for a few weeks now and I get the feeling he’s not the kinda dude to let himself have anything he wants. Some messed up stuff his daddio drilled into his head.”

They watched their friends - new and old - be adorably awkward for a few more seconds.

“They’d be good for each other,” Alya eventually said.

“Yeah… they would,” Nino said with a sigh. “Okay, babe. What’s your plan?”

-------------

“Hey, you two!” Alya said as she approached, two drinks in hand. While Adrien looked attentive, as if he would be graded on how well he remembered whatever Alya said next, Marinette gave her a suspicious look. “So how’re you liking the party?”

“It’s great!” Adrien smiled as he took the offered drink. “Definitely much more fun than the parties I usually go to. Although I get the feeling Nino will be challenging me to a rematch before the night is done.”

Alya snickered - Adrien probably wasn’t wrong. Nino didn’t usually get competitive, but when he did…

“Fun as usual, Alya,” Marinette said, taking a small sip out of her drink. Alya had made her favorite cocktail, so there was no doubt in her mind it’d be finished soon enough. “I couldn’t recognize the other two couples, though?”

“Oh, I’ve been working with Anne on a few pieces recently and Nino has been recording music with Fabien for a couple months now.”

“I didn’t know Nino was making original stuff now,” Marinette said with a frown.

“He’s been keeping it secret for now, so don’t worry about being out of the loop, girl.” Alya patted Marinette’s knee. “Anyway, just thought I’d ask you two a question. Official Cat Chat stuff, you know?”

“Go ahead!” Adrien said. “I’d be happy to answer.”

“Aw, spoken like a true fan, blondie! Anyway - how do you two feel about the new hero, Ladybug?”

The question didn’t get quite the reaction she’d expected. Marinette paled and Adrien got a sly look on his face.

“Well,” Adrien said, his smile turning soft as he looked at Marinette. “I think she’s very smart, creative, and brave. Not a lot of people would be willing to take up a miraculous with Hawkmoth’s akumas being like they are these days.

Marinette quickly glanced between Adrien and Alya before muttering out a quiet reply. “Y-yeah, what he said.”

“Speaking of the Cat Chat,” Adrien said, “have you been keeping up?”

“Of course!” Marinette smiled at Alya out of the corner of her eye. “How else am I supposed to get the best news on Paris’s heroes?”

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” Alya said as she walked away. She grinned as she heard the conversation pick up behind her.

“Looks like it went well,” Nino said once she was back in the kitchen. “Great job, babe.”

“Thanks.” Alya poured herself another drink. “Between them getting a little tipsy and having something to talk about, things better be moving faster than glacially now.”

“Right, right.” Nino adjusted his beanie. “Still think I’ll need to do my part of it?”

Alya hummed approvingly around her glass as she took a gulp. “Oh for sure. We want them to be good and ready when midnight rolls around.”

“Gotcha, babe.”

--------------

It was getting close now, Adrien could feel it. He wasn’t sure how people usually celebrated these things, but in his experience with the kwami it was mostly cheering and applause.

So when Nino started a music playlist, Adrien wasn’t entirely sure what to do. At least, not until he saw Anne and Fabien take their respect dates into the room, clear some space, and start dancing to the beat. Even Nino and Alya seemed to be getting in on it now. When he caught Nino’s eye, he simply nodded toward Marinette and winked.

Adrien knew what his heart wanted but…

Come to think of it, his heart had been right a lot recently. Why not try his luck some more?

Adrien stood and held out a hand to Marinette, trying to look as cool and suave as he could while doing it.

“Care to dance?”

“I don’t know if...” Marinette took a deep breath. “Actually? Sure. Let’s dance.”

It was a little rough at first - Adrien was slowly starting to realize that outside the spots, she was pretty clumsy. Still, he barely noticed his stepped on toes and her occasional fumbling over the beating of his heart. Even that eventually began to fade into the background as songs began to bleed into each other, the tempo gradually dropping until the two of them were slowly swaying in circles.

What finally pulled him out of the moment was Alya’s sudden cheer.

“It’s almost time, guys!” One arm around her boyfriend, Alya began counting down. “Ten! Nine!”

The rest of them began picking up the chant too.

“Eight! Seven!”

Couples pulled closer and his heart sped for a different reason.

“Six! Five!”

Panic gripped him as the others leaned in.

“Four! Three!”

He looked at Marinette, her own eyes wide. She looked at him and a wordless conversation passed between them.

“Two! One!”

Yes. And you? She said with her eyes.

“Zero! Happy New Year!”

Yes, he said with his lips as he pressed them to hers.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Alya Cesaire #Nino Lahiffe #DJ Wifi #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #Aged Up AU #MarichatMay2020 #ml fanfiction #my writing #In Due Time

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 5 years ago

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APH Iceland Headcanons

Just some thoughts I have that I never published. Some are just really vague personality notes that I’m adding a lot of real life background to though, so you’re warned.

- “Plays it cool, but is actually a dork” kind of person

- Wants to be seen as mature by his fellows, but ends up kind of being babied by the others. Explanation: I see this as a factor of Iceland being a smaller country and not being very well known on the world stage/not exerting that much influence, he often gets sorta frustrated that he’s not being taken seriously, especially by his Nordic “brothers”

- However, I also think that in rare moments, or just deep down, he’s satisfied with his position and grateful that he doesn’t have to bear the weight of fame and success, to make the decisions for the world. He sees it as pressure that he sometimes can’t take, but on the other hand, he still wants to be heard by people, just not with that much responsibility on his shoulders. Much more of a follower than a leader.

- Trusts Norway a whole lot, even if he usually seems to dislike him. Probably one of the only people he’d seek advice from. Others include Sweden and the younger nations: HK, Seychelles, Liechtenstein, etc.

- Like a distant, weird, second cousin you only get to see twice a year or so, a bit weird by “normal” standards. I’ve heard (correct me if wrong) that real Icelanders are a bit “kooky”? They (supposedly) have a reputation for being a bit weird in terms of fashion and things (@ that lopapeysa strip in the manga), as well as in their food (it seems this isn’t widely eaten on a daily basis, but there’s dishes like fermented shark and hrútspungar/sour sheep testicles). Therefore, yeah, APH Iceland is a bit of a weirdo sometimes. Also, because real Iceland is geographically far from mainland Europe, APH Iceland is a bit distant to everybody else (it’s said he’s “a step behind when it comes to European fads” from the wiki), and this is another “second cousin” thing --> he’s a bit emotionally far from the rest of his family just because he’s away from them physically.

- I attribute his desire to appear normal to just normal teenage angst, since from what I’ve heard, Icelanders are pretty proud about their culture and their uniqueness?

- I think his childish side is also a thing fitting the “next cousin” personality? Like I agree with him being a Gen Z and a netizen who’s really internet-fluent and has all the memes and stuff

- Nature!!! Similar to Norway in this respect, because they’ve both got a lot of wild places that are really beautiful. Given that real Iceland has glaciers and hot springs and a giant hoard of pretty scenery, although APH Iceland tries to fit in and not be a nerd about nature, he loves the peace and quiet of the outdoors a lot. Seriously appreciates how beautiful real Iceland is, and is pretty proud of it inside.

- I don’t think he’s very rugged, probably wouldn’t be good at camping, although he’s outdoors a lot.

- Runs two social medias: one about his life, memes, #relatable things, younger nation hangouts, and another that’s much more aesthetic-y with hiking photos and mountain pictures. Some of his close friends know about both, but most people just know about his personal account, not the nature one.

- Finds his friends comforting and funny and nice to hang out with most of the time, but it’s a bit energy draining talking to people a lot. He’s the sassy and sort of cynical one in their group.

- But, they drag the fun side out of him a lot, usually because they do crazy things and force him to come along even though he pretends it’s really dumb (and sometimes it is) but ends up laughing a lot and thinking they should do it again someday.

- A seriously sweet smile, if you can get it out of him.

- I think he’d be that person who criticizes the things and people he likes, just because he doesn’t really have the heart to actually express his feelings.

- He likes dogs from afar - meaning that he’s kinda put off and a little annoyed if he gets close to one and they start barking a whole ton and getting really excited but he likes how cute they can be. He just wouldn’t want to be committed to caring for his own ig.

- Worries a lot, mostly about people liking him, but the second he has to interact with people who are talking bs he gets reminded why he kinda dislikes/hates social interaction sometimes. A sort of dilemma between being lonely and thinking that “all people are junk”, but he’s really grateful for the people he was forced to meet but whom he genuinely likes

- Second closest to Sweden out of all the Nordics, after Norway. Like, I don’t know if I just haven’t found Swe/Ice interactions, but their relationship is criminally ignored??? Iceland goes to Swe for advice!!! He knows Swe won’t usually judge and is pretty good at keeping secrets, he literally asks Swe what’s going on in that birthday party episode, bro he trusts Sweden to be there and answer his questions when Norway refuses to so he can annoy Iceland. I need someone to expound on their relationship please.

That’s it! I love this kid to death but somehow can’t write for him, and I don’t think I got his personality down correctly hhh. Anyway, feel free to refute my ideas! I love hearing new headcanons, especially unconventional ones!

*Also, the “next cousin” thing I included is based on this, a video about what Nordic people really think about each other. Real Iceland was described as: expensive, very beautiful in terms of nature and scenery, and like a next cousin.

#aph iceland #musings #headcanon musings #hws iceland #aph iceland headcanons #hetalia #aph #hws #aph headcanons #hws headcanons #hws iceland headcanons #hetalia headcanons #hetalia iceland headcanons

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angelinasway · 3 years ago

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Regaining Hope Chapter Seven

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes: Thank you all for your amazing and wonderful reviews. I do need to address something though, when it comes to reviews, I honestly don't mind anyone critiquing me when comes to grammar, characterization, or even if its kind of a heavy subject and someone feels like they need to debate me on it. That is absolutely fine, for instance I knew I would get a few blocks and even someone asking about the religious views of this story. I do not mind that. I do however mind, if you think I'm a decent writer, but then proceed to belittle the content of my story. I'm going to try to say this as absolutely nicely as I can...If you don't like the content of this story, if the talk of soulmates, soulbounds, or claiming is not for you, if the romance of this story is not for you, kindly back out of this story now and please just don't leave a review. I will say that anyone who's been in the BTVS fandom long enough already knows what a Claim is pretty much a fanon canon, since its been around our fanfiction community since like 2002 at least. Wesley mentioned Angel and Buffy being soulmates in season one of ATS, so that is actually canon. I say this in the nicest way possible, because sometimes I think reviewers who don't write, do not realize how much a review about content can actually screw with our muse and inspiration and I believe there will be at least a handful of people that do write who will agree with me. That being said, this chapter took as long as it did for me to write because of a bad review, so I'm sorry for the long winded exposition everyone. I know this chapter is a bit choppy and if it wasn't for my beautiful Beta Hipkarma, I'm pretty sure it would have been illegible. This chapter deals with some pretty heavy subjects and I added a warning tag just in case. I do not expect anyone to feel the way Buffy does on this subject, and if you feel the need I will gladly talk to you through pm about it. Thank you guys so much again, and please review, unless you know its an above subject and you hate it. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Seven

The plane arrived right on time as Clark anxiously awaited Buffy’s arrival outside the terminal. He’d felt this way since he awoke this morning and he didn’t know why. It was almost like that feeling you get when you know you’ve forgotten something.

He’d dreamt of her last night and it was so vivid and real that when he opened his eyes, he expected her to be there. The feeling had washed over him after that, like a sudden cold draft in a stifling room. He’d also been as hard as nails and had to relieve himself twice in the shower. His dream Buffy whispering filthy words into his ear as he imagined pinning her to the shower wall and driving into her hard and fast. It only seemed to make the feeling worse though. There was a pounding, an almost driving force that told him he needed to see her and that coupled with the lust, he couldn’t seem to shake was a dangerous combination that he did not enjoy feeling at all.

It was so strange, yesterday he’d been fine, more than fine really. He’d walked into his house humming and smiling. His mom had noticed his exuberant mood in an instant and raised her eyebrows in surprise, a curious yet knowing quirk in her lips. She had immediately started bombarding him with questions about his evening and Clark had been unable to deny her even a single detail. Well, there were definitely a few things he left out, but he told her everything from meeting Buffy at the school to him having to sing at Lorne’s. This was a first for both of them, Clark making friends and being able to tell his mom all about it. She listened intently, a happy smile on her lips as if this was something she had always wanted for her son. The ability to just be treated normally by people, even if they knew what he was. The more he spoke about how great Buffy was the more his mom’s knowing smile grew. He told her he promised Buffy that he would pick her up at the airport, and his mom had agreed to let him use the truck as long as he promised to take her to work before he left. She had a full shift at the diner tomorrow, so he was pretty sure he could make it back in time to pick her up and take her home.

Later that night, after getting off the phone with Buffy so she could go patrol, Clark had spent the evening on the internet looking up several theories and ideas on the concept of soulmates. All in all, it was pretty simple stuff, a soulmate could be a romantic or platonic relationship with a mirroring of the souls. Where, both their values and ideals deemed them a perfect match. He had even gone to a few sites on the mystical aspects of soulmates that seemed to be pretty legit, and they believed that when it came to soulmates not only were the souls similar, but both souls usually challenge each other to perceive themselves and the world differently. In essence, your soulmate could help you transcend into a higher state of consciousness. All of that seemed to match very much with what he had been feeling since the moment he met her. None of that however, explained how he felt now.

Buffy had been right the other day when she said it wasn’t just the soulmates thing. He was almost positive the out-of-control lust and the uncontrollable desire to be near her had very little to do with the fact that they were soulmates and everything to do with the prophecy. Something wanted them to consummate their relationship, and he was pretty sure that something had a reason. He wondered if he was in danger of meeting the other woman and somehow changing his mind about her. He definitely couldn’t imagine ever doing that though, not when he felt what he felt, not when she had consumed his thoughts so thoroughly since the day they met.

He felt physically ill at the idea of ever having to fight Buffy as an enemy, Lorne’s words about killing her making him nauseous and dizzy. The demon said it most likely wouldn’t happen now, but God, what if it did? What if he wasn’t capable of fighting off this mystery enemy of the future. He shuddered at the thought, his anxiety level spiking in worry. He had to get himself under control.

As the passengers began to exit the terminal Clark looked on, his eyes searching for golden hair and green eyes. When he finally spotted her the tension that had been growing in his limbs immediately eased. It happened so fast he almost felt boneless by the sudden release. Her eyes met his and a similar look of relief washed over her face, but there was something else there. She was scared, which just made the tension begin to build again. Clark frowned in confusion, but didn’t deny her as she ran to him wrapping her arms around his waist tightly as she laid her head on his chest.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “There’s something wrong,” She whispered. “I shouldn’t be feeling this–”

“I know,” he whispered. “I feel it too.” Clark shuddered, so it wasn’t only him who was feeling it. “I think it’s time we learn more about this prophecy.”

He felt her nod. “I’ll call Wes once we get to the safe house.”

****<S>**<S>****

The drive there had been mostly quiet. The only real sound was Buffy’s smartphone giving directions to their destination. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching out and entwining their fingers however, and she smiled at him gratefully before closing her eyes and sighing. They finally arrived at what looked to be an unassuming house just outside of town that rested on a few acres of property. Buffy untangled their fingers and reached into her carryon bag that was between them and pulled out a large multicolored crystal.

“Here,” she said quietly. “Hold this.”

Clark, frowned but did as she asked. Watching her as she muttered the word, “Agnoscis.” The stone suddenly warming in his palm as he caught the house in front of him shimmer for a moment out of the corner of his eye.

“Latin?” He guessed.

Buffy nodded. “It means recognize. It’s so you can get through the wards.” She bit her lip, “We can also bring your mom here, in case you ever need to hide her you’ll have a place to take her that’s pretty impenetrable.”

Clark nodded gratefully, his eyes studying the sad expression on her face. He reached out and gently brushing the back of his knuckles down her cheek. Her whole body shivered at the contact, a small gasp escaping her lips.

“Are you…are you okay,” He asked.

She shook her head, “I think it’s affecting me more than you.”

Clark was quiet for a moment, and then he shook his head. “It’s not, I think I’m just a lot better at controlling my impulses.”

Buffy chuckled humorlessly, “Maybe, that’s something you can teach me sometime.” She met his eyes and Clark lost his breath at the want he saw shining there.

God, she was beautiful like that. Her eyes almost swirling with color and heat. His temperature immediately skyrocketed, his pants becoming tight. He wanted to ask her if there was anything he could do, but didn’t dare for fear of what her answer might be. She had already told him she wasn’t ready, and if he was being honest with himself, neither was he.

He swallowed, his heart beating in his chest. “Come on,” he whispered, opening his door and stepping out. “Let’s go make that phone call.”

He walked around her side of the truck as she fumbled with her seatbelt, opening the passenger door for her and holding out his hand. She took it gratefully as she slid out of the passenger’s side, hoisting her bag over her shoulder after her feet hit the pavement. Clark reached in the truck bed and grabbed the only other bag she’d brought with her. He wondered where her weapons bag was, but remembered she’d just went through an airport and realized she probably couldn’t bring them with her.

As if she was reading his mind, she said. “Willow was here last night; I had her ward the training equipment so that we can use it without destroying it.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked up the driveway. Her hand fumbling with her keys as they made their way to the door. “I also had her fill the fridge and bring my weapons bag over.”

He didn’t say anything as he watched her slide the key in the lock and open the door. He followed her through a spacious living room that was tastefully decorated, through another door and into a modern kitchen. She slid her bag off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. She pulled out her phone next, scrolling through her contacts and hitting send before putting it on speaker. She set the phone on the island between them and walked to the fridge, leaning her back against it as she closed her eyes.

Clark wanted to go over and comfort her, but something in his gut told him that would be a very bad idea. She was putting distance between them for a reason and he completely respected that. Her sudden change however, worried him and he was beginning to think maybe she really was suffering more than him.

"Buffy?" A cultured British male voice answered after the first few rings.

"Yeah, it’s me." She said quietly.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, his tone worried.

"No, not really." She answered. "I think it’s time you told us about this prophecy."

"Buffy, I've already explained–"

“No,” She cut him off. “No Wes, you don’t get to do this. Not now. Something is wrong with me, I feel…” Her face went red, as she looked at Clark, “I feel like I’m on fire, I…” Her eyes moved to her phone and glared, a growl tearing from her throat in frustration. Her teeth clenched as she ground out. “I feel incredibly sexually frustrated, okay? Like a cat in fucking heat.” Her face went scarlet and she avoided looking directly at Clark. “Want to explain?”

There was a sudden choking sound on the other line, as a coughing fit proceeded it. “Good Lord, it’s happening already?”

The outrage in Buffy’s eyes, did something to Clark in that moment and he stepped forward his anger simmering under the surface. “What’s happening?” He demanded.

“Mr. Kent,” Wesley said in surprise, “I didn’t…I didn’t realize you were on the line as well.” Clark heard the British man sigh, “I’m sorry we were finally introduced this way, I had hoped to meet you in person. I’m sure you already know that I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and that I am head of the Watchers Council.” There was a pause, before he continued. “I do apologize for not telling you both sooner, but I had hoped we would have a few more days before the bond started to require a need to be fulfilled.”

“Bond…what?” Buffy’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I don’t really understand it myself,” Wesley admitted. “But it’s written that once the Immortal Slayer and, I believe the correct term is Star God meet, a…I think the term is soulbond will start to form and a compulsion to fulfill it will start to take hold. Now, both Willow and I think we’ve found a way to counteract the compulsion, but I didn’t expect it would start to take hold so quickly. I do apologize Buffy; I had planned to have Willow bring me there tomorrow so I could explain.”

“What’s a soulbond, exactly?” Clark asked, “And how is it any different than being soulmates?”

“I honestly don’t know, there are very few references to what it is exactly. I imagine that much like soulmates there must be a similarity or mirroring of souls if you will, but unlike soulmates there is a need…a compulsion for a confluence between the souls. As far as I can tell, once that happens it would act very similarly to a claim.”

Buffy gasped and looked at Clark, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Clark swallowed, “What’s a claim?”

“It’s a…a type of marriage between demons, vampires in particular.” Buffy shifted uncomfortably and looked down. “It’s barely ever used now because its unbreakable, not even magic can undo it. It’s ancient and powerful and requires total trust and consent between both parties.” She met his eyes then, an apology shining through but Clark didn’t feel like he needed one, in fact he just felt very confused.

“That doesn’t make any sense, not after what Lorne told me.” Clark said with a frown. “If this bond is as powerful as you say then…” It was his turn to look at Buffy apologetically, “Then even if I met this other person first, wouldn’t the bond take hold when I met Buffy regardless?”

“I don’t quite understand what you’re referring to.” Wesley said in confusion.

Clark looked up at Buffy and saw suspicion in her eyes. “Lorne didn’t tell you?”

“Lorne doesn’t give me the details of readings Mr. Kent; he treats all his clients very much like a therapist treats a patient.” Wesley said, adding. “The only thing he told me was that you were the one the prophecy spoke of and that you were on the right path in regards to your destiny. What exactly did he tell you?”

Clark shifted uncomfortably, feeling Buffy’s eyes on him but unable to meet hers. “He said I had two very different futures, that Buffy was my soulmate but I have another as well and in this other future this woman dies and something makes me go bad.” He finally got the courage and looked at Buffy, her eyes were wide and burning with hurt and maybe a bit of jealousy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, thinking he had ruined everything.

Buffy shook her head and swallowed, “Did he… did he say what would happen if you met her now?”

Clark nodded, "He said I'm a one-woman man, that it wouldn't matter."

She seemed to relax a bit at his words, her eyes softening and darting back to her phone as Wesley began speaking, "Then you are very correct Mr. Kent, if you met Buffy in this other future, it should have activated the soulbond whether you had feelings for this other woman or not. A soulmate is not always a love interest after all." He paused for a moment, "There are only two things that could have stopped it. One would be that you don't meet Buffy until this mystery foe had your mind or if you did meet her, she was already claimed."

Buffy gasped, and looked at Clark guiltily, “I almost asked him to claim me.”

A potent wave of jealousy and possession swept through him at her words. If she was referring to Angel, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to control himself much longer. Not when the very idea of her being tied like that with someone else made his blood boil.

"What?" Wesley said, shocked.

"Spike, Wes. Not Angel." She clarified. "It was...it was right after we found Alicia. I knew it could make us stronger and I... I thought it might give us an advantage against Angelus. I never had the courage to ask him though."

“And thank every deity in the universe for that!” Wesley said sharply, “I don’t think you quite understand the repercussions that could have had on not just Clark’s future but your own.” There was a long silence, the only sound was heavy breathing before a much calmer Wesley finally said, “That kind of bond Buffy…think about what you did to Angelus and multiply it by a million. I was there that day you came through the portal after Spike died. You were almost feral; your Slayer was in complete control and she wanted to kill Willow for making her immortal. There was a part of her that already thought of Spike as her mate, and she wanted blood from whoever had wronged her. If you had been claimed and Spike died…” They heard him take a shuddering breath, “You would have burnt the world and then marched into Hell without a second thought in search of him. There would have been no stopping you.”

Clark watched Buffy shiver at Wes’s words, her eyes getting lost and faraway. His possessiveness grew at her words, but a small part of him couldn’t help but be curious as to what happened between the two of them and why she so rarely spoke about him. The book had only said that the vampire had killed two Slayers, and had tried to kill Buffy on numerous occasions. He had been hampered by some form of neurotechnology by the US Government and began working with her reluctantly. Somewhere along the way he had fallen for Buffy and regained his soul, sacrificing himself for the world once, where he was resurrected by a mystical amulet he was wearing when he died. The author of the book believed he’d been brought back by mistake and the amulet was meant to be worn by Angel, but there was also some speculation that Spike may have been the actual bearer of the Shanshu prophecy. The author however, was highly skeptical about this because Spike didn’t do what he did out of heroics, even with a soul he relished in the violence of his nature. The author believed that becoming mortal would feel more like a punishment than a reward for the vampire. It spoke some about his time at Wolfram and Hart, about his part in the fight against Angelus, and how he died saving Buffy a second time.

“I don’t…I don’t remember any of that.” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “Even what I did to Angelus, I only remember parts of it. I felt like I was outside my body looking at someone who wasn’t actually me, except I could feel what I was doing.” She shivered, and it took every bit of self-control he had not to go to her, especially when her voice cracked. “When I came to, I-I was covered in blood and…God, Wes there was nothing left but a torso and head. I…” She choked. “I even took his face.”

When a single tear tracked itself down her cheek, Clark couldn’t take it anymore and he rounded the island and pulled her into his arms, hoping she was too upset to be affected by the embrace, but not really caring if she was, not when he could feel her trembling in his arms. He understood now why she’d been so adamant the other day about her being wrong in the way she killed Angelus and about Slayers not actually being creatures of light but warriors for the light. He could never picture her being capable of such carnage even after hearing it from her own mouth. Then again, he could never picture himself killing her either or anyone else for that matter, not on purpose at least.

They heard a muffled sniffle over the line, before a choked sounding Wesley finally said, “Oh, Buffy, I never…I never knew it was that bad. We found the warehouse and the blood, so I did realize…but…not to what extent, and then you just disappeared and Willow couldn’t ever get a read on you. It was like you were blocking her somehow. Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

Clark felt her shake her head, “I was ashamed.” She answered honestly. “Lorne’s the only one who knows everything, even the stuff I can’t remember.”

“Do you remember anything that happened before you captured Angelus?” Wesley asked cautiously. “I’ve always wondered how you did it, but was always too afraid to ask after the way we…the way we found you.”

Buffy sighed against Clark’s chest, her shivering increasing. “I think I let myself be caught,” she said quietly. “The only thing I really remember is being bound magically by Amy and then Warren tearing open my shirt.” Clark stiffened at her words, his whole body going rigid. She squeezed her eyes shut, her grip on him tightening. “Angelus threw him out of the way, and said everyone would have a turn, but he got to have me first.” Clark’s anger flared at her words, his fist tightening behind her back, he had to squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden heat he felt building. “I-I don’t know how, but somehow I was able to break through the magic that was binding me. Everything’s kind of a blur after that, but I think…” She frowned, her forehead crinkling in confusion. “I think none of the spells were working on me. I think…I think I killed everyone.”

Clark found himself sighing in relief at her words. God, just the image of someone trying to do that to her made him see red. Literally, in fact. He really hoped that something like that has never happened before, because he could already tell he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tearing whomever did it to shreds. As horrendous of a way she killed Angelus, he couldn’t judge her for how she did it, not after hearing that. God, if she hadn’t been able to break the magic… He felt himself shudder.

Wesley was quiet for a long time, “I’ve always known that Willow brought you back stronger, but being able to break a binding spell with sheer force of will is extraordinary Buffy. We should have started testing this advantage years ago.”

“I try not to think about that day, Wes.” She huffed. “I don’t think the magic going wonky even occurred to me until this moment.” She was quiet for a few moments, before she finally said, "So what happens if I bond with Clark and I lose him too?"

Wesley sighed, "Well, I'm hoping since it’s your souls that are bonding and not your Slayer, that it will make quite a difference."

"You're hoping? That’s really not a guarantee, Wes." She said in annoyance, stepping out of Clark's embrace and leaning on the island. "And what’s to stop my Slayer from trying to initiate a claim? What if this soulbond thing isn't good enough for her? Lorne already said she's been looking for her mate since I was called. He said that's why I was so drawn to both Spike and Angel." She shook her head, "Well, according to this prophecy he's my mate, right? Or the closest she'll ever get to one. So, what's to stop her from doing what she's been wanting to do for years? I mean I looked up claiming in high school, Wes. As soon as I read the word, I was fascinated."

Clark stepped around the table so he could look at her. She seemed worried and deep in thought before her eyes met his and they softened immediately, a small smile forming on her lips as she studied him.

Then they heard Wesley sigh, "I honestly don't know. We've still not even translated the whole thing and we've been working on it for over a year."

Clark watched Buffy frown in confusion. "Is there a reason you haven't gotten Dawn in on this?"

"I'll give you three guesses as to why." He said sarcastically.

Buffy snorted, saying mockingly, "Aww Wes, you're not afraid of my baby sister, are you?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and then a grumbled, "I would rather face all the demons in hell than deal with Dawn on a tirade about you."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Well tough, because I want her in on this."

"But Buffy–” He started to whine.

“No Wes,” she said cutting him off. “I love both you and Willow, you know that. But, if there’s anyone in this world who will have our best interests at heart and give it to us straight, it’s her. I want her in on this.”

“Fine,” He groaned.

Then a smile broke across her lips and an evil look of mischief Clark was slowly becoming familiar with sparked in her eyes. “Plus, she already knows I spent time with Clark the other day and she knows he’s something other.”

“How on Earth did she find out about that?” Wesley said in surprise.

Clark smirked as Buffy’s smile grew. “I may have pissed Faith off by waking her and Gunn up with a cold shower. She ratted us out.”

There was silence on the other line, but she swore she could hear him shaking his head. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” She said chuckling and then sighed. “I’m feeling a little better now, I mean as far as the compulsion stuff goes.”

“Hmm,” Wesley hummed. “Perhaps it gets worse when you’re apart. I knew that you would feel a need to be around each other, but perhaps being away from one another has an even greater affect than I imagined. How about you Mr. Kent, how do you feel?”

Clark blinked in surprise. Now that Buffy mentioned it, he was feeling less uncomfortable than he had all morning. “Better, actually. It’s still there, but not as potent.”

“Then perhaps the theory is a sound one,” Wesley said. “However, to be on the safe side I’ll have Willow drop off the pendants she’s making this evening. They should be able to subdue most of the compulsion until you both feel ready to move forward with the bond. I would also recommend spending as little time apart as possible. I believe that the pendants are powerful enough to ward off the worst of it, however if this bond is as powerful as I think it is you very well might override the magics if the compulsion becomes too powerful.” He sighed, “I suggest staying there with Buffy for the time being Mr. Kent.”

Clark shook his head “That not going to work Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I need to help out on the farm. While I was away my mom got behind on the payments and if we don’t bring in a decent crop this year my mom could lose it.” He looked at Buffy nervously. “You could stay with us though; we have a guest bedroom.”

Buffy nodded, “Yeah, yeah, that might be a good idea. I can help you with anything you need, and we can start your training in the afternoons.”

Wesley cleared his throat, getting both their attention. “I think you’re forgetting the contract, Buffy. He may very well not need to worry about that any longer.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.”

Clark watched her run out of the room as Wesley said, “Are you still there Mr. Kent?”

Clark looked at the phone, “Yes.”

“Good, I thought I’d go over the numbers for you and see if they’re satisfactory.” Wesley said. “I had thought of paying you as we would a hired mercenary or demon hunter, however since your role in the future will be pivotal to keeping this world intact, I decided you deserved what we would pay any Slayer, it’s only fair after all.”

“What aren’t you telling us about this prophecy?” Clark said, Wesley’s words telling him the man knew more than was saying.

He heard the man sigh, “I would prefer not to say at this moment. I already know how Buffy will feel about it, and I believe you both have enough on your plate with the bonding. I’ll tell you both, but she’s not ready to hear it yet.”

Clark frowned, “I don’t think you give her enough credit.”

“You may be correct,” Wesley conceded, “But I know she will not be happy about this, even if it’s a good thing. I, at the very least need to prepare myself for Dawn finding out, and she may very well tell Buffy even if I ask her not too. I do not believe either of you have long to wait.”

“Alright,” Clark said, “I’m going to hold you to that though.”

“Now,” Wesley said, just as Buffy walked back in the room. “How does two hundred-thousand a year sound?

Clark blinked in surprise, the blood rushing to his head. He couldn’t have possibly heard that right, could he? “I’m sorry did you…did you just say two hundred-thousand?”

“Clark are you okay?” Buffy asked, running to his side. “You look a little pale.”

He shook his head, “It’s…that’s too much.”

“No,” Buffy disagreed, shaking her head. “It really isn’t. Entering this world Clark… you’ll be putting not only your home but your mom at risk and no amount of money will ever make up for that.” She bit her lip and nodded, “Trust me on this, most demons aren’t stupid enough to mess with the good guy’s families, but the real big-bads, the uber-powerful demons, who’s only goal is destruction and world domination? Those demons won’t care, they’ll do everything in their power to try and hurt you, even if that means trying to break you.” She sighed, “It’s why I want your mom to have access to this place too. It will make me feel better knowing you can get her to safety if you needed to.”

Clark sighed, reaching out and sliding the small stack of paper out of her hand. “And what happens if I sign these and change my mind?”

Wesley spoke up, “You are not beholden to anything Mr. Kent, if you sign those and decide that helping the Watchers Council is not in your best interest, it would simply be like you quitting a job. You wouldn’t be paid anymore of course, but you would not be obligated to continue helping us either. However, with the bond beginning to form I’m not sure how you would be able to distance yourself from the Council or Buffy, but if you made that decision no one would stand in your way.”

Clark pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes quickly reading it through. It was pretty standard stuff, nothing in it that had some sort of hidden agenda. He flipped the page and read through the rest before getting to the signature line.

“Do you have a pen?” He asked, looking at Buffy.

She went to a small drawer and pulled it open, grabbing one from inside and handing it over. Clark took the pen signing his name on the dotted line. “Okay Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I signed it.”

“Very good.” Wesley said, “Now, I don’t suppose you’re up for giving him a tour of the underground facilities?”

“Of course.” Buffy said.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll call you before Willow leaves, in the meantime try and keep your wits about you.”

The line disconnected and Clark raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Underground facility?”

****<S>**<S>****

Buffy slid open the hidden panel in the wall of the master bedroom. She entered a number into the keypad and then looked up into a camera where it scanned her face, and slid her keycard into the slot.

The computer’s AI came online and a female voice said, "Good afternoon Miss Summers, what can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I need to give a new recruit security clearance."

"Name?" The computer asked, as Buffy removed her keycard and slid in the blank one Willow had left for them.

Buffy nodded at Clark and stepped away from the panel so he could stand in front of it.

"Clark Joseph Kent," he answered, stepping into the space Buffy had just vacated.

"Facial recognition." The computer said, and Buffy pointed up to the camera, indicating he needed to look into it.

Once that was done the computer said, "Four-digit pin."

Buffy looked at Clark and nodded, "Now choose four numbers you'll remember easily."

She watched as he thought about it a second before he put in his code. Once that was finished the computer said, "Thank you Mr. Kent, you now have full access to the Watcher Archives as well as all facilities. Ms. Summers would you like access into the rest of the building?"

"Yes," Buffy answered before the hidden wall shifted, sliding away and revealing the steel doors of an elevator that would take them down into the heart of the house. The doors slid open and Buffy removed the new keycard handing it to Clark as they stepped into the elevator, Buffy pressing the simple down-arrow button.

“We had these built in all the safehouses after what happened with Angelus.” Buffy said as way of explanation. “Or I should say, Wes and Willow did. I wasn’t really around for that.”

It didn’t take long for the elevator to reach its destination and the doors slid open. She could feel Clark’s eyes on her as she stepped out of the elevator and into the large steel control room. There were several monitors on the walls with keyboards on a stainless steel counter top that bolted into the walls along half the room.

“This is the control room.” Buffy said, “For safety reasons, if we’re ever in any code-red type situation, this room is always occupied in case someone manages to get past the outer wards. We can house up to thirty bodies here at a time and since most of us are a little something-other, we can at least hold off whoever’s broken in to give the rest of us a fighting chance to escape by sounding the alarm.”

She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t look at him right then. It was just occurring to her all that she admitted to Wesley and what she’d said in front of Clark. He was going to ask about Spike, she could almost feel it. Of all the things Wesley could have brought up, it had to be claiming. She felt Clark move closer, and wasn’t surprised when she felt him place his hand on her shoulder as she rambled on about where the exits were located.

“Buffy?” He whispered.

She sighed and looked down, “Yeah?”

“Why…why don’t you ever talk about him?” Clark asked.

Her shoulders slumped at his words, but she still couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look at him. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

“Well then, I think you should try to uncomplicate it for me, because this thing sounds pretty permanent between us and I need to know if I’m going to be living in another man’s shadow.” He said honestly.

She spun around, her eyes meeting his in surprise. “God, no. It’s not like that at all. We were…” She sighed. “Maybe we should go into another room that’s more comfortable. This is a long story.”

Clark nodded at her and she turned, leading him through the heavy metal door to their left and down a hallway the AI illuminating the rooms as it monitored their approach. Buffy led him into a large rec room, a massive tv mounted to one wall with a standard sized couch in front. There was a card table in a corner and a pool table in another. A few pinball machines lined one wall of the room and a dartboard hung near a foosball table. She led him over to the couch, gesturing for him to sit before she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She waited for him to sit down first, and sat at the other end biting her lip in thought, staring straight ahead into the black void of the blank tv screen, not sure exactly where to start. She figured the beginning was probably best, so she started there.

“When I met Spike,” she said slowly. “He was just about as evil as they come, or at least that’s what my sixteen-year-old-self thought. Though, I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Angelus yet, so I was a bit naive in that department. Anyway, his girlfriend-slash-sire had been weakened in Prague at some point and he came to Sunnydale to try and restore her and bag himself another Slayer.” She shrugged, “So, we pretty much started out as mortal enemies. We fought each other a lot that first half of the year, and he was a hell of a fighter. He almost got me on that first one, but incredibly enough my mom was the one who saved the day.” Buffy smiled in amusement. “Clocked him on the back of the head with an axe.”

Clark snorted in amusement. “Sounds like something my mom would do.”

Buffy smiled, “Yeah my mom could be pretty tough.” She shrugged, “Anyway, I ended up putting him in a wheelchair after dropping an organ on him during a spell that actually did end up restoring Drucilla. On my birthday I found out they were both still alive and Dru was reassembling an ancient demon called the Judge who couldn’t be killed by any man-made weapon. Me and Angel tried to stop it from happening, but we were both too late. That night I made the colossal decision of losing my virginity to Angel.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed, “And just like that his soul was gone. Maybe that’s why I clung on to the notion that we were somehow destined for so long. I mean, the breaking of Angel’s curse literally states that only a moment of perfect happiness could release the soul. I guess I thought that if our love was enough to drive his soul away, it must be special.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Honestly, knowing Angel it had more to do with him somehow feeling redeemed in me or it very well could have been that he hadn’t dipped his wick in over a hundred years. Whatever the cause, so began several horrible months of mental torment from a demon wearing my lover’s face.”

“And Spike?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “Spike went through his own torment at the hands of Angelus and Drusilla. Spike really did love her, but her love compared to his was fleeting at best. He told me once how they would mock him for being wheelchair bound and Angelus would…well, he would fuck Dru right in front of Spike because he knew how much it hurt him. I think that’s when whatever destiny Spike had must have started. He came to me and made a truce in the hopes of getting Angelus away from Dru and also according to him, he actually liked the world and didn’t want to see it destroyed like they were planning.” She sighed again, “Anyway, that’s probably the first instance where I started to see Spike in a somewhat different light. Less of a danger and more of a nuisance if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Clark nodded. “I guess I could see that.”

“Okay, so skip ahead a few years, when I’m in my first year of college. I’ve seen Spike once in that time when he kidnapped Willow and Xander, trying to make Willow preform a love spell to get Dru back. Apparently, our little truce didn’t sit well with her and she dumped him.” Buffy shrugged, “We had one more real fight where we were actually trying to kill each other that year, and then a few months later the Initiative planted the chip in his head and then once again he came to us for asylum.” A small smile tugged at her lips, “We fought like cats and dogs that whole year. I think our bickering is partly what drove Giles to drinking so much. Then sometime during the next year when Dawn arrived and my mom got sick, he realized he was in love with me.” Buffy sighed. “It wasn’t a healthy love though, not even a little bit. He was obsessed with me. He had a weird shrine to me and he had, the super nerd Warren make a lifelike robot of me for reasons I’m sure you can guess.”

Clark grimaced before saying, “Is that the same Warren that–”

“The one and the same.” She interrupted. “I’ve dealt with some pretty gross demons before, but as far as Warren goes, he’s probably the worst human I’ve ever had to deal with.” Buffy sighed, “Anyway, as weird as Spike’s obsession with me was, he did some things that year that really surprised me. Things that normal vampires wouldn’t do, though I still to this day haven’t decided if Spike was the unique one or if Angelus was, because I know for a fact Spike isn’t the first vampire to keep a portion of his humanity after being turned.” She shook her head getting back on topic, “Anyway, he protected my sister’s secret when Glory tortured him for information and he promised to protect Dawn until the end of the world. When I came back the next year, I didn’t really acknowledge it at the time, but he was still there. Still looking out for my baby sister. It’s strange how you don’t see those things when they happen, but Spike loved Dawn like a little sister and he loved my mom too. For some reason he was drawn to us Summers women.” She sighed and looked at Clark. “I already told you when I came back, I went to a dark place.”

Clark nodded, his eyes studying her face. “You have.”

“I went to that dark place with Spike, I didn’t… when I came back, I was numb and I didn’t know it at the time, but my Slayer had gotten stronger. Part of me hated my friends, I was furious with them for bringing me back and expecting me to be happy about it.” She swallowed, “Spike became my confidant at first, he became my quiet solace. I could sit with him and just be… he didn’t…he didn’t expect me to just be okay like everyone else. I was the one who made the first move…we were under a spell at the time but that didn’t stop me from making a second move after it was broken. One night not long after our second make out session, after my Watcher decided I needed to learn to do things on my own and left, we got into an argument about the kiss and I hit him,” she frowned bitterly, rolling her eyes. “He retaliated and must have realized his chip didn’t fire. The next day, well he started a real fight with me. The first one we had since…well since our brawl before the chip.” Buffy could feel her cheeks heat up at the memory, “It was the first time I felt alive since my resurrection and one thing led to another and we…well we weren’t fighting anymore. At least not with fists. It was the first time I didn’t have to hold back and it was exhilarating.” She looked at her hands, “And the next day I told him how disgusting we were, and I was cruel and awful to him.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying that he didn’t give as good as he got, but I was always the one saying the cruel stuff first. I was awful to him Clark; I beat him once and left him for the sunrise. He was trying to help me…well, I thought I accidentally killed someone.” She pursed her lips, even the memory of Warren now days could send her into a rage. “I hadn’t, Warren once again was trying to fuck with my life, but both of us thought I did. He didn’t understand why I had to turn myself in, how much even thought of hurting someone innocent was killing me. I…I just snapped. I honestly don’t know how he managed to make it to safety on time.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Clark’s arms come around her. “He still had bruises a week later and vampires, they heal fast.” She sniffled. “Shortly after that my ex-Riley came to town and somewhat reminded me why being with a soulless vampire was a bad thing. I realized that what we were doing…we had to stop. I was using him and it wasn’t fair to either of us, so I broke things off.” Buffy shook her head, “It was hard, because I really did still want him, but I resisted. Some things happened, over the next month or two, my friends ended up finding out about us and one night, he showed up at my house. I was pretty banged up from a fight earlier that evening and he tried to…I’m not even sure he knew what he was doing…but he tried to rape me.” Buffy said quietly, she felt Clark’s arms stiffen around her, this was the judgment she’d been waiting for. “I kicked him off, and he was shocked at himself and then I said, ask me again how I could ever love you?”

She looked at Clark then, and she could see the anger swirling in his blue eyes. “That’s why Spike got his soul. He thought it was the only way he could be sure never to hurt me again. He wanted to be the man I deserved. He did it for selfish reasons of course, but the outcome of those reasons? It was worth it in the end, because he’s the reason we don’t still have a Hellmouth in Sunnydale California.”

Clark shook his head, “I don’t…how can you have feelings for someone after they…even if he didn’t, how could you have not wanted to kill him?”

Buffy shook her head. “Because love isn’t rational, because it can be beautiful or a nightmare, and unfortunately feelings can’t just be flipped on and off. I think if he hadn’t gotten his soul, I would have felt differently, and maybe I eventually would have stopped caring about him. You have to understand though…what he did, it’s never been done before. He fought against his nature and became something incredible for it. I think I would be kinda a hypocrite if I could forgive and still love Angel for what he did to me without a soul, but couldn’t forgive and still have feelings for Spike.”

“Your ability to forgive, Buffy…I think you might have me beat in that department.” Clark said.

She shook her head, “I don’t necessarily think that’s true. I don’t think I can ever truly forgive Willow for bringing me back, and you now know what I did to Angelus.” She sighed. “I really do think it depends on the transgression. Willow tore me out of Heaven, she made me immortal, denying me the peace and reward that all Slayers crave. Angelus went after people I love and he tormented and killed my sister Slayers, all of which were young girls, newly called. I know what Wes said, and part of its true, but Spike was just the catalyst, he was not necessarily the cause. It was my hate, my emotions guiding my Slayer, and it wasn’t the first time that part of me wanted to kill Willow nor was it only her that wanted to destroy Angelus for what he had done.”

“And the claim?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “It was something that was swirling around my head for a while, and at first it was absolutely a hundred percent my Slayer. But by the time I started seriously considering it, that was definitely all me.”

Clark looked away, “You wanted to bind yourself to him for eternity.”

She was silent at his words; she knew what he was thinking and he was wrong. She remembered very clearly why she wanted to do it. “It…I really did want to win, Clark. I know you’re thinking I must have been head over heels in love, but… I loved Spike, I did and I still do, but not…It was the type of love you hold for your best friend, for the person who gets you more than anyone else. I’m not saying it wasn’t romantic in nature either, but it was a love that formed over time. There was no cupid moment. I knew we were compatible sexually; I knew he would never leave me, and I knew it would make us stronger. Claims, they don’t even require love to be fulfilled, just a mutual respect for one another and I knew we could make it work.”

Clark sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Why didn’t you then?”

“Fear,” Buffy said simply. “Fear of the unknown, fear that he would say no, and fear that he would say yes.”

She watched Clark swallow. “And you want to do the same to me?”

Buffy blushed. “I-I don’t know. Yes, I think so…” She was silent for a moment. Did she want to claim Clark? Her Slayer seemed to think so, but was that the prophecy or an actual want. She certainly didn’t want to lead him on, so she said “But I think it’s something that could happen in the heat of the moment.” She could literally feel her face heating up even more. “Just, if…if I ever bite you when we…and say ‘Mine’, don’t answer unless you’re willing to do the same.”

“I’m assuming when you say bite, you mean breaking skin.” He said raising an eyebrow.

“I do.” She admitted. “That’s basically what a claim is, it’s a symbolic ritual of sharing one’s life force, blood, saliva, semen. The mixing of your essence with another to create two halves of a whole.”

A slow amused smile broke across his lips. “That actually sounds kind of beautiful, if not a little messy.”

Buffy snorted, her own amusement growing at his analogy. “Anything else you want to know, before we continue our tour?”

His eyes slowly gave her a once over, before he shook his head. “No, I think that was more than enough for today.” He looked down, “It’s hard for me to picture you like that, being cruel I mean. Not when…not when you’ve been so nice to me. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand anything you told me about him and you, and…and if I’m being honest, I can’t help feeling…” He looked at her seriously, his mouth set in a firm line. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t come back from the dead again, because I can’t promise I will be very nice.”

She found herself giggling at the visual. Dear God, that would be funny, especially with how quiet and reserved Clark was. Spike would drive him up the wall. “Oh, trust me neither will he, even with the soul he had the ability to drive just about anyone mad with rage.”

“Well, then it’s probably a good thing he’s not around anymore. I don’t think I’d like to be responsible for killing someone you cared about.” Clark said seriously.

Buffy rolled her eyes; he might be from another planet but he was definitely a hundred percent male. “Yes, Clark, lucky for you, you only have one of my ex’s left to contend with and he’s married.” She pushed herself away from him, grabbing his hand as she did and pulling him to his feet as she stood. “Now, come on, I’ll show you the training room.”

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