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FIC: In The Name Of The Father
I don't know where it came from! But I have fic.
Title: In The Name Of The Father
Length: only 1,000 words!
Rating: light R
Disclaimers: Whedon's, M.E.'s, Francis P. Church's, J.M. Berrie's, Sophocles', and that movie with Daniel Day Lewis.
Warnings: language, sex
Summary: For Wesley, it always comes back to the same thing. Wesley/everyone.
X
Cordelia was outside the box. Sure, she was something from inside naughty magazines, something shoved inside the crack between mattress and bed-boards of boys, but that was just it. A bosom that fantastic was something outside of school life, and getting in her was getting out there, and that was Wesley’s first thought. Finally did something right, laying eyes on her.
Two words. Jail. Bait.
Then again, like always, something not so right. Instead she was something inside, deep inside, the place he didn’t like to go. The place where the young ones lived.
And Giles watched on in judgment.
X
Faith was disappointing. Sitting astride him, said his wounds brought out her inner mother. Mentored him next in torture, as if he hadn’t learned that in the lap with pat-a-cake. She confused maiming/impalement classifications. Disappointing.
Brought out the daughter in her, because she asked what would happen if Giles’d been her Watcher. Brought out her Elektra, because of how she fondled him. Confusing division of mother/daughter/lover.
Unlike torture subgroups, this confused Wes as well. He was her son/lover/his own father: “Just one thing to remember,” he tells her. “You are a piece of sh—”
Faith cuts him off. Disappointing.
X
Virginia Bryce was just the sort of Virginia who inspired editors to write, “Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.”
Her father had her on house arrest for twenty years. If that’s not the same as being trapped down below for twenty hours, next her father tried to kill her, and that mirrors a place in Wesley. Children, trapped deep inside.
No surprise she wanted him when he gifted her with freedom. Also no surprise that when he got shot, it “got too real,” and she left him. In that place. Alone.
Father Christmas doesn’t get shot, see. He’s invincible.
X
Angel was fucking him over the desk.
Wesley was a success. Head of the house. Found a way to Pylea for Cordelia—sister. Gunn, brother. Angel . . .
Gentle hands tightened, heavy at Wesley’s neck, hard to breathe. “Wes, do what you need.”
It only took one phonecall home to take him down. “Please.”
Angel pinned Wesley’s hands down, cruel now. “No. No ‘please.’” Dry voice in his ear, deep cock inside hitting—the right—place—“Do what I tell you, hear? Let it go. Now.”
A wracking sob. “Angel, anything, make you proud, please, proud—Father—Papa—”
X
Justine was familyless, but she found it again in Holtz. He was her father/lover/sister—Wesley could recognize the confusion in her eyes, and the censure in Holtz’s. Disappointing.
So when Justine came to Wesley, beaten, telling him Holtz had done it, he saw a sister in her. That was how she managed to betray him. She found his place. Where the young ones were. What a father can do. The deepness of the well.
So far down that though she took Connor, Wes was still with Angel’s son, always. Falling. No family to save you, falling farther, farther into hell.
X
Lilah was for Wesley’s first time, a grown woman. Legal, in more ways than one, and resigned that Santa was supposed to be your parents. She was Wendy, who, on that final night with Peter, found she couldn’t go to that place again.
Lilah silenced the screams inside, used the bodies to pave herself over . Her ambition was to walk on solid ground, to neither fall nor fly.
But it was a lie. Somewhere inside her, Lilah still believed, and Wesley made her believe it. That is why for him, just him, she put on glasses and played dress-up.
X
Angelus was inside, deeper than magazines, mattresses, bed-boards, deeper even than naughty nightmares that drenched mattresses and creaked bed-boards with midnight strokings.
Sometimes Wesley thought he drew him out of the sea just to get him inside, just so with those fangs Wes could finally reach out (wrist first) for release. Not from blood, nor from come. From life, because Angelus existed outside life, and could get Wes out too.
Didn’t happen. That time, Angel was inside.
So when Angelus did get out, the place in Wesley, at the bottom of his deepest well, hoped Angelus would get inside again.
X
Roger wasn’t real. He was a robot. Which made sense when you thought about it, Wesley concluded later, when he was cleaning the gun he’d used to shoot him.
The actual Roger wasn’t the real Roger either. Twenty hours, after all, isn’t really an attempt to kill you. Neither is, “name the ways to break a man, fast as you can.” Memories of childhood are as fake as Connor’s non-childhood. But if he knew anything, Wesley knew there was only one thing to remember. This time, Faith wasn’t there to cut him off.
Fathers don’t get shot, see. They’re invincible.
X
Connor wasn’t dressed in skins any more. Was never played by a woman, never never lived in the land where you never grew up. Wasn’t an orphan, six fathers and mothers too many. Wesley wished he could save him.
“Steal me away?” Connor repeated after Wesley, when Wesley came to him. Connor thought, then laid down his pen.
Later, when they were kissing, Wesley’s hand hooking Connor to him and time ticking away, the boy, breathless, whispered, “Strange. Always thought I—. . .wanted—older women.”
“I’ve always preferred—the young ones.”
And Connor was the youngest one of all.
X
Fred was with her parents, laughing, when Wesley realized, more than wanting her, he’d wanted to be her. Her utter lack of fantastic bosom put him in school life, and for once he didn’t want to get out. Wanted to get inside, not just her sex, but all of her.
Something else got inside first. Staring at that Fred-skin, Wesley recognized himself more in Illyria than he ever had in Fred. Ancient ones. Ones who’d lost their kingdoms, worshippers—homes, families. Sure, Fred had Lost Boy’ed it in Pylea, but Illyria and Wesley shared the same place. The deeper well.
Title: In The Name Of The Father
Length: only 1,000 words!
Rating: light R
Disclaimers: Whedon's, M.E.'s, Francis P. Church's, J.M. Berrie's, Sophocles', and that movie with Daniel Day Lewis.
Warnings: language, sex
Summary: For Wesley, it always comes back to the same thing. Wesley/everyone.
X
Cordelia was outside the box. Sure, she was something from inside naughty magazines, something shoved inside the crack between mattress and bed-boards of boys, but that was just it. A bosom that fantastic was something outside of school life, and getting in her was getting out there, and that was Wesley’s first thought. Finally did something right, laying eyes on her.
Two words. Jail. Bait.
Then again, like always, something not so right. Instead she was something inside, deep inside, the place he didn’t like to go. The place where the young ones lived.
And Giles watched on in judgment.
X
Faith was disappointing. Sitting astride him, said his wounds brought out her inner mother. Mentored him next in torture, as if he hadn’t learned that in the lap with pat-a-cake. She confused maiming/impalement classifications. Disappointing.
Brought out the daughter in her, because she asked what would happen if Giles’d been her Watcher. Brought out her Elektra, because of how she fondled him. Confusing division of mother/daughter/lover.
Unlike torture subgroups, this confused Wes as well. He was her son/lover/his own father: “Just one thing to remember,” he tells her. “You are a piece of sh—”
Faith cuts him off. Disappointing.
X
Virginia Bryce was just the sort of Virginia who inspired editors to write, “Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.”
Her father had her on house arrest for twenty years. If that’s not the same as being trapped down below for twenty hours, next her father tried to kill her, and that mirrors a place in Wesley. Children, trapped deep inside.
No surprise she wanted him when he gifted her with freedom. Also no surprise that when he got shot, it “got too real,” and she left him. In that place. Alone.
Father Christmas doesn’t get shot, see. He’s invincible.
X
Angel was fucking him over the desk.
Wesley was a success. Head of the house. Found a way to Pylea for Cordelia—sister. Gunn, brother. Angel . . .
Gentle hands tightened, heavy at Wesley’s neck, hard to breathe. “Wes, do what you need.”
It only took one phonecall home to take him down. “Please.”
Angel pinned Wesley’s hands down, cruel now. “No. No ‘please.’” Dry voice in his ear, deep cock inside hitting—the right—place—“Do what I tell you, hear? Let it go. Now.”
A wracking sob. “Angel, anything, make you proud, please, proud—Father—Papa—”
X
Justine was familyless, but she found it again in Holtz. He was her father/lover/sister—Wesley could recognize the confusion in her eyes, and the censure in Holtz’s. Disappointing.
So when Justine came to Wesley, beaten, telling him Holtz had done it, he saw a sister in her. That was how she managed to betray him. She found his place. Where the young ones were. What a father can do. The deepness of the well.
So far down that though she took Connor, Wes was still with Angel’s son, always. Falling. No family to save you, falling farther, farther into hell.
X
Lilah was for Wesley’s first time, a grown woman. Legal, in more ways than one, and resigned that Santa was supposed to be your parents. She was Wendy, who, on that final night with Peter, found she couldn’t go to that place again.
Lilah silenced the screams inside, used the bodies to pave herself over . Her ambition was to walk on solid ground, to neither fall nor fly.
But it was a lie. Somewhere inside her, Lilah still believed, and Wesley made her believe it. That is why for him, just him, she put on glasses and played dress-up.
X
Angelus was inside, deeper than magazines, mattresses, bed-boards, deeper even than naughty nightmares that drenched mattresses and creaked bed-boards with midnight strokings.
Sometimes Wesley thought he drew him out of the sea just to get him inside, just so with those fangs Wes could finally reach out (wrist first) for release. Not from blood, nor from come. From life, because Angelus existed outside life, and could get Wes out too.
Didn’t happen. That time, Angel was inside.
So when Angelus did get out, the place in Wesley, at the bottom of his deepest well, hoped Angelus would get inside again.
X
Roger wasn’t real. He was a robot. Which made sense when you thought about it, Wesley concluded later, when he was cleaning the gun he’d used to shoot him.
The actual Roger wasn’t the real Roger either. Twenty hours, after all, isn’t really an attempt to kill you. Neither is, “name the ways to break a man, fast as you can.” Memories of childhood are as fake as Connor’s non-childhood. But if he knew anything, Wesley knew there was only one thing to remember. This time, Faith wasn’t there to cut him off.
Fathers don’t get shot, see. They’re invincible.
X
Connor wasn’t dressed in skins any more. Was never played by a woman, never never lived in the land where you never grew up. Wasn’t an orphan, six fathers and mothers too many. Wesley wished he could save him.
“Steal me away?” Connor repeated after Wesley, when Wesley came to him. Connor thought, then laid down his pen.
Later, when they were kissing, Wesley’s hand hooking Connor to him and time ticking away, the boy, breathless, whispered, “Strange. Always thought I—. . .wanted—older women.”
“I’ve always preferred—the young ones.”
And Connor was the youngest one of all.
X
Fred was with her parents, laughing, when Wesley realized, more than wanting her, he’d wanted to be her. Her utter lack of fantastic bosom put him in school life, and for once he didn’t want to get out. Wanted to get inside, not just her sex, but all of her.
Something else got inside first. Staring at that Fred-skin, Wesley recognized himself more in Illyria than he ever had in Fred. Ancient ones. Ones who’d lost their kingdoms, worshippers—homes, families. Sure, Fred had Lost Boy’ed it in Pylea, but Illyria and Wesley shared the same place. The deeper well.
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Fathers don’t get shot, see. They’re invincible.
That line made me gasp a bit, 'cause you really built up to it brilliantly.
And the whole Fred/Illyria one was great--a good place to end, because it sums up Wes's longing and guilt.
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(Anonymous) 2006-09-10 06:10 pm (UTC)(link)Yeah. It's cool.
Glad you liked it, thanks.
And you'll get your fic tonight--lots of stuff, but almost everything is very small.
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Sure, she was something from inside naughty magazines, something shoved inside the crack between mattress and bed-boards of boys, but that was just it.
echoes this: Angelus was inside, deeper than magazines, mattresses, bed-boards, deeper even than naughty nightmares that drenched mattresses and creaked bed-boards with midnight strokings.
I liked how how each and every one of these shows Wes in isolation.
I liked this:Fathers don’t get shot, see. They’re invincible.
and this Sometimes Wesley thought he drew him out of the sea just to get him inside, just so with those fangs Wes could finally reach out (wrist first) for release. Not from blood, nor from come. From life, because Angelus existed outside life, and could get Wes out too
Very clever and lots of great twisty-turny prose, too.
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echoes this:
Glad you liked that. I didn't feel it worked when I wrote it--makes me happy you singled out that part in particular.
I liked how how each and every one of these shows Wes in isolation.
He makes me sad.
Thanks so much, Chris.
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Angelus was inside, deeper than magazines, mattresses, bed-boards, deeper even than naughty nightmares that drenched mattresses and creaked bed-boards with midnight strokings.
That is a most gorgeous sentence!
Again, wow.
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I had particular trouble with that sentence! So the fact that you singled it out is reassuring.
Glad you liked the fic--thanks for letting me know.
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(Anonymous) 2006-09-10 02:11 am (UTC)(link)This, tkp, took my breath away. at every. single. X.
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Each of these is amazing in its own right, a Wesley so dark and bound by his own twisted self-image that they really made me step back and see him. And the last one? YES YES YES he wanted to BE her ... and there will be coming, I hope, intelligent commenary on these from me later because they deserve that.
Amazing character study. Beautifully and freshly imagined.
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Of all the people he wanted to bang (and there are a lot, because Wesley is such a horny boy), she was the only one with a happy family, good parents who loved her.
and there will be coming, I hope, intelligent commenary on these from me later because they deserve that.
Any discussion with you is always I pleasure. I really admire your character insights.
Thanks for your glorious fb!
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And damn, Wesley's issues are hot.
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Even though you never see it in canon, this is especially true of my!Lilah. I think she had a very similar childhood to Wesley--but Lilah went one way and Wes another.
And damn, Wesley's issues are hot.
I completely agree. Poor boy, I love to watch him suffer.
Thanks so much.
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I love this decription of Cordelia:
she was something from inside naughty magazines, something shoved inside the crack between mattress and bed-boards of boys
and the way you echo it later with Angelus. I love the way you echo "Father Christmas doesn't get shot" with "Fathers don't get shot." And can I just say that this is one of THE best uses of "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" that I've ever read anywhere? Brilliant.
This part threw me a little: "Memories of childhood are as fake as Connor’s non-childhood," because at the point in canon where Wes shot his father ("Lineage"), he still didn't have his memories back. But that's just a niggling thing.
This line practically ripped my guts out:
Mentored him next in torture, as if he hadn’t learned that in the lap with pat-a-cake.
Oh. GOD. In that one sentence, you conjure up a whole childhood full of pain. I could quote other phrases, but I'd be practically quoting the whole thing. Beautifully done.
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and the way you echo it later with Angelus.
Several people mentioned that, and I'm so tickled by it because I thought it didn't work at all.
This part threw me a little:
It was supposed to be dramatic irony, the narrator stating what Wesley doesn't know, but that line sat wrong with me too. Not the least because the rhythm also doesn't flow on it.
Thank you so much for your kind words. I'm all glow-y!
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That last paragraph is bleak, stunning, and so real. Awesome.
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Isn't he? I love him so damn much. I'm glad you felt the fic did him justice. And thanks.
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And can I just say: the best thing about writing a fic about Wesley is how it makes people break out the hot Wes icons.
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You really capture Wes' need for an absolute truth, which of course he can never find.
But it was a lie. Somewhere inside her, Lilah still believed, and Wesley made her believe it. That is why for him, just him, she put on glasses and played dress-up.
Even Lilah betrays him in her willingness to pretend because she thinks that's what Wes wants.
And I love that's why he loves Fred - because her life is a complete lie (How could a hppy family be anything but) and Wes thinks if he can't have truth, he'll have the fairytale instead.
There's so much else here too - the myth of the father, but Wes keeps looking for it anyway, the abused becomming the abuser (And Connor was the youngest one of all.)
I am obviously incoherant and will stop now.
)
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Um, wow? What's sad is I didn't even think of it that way. I was thinking of the fact that Fred truly, in reality, does have a happy family life, or did. But of course the moment I chose for Fred is one that isn't real at all, because it's Illyria acting a part. Cool.
the abused becomming the abuser (And Connor was the youngest one of all.)
Glad that's what you got from that part. I totally see it happening, too. Wes can be utterly cruel, especially when he is trying to do the right thing.
Thanks so much for giving me so much to think about. I guess I feel like one of my problems as a writer is I don't trust readers to catch the concepts I'm aiming at, and try to spell them out too much. I really tried to hold back from that here, so it's so awesome to have you bring even more to it than I thought was there.
Of course it would be you, because you were just reading the other half of my brain I can't see. ;o)
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I like this, too:
She confused maiming/impalement classifications. Disappointing.
Dispassionate, hateful, and self-hating.
One thing I didn't "get" was Angel telling him to call him Papa--not in so many words, of course, but I guess I felt uncertain as to Angel's awareness of Wes's daddy issues.
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That's exactly what I was going for, there. It makes me sad that Wesley and Faith, who seem to have the most influentially BAD childhoods in Jossverse, understand each other so little because they hate themselves so much.
One thing I didn't "get" was Angel telling him to call him Papa--not in so many words, of course, but I guess I felt uncertain as to Angel's awareness of Wes's daddy issues.
One of the things I love about A/Wes (which is my OTP so sooper sekrit I never even talk about it) is that I think Angel perfectly understands Wesley's daddy issues, and also knows just how much those issues get grafted onto Angel himself. If you're really interested, which you might not be but K, SOOPER SEKRIT OTP: a demon talks not only about Wes's daddy issues but how they've been grafted onto Angel--right in front of Angel in "I've Got You Under My Skin". And in "Soulless" when Angel goes Angelus he says Wes's father is ashamed of Wes. Since Angelus has a nasty habit of rubbing in unpleasant truths, my take has always been Angel knows more about Wes's issues than even Wes does (because Wes refuses to face it and Angel knows how people work. Especially how they're weak) and just never says anything because he's too polite.
But anyway, that part of the fic wasn't meant to be Angel saying, "unload your daddy issues now, Wes!" so much as, "Now that I've removed the stick up your ass to put my cock up it you better loosen up or this is going to hurt." No. Um, what I mean is, even if Angel doesn't know specifically what Wes's issues are, the premise here was that he knew Wes is too uptight and self-punishing, and doesn't let go of his emotions nearly often enough. I personally doubt Angel of canon would really ever fuck Wesley, but I suspect that if he did, it would be to help Wes find release--not just sexually but emotionally, of whatever it is his emotions are, daddy-induced or not.
Now, considering that they ARE daddy issues, and the fact that Angel probably has a kink for being called Daddy...that might not preclude future occurences of said fucking...hmm.
/kink
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Wow, what a cool way of saying exactly what I was going for. I wrote a list of the times when Wes's family issues really play a big role, and realized each one had to do with a specific person. So I ended up writing about Wesley by writing about other people, which was kind of a roundabout way to go at it, but I'm so glad that worked for you the way I hoped it would.
Thanks!
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Everything I like, and that means all, has already been said and praised.
I found the last few sentences had the most impact because I can *see* Wesley in that place.
Something else got inside first. Staring at that Fred-skin, Wesley recognized himself more in Illyria than he ever had in Fred. Ancient ones. Ones who’d lost their kingdoms, worshippers—homes, families. Sure, Fred had Lost Boy’ed it in Pylea, but Illyria and Wesley shared the same place. The deeper well.
Well done.
Hugs
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Fred/Illyria had to be last because he loves her best and also it's a chronology thing, but I wondered whether one of the other bits didn't have more weight. Really glad you feel about it the way you do.
Thanks as always, hon.
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She was Wendy, who, on that final night with Peter, found she couldn’t go to that place again. Which caused me to jump up and down with joy. Also the deeper well refrain. Later, I will give you how much this made me yearn for time.
Why are all of my icons so happy?
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Glad you liked the Lilah as Wendy bit. Wasn't sure it worked.
And yeah, time. What's funny is I don't have a job and I still have none. I need to send you an email replete with bitching about S7. Because...I can?
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This one I liked noting what I thought of as the "preposition moments" -- your use of the inside/between/inner words, and their opposites. That was fun. And how you tied the last bit back up to the first by, of all things, a "fantastic bosom." Heh.
If I concentrate on the small stuff like that then I don't break my heart over the larger picture of Wesley.
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That's interesting because what I'm trying to do when I write a fic like this is take canon and draw arrows, too. I don't think it'll ever stop stunning me how much things interconnect, especially when it's as tightly woven a world as Whedon's.
This one I liked noting what I thought of as the "preposition moments" -- your use of the inside/between/inner words, and their opposites.
I'm glad you enjoyed that! I have a bad habit of getting obsessed with the words to the point where they lose meaning, and I was afraid I did that here with the inside/outside stuff, especially in the Angelus bit. It just fascinates me how much Wes is about the places inside and holding everything in, when all he really wants is to get out.
So glad you liked it, and that you appreciate the weird word tricks. Thanks so much.
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The style of hitting the same themes over and over, but with new insight with each one was a brilliant idea. The final one wrapping up the Peter Pan theme and what place in the family Wesley actually took - all and none - just really great.
"Something else got inside first." Oh, ouch. Insightful, that.
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what place in the family Wesley actually took - all and none -
Yeah! That's what's cool about Wes.
Thanks so much, hon. It always means a lot to me when you leave fb.
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Thanks so much for that. I am actually extremely wordy, but I try *really* hard to shave the excess off. On both this and the B/A piece, I set myself word limits for each part. I'm so glad that works for you.
And hey! I feel like I have not seen you around in a long time. I'm glad you're posting again!