a_pretty_fire: (my darling deadly boy)
It was raining in Prague. Their suite was bright and golden – just like the pretty little girl that Spike had found for their supper – but the greyness of the skies and bleakness of the sodden city seeped in through the curtains. It was almost enough to choke Drusilla. It filled up her head until she wanted to scream with frustration. The heavens shouldn’t have opened. They were supposed to remain closed to the likes of her. She’d been marked for the devil from the day of her birth and claimed by him forever on the day of her death. When she’d risen from the ground, as white as a ghost and with soil in her hair, she’d stepped forward without ever looking back towards the light that she’d lost.

(“Don’t worry, princess,” Spike had murmured, kissing her bare shoulder as he sprawled out on the bed beside her. “The rain’ll clear up soon and then we can go out and find out who’s worth killing in this city.”)

She was lucky to have her darling deadly boy. They never had any difficulty entertaining themselves, though he’d drifted off to sleep now. She must have tired him out. )
a_pretty_fire: (ill met by moonlight)
(Based on roleplay with the wonderful [livejournal.com profile] swanseer at [livejournal.com profile] realityshifted.)

Drusilla was just like Goldilocks. She didn’t have the right hair and she couldn’t abide porridge, but the stories ... oh, yes. She always got the stories right.

Too hot, too cold and just right. )

Prompt: "We are alone, you and I. How unusual."
Word Count: 1,592
a_pretty_fire: (my sweet little spike)
The Road Less Travelled

2. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
A Midsummer Night's Dream: Act V, Scene I

“Choose a different path, Drusilla,” murmurs the man in the moon, and she does. She steps along a new fork in the road, then another – the future stretches out before her like a ribbon – and she peeps in at the lives she never got to live.

“For eternity, pet. For eternity.” )
a_pretty_fire: (innocent)
Fairy Tales

Every story needs a knight. They have witches too, sometimes, but Drusilla has always liked the knights best of all. The witches never get to carry shining swords or ride horses. They only have broomsticks, and they don’t stay up in the sky without the stories to hold them there.

(Drusilla knows. She tried to fly, once, when she was a little girl. She ripped her petticoat and bloodied her knees, and Mama was ever so cross. Drusilla didn’t understand why pretending to be a witch was worse than having wicked witch pictures in her head. She was sure that the pictures were just as loud as the games in the garden, and the neighbours had good ears beneath their sensible white bonnets. At least she didn’t have green skin or boils on her nose. She’d checked in the mirror every morning, before the glass stopped speaking to her. She didn’t have to look after that, because vampires were always better than witches in the books. They had castles, even if Daddy told her that she’d never be able to turn into a bat.)

The princesses don’t get to carry swords either, but the knights do all the chopping for them. )
a_pretty_fire: (wicked)
She was a hard girl to track down, his Drusilla, but it wasn’t impossible.

After leaving Sunnydale for the second time, Spike made his way back to South America. She probably hadn’t stuck around after their spat, but a love struck vampire needed to start somewhere, didn’t he? Besides, a girl like Dru was bound to leave signs. He’d spent over a century in her company, and he knew damn well what to look for. He knew what she liked.

He knew what she liked.

In fact, he knew it so well that he’d vowed to tie her up and torture her until she loved him again. It was only a matter of time before he was back in the arms of his black goddess. )

Prompt: "I'll just torture her 'til she likes me again."
Word Count: 914
a_pretty_fire: (ill met by moonlight)
Tell us about your name.

Grandmother Darla lost her name. Very careless of her. She didn’t remember to keep in her pocket, where the pixies couldn’t pull at it. Tricky little things, playing games with vampires who let the moon fill their heads with nonsense. Drusilla was too sensible for their tricks. She listened to them, letting them in so she could control where they wandered.

She can’t remember if her name has always been Drusilla, though. )
a_pretty_fire: (to her own tune)
The Lunatic and the Poet

1. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
A Midsummer Night's Dream: Act V, Scene I

The Royal London Hotel was the most sumptuous building William had ever been in. He’d been in nice buildings before, of course, but only thanks to the social circles he’d desperately tried to move in. This was different. He wasn’t that person anymore, for a start. No more cringing, no more clinging on at the edges of society. He was going to show the world who William Pratt could be.

Although he needed to work on the name. It wasn’t very ... vampiric, was it? )
a_pretty_fire: (killer)
Drusilla has always wanted a daughter. Or another sister. Maybe the girl can be both, she hasn’t decided yet?

She doesn’t need to, either. Vampiric families don’t work like that. Darla is more than her grandmother. Spike has never been a son alone. And how could anyone try to label her dear bad daddy?

There’s no need to get caught up in details. )

Prompt: ‘Different’
Word Count: 517
a_pretty_fire: (my sweet little spike)
The Summer of '69

It was 1969. The year of the moon landing, the Vietnam War and the ‘free love’ movement. The year of punk rock, hair gel and hippies that made Spike's mouth fizz.

(Not necessarily in that order, though.) )
a_pretty_fire: (family)
We're not a tree. We're a knot. All of us linked together, hand in hand and blood to blood. We have the same roots and leaves and branches. I don't know how I can draw it.

Princess's Family )
a_pretty_fire: (covered with her)
Spike and the Slayer were fighting.

Cat and mouse, lion and mouse, tiger and mouse. Her Spike was going to rip the Slayer’s lungs out. Tear her heart straight from her chest and give it to Drusilla. A present for Princess. They’d been allies once, the Slayer and Spike. Just for a little while. But Spike knew who he was. Who he was, and where he stood.

The Slayer was the enemy.

No.

The Slayer was kissing him?

The Slayer was kissing Spike and Spike wasn’t pushing her away. Spike wasn’t even biting her tongue off.

Spike was kissing her back. Kissing the Slayer. Kissing and kissing and falling to the ground and ...


... and Drusilla woke up with a start. )

Prompt: “You do not choose the life you will experience ahead of time.”
Word Count: 665

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April 2012

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