BtVS Fic: Plotting Revenge
Title: Plotting Revenge
Fandom: BtVS
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Angelus, Buffy.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 915
Spoilers: Innocence.
Summary: Buffy had made him feel human, made him feel love, and that was something Angelus would not endure. He would have his revenge, in the most brutal, sadistic ways he could conceive.
Written For: Prompt 091 - Vengeance at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BTVS, or the characters.
Angelus couldn’t rest, couldn’t relax, couldn’t even keep still, instead pacing the warehouse restlessly throughout the interminably long hours of daylight. A red rage was on him, redder than hate, redder even than spilled blood, and it was all HER fault. He had sweet, sweet revenge on his mind; he just needed to come up with a suitable plan of action. Buffy…
Ah, Buffy, the delectable Miss Summers, the Slayer. She hadn’t been the one to curse him with the return of his mortal soul; that had been gypsies, the elders of the Kalderash tribe, and it had been their vengeance against him for taking the life of one of their own, the tribe’s favorite daughter. But Buffy had done something far worse to him, something that demanded retribution; she’d made him love her, and that was something he couldn’t allow to go unpunished.
He was a vampire, a demon, and he’d been forced to endure every one of Angel’s tender emotions towards that slip of a girl, had been made to feel like a human being! It had been disgusting, all that cloying sentiment, and to make matters worse, no matter what atrocities he committed, he couldn’t drive the memories out of his head! They haunted him day and night, grating on his nerves like fingernails down a blackboard, or an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Perhaps he should thank Buffy; after all, if not for her he might still have been trapped in this body, supressed by Angel’s soul, helpless to take what he wanted, effectively neutered. For far too long he’d been force-fed cold, lifeless animal blood, a poor, insipid substitute for the richness of the human blood he craved, laced with his victims’ terror and despair. Now, at long last, he could revel in his true demonic nature once more, and little Buffy had been the one responsible for that, by giving Angel one moment of complete happiness…
What would be the best way to say thank you? Rip her still-beating heart from her chest, perhaps? No, that would be too direct, too quick, too easy. He could torture her slowly, killing her by inches; that could take quite a while, and hearing her scream for mercy would be music to his ears. He shook his head. No, as satisfying as that might be it still wasn’t enough. It would make a suitable finale, but it was something that should be built up to. A proper display of his gratitude would require more thought, more finesse, more… imagination. It wasn’t something to be rushed; revenge of this kind deserved to be savoured.
Spike had pinned all his hopes on resurrecting the Judge, and that had been fun, for a short while, but in retrospect Angelus was glad the plan had failed. Sucking all the humanity out of every last person on earth would have left no one worth feeding from, and what was a vampire without humans to terrorise and to feast on? Then again, Spike had never been all that bright. It would have been a sorry day for all demonkind if his misguided attempt to destroy humanity had succeeded. Hm, taking care of the Judge for him was another thing he should probably show Buffy proper appreciation for.
On the other side of the coin, Angelus owed Buffy for what she’d done to him after she destroyed the Judge, kicking him in a very sensitive part of his anatomy. That had hurt, and while vampires did at times enjoy pain, there were some things even a demon couldn’t take much pleasure in having inflicted on his body. He’d scarcely been able to stand up straight for the rest of the night, never mind walk, and Spike had laughed at him!
So, how to repay the Slayer for all she’d done for him, and to him? If something was worth doing then it was worth taking time over, to make certain it was done right. First he’d taunt her, show her how easily he could get to not only her, but to all of the people she cared about. Her mom, her pathetic little group of friends, her Watcher… Then, when she was suitably scared and beginning to panic, he’d pick them off, one at a time, perhaps leave their bodies in places where she’d be sure to find them. Gifts to demonstrate how he felt about her.
Already he could taste her terror, her confusion, her desperation as she realised that he could get to her anywhere, at any time, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. He’d chip away at her until she broke, until she shattered into a million pieces, racked by guilt, shame, and grief, knowing that the deaths, every last one of them, were because of her.
Only then, when she had nothing left, no friends and no family, no Watcher, and no hope, would he come to her, and he would kill her slowly, inch by careful inch, his hands dripping red with her blood, the taste of it lingering on his lips and tongue. He’d hold her captive, draw her death out in sweetest torment for days, weeks, maybe even months. Slayers did have exceptional healing abilities, after all.
But eventually she would breathe her last; it would have to end that way, because he still loved her, even now, and for that alone she had to die. It was the only way he could ever truly be free of her.
The End
Fandom: BtVS
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Angelus, Buffy.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 915
Spoilers: Innocence.
Summary: Buffy had made him feel human, made him feel love, and that was something Angelus would not endure. He would have his revenge, in the most brutal, sadistic ways he could conceive.
Written For: Prompt 091 - Vengeance at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BTVS, or the characters.
Angelus couldn’t rest, couldn’t relax, couldn’t even keep still, instead pacing the warehouse restlessly throughout the interminably long hours of daylight. A red rage was on him, redder than hate, redder even than spilled blood, and it was all HER fault. He had sweet, sweet revenge on his mind; he just needed to come up with a suitable plan of action. Buffy…
Ah, Buffy, the delectable Miss Summers, the Slayer. She hadn’t been the one to curse him with the return of his mortal soul; that had been gypsies, the elders of the Kalderash tribe, and it had been their vengeance against him for taking the life of one of their own, the tribe’s favorite daughter. But Buffy had done something far worse to him, something that demanded retribution; she’d made him love her, and that was something he couldn’t allow to go unpunished.
He was a vampire, a demon, and he’d been forced to endure every one of Angel’s tender emotions towards that slip of a girl, had been made to feel like a human being! It had been disgusting, all that cloying sentiment, and to make matters worse, no matter what atrocities he committed, he couldn’t drive the memories out of his head! They haunted him day and night, grating on his nerves like fingernails down a blackboard, or an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Perhaps he should thank Buffy; after all, if not for her he might still have been trapped in this body, supressed by Angel’s soul, helpless to take what he wanted, effectively neutered. For far too long he’d been force-fed cold, lifeless animal blood, a poor, insipid substitute for the richness of the human blood he craved, laced with his victims’ terror and despair. Now, at long last, he could revel in his true demonic nature once more, and little Buffy had been the one responsible for that, by giving Angel one moment of complete happiness…
What would be the best way to say thank you? Rip her still-beating heart from her chest, perhaps? No, that would be too direct, too quick, too easy. He could torture her slowly, killing her by inches; that could take quite a while, and hearing her scream for mercy would be music to his ears. He shook his head. No, as satisfying as that might be it still wasn’t enough. It would make a suitable finale, but it was something that should be built up to. A proper display of his gratitude would require more thought, more finesse, more… imagination. It wasn’t something to be rushed; revenge of this kind deserved to be savoured.
Spike had pinned all his hopes on resurrecting the Judge, and that had been fun, for a short while, but in retrospect Angelus was glad the plan had failed. Sucking all the humanity out of every last person on earth would have left no one worth feeding from, and what was a vampire without humans to terrorise and to feast on? Then again, Spike had never been all that bright. It would have been a sorry day for all demonkind if his misguided attempt to destroy humanity had succeeded. Hm, taking care of the Judge for him was another thing he should probably show Buffy proper appreciation for.
On the other side of the coin, Angelus owed Buffy for what she’d done to him after she destroyed the Judge, kicking him in a very sensitive part of his anatomy. That had hurt, and while vampires did at times enjoy pain, there were some things even a demon couldn’t take much pleasure in having inflicted on his body. He’d scarcely been able to stand up straight for the rest of the night, never mind walk, and Spike had laughed at him!
So, how to repay the Slayer for all she’d done for him, and to him? If something was worth doing then it was worth taking time over, to make certain it was done right. First he’d taunt her, show her how easily he could get to not only her, but to all of the people she cared about. Her mom, her pathetic little group of friends, her Watcher… Then, when she was suitably scared and beginning to panic, he’d pick them off, one at a time, perhaps leave their bodies in places where she’d be sure to find them. Gifts to demonstrate how he felt about her.
Already he could taste her terror, her confusion, her desperation as she realised that he could get to her anywhere, at any time, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. He’d chip away at her until she broke, until she shattered into a million pieces, racked by guilt, shame, and grief, knowing that the deaths, every last one of them, were because of her.
Only then, when she had nothing left, no friends and no family, no Watcher, and no hope, would he come to her, and he would kill her slowly, inch by careful inch, his hands dripping red with her blood, the taste of it lingering on his lips and tongue. He’d hold her captive, draw her death out in sweetest torment for days, weeks, maybe even months. Slayers did have exceptional healing abilities, after all.
But eventually she would breathe her last; it would have to end that way, because he still loved her, even now, and for that alone she had to die. It was the only way he could ever truly be free of her.
The End