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Wednesday 08 October 2008


Proclamations of the Red Queen

6th August 2008

Buffy Fanfiction: Bid My Blood to Rise

Posted by: Craig Young

For a change, here’s some of my¬†old fanfiction. It’s an extremely nasty Buffy the Vampire Slayer one with a rape revenge theme, and a very dark mother/daughter bonding relationship. So don’t read it if you’re not into it. On the other hand, if your taste does run toward darkside feminism…

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Bid My Blood to Rise: Heterotopia AU: 2004:

Dru/Hekate (mother/daughter ’ship: NC-17)

Warning: This story is about incest and child battery, and contains a graphic
rape revenge scene. If you or any of your loved ones have experienced this
ordeal, you may choose not to read this story.

Summary: It’s Winter 2004. In Los Angeles, a sexually abused teenager uses
darkmagick to reach out for salvation. A dark princess finds a daughter. A
brutalised and unloved child takes her revenge on the man who torments her.

Disclaimer: Drusilla is a character from Joss Whedon/UPN’s Buffy the
Vampire Slayer. Samantha Dykstra/Hekate and her father are original
characters of my own.

In her room, Samantha Dykstra nursed a blackened eye and her heart
triphammered as she nursed a gaping cut on her shoulder. Below her, she
heard the hateful sounds of her father’s Pentecostal ministry spatter and
screech into dissolution. Soon he would come up those stairs and the
whiskey bottle would come out again and she would flinch from him as he laid
into her with his belt and something even more obscene would happen.

Because it had been happening for the last two years, since Samantha had
turned twelve. And no-one wanted to help her stop it, or listen to her. He’d
caught her looking at a silver pentacle in a shop window, hit her and hauled
her away, and locked her in her room.

Samantha looked at the scars on her wrist and knew she couldn’t take any
more. This time, he would kill her. Unless. Yeah. There was enough time and
she still had some of those herbs. She sprinkled them into a circle and
inscribed a pentagram and lit incense. With trembling fingers, she lifted the
broken-spined watermarked grimoire, and dripped some wound blood into
the parameters and then spoke the Elysian Rite of Great Prosperina. She
didn’t dare look into the mirror, otherwise she would have seen night shroud
the pupils of her eyes.

Below her, Howard Dykstra ushered out the last of his parishioners, then felt
his daughter’s hesitant act of defiance. With a roar of rage, he grabbed his
whiskey bottle from its hiding place beneath the pulpit and ran up the stairs,
swigging from it as he did so. He yelled:
“Samantha! Open this door now! Open it, or there’ll be hell to pay.” He threw
his corpulent bulk against the frame repeated and caught his daughter with
the banned book of shadows and backhanded her. He unlooped his belt and
began to lay into her with it, as she screamed for some mercy, any mercy.

But there is a last time for everything under night, and torture is no
exception,
even very intimate hells. Several rooftops away, a huntress had heard the cry
for help inside her mind and was struck by the raw terror, fear and anguish
that it carried. Drusilla might have committed savageries of her own, but this
was a child’s cry for help and she made a fateful choice.

Samantha screamed once more and suddenly, her window shattered as a
figure in russet silk and a long black skirt appeared. As it gamefaced and
roared its rage, Samantha swallowed. Then the newcomer stalked toward her
father, who brandished a crucifix at her. As the unearthly figure flinched,
Samantha realised what and who this must be and grabbed a wooden shard
from her window. In the next instant, she summoned all her strength and rage,
and slammed the pole across her father’s legs, bringing him down and
sending the crucifix flying into the circle. Samantha’s eyes eclipsed again as
she snarled:
“Alkhemos.”

Howard Dykstra backed himself against a wall and it was his turn to cry out in
agony as the vampire threw itself at him, beseeching help from supernatural
entities whose most sacred teachings he had violated when he had raped his
own flesh and blood for the last two years. He screamed as Drusilla ripped
into his chest, burrowing into it and biting deeply into flesh and muscle and
blood and then he lost consciousness.

As he did, Dru became aware of something unusual about the young woman.
She showed no signs of compassion or filial loyalty or anguish for what the
vampire had done to her father. Dru marvelled at this, then she noticed a
single tear rolling down the child’s face. At last, Dru spoke:
“I came in response to your cry for help. You do realise that I almost killed
your father.”
“That thing down there is no kin to me. He’s raped me every weekend for the
last two years, he’s battered me, he never showed me any mercy. I don’t care
if you kill me now. It’ll be worth it if I see that fuckin’ ball of pus and shit
down there die before me.”
“You know what I am?”
“Yeah. You’re a beautiful hunting leopard in human form, a vampire. ”
Dru paused:
“Sweetheart, I will not end your life. Before I was turned, my sire raped me, so
I know what this monster did to you. I want to offer you that chance of
immortality. Join me.”
Samantha looked down at her father’s trembling form. He’d pissed himself:
“If I do that, it means that I can’t work darkmagick. Doesn’t it? Oh, sweet
Prosperina. I think the Dark Goddess Herself sent you to me.”

And finally, Samantha knew that she didn’t have to be strong anymore and
could release the accumulated pain of her violated and blasted childhood. In
a moment, Drusilla had closed the gap between them and held the younger
woman close, smoothing her hair, rocking backward and forward with her as
she let out the pain and humiliation of her short life. In that instant, both of
them realised something. Dru realised that this child-woman was precious to
her, and that she loved her. Samantha felt the same, as if this woman were
the mother that she could barely remember. As they reluctantly broke apart,
Howard Dykstra moaned as he regained consciousness in a welter of blood
and pain. Dru roughly hauled him to his feet and bent his head back. She
said:
“Given what he did to you, you have the right to avenge yourself.”
“Oh yes. Yes, I want that.”

Howard Dykstra screamed and strained against the deceptive fragility and
velvet steel arms of the vampire that held him as Samantha plunged her knife
into his heart and sliced upward. She watched as Dru savaged his throat like
a wild animal and he screamed for mercy. But he had never shown Samantha
any, and she replied to him in kind. As he uttered one final death rattle, Dru
drank deeply and then let his corpse fall to the floor. Then she turned to her
new daughter and said:
“What’s your name? I’m Drusilla.”
Samantha hesitated and chose a craft name for herself that symbolised what
she had become- guardian of hell’s cauldron, renamed for a dark goddess:
“Hekate.”
“Daughter? Do you want to blast this place apart in fire and ashes and this
miserable child rapist’s carcass with it?”
“Yes. And Drusilla? I love you, momma.”

Five minutes later, surrogate mother and daughter watched at the funeral pyre
of a young woman whose childhood had been blasted and cankered. From
the ashes, something powerful and dark took form. But Drusilla and Hekate
were oblivious to this, for they had found each other and would never be
separated from that evening forward.

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