Fic: Together (Whedonverse)
TITLE: Together
AUTHOR: lar_laughs
FANDOM: Angel
CHARACTER: Illyria
PROMPT: meant for a whedonland challenge but it worked itself out of the prompt so... 04. on a map of the city at 5_prompts and 56. Together at 100_tales
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 493
SUMMARY: Illyria comes to grips with what is happening around her as well as what is taking place in the soul that is left over in the vessel she inhabits.
WARNINGS: spoilers for the last Angel episode, Not Fade Away, as well as what I've read about the Angel graphic novel (which I've never read but I really want to now that I've finally seen the final season of Angel).
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of, nor do I make any money from any world that Joss Whedon has created. I merely dabble in the shadows of his greatness.
As suddenly as an intake of breath, there was only silence and Illyria heard nothing above the buzzing in her head. An Old One such as herself should not have been burdened with such trivial things such as senses working incorrectly but nothing was as it should have been on today of all days. She wanted to kill everything around her but found she couldn’t move into battle. There was something she needed to do. Someone she needed to see before she slashed and bruised and spilled blood. Just what was holding her back was eluding her.
The others were spreading out and, even if she wasn’t watching them, she could feel their movements. Gunn… Angel… Spike. They would all die today. On a map of this City of Angels, they were protecting the tiniest portion but this would decide the fate of the mortals that called this place home. If they fell today, there would be no hope left for anyone. She felt her own immenent death, slick like sweat on the skin of this vessel she inhabited.
The vessel. Fred. By all that was great and holy, it was Wesley she missed. The merest reminder of his face as he had looked up to her with eyes filled with love was enough to make her knees grow weak with grief. Only partially for his death. She felt great emotion over the fact that he had only ever looked on her with irritation and anger.
I will prove that I am as worthy of his adoration as the human, she silently vowed, her hands closing into fists as the buzzing turned into… sobs. Not her own. She would never cry. But the vessel’s original inhabitant was stretching out of her strict bounds until it felt as if Illyria might be pushed completely away. That would not do at all. Not when, at this moment, the one who needed to be acting was the Old One. She had the power to help right this wrong that was nearly as old as she was. This Fred girl was only good for quiet sobbing and making men’s eyes cross with lust.
“Death shall rain down on you all where you stand.” The voice was her own but she hadn’t realized that she was speaking. She hadn’t thought those words or issued the command to the body to utter them. The power that ripped through her wasn’t her own. It was something new.
“The power of love. It is now yours to command.” Illyria put a hand to her lips as they moved again without volition. She wasn’t saying those words. It was then she realized the sobbing had ceased and she could hear the sounds of battle around her. Determination as she had never felt before filled her.
The Old One and the mortal joined forces and fought with both body and heart for the first time, leaving a swath of death in their wake.
AUTHOR: lar_laughs
FANDOM: Angel
CHARACTER: Illyria
PROMPT: meant for a whedonland challenge but it worked itself out of the prompt so... 04. on a map of the city at 5_prompts and 56. Together at 100_tales
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 493
SUMMARY: Illyria comes to grips with what is happening around her as well as what is taking place in the soul that is left over in the vessel she inhabits.
WARNINGS: spoilers for the last Angel episode, Not Fade Away, as well as what I've read about the Angel graphic novel (which I've never read but I really want to now that I've finally seen the final season of Angel).
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of, nor do I make any money from any world that Joss Whedon has created. I merely dabble in the shadows of his greatness.
As suddenly as an intake of breath, there was only silence and Illyria heard nothing above the buzzing in her head. An Old One such as herself should not have been burdened with such trivial things such as senses working incorrectly but nothing was as it should have been on today of all days. She wanted to kill everything around her but found she couldn’t move into battle. There was something she needed to do. Someone she needed to see before she slashed and bruised and spilled blood. Just what was holding her back was eluding her.
The others were spreading out and, even if she wasn’t watching them, she could feel their movements. Gunn… Angel… Spike. They would all die today. On a map of this City of Angels, they were protecting the tiniest portion but this would decide the fate of the mortals that called this place home. If they fell today, there would be no hope left for anyone. She felt her own immenent death, slick like sweat on the skin of this vessel she inhabited.
The vessel. Fred. By all that was great and holy, it was Wesley she missed. The merest reminder of his face as he had looked up to her with eyes filled with love was enough to make her knees grow weak with grief. Only partially for his death. She felt great emotion over the fact that he had only ever looked on her with irritation and anger.
I will prove that I am as worthy of his adoration as the human, she silently vowed, her hands closing into fists as the buzzing turned into… sobs. Not her own. She would never cry. But the vessel’s original inhabitant was stretching out of her strict bounds until it felt as if Illyria might be pushed completely away. That would not do at all. Not when, at this moment, the one who needed to be acting was the Old One. She had the power to help right this wrong that was nearly as old as she was. This Fred girl was only good for quiet sobbing and making men’s eyes cross with lust.
“Death shall rain down on you all where you stand.” The voice was her own but she hadn’t realized that she was speaking. She hadn’t thought those words or issued the command to the body to utter them. The power that ripped through her wasn’t her own. It was something new.
“The power of love. It is now yours to command.” Illyria put a hand to her lips as they moved again without volition. She wasn’t saying those words. It was then she realized the sobbing had ceased and she could hear the sounds of battle around her. Determination as she had never felt before filled her.
The Old One and the mortal joined forces and fought with both body and heart for the first time, leaving a swath of death in their wake.