Divine Interventions (12/16)
Sep. 21st, 2005 03:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alixtiiTitle: Divine Interventions (12/16)
Fandom: Buffy/Angel
Characters: Dawn, Amy, Cordelia, Ethan, Willow, Kennedy, and others.
Rating: The overall fic will include material up to and including NC-17; most scenes are considerably milder, but this chapter does include NC-17 content.
Warnings: Het, femslash, BDSM, noncon, underaged—but none of these as the main focus of the fic.
Warnings for this chapter: Het, femslash, noncom, violence.
Timeline/Spoilers: Takes place after “Why We Fight.” Spoilers up to “You’re Welcome.”
Summary: Dawn, Ethan, and Amy team up to protect Willow from a vengeful Osiris.
Note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikendru for a great beta.
Previous chapter can be found here.
All chapters can be found in my memories.
Chapter Twelve
Kennedy made her way silently into the dark house. The night’s hunt had been long, and she had seen more than a couple Slayers die beside her—a sight she had been glad she had not needed to endure since Sunnydale. But just like Sunnydale, the Slayers were at war, and wars came with casualties. Kennedy trusted Dawn to keep as many of the girls as was possible alive. She wouldn’t make the types of mistakes that Buffy had made the year before.
Everyone else in the house was asleep, and Kennedy smiled to herself as she stepped over the half-naked bodies which covered the living room floor. There was definitely the tell-tale evidence of an orgy here.
She made her way up to her room without turning on any of the lights, using her Slayer’s night vision instead. Once she reached her room, she began to strip out of the bloody and ripped clothes which bore the signs of the night’s patrol.
She had kicked off her shoes and was taking off her shirt when a familiar voice broke in. “Ooh, baby,” it said. “Take it all off.”
Kennedy spun around to see a dark-haired Willow standing in the open door of their bedroom.
“Hello, lover,” Willow said, stepping forward. “I didn’t think you would want to go to bed alone.”
“Stay away,” Kennedy cautioned, stepping back. “I’m warning you.”
“Oh, you don’t get to do the warning, little Slayer,” Willow said with a smile, taking another step. “I’ll do the warning. And I warn you that you are in a very sticky situation. I wouldn’t try to make me angry if I were you. Now take off your clothes.”
“What do you want, Willow?”
“What do you think I want, Ken? I thought maybe we could play with dolls together.” She took another step forward, and Kennedy took another step back. She was quickly being backed into a corner. “I’ve had a tiring day, baby. It seems nobody wants to give me absolute power. They don’t trust me just because last time I tried to use it to destroy the world. I tell them this time I’m much more interested in ruling it, but no one seems to be convinced.”
The playful look on Willow’s face suddenly disappeared as her features hardened. “Now take off your clothes. I won’t say it again.”
“Willow, this isn’t really you. You don’t really—” She broke off as a wave of dizzying pain flooded her body. Just as quickly, it was gone.
“Don’t tell me what I really am,” Willow said. “You think I’m just a nice girl, don’t you, always reliable in the fight for good. Well, dear, you’re going to see that I can be so much more.” She raised a hand, and a ceremonial knife hanging on the opposite wall came flying into it. She caught it easily by the hilt. “We could have done this the easy way, you know. But it’s just like you to choose the hard way.” She took another step forward, and Kennedy knew there was no choice but to fight. Reason wasn’t an option. She raised an arm—
“Congelare,” Willow invoked before Kennedy could strike and suddenly she was frozen in place, unable to move.
“Such a bad girl you are,” Willow said. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. It’ll be our little secret.”
Willow placed the cold blade of the knife against Kennedy’s cheek, then slid it lightly down her face, tracing the line of her jaw and then running it down her neck. Kennedy had already removed her shirt when Willow had appeared, so the knife continued down until it rested between Kennedy’s breasts. She stood still, barely daring to breathe, when suddenly with a flick of Willow’s wrist the knife sliced through the fabric of Kennedy’s bra. It fell to the ground, leaving Kennedy completely topless.
Without even pausing, Willow continued to bring the knife farther down, passing over Kennedy’s navel and slipping the blade into the waistband of her jeans, running it around to her left hip. Willow began to cut through the fabric, sliding the knife down the length of the pant leg. When she finished, she cut open the right pant leg in the same fashion, and Kennedy’s jeans fell off, leaving her naked except for her socks and panties.
Working meticulously, Willow slipped the knife blade into each sock, slicing it open and leaving each of Kennedy’s feet bare. Every other garment cut off, Willow traced the knife back up Kennedy’s leg, slicing through Kennedy’s panties at the right hip. Then she slipped the knife between the Slayer’s legs, and with another flick of the wrist, cut them off, causing the panties to fall to the floor. Kennedy was left completely naked.
“Now that’s much better, isn’t it?” said Willow. “Dissolutum.”
Kennedy fell to the ground, her body suddenly hers again. “Willow—”
“Silence,” Willow hissed, and Kennedy could feel the force of a magical invocation behind it, keeping Kennedy from speaking. Willow made a gesture, and an invincible force knocked against Kennedy, forcing her to her knees. The witch’s black leather jeans suddenly unbuttoned and unzipped of their own accord, revealing that this Willow hadn’t been wearing any underwear. Willow slid her pants slightly farther down to allow more room for Kennedy to enter. “Now come on, dear. We’ve both done this more times than we can count. I know you know what to do.”
Kennedy didn’t move.
Willow only smiled. “Het lijden door pijn en kwelling,” she said, and suddenly the pain returned, flaming through her body, overwhelming all her thoughts. It lasted for several seconds, each moment more agonizing than the last, and then subsided.
Still, Kennedy didn’t move.
Willow’s dark smile only got bigger. “We both know that I can break you,” she said. “And we both know that I will enjoy it.”
The pain returned, only this time it didn’t subside. It just got worse and worse, never stopping. All concept of the outside world was eradicated from her mind, her thoughts narrowed to a mere two: the sheer horror of it, and the desire to stop it. She reached out, grabbed onto Willow’s waist, pulled her head in. As her tongue entered Willow, the pain subsided.
Passionless, defeated, Kennedy gave in, working her tongue into Willow, massaging it back and forth.
Willow grabbed her by the hair. “Come on, Ken. We both know you can do better than that.”
Kennedy continued, faster, trying to forget what was happening. She closed her eyes and moved her tongue with as much speed and power as she could manage, doing her best to get Willow to climax and end the ordeal.
“That’s better.” Her grip tightened, pulling at Kennedy’s hair. She simply ignored the pain and kept on going. She knew it was only a little longer.
Willow began to moan, her grip even tighter. Kennedy worked faster.
Then Willow let loose a sigh, and Kennedy knew it was over. Willow had orgasmed.
“Oh, I needed that,” she said, not loosening her grip on Kennedy’s hair. “And now I’ll return the favor.” With a wicked grin she flipped the knife in her other hand around and slipped the hilt between Kennedy’s legs. “I know you’ll enjoy this, slut.”
It slid in and out, working Kennedy as Kennedy’s tongue had just worked Willow. Kennedy rebelled against the excitement and arousement washing over her, hating herself for the pleasure she was feeling. Willow knew exactly what to do to make her feel each motion; to make each thrust of the knife hilt inside Kennedy cause the maximum satisfaction.
Kennedy was a Slayer, had super strength and super speed and super healing, and still she couldn’t keep from having an unwanted orgasm. The waves of pleasure grew stronger, distracting her. “Yes,” slipped from her lips, even though she was thinking no, no, no.
When had the silence compulsion been lifted? She tried to say something else, but found she couldn’t. Her train of thought dead-ended as the orgasm grew stronger and stronger, pushing all thoughts from her mind. When she climaxed, she screamed.
“You know what they say about rape,” Willow said. “It’s not about the pleasure; it’s about the power.”
And then Willow thrust the knife into Kennedy’s abdomen, and was gone.
* * * * *
“Beyond words, beyond silence, Chaos I summon thee. Accept this sacrifice, and imbue me with your power."
Ethan smiled as he said the words of invocation, holding the gagged and restrained form of a young woman in his hands. Here he was, more connected to Chaos than he had ever been, about to cast a spell of which he could only guess the magnitude. Ripper had gone out to see the West Indian girl again—what was her name? Alicia? Olive?—and so Ethan had the flat to himself during the ritual. Wouldn't Ripper be surprised, though, when he saw—well, whatever there would be to see when the spell had been cast.
He felt the power flow out of the girl and into him. Imbued with power, he stepped into the circle and began to chant. "Mother of the Nile, grace us with the magnitude of Your power, with the magnanimity of Your soul and with the magnificence of Your glory. Isis, Queen, release the ancient barriers which separate us from Your mercy.” He continued the spell, channeling through himself energies greater than any he had ever channeled before. They were strong magicks that he was invoking, and he had to struggle to keep control, to not lose himself in the sheer awesome power that—
Wait. It wasn’t October 1979. It was February 2004. And he wasn’t in London; he was in Brazil. And he had just gone to bed with the very nubile Miss Dawn Summers, the sister of the Slayer, after what he was absolutely sure had been the best sex the Key had ever had in her so far very short life as a human.
“Simple Simon went to look if plums grew on a thistle,” a lilting female voice interjected in a British accent he couldn’t quite place. “He pricked his fingers very much, which made poor Simon whistle.”
Ethan turned to see a slender dark-haired woman dressed in a diaphanous black gown with a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders. As if to demonstrate, she began to whistle a tune—“All Around the Mulberry Bush” if Ethan wasn’t mistaken. “Who are you?" he asked.
"The only one I could be," she answered, as if that were the only answer needed. "The others couldn't come, trapped as they are within their carcasses of dead flesh. The quick are less than useless. Only I can see beyond."
"Beyond what? What others?" Ethan asked, confused.
“The three who want to help, possessing that which we should not have. A man, to avenge a woman. Another man, for love of a woman. And myself, once a woman, for love of the men.”
“I don't understand," Ethan insisted. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, you understand," the dark-haired woman corrected. “You don't comprehend.”
Ethan nodded, still not understanding. “I'm glad we've made that distinction.”
“Mother sings, and all her children come out to play. But Daddy's angry, and he's taking away all the presents.”
“Daddy? You mean Osiris?”
“Tin soldiers, all lined up,” she answered, as if it weren’t a complete non sequitor. “Knock one down, they all fall. Such lovely toys, but such a horrid mess all over the floor. Grandmother would be cross. Mustn't have that, so I come to you. The pixies brought me, you know. Now you can tell Miss Muffet, and we can all have tea and cakes.”
“Miss Muffet? I'm supposed to talk to a fictional character?” This was only getting crazier and crazier.
The woman shook her head. “Your lost little lamb, caught in the blackberry patch. Run and catch." She gestured towards the young woman he had drained earlier (earlier in 1979, he thought, still trying to keep straight when he was), in order to channel the energy necessary for the Rite of Isis, but when he turned to look at the unconscious girl the random blonde had been replaced by Dawn Summers, dressed in her Alice Liddell costume from so many years ago. (Or was it still years to go?) Curioiser and curiouser.
“What is it that I’m supposed to tell her? What does this all mean?” asked Ethan, the disciple of Chaos, trying desperately to find some order within this bedlam.
The enigmatic woman only smiled. “Just a pack of cards,” she said, and clapped her hands.
* * * * *
Ethan woke up with a start. That probably wasn’t the strangest dream he had ever had—between magic and hallucinogens, he had had some strange ones—but it definitely ranked up there. He wondered what had been rattling around in his subconscious to produce that. And who was that strange woman?
Wait. Ethan stopped and thought about it for a moment. Release the ancient barriers which separate us from Your mercy. The gods will walk the Earth, the wine will be sweetened. Mother sings, and all her children come out to play. I will help you once I can; until then, My hands are tied.
Suddenly, Ethan felt the color drain from his face as everything fell into place.
“Shit.” Even in his wildest dreams—well, the wild prophetic dream he had just had excepted—he hadn’t imagined it could be that bad. And he had cast it once himself? Oh, the follies of youth.
Ethan turned to the form of Dawn Summers next to him in the bed, comfortably unconscious and naked beneath the blanket, and began to shake her.
“Dawn,” he said, as he saw her eyes open and stare at him groggily, “I know what the Rite of Isis does."
TBC. . . . here
Fandom: Buffy/Angel
Characters: Dawn, Amy, Cordelia, Ethan, Willow, Kennedy, and others.
Rating: The overall fic will include material up to and including NC-17; most scenes are considerably milder, but this chapter does include NC-17 content.
Warnings: Het, femslash, BDSM, noncon, underaged—but none of these as the main focus of the fic.
Warnings for this chapter: Het, femslash, noncom, violence.
Timeline/Spoilers: Takes place after “Why We Fight.” Spoilers up to “You’re Welcome.”
Summary: Dawn, Ethan, and Amy team up to protect Willow from a vengeful Osiris.
Note: Thanks to
spikendru for a great beta.Previous chapter can be found here.
All chapters can be found in my memories.
Chapter Twelve
Kennedy made her way silently into the dark house. The night’s hunt had been long, and she had seen more than a couple Slayers die beside her—a sight she had been glad she had not needed to endure since Sunnydale. But just like Sunnydale, the Slayers were at war, and wars came with casualties. Kennedy trusted Dawn to keep as many of the girls as was possible alive. She wouldn’t make the types of mistakes that Buffy had made the year before.
Everyone else in the house was asleep, and Kennedy smiled to herself as she stepped over the half-naked bodies which covered the living room floor. There was definitely the tell-tale evidence of an orgy here.
She made her way up to her room without turning on any of the lights, using her Slayer’s night vision instead. Once she reached her room, she began to strip out of the bloody and ripped clothes which bore the signs of the night’s patrol.
She had kicked off her shoes and was taking off her shirt when a familiar voice broke in. “Ooh, baby,” it said. “Take it all off.”
Kennedy spun around to see a dark-haired Willow standing in the open door of their bedroom.
“Hello, lover,” Willow said, stepping forward. “I didn’t think you would want to go to bed alone.”
“Stay away,” Kennedy cautioned, stepping back. “I’m warning you.”
“Oh, you don’t get to do the warning, little Slayer,” Willow said with a smile, taking another step. “I’ll do the warning. And I warn you that you are in a very sticky situation. I wouldn’t try to make me angry if I were you. Now take off your clothes.”
“What do you want, Willow?”
“What do you think I want, Ken? I thought maybe we could play with dolls together.” She took another step forward, and Kennedy took another step back. She was quickly being backed into a corner. “I’ve had a tiring day, baby. It seems nobody wants to give me absolute power. They don’t trust me just because last time I tried to use it to destroy the world. I tell them this time I’m much more interested in ruling it, but no one seems to be convinced.”
The playful look on Willow’s face suddenly disappeared as her features hardened. “Now take off your clothes. I won’t say it again.”
“Willow, this isn’t really you. You don’t really—” She broke off as a wave of dizzying pain flooded her body. Just as quickly, it was gone.
“Don’t tell me what I really am,” Willow said. “You think I’m just a nice girl, don’t you, always reliable in the fight for good. Well, dear, you’re going to see that I can be so much more.” She raised a hand, and a ceremonial knife hanging on the opposite wall came flying into it. She caught it easily by the hilt. “We could have done this the easy way, you know. But it’s just like you to choose the hard way.” She took another step forward, and Kennedy knew there was no choice but to fight. Reason wasn’t an option. She raised an arm—
“Congelare,” Willow invoked before Kennedy could strike and suddenly she was frozen in place, unable to move.
“Such a bad girl you are,” Willow said. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. It’ll be our little secret.”
Willow placed the cold blade of the knife against Kennedy’s cheek, then slid it lightly down her face, tracing the line of her jaw and then running it down her neck. Kennedy had already removed her shirt when Willow had appeared, so the knife continued down until it rested between Kennedy’s breasts. She stood still, barely daring to breathe, when suddenly with a flick of Willow’s wrist the knife sliced through the fabric of Kennedy’s bra. It fell to the ground, leaving Kennedy completely topless.
Without even pausing, Willow continued to bring the knife farther down, passing over Kennedy’s navel and slipping the blade into the waistband of her jeans, running it around to her left hip. Willow began to cut through the fabric, sliding the knife down the length of the pant leg. When she finished, she cut open the right pant leg in the same fashion, and Kennedy’s jeans fell off, leaving her naked except for her socks and panties.
Working meticulously, Willow slipped the knife blade into each sock, slicing it open and leaving each of Kennedy’s feet bare. Every other garment cut off, Willow traced the knife back up Kennedy’s leg, slicing through Kennedy’s panties at the right hip. Then she slipped the knife between the Slayer’s legs, and with another flick of the wrist, cut them off, causing the panties to fall to the floor. Kennedy was left completely naked.
“Now that’s much better, isn’t it?” said Willow. “Dissolutum.”
Kennedy fell to the ground, her body suddenly hers again. “Willow—”
“Silence,” Willow hissed, and Kennedy could feel the force of a magical invocation behind it, keeping Kennedy from speaking. Willow made a gesture, and an invincible force knocked against Kennedy, forcing her to her knees. The witch’s black leather jeans suddenly unbuttoned and unzipped of their own accord, revealing that this Willow hadn’t been wearing any underwear. Willow slid her pants slightly farther down to allow more room for Kennedy to enter. “Now come on, dear. We’ve both done this more times than we can count. I know you know what to do.”
Kennedy didn’t move.
Willow only smiled. “Het lijden door pijn en kwelling,” she said, and suddenly the pain returned, flaming through her body, overwhelming all her thoughts. It lasted for several seconds, each moment more agonizing than the last, and then subsided.
Still, Kennedy didn’t move.
Willow’s dark smile only got bigger. “We both know that I can break you,” she said. “And we both know that I will enjoy it.”
The pain returned, only this time it didn’t subside. It just got worse and worse, never stopping. All concept of the outside world was eradicated from her mind, her thoughts narrowed to a mere two: the sheer horror of it, and the desire to stop it. She reached out, grabbed onto Willow’s waist, pulled her head in. As her tongue entered Willow, the pain subsided.
Passionless, defeated, Kennedy gave in, working her tongue into Willow, massaging it back and forth.
Willow grabbed her by the hair. “Come on, Ken. We both know you can do better than that.”
Kennedy continued, faster, trying to forget what was happening. She closed her eyes and moved her tongue with as much speed and power as she could manage, doing her best to get Willow to climax and end the ordeal.
“That’s better.” Her grip tightened, pulling at Kennedy’s hair. She simply ignored the pain and kept on going. She knew it was only a little longer.
Willow began to moan, her grip even tighter. Kennedy worked faster.
Then Willow let loose a sigh, and Kennedy knew it was over. Willow had orgasmed.
“Oh, I needed that,” she said, not loosening her grip on Kennedy’s hair. “And now I’ll return the favor.” With a wicked grin she flipped the knife in her other hand around and slipped the hilt between Kennedy’s legs. “I know you’ll enjoy this, slut.”
It slid in and out, working Kennedy as Kennedy’s tongue had just worked Willow. Kennedy rebelled against the excitement and arousement washing over her, hating herself for the pleasure she was feeling. Willow knew exactly what to do to make her feel each motion; to make each thrust of the knife hilt inside Kennedy cause the maximum satisfaction.
Kennedy was a Slayer, had super strength and super speed and super healing, and still she couldn’t keep from having an unwanted orgasm. The waves of pleasure grew stronger, distracting her. “Yes,” slipped from her lips, even though she was thinking no, no, no.
When had the silence compulsion been lifted? She tried to say something else, but found she couldn’t. Her train of thought dead-ended as the orgasm grew stronger and stronger, pushing all thoughts from her mind. When she climaxed, she screamed.
“You know what they say about rape,” Willow said. “It’s not about the pleasure; it’s about the power.”
And then Willow thrust the knife into Kennedy’s abdomen, and was gone.
“Beyond words, beyond silence, Chaos I summon thee. Accept this sacrifice, and imbue me with your power."
Ethan smiled as he said the words of invocation, holding the gagged and restrained form of a young woman in his hands. Here he was, more connected to Chaos than he had ever been, about to cast a spell of which he could only guess the magnitude. Ripper had gone out to see the West Indian girl again—what was her name? Alicia? Olive?—and so Ethan had the flat to himself during the ritual. Wouldn't Ripper be surprised, though, when he saw—well, whatever there would be to see when the spell had been cast.
He felt the power flow out of the girl and into him. Imbued with power, he stepped into the circle and began to chant. "Mother of the Nile, grace us with the magnitude of Your power, with the magnanimity of Your soul and with the magnificence of Your glory. Isis, Queen, release the ancient barriers which separate us from Your mercy.” He continued the spell, channeling through himself energies greater than any he had ever channeled before. They were strong magicks that he was invoking, and he had to struggle to keep control, to not lose himself in the sheer awesome power that—
Wait. It wasn’t October 1979. It was February 2004. And he wasn’t in London; he was in Brazil. And he had just gone to bed with the very nubile Miss Dawn Summers, the sister of the Slayer, after what he was absolutely sure had been the best sex the Key had ever had in her so far very short life as a human.
“Simple Simon went to look if plums grew on a thistle,” a lilting female voice interjected in a British accent he couldn’t quite place. “He pricked his fingers very much, which made poor Simon whistle.”
Ethan turned to see a slender dark-haired woman dressed in a diaphanous black gown with a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders. As if to demonstrate, she began to whistle a tune—“All Around the Mulberry Bush” if Ethan wasn’t mistaken. “Who are you?" he asked.
"The only one I could be," she answered, as if that were the only answer needed. "The others couldn't come, trapped as they are within their carcasses of dead flesh. The quick are less than useless. Only I can see beyond."
"Beyond what? What others?" Ethan asked, confused.
“The three who want to help, possessing that which we should not have. A man, to avenge a woman. Another man, for love of a woman. And myself, once a woman, for love of the men.”
“I don't understand," Ethan insisted. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, you understand," the dark-haired woman corrected. “You don't comprehend.”
Ethan nodded, still not understanding. “I'm glad we've made that distinction.”
“Mother sings, and all her children come out to play. But Daddy's angry, and he's taking away all the presents.”
“Daddy? You mean Osiris?”
“Tin soldiers, all lined up,” she answered, as if it weren’t a complete non sequitor. “Knock one down, they all fall. Such lovely toys, but such a horrid mess all over the floor. Grandmother would be cross. Mustn't have that, so I come to you. The pixies brought me, you know. Now you can tell Miss Muffet, and we can all have tea and cakes.”
“Miss Muffet? I'm supposed to talk to a fictional character?” This was only getting crazier and crazier.
The woman shook her head. “Your lost little lamb, caught in the blackberry patch. Run and catch." She gestured towards the young woman he had drained earlier (earlier in 1979, he thought, still trying to keep straight when he was), in order to channel the energy necessary for the Rite of Isis, but when he turned to look at the unconscious girl the random blonde had been replaced by Dawn Summers, dressed in her Alice Liddell costume from so many years ago. (Or was it still years to go?) Curioiser and curiouser.
“What is it that I’m supposed to tell her? What does this all mean?” asked Ethan, the disciple of Chaos, trying desperately to find some order within this bedlam.
The enigmatic woman only smiled. “Just a pack of cards,” she said, and clapped her hands.
Ethan woke up with a start. That probably wasn’t the strangest dream he had ever had—between magic and hallucinogens, he had had some strange ones—but it definitely ranked up there. He wondered what had been rattling around in his subconscious to produce that. And who was that strange woman?
Wait. Ethan stopped and thought about it for a moment. Release the ancient barriers which separate us from Your mercy. The gods will walk the Earth, the wine will be sweetened. Mother sings, and all her children come out to play. I will help you once I can; until then, My hands are tied.
Suddenly, Ethan felt the color drain from his face as everything fell into place.
“Shit.” Even in his wildest dreams—well, the wild prophetic dream he had just had excepted—he hadn’t imagined it could be that bad. And he had cast it once himself? Oh, the follies of youth.
Ethan turned to the form of Dawn Summers next to him in the bed, comfortably unconscious and naked beneath the blanket, and began to shake her.
“Dawn,” he said, as he saw her eyes open and stare at him groggily, “I know what the Rite of Isis does."
TBC. . . . here
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2005-09-22 02:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-24 12:01 am (UTC)