Fic: A Half-Formed Thing (Willow/Tara, R)
Hello, hello, it turns out family Christmas is still happening, fml, but I have just enough spare capacity to remember it's whichwillow deadline day today. Thus:
Title A Half-Formed Thing
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating R
Pairing Willow/Tara
Words 1900
Prompt Season 5: If Willow had been split in two in The Replacement, what would her different personalities have been?
Warnings situational dub con, with Tara initially unaware that she's with a half!Willow instead of the whole person - and references to non con in sorting out just what has happened
At first it's almost like dreaming. Willow is Willow. Except for how she's not.
Tara wakens to Willow, curled all around her. Looking deep into her eyes. Playing with her hair. And with magic. Magic all around them both. It's soft, like the best blanket you ever had. Curling and curving, absorbing the badness outside, not letting anything in. Nothing difficult. Nothing hurtful.
It feels different. Different to the world Tara knows. It's… more? More numbing, more deadening of everything outside, like all that matters is Willow and Tara here, together, alone. It's amazing. But it's not how Tara lives. She doesn't think Willow should, either.
But it's early, and this is soft and easy, and Willow is winding around her, so Tara postpones a Talk for later. You can't always live by perfect principles, she tells herself. Sometimes, you have to go with what feels good.
God, this feels good. Willow's slipping around her, all arms and legs, lissom and lithe, slippery and sinuous, spreading Tara's thighs, tongue flickering out, but she's not all show, she sinks her mouth into Tara, and feasts.
Tara's looking up to the ceiling, the blank pale space that's outside their bubble. She's not thinking so much as feeling, the coiling, oily demanding swirl of orgasm, approaching inexorably. Willow's demanding it from her, and Tara so much wants to give it, but she's being pulled so hard towards it that the pleasure starts to dissolve into something that… is not.
She notices the thoughts she has been having. That she's in the power of Willow's magic. That the sex is wonderful, but too much, too hard, too little about Tara the real person. That the words she has been using to describe Willow today are serpentine.
That this is not the Willow she went to bed with last night.
This Willow would notice fakery, though, so Tara lets herself not notice a little longer, writhing in those intense feelings, letting them flood her senses so hard she loses herself for a moment.
"Mmmm," says Willow, looking up Tara's warm, sprawled body, all curves and softness. Her mouth is wet red, open, her teeth very white. They can't really be sharper than Tara remembers, but for a moment she thinks vampire.
Perhaps it's not so very wrong, as an instinct. This Willow would devour Tara, she has no doubt.
She lets herself look now, as she draws Willow's body on autopilot up toward her, to lie cheek to cheek, as Willow grinds against Tara's thigh, running warm with sticky wet evidence that she's not inhuman in her responses. But Tara's barely here now, she's deep in Willow's aura.
Green, she finds it. Green and with a hint of scales, perhaps. Or perhaps that's Tara's psyche, imposing her horrified realisation and choice of language on her perceptions.
Willow has always been a rainbow, and now she's so narrow. So focused. So full of power that Tara doesn't dare to look for too long, or she knows Willow will feel it. That kind of power has its own defences. So Tara switches off. She knows how to do that. Makes herself small, unnoticeable. Makes herself grey. It works, till Willow is done with her.
She dresses in the clothes she used to wear, soft, enveloping beige and khaki, lots of layers, hiding herself. Willow wears black. Nothing but black. Something drifts across her aura, something dark and rippling. Tara wants to get out of here.
She says, "Breakfast?"
Willow shrugs.
Right. Nutrition is this really human thing. You take the fruits of the earth, you put them in your mouth, you taste them and mix with your own juices, salivary, gastric, you name it, to make them something you can handle, and then you take the goodness out of them into your body so they live on. And then you poop out the unwanted remnants, and Tara's fairly certain this Willow doesn't think much of that process.
*
So Tara heads off for breakfast alone. Just a little cereal, because she's not actually hungry, but she is actually real. And she does need every part of that nutrition process, if she's going to… what? Fight Willow? Fight whatever has possessed her? Except, nothing in that aura felt alien. Nothing at all. It's just Willow. Willow refined to the worst of herself.
Tara needs to find Scoobies. And books. And backup. And another witch, who isn't a rat but does have power. And-
Tara doesn't know what she needs.
She takes her bowl off to the quietest part of the dining hall. There's someone already there, her back to Tara. Her hair is red, straight and flat. A little how Willow's used to get, before she got that volumiser. Her sweater is bright, and ugly. The kind of thing you might wear because you love it, or because you think you're a punchline, who doesn't deserve to look nice. Tara matches her today. She feels a flare of anger against whoever made this girl feel like this was her place. There are too many people like that.
Tara says, quietly, "Is it okay if I-" and the girl turns around. It's Willow.
Willow with downcast eyes, and an uncertain edge to her bearing. Willow the way she's sometimes looked in photos from way back, before Buffy, before Angelus and finding her powers. Before Oz, too. She half-smiles at Tara, and says, "Hey. Sure. Of course. Sit down! It's so nice to see you, I wasn't sure if I'd see you today, because we didn't agree anything, and-"
"It's good to see you too," says Tara, lightly, and kisses her on the forehead. Goddess, it really is good to see her. So good. This is her Willow. Kind of. The aura's all there, sparkling clear and multicoloured. Willow didn't get bodysnatched or enchanted. Someone's been impersonating her, and okay, Tara's going to process her personal violation later, when she has this down, and evil has been defeated, because she doesn’t have time for this. "Okay, there's this demon pretending to be you, so we need to call the guys, and get our research on. I know a little about it, but I think our magic together will be way more effective, so-"
"I can't do magic," says Willow, staring down at her empty plate. "Tried. Can't. Not a thing. Seems like it left me after all."
Tara has another look at that aura. It's so colourful, she missed it. But there's no green. Not a hint. No oily dark slick contaminating the bright shades, either, which is probably a good thing. But not a powerful thing. "So, uh, a demon stole your magic and is impersonating you, I still say it's time to tell the others, and-"
"We shouldn’t bother them," says Willow. "It was always gonna happen. Who'd ever believe I'm a natural witch, Tara? You know it was always an accident, finding Jenny's spells, just luck and being in the right place with the right herbs. Now I'll just be back on research, I guess. I never was much good with weapons, and-"
Tara finishes chewing, because you shouldn't waste food, but she does it as fast as possible, and she's out of there as quickly as anyone could manage. "See you for Psych," she says, and kisses Willow again. Willow looks surprised, mostly. Pleased, but not like it's a thing she anticipated. Not like she can do anything about it.
Tara runs.
*
"Wait," says Buffy. "Do we really need Giles right now? He's all busy with the Magic Box refurb. And if it's just some goofy thing with Willow."
"Not goofy," says Tara. "Really not. It's like she's just half a person. Maybe a little more than half. And there's this other Willow slinking around, and they'll meet at Psych if they haven't already, and I'm pretty sure my Willow's gonna get killed." Her Willow is lovely, but not a match for that power, that will. Especially not without magic.
Giles, it turns out, meets them at the dorm entrance. "I've been researching that staff," he begins, and everything kind of falls into place.
They're both Willow. Not Tara's Willow and an impostor. Tara's girlfriend is half monster, kind of. Which Tara can't exactly criticise, but it doesn't feel good to have seen that side of Willow. And the Willow without magic, without confidence, she's too much like Tara for comfort. How Tara was, before she found herself. And sure, Willow and magic helped with that. But for Willow, it's like the magic is everything, like that's what holds her together, makes her who she is today.
"In a fight," says Xander, looking at the two Willows, "I'm totally backing evil Willow."
"There will be no fighting," says Giles, severely. "They will merge seamlessly with just a few words."
"If there's no fighting, why do you have me restrained?" asks magic Willow. Restrained is a pretty mild term for it, considering the layers of magical bondage Giles and Anya have conjured over her.
"Are you kidding? You're freaking powerful," says Anya. "There's no way we're risking the furniture if you got free."
Non-magic Willow looks at her sagging socks, and says nothing. Tara pats her hand. "It'll soon be fixed, right? You said that Minneapolis witch had the good intel."
Willow nods. "Uhuh. I think. If she really is a witch, which I don't know for sure. I mean, anyone could be on the internet, right? Posing as a witch, just waiting for some dumb college kid from California to ask about re-merging a sundered personality. She's probably laughing right now at how I fell for it."
Buffy says, "Can we please merge them back before the witch gets free and incinerates us all? Or-" and she looks at babbling Willow with… is that pity? Tara kisses that Willow, just in case, and hopes Buffy doesn’t finish the sentence.
There are candles and a few words, and it's all over. Just one Willow. Shiny aura full of green and gold and red and blue and white and pink… and that ripple of oily black Tara was seeking. Okay. "She's back," says Tara, aloud.
Then there is hugging and laughter and much rejoicing from the Scoobies, and Willow is just how she was. Maybe it's only Tara that sees her differently now.
Except that, that night in the dark of their warm, happy bed, Willow says, "So, you hate the magics? Or is it the power that freaks you out?"
Tara doesn't say anything, at first. She's trying to think how to respond. It gives Willow time to continue. "You liked shy little dumbass Willow. You'd like me more without Wicca, I know it. Admit it."
She's kneeling up, pressing down Tara's shoulders, staring into her eyes. Strong, scary-strong. "N-no," says Tara, the old stutter ambushing her. "I was about ready to smack your head if you hadn't got off your ass and done something useful." It's true enough, and it makes Willow laugh. She moves down to kiss Tara, fierce grip relaxing.
But Tara has bruises in the morning. She won't forget that.
Maybe it's inevitable, that half a personality is a wrong thing. Maybe it's right that Tara loves Willow as a whole being, and that her two halves grate when separated. If Willow without magic had had love and time, she'd have been okay, probably. The magic is just a shortcut.
Magic Willow loves shortcuts. And deep, squirmingly in her belly, Tara doesn't want to be around to see the next one.
*
Title A Half-Formed Thing
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating R
Pairing Willow/Tara
Words 1900
Prompt Season 5: If Willow had been split in two in The Replacement, what would her different personalities have been?
Warnings situational dub con, with Tara initially unaware that she's with a half!Willow instead of the whole person - and references to non con in sorting out just what has happened
At first it's almost like dreaming. Willow is Willow. Except for how she's not.
Tara wakens to Willow, curled all around her. Looking deep into her eyes. Playing with her hair. And with magic. Magic all around them both. It's soft, like the best blanket you ever had. Curling and curving, absorbing the badness outside, not letting anything in. Nothing difficult. Nothing hurtful.
It feels different. Different to the world Tara knows. It's… more? More numbing, more deadening of everything outside, like all that matters is Willow and Tara here, together, alone. It's amazing. But it's not how Tara lives. She doesn't think Willow should, either.
But it's early, and this is soft and easy, and Willow is winding around her, so Tara postpones a Talk for later. You can't always live by perfect principles, she tells herself. Sometimes, you have to go with what feels good.
God, this feels good. Willow's slipping around her, all arms and legs, lissom and lithe, slippery and sinuous, spreading Tara's thighs, tongue flickering out, but she's not all show, she sinks her mouth into Tara, and feasts.
Tara's looking up to the ceiling, the blank pale space that's outside their bubble. She's not thinking so much as feeling, the coiling, oily demanding swirl of orgasm, approaching inexorably. Willow's demanding it from her, and Tara so much wants to give it, but she's being pulled so hard towards it that the pleasure starts to dissolve into something that… is not.
She notices the thoughts she has been having. That she's in the power of Willow's magic. That the sex is wonderful, but too much, too hard, too little about Tara the real person. That the words she has been using to describe Willow today are serpentine.
That this is not the Willow she went to bed with last night.
This Willow would notice fakery, though, so Tara lets herself not notice a little longer, writhing in those intense feelings, letting them flood her senses so hard she loses herself for a moment.
"Mmmm," says Willow, looking up Tara's warm, sprawled body, all curves and softness. Her mouth is wet red, open, her teeth very white. They can't really be sharper than Tara remembers, but for a moment she thinks vampire.
Perhaps it's not so very wrong, as an instinct. This Willow would devour Tara, she has no doubt.
She lets herself look now, as she draws Willow's body on autopilot up toward her, to lie cheek to cheek, as Willow grinds against Tara's thigh, running warm with sticky wet evidence that she's not inhuman in her responses. But Tara's barely here now, she's deep in Willow's aura.
Green, she finds it. Green and with a hint of scales, perhaps. Or perhaps that's Tara's psyche, imposing her horrified realisation and choice of language on her perceptions.
Willow has always been a rainbow, and now she's so narrow. So focused. So full of power that Tara doesn't dare to look for too long, or she knows Willow will feel it. That kind of power has its own defences. So Tara switches off. She knows how to do that. Makes herself small, unnoticeable. Makes herself grey. It works, till Willow is done with her.
She dresses in the clothes she used to wear, soft, enveloping beige and khaki, lots of layers, hiding herself. Willow wears black. Nothing but black. Something drifts across her aura, something dark and rippling. Tara wants to get out of here.
She says, "Breakfast?"
Willow shrugs.
Right. Nutrition is this really human thing. You take the fruits of the earth, you put them in your mouth, you taste them and mix with your own juices, salivary, gastric, you name it, to make them something you can handle, and then you take the goodness out of them into your body so they live on. And then you poop out the unwanted remnants, and Tara's fairly certain this Willow doesn't think much of that process.
*
So Tara heads off for breakfast alone. Just a little cereal, because she's not actually hungry, but she is actually real. And she does need every part of that nutrition process, if she's going to… what? Fight Willow? Fight whatever has possessed her? Except, nothing in that aura felt alien. Nothing at all. It's just Willow. Willow refined to the worst of herself.
Tara needs to find Scoobies. And books. And backup. And another witch, who isn't a rat but does have power. And-
Tara doesn't know what she needs.
She takes her bowl off to the quietest part of the dining hall. There's someone already there, her back to Tara. Her hair is red, straight and flat. A little how Willow's used to get, before she got that volumiser. Her sweater is bright, and ugly. The kind of thing you might wear because you love it, or because you think you're a punchline, who doesn't deserve to look nice. Tara matches her today. She feels a flare of anger against whoever made this girl feel like this was her place. There are too many people like that.
Tara says, quietly, "Is it okay if I-" and the girl turns around. It's Willow.
Willow with downcast eyes, and an uncertain edge to her bearing. Willow the way she's sometimes looked in photos from way back, before Buffy, before Angelus and finding her powers. Before Oz, too. She half-smiles at Tara, and says, "Hey. Sure. Of course. Sit down! It's so nice to see you, I wasn't sure if I'd see you today, because we didn't agree anything, and-"
"It's good to see you too," says Tara, lightly, and kisses her on the forehead. Goddess, it really is good to see her. So good. This is her Willow. Kind of. The aura's all there, sparkling clear and multicoloured. Willow didn't get bodysnatched or enchanted. Someone's been impersonating her, and okay, Tara's going to process her personal violation later, when she has this down, and evil has been defeated, because she doesn’t have time for this. "Okay, there's this demon pretending to be you, so we need to call the guys, and get our research on. I know a little about it, but I think our magic together will be way more effective, so-"
"I can't do magic," says Willow, staring down at her empty plate. "Tried. Can't. Not a thing. Seems like it left me after all."
Tara has another look at that aura. It's so colourful, she missed it. But there's no green. Not a hint. No oily dark slick contaminating the bright shades, either, which is probably a good thing. But not a powerful thing. "So, uh, a demon stole your magic and is impersonating you, I still say it's time to tell the others, and-"
"We shouldn’t bother them," says Willow. "It was always gonna happen. Who'd ever believe I'm a natural witch, Tara? You know it was always an accident, finding Jenny's spells, just luck and being in the right place with the right herbs. Now I'll just be back on research, I guess. I never was much good with weapons, and-"
Tara finishes chewing, because you shouldn't waste food, but she does it as fast as possible, and she's out of there as quickly as anyone could manage. "See you for Psych," she says, and kisses Willow again. Willow looks surprised, mostly. Pleased, but not like it's a thing she anticipated. Not like she can do anything about it.
Tara runs.
*
"Wait," says Buffy. "Do we really need Giles right now? He's all busy with the Magic Box refurb. And if it's just some goofy thing with Willow."
"Not goofy," says Tara. "Really not. It's like she's just half a person. Maybe a little more than half. And there's this other Willow slinking around, and they'll meet at Psych if they haven't already, and I'm pretty sure my Willow's gonna get killed." Her Willow is lovely, but not a match for that power, that will. Especially not without magic.
Giles, it turns out, meets them at the dorm entrance. "I've been researching that staff," he begins, and everything kind of falls into place.
They're both Willow. Not Tara's Willow and an impostor. Tara's girlfriend is half monster, kind of. Which Tara can't exactly criticise, but it doesn't feel good to have seen that side of Willow. And the Willow without magic, without confidence, she's too much like Tara for comfort. How Tara was, before she found herself. And sure, Willow and magic helped with that. But for Willow, it's like the magic is everything, like that's what holds her together, makes her who she is today.
"In a fight," says Xander, looking at the two Willows, "I'm totally backing evil Willow."
"There will be no fighting," says Giles, severely. "They will merge seamlessly with just a few words."
"If there's no fighting, why do you have me restrained?" asks magic Willow. Restrained is a pretty mild term for it, considering the layers of magical bondage Giles and Anya have conjured over her.
"Are you kidding? You're freaking powerful," says Anya. "There's no way we're risking the furniture if you got free."
Non-magic Willow looks at her sagging socks, and says nothing. Tara pats her hand. "It'll soon be fixed, right? You said that Minneapolis witch had the good intel."
Willow nods. "Uhuh. I think. If she really is a witch, which I don't know for sure. I mean, anyone could be on the internet, right? Posing as a witch, just waiting for some dumb college kid from California to ask about re-merging a sundered personality. She's probably laughing right now at how I fell for it."
Buffy says, "Can we please merge them back before the witch gets free and incinerates us all? Or-" and she looks at babbling Willow with… is that pity? Tara kisses that Willow, just in case, and hopes Buffy doesn’t finish the sentence.
There are candles and a few words, and it's all over. Just one Willow. Shiny aura full of green and gold and red and blue and white and pink… and that ripple of oily black Tara was seeking. Okay. "She's back," says Tara, aloud.
Then there is hugging and laughter and much rejoicing from the Scoobies, and Willow is just how she was. Maybe it's only Tara that sees her differently now.
Except that, that night in the dark of their warm, happy bed, Willow says, "So, you hate the magics? Or is it the power that freaks you out?"
Tara doesn't say anything, at first. She's trying to think how to respond. It gives Willow time to continue. "You liked shy little dumbass Willow. You'd like me more without Wicca, I know it. Admit it."
She's kneeling up, pressing down Tara's shoulders, staring into her eyes. Strong, scary-strong. "N-no," says Tara, the old stutter ambushing her. "I was about ready to smack your head if you hadn't got off your ass and done something useful." It's true enough, and it makes Willow laugh. She moves down to kiss Tara, fierce grip relaxing.
But Tara has bruises in the morning. She won't forget that.
Maybe it's inevitable, that half a personality is a wrong thing. Maybe it's right that Tara loves Willow as a whole being, and that her two halves grate when separated. If Willow without magic had had love and time, she'd have been okay, probably. The magic is just a shortcut.
Magic Willow loves shortcuts. And deep, squirmingly in her belly, Tara doesn't want to be around to see the next one.
*