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(no subject)

It's not that she doesn't believe Destruction when he tells her she can do the spell to wake up Nimueh from anywhere, but Bonnie doesn't want to take any chances. There are places on the earth that make it easier to reach through the veil between the seen world to the world beyond. A Hellmouth is one of those places but she doesn't want to go to Cleveland and, there's a risk of pouring too much magic into an active Hellmouth. The crater that was once Sunnydale seems like the slightly safer option and it's closer.

She drives until the road disappears, then she parks and takes out everything she needs to work the spell. Normally she'd want more time to prepare but there's a screaming urgency pulsing through her veins and making her head throb. Magic is wrong. Things are off balance and the surest way she knows to return the balance is to retrieve the Mother and Father is all magic. The Great Lady Nimueh and Uther Pendragon: friends, enemies, lovers, two halves of the same coin and any combination thereof. Whatever has happened they can hopefully put it right.

Or they'll wake up angry and destroy everything.

It's always a crap shoot with the two of them.

( 'Cause there's a monster Living under my bed Whispering in my ear There's an angel With a hand on my head She say I've got nothing to fear )

(no subject)

There was something deep inside of him, as real as mist is rain that howls like a wounded animal when he realizes who comes.

There is something like a wounded pride, something akin to what had once been love and was now darkness. It has been the closest to human he had felt in some time and there was a moment- that stretched out into eternity for a creature that no longer could feel time when Giles wanted, really wanted, to surrender.

“Do not make me fight you.” He asked, as he stood, stepping out of the circle he’d carve into Nimueh’s lands. He wondered if they could sense it, being half darkness themselves; how Camlann pulsed with the ancient magic. It’s where he made a home after Eyghon, it’s where he’d brought Willow- knowing how deep the pull of magicks were and how peaceful the land seemed to soothe the scar if not heal it.

When Jet was a child, he’d brought her here thousands of times; had raised her on the stories of King Arthur’s final battle, the sealed Hellmouth and how when it was finally his time to die this is where he wanted to be buried- Great Lady willing.

He would then- like a father holding her close, promise he’d only leave her when she was ready.

He’d never shown Buffy this place. It was one of a lifetime of regrets.

If either of them hurt as much as he does, they don’t show it and he’s so proud of them for that. His beautiful daughters.

His Slayers.

“That’s easy then.” Buffy quips. “Don’t do this. Stand still long enough and this can all be over.”
Jet doesn’t give him the option to respond and just like that it begins.

( Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are. You'll see what I mean. )

(no subject)

[Locked to godlike beings and those from his time]

...I don't understand. We won.

(no subject)

Fi Fie Fo Fum

Somebody fucked with the wheel

~~Where is my sister?~~

(no subject)

Regret
Because they are who they are, he cannot step foot in Avalon anymore then she could at the Deeper Well. It’s a shame because he misses her.

Fulfilled
It took him lifetimes to learn this is not a war; it’s a wheel and it must turn.

Family
There are countless blood lines; both evil and good (as if those words had meaning) that claim lineage through them. But he likes the Watcher ones the best.

Obsession
Occasionally, there are those who seeking immortality, or power search for the Great Lady or him. And yet- never wisdom. More’s the pity.

Tested
No magic holds sway over him save for the one that refuses to let either of them die. The Old Ones are petty like that.

Overcome
So he’s raised armies and kingdoms to quarter them.

Triumph
Only Illyria ever escaped. In retrospect, that should’ve been his first warning.

Passion
His war is no longer to end Magic, only to hold the line and he will die to do so.

Jealousy
Still, his bones would ache for a battle worthy of him.

Deception
Or so he says.

Tenacious
Of them all, he thinks Maeve’s descendants are the strongest.

Duplicity
He wonders, if only to himself, if she could choose her own companion who the Lady would pick.

Loyalty
And yet for him, he’s content to honor the vow of his youth.

(no subject)

Giles didn’t need to pull many strings to bring Ethan Rayne home. Willow had mentioned his death to him almost in passing, asking for his help with research. She wanted to know if he had any mutual contacts with Rayne that perhaps could tip the scales in their favor. He’d promised to look into and meant it.

No one had been more surprised than he when Ethan Rayne put himself on the board again. It’d been years since they talked and if he was honest, he had just assumed Rayne slithered away with the others when the Initiative fell. If there anything Ethan excelled with, it was a survival and a little bit of chaos that came with his captor’s demise would have just been the jolt he would have needed to recoup.

But he hadn’t. Ethan had been in his little box all this time. Giles wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He did know how he felt about the fact even in his small cage- Ethan had still learned something about Twilight that could have helped the Slayer. He was impressed and more then a little curious.

Which brought him back to Devon, in this quiet little safe house with wards and protections of all manner around them.

There was a basin filled with blood beside him, and ever so gently he painted the small glyphs across Rayne’s body. The other baubles he’d needed for this ritual had already been put in their places with Watcher precision.

“…the world that denies thee, thou inhabit. The peace that ignores thee, thou corrupt.” Giles glanced up to the statue. “Now’s your time to do your thing, Janus.”

Then, pulling through the Magick that cackled around the room like a storm, Giles touched the bullet wound; watching with a morbid fascination as bone, sinew and skin returns. Dark magic. The worst.

He puts the book he’s holding away and walks out of the circle. There's a faint ripple of something angry he does his best to ignore.

And waits.