![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snoggedTitle: Becoming Fear, Itself
Author: snogged
Character: Willow
Prompt: fear
Pairing: Mentions Willow/Xander (crush) and Vamp!Willow/Angel (dominance)
Rating: FRM/R
Warnings: angst/dark, adult language, graphic scenes of violence, character death
Word Count: 5224
Summary: Set pre-“The Wish.” How Willow became a vampire and the Master ascended.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
c2c_buffyawards for their WFTW (Women For The Win) contest and written for the prompt: child abuse from angst_bingo
Betas: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
whichclothes and purplefeen for their stellar beta work.
There is nothing to fear but fear itself.
These were the words Mr. Kife had recited to them in their U.S. history class today. They were the infamous words spoken by Franklin Delano Roosevelt during his first inaugural address as President and they were said to reassure a nation suffering from the worst Depression in history.
The quote did little to reassure Willow, however, as she stepped out of the high school and looked up at the dark, ominous clouds gathering directly in front of the sun. Mother Nature was clearly in the mood for a September storm, despite the promises of meteorologist Tim Jenkins who had insisted that tonight would be warm and free of showers.
Without question, Willow feared lightning more than frogs, especially after her cousin Wanda had given her a week’s worth of nightmares retelling the story of how their telephone had exploded when a white-hot strike had made contact with their house. Although the odds weren’t exactly high that she would meet the same fate as the phone and electrical lines, she couldn’t help but feel greatly unsettled by the storm.
Clutching her textbooks tighter to her bilious green jumper, Willow wished that she hadn’t decided to stay so long after the final bell. Not that she really regretted staying behind to sneak a few more peeks at Sunnydale’s newest addition to the faculty, but if she’d left sooner, she wouldn’t be stuck in this predicament.
Willow had first learned of Rupert Giles, the new librarian, while spending her study hall stapling brochures for Principal Flutie’s secretary. Ms. Davies had chatted endlessly about the debonair newcomer and Willow had quickly learned that he was the former curator of the British Museum.
The prospect of meeting such a foreign influence piqued her curiosity. Why would such a distinguished man bother applying for a job at a lowly high school in the crappiest town in California? Surely, a place like Washington D.C. or Boston would be more suitable to his experience.
But when she walked into the library after last period, she couldn’t muster the courage to say a word to him. She hadn’t even been able to grab the textbook she needed on Tolstoy’s literary influence, which meant that she would have to go back there tomorrow.
She was definitely not looking forward to repeating that process again.
Of course, if Mother Nature decided to take her out with a lightning bolt, she wouldn’t have to.
It was at that moment when the raindrops started to fall, which caused Willow to press her back against the school doors in the futile attempt to keep herself dry while she pondered her options. After a few minutes, she was able to come up with three. She could either (A) stay under the awning and wait out the rain, (B) risk it and run home, despite living twelve blocks away, or (C) she could pop a quarter into a pay phone and call her father at work.
Of the three, option C was the riskiest choice. Her father, Ira Rosenberg, was one of the most respected men in town and he was working 24/7 campaigning for the re-election of Sunnydale’s incumbent mayor, Richard Wilkins III. As much as he loved his daughter, he wasn’t a fan of interruptions and distractions. She knew that calling him meant that he’d tell her to call her mother. Unlike Ira, Willow knew that garnering help from her mother would be out of the question because Sheila was in Washington D.C. this week giving a lecture on the body’s autonomic response system to a bunch of grizzled, Freudian psychologists.
The smacking staccato beat of the rain pulled her out of her thoughts and the rolling clap of thunder that followed made her jump. Maybe she should have come up with an option D? Something along the lines of Go back inside, now?
Before she could follow through on her plan, though, the blinding headlight beams of a red ’81 Ford pick-up truck driving toward her kept her feet frozen to the cement step. Everyone in Sunnydale knew who owned the slightly dented rust bucket and most looked down their noses at him, his wife, and his son. Willow wasn’t exactly Mr. Harris’s biggest fan either, given that the whiskey made him mean. But a ride was a ride, she supposed, and her dad did always teach her not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Will!”
Surprised to hear her name pronounced so clearly, instead of hearing it slurred, Willow peered through the now chaotic rainfall and saw Jesse’s dopey brown eyes staring back at her from the rolled-down passenger side window. At the driver’s seat was Xander, whose face was split wide with a smile so infectious and bright that it pierced through the gloom.
“Your carriage awaits, oh Queen of the Bookworms,” Xander announced teasingly.
From anyone else the jest might sting, but from Xander, Willow wasn’t bothered by it because she knew it came from a loving place in his heart.
Not only that but he had shown up to rescue her, which meant that his membership card listing him as a member of the “We Love Willow Rosenberg” club, still read “President.” And since Jesse had tagged along, she still considered him to be treasurer.
Still, as she left the protection of the awning and zipped down the stretch of sidewalk to the road, she was overcome by the realization that the presence of her two best friends sitting on the bench seat of the truck without an adult in sight was in direct violation of a new law. The new law that said teenagers weren’t allowed to drive cars anymore.
It happened after Sheila Martini and Jonathan Levinson were found dead in her ’97 Honda less than two months ago. Not only was her car wrapped around a tree, but there were two puncture wounds in the sides of both of their necks. The newspapers had written it off as a jealous ex-boyfriend with a grilling fetish who had found them at Make-Out Point, stabbed them, and then put the car in drive.
No one had questioned the oddity of an outcast like Jonathan being in the same car as a social rebel like Sheila. In fact, Willow found it kinda cute because nerds needed love too.
The parents, however, operated on a different plane and demanded that the children of Sunnydale be protected from such violence. Apparently, the city government thought they could just fix the problem by suspending a teenager’s right to drive.
The youth, of course, had complained but it was to no avail. Well, all the youth except Willow who had simply booted up her computer, determined to discover how that decision had been arrived at. With a few, well-placed keystrokes, she had been able to hack into the city’s webpage to find the minutes from the city council meeting that had been posted by the transcriptionist.
That was when she’d learned that Sheila’s accident wasn’t the first time someone had been stabbed to death with a barbecue fork.
In fact, it was suspiciously frequent, especially among the homeless and crack addict populations in the bad parts of town. The only difference was that many of those deaths never got reported as such in the papers because the police would write it off as drug-related or the result of gang violence.
“Are you getting in or not, Will?” Jesse asked, flinging open the door and looking at her expectantly. “Because if you’re trying some sort of submersion therapy thing by getting soaked in the rain, you can just meet us at the Bronze.”
Willow blinked in confusion before it occurred to her that he was talking about Ms. Voorhey’s presentation during fourth period on the various ways of reducing fear and anxiety in psychological patients. “You mean immersion therapy?”
“Yeah,” Jesse replied, nodding, not really caring that he’d made an error. “I thought the part about people climbing into the snake pits was pretty cool.”
“Uh…I guess,” Willow replied, trying to ignore the shiver that shot down her spine. Snakes were definitely third on her list of all-time fears. They were scaly and slithery and did that funky thing with their forked tongues…. “But I was more wondering about us getting in trouble. You know we’re not supposed to have cars as students.”
Xander’s smile vanished instantly and his eyes darkened slightly. “I know we’re not supposed to, but I don’t really care. ’Sides my dad is passed out drunk in the bathtub and my mom’s too wrapped up in whatever baby daddy drama is going on the Maury marathon that FOX is running this evening.”
Willow’s lips parted slightly and a wave of guilt crashed over her. Even though Xander sounded casual and nonchalant, as if his parents’ actions were just normal things, Willow knew better. She knew the world of pain that hid behind those words and she hated herself for trying to ruin their fun by being a goodie-goodie.
Without a second thought, she crawled into the cab and settled down between them. She gave Xander’s knee a quick reassuring squeeze and did her best to think “small” in order to keep Xander and Jesse from getting wet.
Before driving off, Xander fiddled with the knobs on the dash and turned the heater full blast. He pushed up the lever to make the windshield wipers swoosh and then pushed down on the accelerator. The tires groaned in protest at Xander’s need for speed, but the increasing rumbles of thunder and bright arcs of lightning were enough to make Willow’s heart beat so loudly that she didn’t take notice to the vehicle’s flaws.
***
The sidewalk outside of the Bronze’s front entrance was sparsely populated, maybe three or four people at the most lingering outside holding their cigarettes and laughing about something. Usually the booming bass that vibrated through the concrete literally forced people to dance their way to the door, but tonight was different somehow. Normally, Willow wouldn’t mind the club being on the empty side as it meant not having to fight for a table, but tonight it only served to intensify her wiggins. What if someone was inside just waiting to make them pay for breaking the rules? What if they all ended up with barbecue forks in their necks?
Xander pulled the truck up to an empty meter on the side street, turned off the ignition, and promptly started fishing in his pants pocket for quarters.
“I’ve got a few,” Willow said, reaching into the pocket of her jumper, grateful for the brief distraction from her macabre thoughts. She produced three coins and passed them over to Xander who nodded his thanks.
Once Xander had collected enough quarters to last them three hours, they got out of the car and fed the machine.
“Party on!” Jesse shouted, draping his arms over Willow’s and Xander’s shoulders and guiding them all towards Earl, the bouncer on duty. There was nothing about him that said he was planning to stick a fork in them. He merely flashed them a gruff smile of recognition and waved them inside.
As they walked towards the main section of the club, Willow noticed several bright blue posters decorating the walls. Each one of them had “Dingoes Ate My Baby” written in blocky script, followed by the time and date of their shows in smaller print (including tonight’s show). There was also a clip-art image in the center of the page featuring claw marks that looked like they were scratching large gashes across the page.
It was creepy and did nothing to make Willow think this night was going to go well. But she didn’t say anything on account of Xander’s and Jesse’s good moods. She didn’t want to spoil their night anymore than she already had so she inhaled sharply and focused her facial features.
“Busting out the resolve face already, Will?” Jesse asked, glancing over at her and noticing the pursing of her lips and the wrinkles in her forehead.
“Yep,” Willow nodded, touching her finger to the tip of her nose. “This face is resolved to have fun tonight.”
“Thatta girl,” Xander replied, lightly nudging her shoulder before making a beeline for the closest empty table.
Willow sat down first and glanced up at the stage where the band was playing. Based on her observations, Dingoes Ate My Baby consisted of a lead singer with dark brown hair, a guitarist with bright blue spikes, and a female drummer with neon pink dreadlocks. On the dance floor, a group of people, probably triple the size of the band, were shimmying and grinding their bodies to the beat. At least the people who came tonight were dedicated….
“Drink?” Jesse asked, pulling out his wallet and thumbing though the small stack of fives and ones tucked inside the fold. “They’re on me tonight.”
“Sprite sounds good,” Willow said.
“Cherry Coke for me,” Xander replied, plopping down on the stool next to Willow.
“You got it,” Jesse said, giving them both a thumbs-up before walking towards the bar.
As the band started playing a weirdly mellow cover of The Who’s “My Generation,” a companionable silence filled the space between Xander and Willow.
Not that she would have minded talking. She liked talking to Xander. When Xander talked, his lips curled up in this cute little way whenever he got excited about something and when his brown eyes were soft, she could feel the warmth of them melting her soul.
Unfortunately, she knew he didn’t exactly take notice when she was crushing. It didn’t matter if she was giving him doe-eyed, innocent looks or wrapping her arms around him to steal a hug and feel his body heat. She knew from the way he talked with her sometimes that he’d much rather be in the backseat of Cordelia’s Lexus with Cordelia’s tongue shoved down his throat.
That didn’t stop her from wishing things would change though because if wishes were Xanders, she would definitely take two.
The song ended and Jesse still hadn’t returned with their drinks. Instead, he was over in the corner handing some skanky brunette her Sprite while some blonde woman in a Catholic schoolgirl get-up extricated herself from the crowd and walked- or more accurately, stalked- towards their table, flashing a panther-like grin at Xander.
“Hey cutie,” she purred, running her fingers up and down the length of Xander’s forearm. “Wanna dance?”
“You bet I do,” Xander replied enthusiastically, looking as if he planned to dive right into the liquid hazel pools of her eyes.
He didn’t even bother to ask Willow if she’d be okay by herself. He just got off the stool and followed this woman like a mindless sheep unaware of the butcher block that awaited him.
As the band launched into some rock song Willow had never heard before, she slid off the stool and headed towards the ladies’ room, feeling completely abandoned by her best friends.
The strong smell of bleach stung her nostrils as she entered the tiled room, but it wasn’t bad enough to make her turn around. Instead, she walked up to the sink and pressed down on the water pump. While she was grateful for the warm burst of water that instantly soaked her skin, she knew it would be short-lived because of how the pumps were timed to go off after 10 seconds. It was nearly impossible to get a good wash unless someone was pressing down on the pump for you and Willow didn’t have anyone who could do that for her tonight.
Except…she did.
Because as soon as she thought it, a set of red-lacquered nails pressed down on the silver control and another rush of water cascaded down onto Willow’s knuckles.
“Hey cutie.”
That voice. That was the voice that teased and tantalized Xander. That was the voice that....
“Hey!” Willow yelped, as she whipped her face towards the voice. It suddenly occurred to her that the woman who should be dancing with Xander was standing in the bathroom with her. “You’re…you’re in here and you’re supposed to be out there.”
“Am I?” the blonde asked, tilting her head as her lips curled back in smirk.
“Well, you were being all grope-y with my best friend. Stands to reason you should be out there with him,” Willow said, crossing her arms over her chest.
The woman sighed, obviously annoyed that Willow wasn’t responding in whatever way she was expected to. “I got bored. Besides, I’ve always had a fondness for the lonely and downtrodden.”
“I’m not…” Willow protested, not noticing the woman’s hand move from the sink to her shoulder before it was already too late. The contact, however simple, made her feel uncomfortable and tension swirled inside her gut. It felt like she was trapped in the web of a black widow spider, trapped by a wolf eager to sink her fangs into yielding flesh.
“You are,” the woman insisted, digging her nails into Willow’s shoulder. “You reek of it. But tonight’s your lucky night; because I’m going to make that all go away.”
Willow gulped, panic rising in her throat as she glanced down at the woman’s free hand. Although she didn’t see a barbecue fork, she couldn’t escape the feeling that a forking was about to happen. Her forking. And Xander and Jesse would never set foot in the ladies’ room so rescue was very unlikely.
Oh God…
“My life really isn’t all that bad. I mean, my family is...” Willow started.
Never around.
“And my friends are....”
Giving my drinks to prettier women than me who they don't even really stand a chance with, but they try anyways because they're doo-doo heads.
Willow hung her head, feeling defeated by her inability to lie about her lot in life.
“Don’t worry, silly,” the woman said, chuckling. “This world is going to burn in two days and not only do you get to watch, but you get to live.”
Willow blinked, feeling confused for the second time that night. She had been so sure that this bathroom confrontation was going to end with her death given the way things had gone so far, but now it seemed like the tables were turning in her favor. “How?”
Her answer came in the form of feral eyes and glinting fangs that sliced through the air and connected with the column of her throat before Willow had time to scream. The next thing she felt was the coppery tang of blood filling her mouth and soaking into her cheeks and chin.
As darkness closed in on her eyes, Willow had the fleeting thought that if this woman didn’t go by the name of fear, Franklin Delano Roosevelt should get his money back.
***
There’s nothing to fear but me.
Willow knelt before the Master.
She’d been instructed to do so by her sire, Darla, several moments after she had opened her eyes and found herself in an underground cavern that was, she estimated, at least six feet beneath the surface. The demon inside of her had barely had time to blink, barely had time to resist, before Darla was in full control.
Darla stood behind her, wearing a look of adoration so intense that Willow felt it scorching her skin.
“She’s a fine choice,” the Master replied, rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb as he peered down at Willow with beady, red eyes. “Hearty. Brimming with fire and…” He sniffed the air slightly. “Raw magic.”
“Thank you, sir,” Darla exclaimed, as if she was fully responsible for the way the demon blended into Willow’s human personality.
Willow supposed there could be some truth to it, but she couldn't ignore the way Darla had to turn it into some sort of performance. It felt so Cordelia-esque.
Turn the mouse into a beauty. Blah. Blah. Blah.
She was a vampire now and she wanted to eat. She wanted to sate the ever-increasing itch in her fangs. Most of all, she wanted to find Xander and make him notice her. Not that it would be hard. She was pretty now. She oozed confidence and sexiness and power (no matter how much Darla thought she controlled Willow's leash.) Of course, before she made him her mate, she felt the sudden urge to torture him a little.
Just for the fun of it.
As for Jesse, her inherent desire to not care about humans in general unfortunately placed him in the food column. There was no room for him for in her new life.
“Bored now,” Willow murmured, pursing her lips in a sultry scowl.
Darla gasped and backhanded Willow across the face, clearly offended by her new fledge’s response. “Forgive her, Master. She’s young…and stupid.”
Willow reached up to rub her stinging cheek, feeling the indentation Darla’s knuckles had left behind. Fucking bitch.
The Master leaned forward slightly and clapped his hands together once. “On the contrary, pet. I happen to find her delightful. I remember being that feisty once.” He flashed a mischievous grin at her, much like a father endorsing a child’s rambunctious play.
Now it was Willow’s turn to beam because it didn’t take an enhanced sense of hearing to know that Darla was fuming about the Master taking favor with Willow. She knew it was childish to be so proud of getting one over on her sire this quick in the game, but she couldn’t help but hear the cheerful chorus of neener, neener, neener play its sweet melody inside her head.
“I want to go hunting,” Willow said, her eyes changing from hazel to vivid green as she rose to her feet.
“You will feast tonight, Little One. You will feast and celebrate and I will ascend,” the Master replied, gesturing to one of the vampires hovering near the door. The vampire that the Master had chosen was a burly-type that looked like he didn’t have a lot going on upstairs.
But Willow knew him well enough from the short time she’d been down here. His name was Luke and the symbol painted on his forehead marked him as the Master’s vessel. “Take her up. It’s time.”
Luke draped his arm over her shoulder as he led her off towards the tunnel entrance and it reminded her of the times Jesse did that. Unlike Jesse, however, Willow felt no friendly connection to this lunk-head. In fact, she pretty much loathed him. She didn’t need a chaperone. She might have been only be one day old in vampire years, but she already knew she was better than he was. Smarter than he was. Darker than he was.
And she was going to prove it.
As soon as the pavement was beneath her feet.
When the glow of the street lamps touched her cheeks, Willow smiled. She was ready to run. She was ready to find Xander and make him notice her, make him fear her. Or she was until an unfamiliar fist zoomed towards her face.
She managed to duck in time, but Luke didn’t fare quite as well as he had been behind her. The preternatural force behind the punch sent Luke flying backwards into a row of garbage cans and the metallic clang rang loudly in the empty alleyway.
When Willow lifted her head and looked up at the newcomer, she found herself caught in the gaze of a pair of angry brown eyes. He was strong, all corded muscles and red-hot rage, and he was ready to strike again like a bolt of lightning that thought itself capable at hitting the same place twice.
Not that Willow was going to let him.
She was strong too.
She flexed her fingers and stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
“Who are you?” Willow asked, rotating her pelvis and testing out the pair of leather pants Darla had purchased for her. Like a second skin, the animal hide moved the way she did and she couldn’t help but feel smug and sexy when she caught more than rage permeating from his aura.
He was horny too.
“Angel,” he replied, before lashing out at her with his fists again.
Willow caught his hand before it could make contact with her nose and she heard his bones crackle from the pressure she applied. Old Willow never had this sort of strength, never had this sort of confidence. She had been so weak, so pathetic, so easily demolished by her fears. But now, Willow felt none of that.
Angel didn’t flinch at the pain, but he did draw his hand back.
Willow grinned, taking advantage of the opening he gave her. She executed a roundhouse kick that was pretty near flawless for a girl who couldn’t even survive the exercise regimens of high school gym class.
To her pleasant surprise, it had the desired effect as Angel stumbled backwards. All it took was one more kick to the stomach to get the newcomer on his rear. Before he had the chance to get back up, Willow stepped forward and placed her boots on either side of him. “Looks like you fell down, Angel. Wanna bet heaven won’t let you back in?”
Angel grunted and Willow bent her knees, lowering herself down on top of him. She didn’t notice Luke get up, but she did hear the patter of feet as he scampered off like a chicken. Here’s hoping he still had the balls to go through with the Master’s plan.
“You won’t get away with this. I’ll stop you before you kill all those innocent people,” Angel hissed, his eyes flashing gold.
Willow frowned, recognizing the shift in his features, the wide ridges marring the flat expanse of his forehead.
Vampire?
Willow paused, scrambling to remember if Darla had mentioned this sort of anomaly when Darla had given her a crash course in Vampire Lore 101. Her memory pulled up plenty of other things like the Order of Aurelius, the difference between a minion and a childe, the way to show respect to her elders.
And then she remembered something about a vampire bound by guilt and shame.
He had been Darla’s first childe. He had been lonely and reeking of gin when he had stumbled upon Darla in an alley somewhere in the town of Galway. But Darla had transformed him. She had turned him into the finest demon to wreak havoc on the European countryside, but that had come to a swift end when a Romani gypsy clan had cursed him with a soul.
Darla had disowned him immediately.
But now he was within walking distance from his old sire, acting like a super-hero from one of Xander’s stupid comic books and fighting for the safety of people who didn’t deserve it.
If she was honest with herself, she didn’t need another history lesson. She didn’t need to know why he fought so hard to destroy his own kind. Instead, she reached forward and cupped his cheek, feeling the coolness of his flesh beneath her palm. She didn’t really care one way or another what he was fighting for. All she knew was that she wanted to be there when the fight finally left his eyes. She wanted to be the one to make him bark, the one who made him surrender.
He would remain, as always, beneath her.
“Master’s coming, puppy, and you’re not going to stop it,” Willow replied, grinding her pelvis against his. Amusingly, she felt something stirring and twitching beneath her weight. He was getting turned on by this, even if his face was contorted in agony. Nothing like a hypocrite to keep the boredom at bay. You never know what you’re going to get. “In fact, I think we’re gonna make you watch. But the worst part is, when it’s over, we’re gonna let you live.”
They were almost the exact same words that Darla had made to her the night she was killed, but Angel was already dead so the promise was more like a threat.
“No,” Angel snarled, bucking against her. “I’ll die before I let you win.”
Willow grinned as she bore down against him, forcing him to still again as the earth beneath them began to vibrate and tremble. She breathed in the dust that stirred around them and tilted her head backwards, fully aware of what was happening.
Luke had performed his duty. He had tasted the blood of hundreds who would all show up in tomorrow’s paper as being the victims of barbecue forks and gangs on PCP, provided the news reporters were all still alive. More importantly, though, Luke had destroyed himself so that the Master could be set free.
It was actually kinda poetic really that such a coward could die in such a heroic way.
“It’s too late, puppy. Daddy’s already home and he’s going to clean up all the mud you tracked into the house.” Willow purred, bending her head forward and licking a broad stripe across his forehead. Angel shuddered, repulsed by her action, yet his cock still twitched diligently against her thigh.
Hypocrite.
As much as she wanted to continue to explore the possible contradictions that could provide her with hours of entertainment, she knew that she needed to head back to the Bronze.
She knew she would need to be there to greet her Daddy into the world, to introduce him to their new pet, and to bring Xander into the dark, twisted world that she so fully embraced. The very thought of his sweet blood touching her tongue was enough to get her moving again.
Well, that and the scalding burn of a silver cross being dug into the tender skin of her forearm.
“Fuck!” Willow screeched, narrowing her eyes.
Leaping to her feet, Willow delivered several kicks to Angel’s ribcage before stomping her foot down on his throat, effectively crushing his wind pipe. Being a vampire, she knew he would heal once he got some blood in him, but that didn’t make the raspy, awful scream that erupted from his throat any less satisfying.
She was making his life hell.
And when she got the chance, she was going to see just how hot those flames licked his skin.
“Can’t wait to see what how you respond to matches,” Willow replied, her eyes twinkling as she surveyed the mangled wreck of the demon still lying beneath her.
That was when she saw it.
A glimmer in the shadows of his dark eyes that she recognized all too well from her time as a human.
Fear.
Real fear.
Fear that paralyzed him like she had been in the lightning storm two nights ago. Fear that unsettled him like the people who crawled into the snake pits. Fear that soaked into his bones and tendons and muscles and kept him at her mercy.
It was the same fear that she would go onto induce in the living residents of Sunnydale. The same fear that would make them all bow down at her feet.
She had become the very definition of fear, itself.
Author: snogged
Character: Willow
Prompt: fear
Pairing: Mentions Willow/Xander (crush) and Vamp!Willow/Angel (dominance)
Rating: FRM/R
Warnings: angst/dark, adult language, graphic scenes of violence, character death
Word Count: 5224
Summary: Set pre-“The Wish.” How Willow became a vampire and the Master ascended.
Author's Note: Written for
c2c_buffyawards for their WFTW (Women For The Win) contest and written for the prompt: child abuse from angst_bingoBetas: Many thanks to
whichclothes and purplefeen for their stellar beta work.There is nothing to fear but fear itself.
These were the words Mr. Kife had recited to them in their U.S. history class today. They were the infamous words spoken by Franklin Delano Roosevelt during his first inaugural address as President and they were said to reassure a nation suffering from the worst Depression in history.
The quote did little to reassure Willow, however, as she stepped out of the high school and looked up at the dark, ominous clouds gathering directly in front of the sun. Mother Nature was clearly in the mood for a September storm, despite the promises of meteorologist Tim Jenkins who had insisted that tonight would be warm and free of showers.
Without question, Willow feared lightning more than frogs, especially after her cousin Wanda had given her a week’s worth of nightmares retelling the story of how their telephone had exploded when a white-hot strike had made contact with their house. Although the odds weren’t exactly high that she would meet the same fate as the phone and electrical lines, she couldn’t help but feel greatly unsettled by the storm.
Clutching her textbooks tighter to her bilious green jumper, Willow wished that she hadn’t decided to stay so long after the final bell. Not that she really regretted staying behind to sneak a few more peeks at Sunnydale’s newest addition to the faculty, but if she’d left sooner, she wouldn’t be stuck in this predicament.
Willow had first learned of Rupert Giles, the new librarian, while spending her study hall stapling brochures for Principal Flutie’s secretary. Ms. Davies had chatted endlessly about the debonair newcomer and Willow had quickly learned that he was the former curator of the British Museum.
The prospect of meeting such a foreign influence piqued her curiosity. Why would such a distinguished man bother applying for a job at a lowly high school in the crappiest town in California? Surely, a place like Washington D.C. or Boston would be more suitable to his experience.
But when she walked into the library after last period, she couldn’t muster the courage to say a word to him. She hadn’t even been able to grab the textbook she needed on Tolstoy’s literary influence, which meant that she would have to go back there tomorrow.
She was definitely not looking forward to repeating that process again.
Of course, if Mother Nature decided to take her out with a lightning bolt, she wouldn’t have to.
It was at that moment when the raindrops started to fall, which caused Willow to press her back against the school doors in the futile attempt to keep herself dry while she pondered her options. After a few minutes, she was able to come up with three. She could either (A) stay under the awning and wait out the rain, (B) risk it and run home, despite living twelve blocks away, or (C) she could pop a quarter into a pay phone and call her father at work.
Of the three, option C was the riskiest choice. Her father, Ira Rosenberg, was one of the most respected men in town and he was working 24/7 campaigning for the re-election of Sunnydale’s incumbent mayor, Richard Wilkins III. As much as he loved his daughter, he wasn’t a fan of interruptions and distractions. She knew that calling him meant that he’d tell her to call her mother. Unlike Ira, Willow knew that garnering help from her mother would be out of the question because Sheila was in Washington D.C. this week giving a lecture on the body’s autonomic response system to a bunch of grizzled, Freudian psychologists.
The smacking staccato beat of the rain pulled her out of her thoughts and the rolling clap of thunder that followed made her jump. Maybe she should have come up with an option D? Something along the lines of Go back inside, now?
Before she could follow through on her plan, though, the blinding headlight beams of a red ’81 Ford pick-up truck driving toward her kept her feet frozen to the cement step. Everyone in Sunnydale knew who owned the slightly dented rust bucket and most looked down their noses at him, his wife, and his son. Willow wasn’t exactly Mr. Harris’s biggest fan either, given that the whiskey made him mean. But a ride was a ride, she supposed, and her dad did always teach her not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Will!”
Surprised to hear her name pronounced so clearly, instead of hearing it slurred, Willow peered through the now chaotic rainfall and saw Jesse’s dopey brown eyes staring back at her from the rolled-down passenger side window. At the driver’s seat was Xander, whose face was split wide with a smile so infectious and bright that it pierced through the gloom.
“Your carriage awaits, oh Queen of the Bookworms,” Xander announced teasingly.
From anyone else the jest might sting, but from Xander, Willow wasn’t bothered by it because she knew it came from a loving place in his heart.
Not only that but he had shown up to rescue her, which meant that his membership card listing him as a member of the “We Love Willow Rosenberg” club, still read “President.” And since Jesse had tagged along, she still considered him to be treasurer.
Still, as she left the protection of the awning and zipped down the stretch of sidewalk to the road, she was overcome by the realization that the presence of her two best friends sitting on the bench seat of the truck without an adult in sight was in direct violation of a new law. The new law that said teenagers weren’t allowed to drive cars anymore.
It happened after Sheila Martini and Jonathan Levinson were found dead in her ’97 Honda less than two months ago. Not only was her car wrapped around a tree, but there were two puncture wounds in the sides of both of their necks. The newspapers had written it off as a jealous ex-boyfriend with a grilling fetish who had found them at Make-Out Point, stabbed them, and then put the car in drive.
No one had questioned the oddity of an outcast like Jonathan being in the same car as a social rebel like Sheila. In fact, Willow found it kinda cute because nerds needed love too.
The parents, however, operated on a different plane and demanded that the children of Sunnydale be protected from such violence. Apparently, the city government thought they could just fix the problem by suspending a teenager’s right to drive.
The youth, of course, had complained but it was to no avail. Well, all the youth except Willow who had simply booted up her computer, determined to discover how that decision had been arrived at. With a few, well-placed keystrokes, she had been able to hack into the city’s webpage to find the minutes from the city council meeting that had been posted by the transcriptionist.
That was when she’d learned that Sheila’s accident wasn’t the first time someone had been stabbed to death with a barbecue fork.
In fact, it was suspiciously frequent, especially among the homeless and crack addict populations in the bad parts of town. The only difference was that many of those deaths never got reported as such in the papers because the police would write it off as drug-related or the result of gang violence.
“Are you getting in or not, Will?” Jesse asked, flinging open the door and looking at her expectantly. “Because if you’re trying some sort of submersion therapy thing by getting soaked in the rain, you can just meet us at the Bronze.”
Willow blinked in confusion before it occurred to her that he was talking about Ms. Voorhey’s presentation during fourth period on the various ways of reducing fear and anxiety in psychological patients. “You mean immersion therapy?”
“Yeah,” Jesse replied, nodding, not really caring that he’d made an error. “I thought the part about people climbing into the snake pits was pretty cool.”
“Uh…I guess,” Willow replied, trying to ignore the shiver that shot down her spine. Snakes were definitely third on her list of all-time fears. They were scaly and slithery and did that funky thing with their forked tongues…. “But I was more wondering about us getting in trouble. You know we’re not supposed to have cars as students.”
Xander’s smile vanished instantly and his eyes darkened slightly. “I know we’re not supposed to, but I don’t really care. ’Sides my dad is passed out drunk in the bathtub and my mom’s too wrapped up in whatever baby daddy drama is going on the Maury marathon that FOX is running this evening.”
Willow’s lips parted slightly and a wave of guilt crashed over her. Even though Xander sounded casual and nonchalant, as if his parents’ actions were just normal things, Willow knew better. She knew the world of pain that hid behind those words and she hated herself for trying to ruin their fun by being a goodie-goodie.
Without a second thought, she crawled into the cab and settled down between them. She gave Xander’s knee a quick reassuring squeeze and did her best to think “small” in order to keep Xander and Jesse from getting wet.
Before driving off, Xander fiddled with the knobs on the dash and turned the heater full blast. He pushed up the lever to make the windshield wipers swoosh and then pushed down on the accelerator. The tires groaned in protest at Xander’s need for speed, but the increasing rumbles of thunder and bright arcs of lightning were enough to make Willow’s heart beat so loudly that she didn’t take notice to the vehicle’s flaws.
***
The sidewalk outside of the Bronze’s front entrance was sparsely populated, maybe three or four people at the most lingering outside holding their cigarettes and laughing about something. Usually the booming bass that vibrated through the concrete literally forced people to dance their way to the door, but tonight was different somehow. Normally, Willow wouldn’t mind the club being on the empty side as it meant not having to fight for a table, but tonight it only served to intensify her wiggins. What if someone was inside just waiting to make them pay for breaking the rules? What if they all ended up with barbecue forks in their necks?
Xander pulled the truck up to an empty meter on the side street, turned off the ignition, and promptly started fishing in his pants pocket for quarters.
“I’ve got a few,” Willow said, reaching into the pocket of her jumper, grateful for the brief distraction from her macabre thoughts. She produced three coins and passed them over to Xander who nodded his thanks.
Once Xander had collected enough quarters to last them three hours, they got out of the car and fed the machine.
“Party on!” Jesse shouted, draping his arms over Willow’s and Xander’s shoulders and guiding them all towards Earl, the bouncer on duty. There was nothing about him that said he was planning to stick a fork in them. He merely flashed them a gruff smile of recognition and waved them inside.
As they walked towards the main section of the club, Willow noticed several bright blue posters decorating the walls. Each one of them had “Dingoes Ate My Baby” written in blocky script, followed by the time and date of their shows in smaller print (including tonight’s show). There was also a clip-art image in the center of the page featuring claw marks that looked like they were scratching large gashes across the page.
It was creepy and did nothing to make Willow think this night was going to go well. But she didn’t say anything on account of Xander’s and Jesse’s good moods. She didn’t want to spoil their night anymore than she already had so she inhaled sharply and focused her facial features.
“Busting out the resolve face already, Will?” Jesse asked, glancing over at her and noticing the pursing of her lips and the wrinkles in her forehead.
“Yep,” Willow nodded, touching her finger to the tip of her nose. “This face is resolved to have fun tonight.”
“Thatta girl,” Xander replied, lightly nudging her shoulder before making a beeline for the closest empty table.
Willow sat down first and glanced up at the stage where the band was playing. Based on her observations, Dingoes Ate My Baby consisted of a lead singer with dark brown hair, a guitarist with bright blue spikes, and a female drummer with neon pink dreadlocks. On the dance floor, a group of people, probably triple the size of the band, were shimmying and grinding their bodies to the beat. At least the people who came tonight were dedicated….
“Drink?” Jesse asked, pulling out his wallet and thumbing though the small stack of fives and ones tucked inside the fold. “They’re on me tonight.”
“Sprite sounds good,” Willow said.
“Cherry Coke for me,” Xander replied, plopping down on the stool next to Willow.
“You got it,” Jesse said, giving them both a thumbs-up before walking towards the bar.
As the band started playing a weirdly mellow cover of The Who’s “My Generation,” a companionable silence filled the space between Xander and Willow.
Not that she would have minded talking. She liked talking to Xander. When Xander talked, his lips curled up in this cute little way whenever he got excited about something and when his brown eyes were soft, she could feel the warmth of them melting her soul.
Unfortunately, she knew he didn’t exactly take notice when she was crushing. It didn’t matter if she was giving him doe-eyed, innocent looks or wrapping her arms around him to steal a hug and feel his body heat. She knew from the way he talked with her sometimes that he’d much rather be in the backseat of Cordelia’s Lexus with Cordelia’s tongue shoved down his throat.
That didn’t stop her from wishing things would change though because if wishes were Xanders, she would definitely take two.
The song ended and Jesse still hadn’t returned with their drinks. Instead, he was over in the corner handing some skanky brunette her Sprite while some blonde woman in a Catholic schoolgirl get-up extricated herself from the crowd and walked- or more accurately, stalked- towards their table, flashing a panther-like grin at Xander.
“Hey cutie,” she purred, running her fingers up and down the length of Xander’s forearm. “Wanna dance?”
“You bet I do,” Xander replied enthusiastically, looking as if he planned to dive right into the liquid hazel pools of her eyes.
He didn’t even bother to ask Willow if she’d be okay by herself. He just got off the stool and followed this woman like a mindless sheep unaware of the butcher block that awaited him.
As the band launched into some rock song Willow had never heard before, she slid off the stool and headed towards the ladies’ room, feeling completely abandoned by her best friends.
The strong smell of bleach stung her nostrils as she entered the tiled room, but it wasn’t bad enough to make her turn around. Instead, she walked up to the sink and pressed down on the water pump. While she was grateful for the warm burst of water that instantly soaked her skin, she knew it would be short-lived because of how the pumps were timed to go off after 10 seconds. It was nearly impossible to get a good wash unless someone was pressing down on the pump for you and Willow didn’t have anyone who could do that for her tonight.
Except…she did.
Because as soon as she thought it, a set of red-lacquered nails pressed down on the silver control and another rush of water cascaded down onto Willow’s knuckles.
“Hey cutie.”
That voice. That was the voice that teased and tantalized Xander. That was the voice that....
“Hey!” Willow yelped, as she whipped her face towards the voice. It suddenly occurred to her that the woman who should be dancing with Xander was standing in the bathroom with her. “You’re…you’re in here and you’re supposed to be out there.”
“Am I?” the blonde asked, tilting her head as her lips curled back in smirk.
“Well, you were being all grope-y with my best friend. Stands to reason you should be out there with him,” Willow said, crossing her arms over her chest.
The woman sighed, obviously annoyed that Willow wasn’t responding in whatever way she was expected to. “I got bored. Besides, I’ve always had a fondness for the lonely and downtrodden.”
“I’m not…” Willow protested, not noticing the woman’s hand move from the sink to her shoulder before it was already too late. The contact, however simple, made her feel uncomfortable and tension swirled inside her gut. It felt like she was trapped in the web of a black widow spider, trapped by a wolf eager to sink her fangs into yielding flesh.
“You are,” the woman insisted, digging her nails into Willow’s shoulder. “You reek of it. But tonight’s your lucky night; because I’m going to make that all go away.”
Willow gulped, panic rising in her throat as she glanced down at the woman’s free hand. Although she didn’t see a barbecue fork, she couldn’t escape the feeling that a forking was about to happen. Her forking. And Xander and Jesse would never set foot in the ladies’ room so rescue was very unlikely.
Oh God…
“My life really isn’t all that bad. I mean, my family is...” Willow started.
Never around.
“And my friends are....”
Giving my drinks to prettier women than me who they don't even really stand a chance with, but they try anyways because they're doo-doo heads.
Willow hung her head, feeling defeated by her inability to lie about her lot in life.
“Don’t worry, silly,” the woman said, chuckling. “This world is going to burn in two days and not only do you get to watch, but you get to live.”
Willow blinked, feeling confused for the second time that night. She had been so sure that this bathroom confrontation was going to end with her death given the way things had gone so far, but now it seemed like the tables were turning in her favor. “How?”
Her answer came in the form of feral eyes and glinting fangs that sliced through the air and connected with the column of her throat before Willow had time to scream. The next thing she felt was the coppery tang of blood filling her mouth and soaking into her cheeks and chin.
As darkness closed in on her eyes, Willow had the fleeting thought that if this woman didn’t go by the name of fear, Franklin Delano Roosevelt should get his money back.
***
There’s nothing to fear but me.
Willow knelt before the Master.
She’d been instructed to do so by her sire, Darla, several moments after she had opened her eyes and found herself in an underground cavern that was, she estimated, at least six feet beneath the surface. The demon inside of her had barely had time to blink, barely had time to resist, before Darla was in full control.
Darla stood behind her, wearing a look of adoration so intense that Willow felt it scorching her skin.
“She’s a fine choice,” the Master replied, rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb as he peered down at Willow with beady, red eyes. “Hearty. Brimming with fire and…” He sniffed the air slightly. “Raw magic.”
“Thank you, sir,” Darla exclaimed, as if she was fully responsible for the way the demon blended into Willow’s human personality.
Willow supposed there could be some truth to it, but she couldn't ignore the way Darla had to turn it into some sort of performance. It felt so Cordelia-esque.
Turn the mouse into a beauty. Blah. Blah. Blah.
She was a vampire now and she wanted to eat. She wanted to sate the ever-increasing itch in her fangs. Most of all, she wanted to find Xander and make him notice her. Not that it would be hard. She was pretty now. She oozed confidence and sexiness and power (no matter how much Darla thought she controlled Willow's leash.) Of course, before she made him her mate, she felt the sudden urge to torture him a little.
Just for the fun of it.
As for Jesse, her inherent desire to not care about humans in general unfortunately placed him in the food column. There was no room for him for in her new life.
“Bored now,” Willow murmured, pursing her lips in a sultry scowl.
Darla gasped and backhanded Willow across the face, clearly offended by her new fledge’s response. “Forgive her, Master. She’s young…and stupid.”
Willow reached up to rub her stinging cheek, feeling the indentation Darla’s knuckles had left behind. Fucking bitch.
The Master leaned forward slightly and clapped his hands together once. “On the contrary, pet. I happen to find her delightful. I remember being that feisty once.” He flashed a mischievous grin at her, much like a father endorsing a child’s rambunctious play.
Now it was Willow’s turn to beam because it didn’t take an enhanced sense of hearing to know that Darla was fuming about the Master taking favor with Willow. She knew it was childish to be so proud of getting one over on her sire this quick in the game, but she couldn’t help but hear the cheerful chorus of neener, neener, neener play its sweet melody inside her head.
“I want to go hunting,” Willow said, her eyes changing from hazel to vivid green as she rose to her feet.
“You will feast tonight, Little One. You will feast and celebrate and I will ascend,” the Master replied, gesturing to one of the vampires hovering near the door. The vampire that the Master had chosen was a burly-type that looked like he didn’t have a lot going on upstairs.
But Willow knew him well enough from the short time she’d been down here. His name was Luke and the symbol painted on his forehead marked him as the Master’s vessel. “Take her up. It’s time.”
Luke draped his arm over her shoulder as he led her off towards the tunnel entrance and it reminded her of the times Jesse did that. Unlike Jesse, however, Willow felt no friendly connection to this lunk-head. In fact, she pretty much loathed him. She didn’t need a chaperone. She might have been only be one day old in vampire years, but she already knew she was better than he was. Smarter than he was. Darker than he was.
And she was going to prove it.
As soon as the pavement was beneath her feet.
When the glow of the street lamps touched her cheeks, Willow smiled. She was ready to run. She was ready to find Xander and make him notice her, make him fear her. Or she was until an unfamiliar fist zoomed towards her face.
She managed to duck in time, but Luke didn’t fare quite as well as he had been behind her. The preternatural force behind the punch sent Luke flying backwards into a row of garbage cans and the metallic clang rang loudly in the empty alleyway.
When Willow lifted her head and looked up at the newcomer, she found herself caught in the gaze of a pair of angry brown eyes. He was strong, all corded muscles and red-hot rage, and he was ready to strike again like a bolt of lightning that thought itself capable at hitting the same place twice.
Not that Willow was going to let him.
She was strong too.
She flexed her fingers and stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
“Who are you?” Willow asked, rotating her pelvis and testing out the pair of leather pants Darla had purchased for her. Like a second skin, the animal hide moved the way she did and she couldn’t help but feel smug and sexy when she caught more than rage permeating from his aura.
He was horny too.
“Angel,” he replied, before lashing out at her with his fists again.
Willow caught his hand before it could make contact with her nose and she heard his bones crackle from the pressure she applied. Old Willow never had this sort of strength, never had this sort of confidence. She had been so weak, so pathetic, so easily demolished by her fears. But now, Willow felt none of that.
Angel didn’t flinch at the pain, but he did draw his hand back.
Willow grinned, taking advantage of the opening he gave her. She executed a roundhouse kick that was pretty near flawless for a girl who couldn’t even survive the exercise regimens of high school gym class.
To her pleasant surprise, it had the desired effect as Angel stumbled backwards. All it took was one more kick to the stomach to get the newcomer on his rear. Before he had the chance to get back up, Willow stepped forward and placed her boots on either side of him. “Looks like you fell down, Angel. Wanna bet heaven won’t let you back in?”
Angel grunted and Willow bent her knees, lowering herself down on top of him. She didn’t notice Luke get up, but she did hear the patter of feet as he scampered off like a chicken. Here’s hoping he still had the balls to go through with the Master’s plan.
“You won’t get away with this. I’ll stop you before you kill all those innocent people,” Angel hissed, his eyes flashing gold.
Willow frowned, recognizing the shift in his features, the wide ridges marring the flat expanse of his forehead.
Vampire?
Willow paused, scrambling to remember if Darla had mentioned this sort of anomaly when Darla had given her a crash course in Vampire Lore 101. Her memory pulled up plenty of other things like the Order of Aurelius, the difference between a minion and a childe, the way to show respect to her elders.
And then she remembered something about a vampire bound by guilt and shame.
He had been Darla’s first childe. He had been lonely and reeking of gin when he had stumbled upon Darla in an alley somewhere in the town of Galway. But Darla had transformed him. She had turned him into the finest demon to wreak havoc on the European countryside, but that had come to a swift end when a Romani gypsy clan had cursed him with a soul.
Darla had disowned him immediately.
But now he was within walking distance from his old sire, acting like a super-hero from one of Xander’s stupid comic books and fighting for the safety of people who didn’t deserve it.
If she was honest with herself, she didn’t need another history lesson. She didn’t need to know why he fought so hard to destroy his own kind. Instead, she reached forward and cupped his cheek, feeling the coolness of his flesh beneath her palm. She didn’t really care one way or another what he was fighting for. All she knew was that she wanted to be there when the fight finally left his eyes. She wanted to be the one to make him bark, the one who made him surrender.
He would remain, as always, beneath her.
“Master’s coming, puppy, and you’re not going to stop it,” Willow replied, grinding her pelvis against his. Amusingly, she felt something stirring and twitching beneath her weight. He was getting turned on by this, even if his face was contorted in agony. Nothing like a hypocrite to keep the boredom at bay. You never know what you’re going to get. “In fact, I think we’re gonna make you watch. But the worst part is, when it’s over, we’re gonna let you live.”
They were almost the exact same words that Darla had made to her the night she was killed, but Angel was already dead so the promise was more like a threat.
“No,” Angel snarled, bucking against her. “I’ll die before I let you win.”
Willow grinned as she bore down against him, forcing him to still again as the earth beneath them began to vibrate and tremble. She breathed in the dust that stirred around them and tilted her head backwards, fully aware of what was happening.
Luke had performed his duty. He had tasted the blood of hundreds who would all show up in tomorrow’s paper as being the victims of barbecue forks and gangs on PCP, provided the news reporters were all still alive. More importantly, though, Luke had destroyed himself so that the Master could be set free.
It was actually kinda poetic really that such a coward could die in such a heroic way.
“It’s too late, puppy. Daddy’s already home and he’s going to clean up all the mud you tracked into the house.” Willow purred, bending her head forward and licking a broad stripe across his forehead. Angel shuddered, repulsed by her action, yet his cock still twitched diligently against her thigh.
Hypocrite.
As much as she wanted to continue to explore the possible contradictions that could provide her with hours of entertainment, she knew that she needed to head back to the Bronze.
She knew she would need to be there to greet her Daddy into the world, to introduce him to their new pet, and to bring Xander into the dark, twisted world that she so fully embraced. The very thought of his sweet blood touching her tongue was enough to get her moving again.
Well, that and the scalding burn of a silver cross being dug into the tender skin of her forearm.
“Fuck!” Willow screeched, narrowing her eyes.
Leaping to her feet, Willow delivered several kicks to Angel’s ribcage before stomping her foot down on his throat, effectively crushing his wind pipe. Being a vampire, she knew he would heal once he got some blood in him, but that didn’t make the raspy, awful scream that erupted from his throat any less satisfying.
She was making his life hell.
And when she got the chance, she was going to see just how hot those flames licked his skin.
“Can’t wait to see what how you respond to matches,” Willow replied, her eyes twinkling as she surveyed the mangled wreck of the demon still lying beneath her.
That was when she saw it.
A glimmer in the shadows of his dark eyes that she recognized all too well from her time as a human.
Fear.
Real fear.
Fear that paralyzed him like she had been in the lightning storm two nights ago. Fear that unsettled him like the people who crawled into the snake pits. Fear that soaked into his bones and tendons and muscles and kept him at her mercy.
It was the same fear that she would go onto induce in the living residents of Sunnydale. The same fear that would make them all bow down at her feet.
She had become the very definition of fear, itself.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2012-01-11 10:35 pm (UTC)First of all, I love the title. Wonderful play on preexisting episode titles.
The beginning is great; I didn't connect it to being the Wishverse until I was already engrossed. Very clever. I chuckled at her father being on the Mayor's reelection team.
Not only that but he had shown up to rescue her, which meant that his membership card listing him as a member of the “We Love Willow Rosenberg” club, still read “President.” And since Jesse had tagged along, she still considered him to be treasurer.
This stood out as so utterly, perfectly Willow. I really enjoyed how you subtly laced her devotion and love for Xander through the story. It's exactly how repressed angst should feel. Which makes the blunt desire and focus she has on finding and turning Xander (but not Jesse) after she's risen all the better.
Absorbing and intricate storytelling. Well done! My only criticism is that the ending feels a little short. But that could be because it feels like there should be more; the story pulls you along, and even though you know where this 'verse ends, Vamp Willow is just beginning. I want to see her find Xander, pout in front of the Master some more, and kick Darla's ass.
no subject
on 2012-01-16 06:54 pm (UTC)I'm glad I was able to pull you in without complete establishment of the Wish'verse at the beginning.
I'm glad I was able to capture Willow's character for you along with her longing for Xander.
I agree that the ending was cut a bit short. I'm always hesitant to write sequels to things though as they often don't come out quite as good as the original.