#a glowing aura surrounding him Running up that hill still playing in the background

[archive2394934]

It seems a bit underwhelming if Will’s role is to just humanize Vecna if he’s supposed to have a big focus in S5 and that’s his only connection to the UD? Wouldn’t it make more sense that there’s a bigger plot twist that Vecna or the Mindflayer kidnapped him because he was special in some way?

Imo if Will is able to bring a sense of empathy to Vecna that ultimately "gets through" to him and, say, theoretically severs his connection with the Mindflayer or weakens OR WHATEVER it which ultimately leads to saving the entire world, I wouldn't say thats underwhelming.

I mean, is it less underwhelming if Will somehow throws a magical fireball at him and kills him instantly "achieving" the "same" thing?

[skoobyspooky]

DRUSILLA.....................................................SPIKE

Name: Drusilla Elizabeth Josephine Keeble Name: William “Spike” Pratt Verse: Fear the Red Queen’s Rage, alt. canon

First Meeting

If he had not shoved into them in his heartbroken haste, she still would’ve paid him mind to the dark but shattered aura surrounding his very being. Attracted, Drusilla followed him into an alleyway stocked with barrels of liquor where he sobbed and tore at pieces of parchment with pooling ink. She startled him but he compelled her forward, fascinated by the ripples of darkness underneath such a delicate light that surrounded him. Instantly, Drusilla knew she would not let him go.

First Glance

He stormed away from her out of the alleyway, forcing himself back toward the house where Cecily had torn his heart apart. As he was hurrying his way up the cobblestoned incline, he paused for a moment and turned around to glance back at the mysterious woman, eyeing her through his round spectacles with a pensive expression. She glided easily toward him, smiling softly. William stayed where he was. A wise decision in the end.

First Moment

Drusilla linked her arm through William’s and walked with him up the hill, the both of them talking in riddles and elegant poetry that seemed to flow from her lips so easily. He was astounded and admired her easy ability to make the world into something else entirely, marvelling his strange companion. In her very presence, William wrote some of the best poetry he ever had when his heart had been focused on Cecily.

First Touch

The next party held was Cecily’s birthday and William felt particularly eager to reveal his new black beauty to the people he considered “polite society.” Drusilla saw the other women wearing gloves and removed her own, slipping her fingers through William’s and feeling the soft skin of his writer’s hands against her cold palms. William did not mind; he would warm her for eternity for the kindness she had shown him. She stroked his cheeks and fluffed his hair with her fingers while the others stared in dismay and disgust, but the pair sat in the corner and communicated in a language no other would be able to recognise. Cecily stared at them for the whole night but William was completely unaware.

First Hug

William couldn’t contain his excitement when he saw Drusilla. He hurried toward her, wrapping his arms around her corseted waist and spun her around in his arms, crying her name in such joy that others gazed upon them with disapproving glares for such inappropriate displays of emotion in polite society. William didn’t care; he held Drusilla close as if he were afraid she would disappear if he let go. Drusilla returned his embrace and whispered things into his ear he was only now starting to understand.

First Kiss

One day William’s emotions got the better of him and he had pecked Drusilla on the lips when he greeted her. Just as he was about to apologise for such terrible behaviour on his part, Drusilla’s face illuminated with mischief and she brought his face to hers, pressing her lips against his own and kissing him heatedly, sinfully. Her tongue pushed past his lips and though William had not the slightest idea of what to do or how to react, he slid his tongue against hers and eventually sunk into the sensation. Drusilla grabbed him by the waist and held him close to her and he couldn’t exactly say he protested. He couldn’t say anything at all.

First Date

William could not, for the life of him, understand why he could only meet Drusilla during the nighttime but eventually he learned to accept it. He took her out into an enormous library in the heart of London, showing her the ceiling that seemed to glow in the dark with its portrait of the stars of heaven painted on, the endless rows of bookshelves and the seemingly endless collection of the books themselves. He stood and watched Drusilla’s reaction excitedly and anxiously, wondering if she would take the worlds in those books he treasured so dearly. A sad smile came over her face and for a moment William thought he had made another mistake.

“What is it? Is it not good enough?” He asked, rushing forward.

Drusilla gazed up at the ceiling, studying the stars painted on it. “It’s perfect… William, I ‘aven’t ‘ad somefin’ so wonderful like this in a long time…”

He smiled, relieved. “You can see the stars in here.”

She nodded, her entire face brightening. “I can. I can see the stars.”

First Intimacy

He had been so absolutely perfect to her that she only knew one way to really show her affection. Drusilla had been a pure, religious girl in her human life and she had strived to take the vows of God and become a nun. Now, she pushed the young poet onto the bed in his room, in his house, guiding his hardening cock past her folds whilst she straddled him. She let out a long, low noise as if a pressure had been relieved. He was definitely a lot bigger than she had initially suspected and with an ease that she could only explain as being a symptom of her vampirism, she rocked her hips as if she had done this with him many times before. Maybe she had; in lives lived long past the one they were sharing together now. He could only stare in awe at her and for the briefest of moments, Drusilla could’ve sworn her heartbeat in response. She was falling in love for the first time and she knew it. It was time to turn him.

First Fight

William had become Spike and the darkness that lingered behind the poet’s light like a shadow had risen to be primary. Drusilla and Spike fought - physically - throwing each other against walls, clawing at each other, tossing each other like pieces of clothing. The first time they did it, fire had been set as their background and as they bled and laughed and dug their claws into each other, Spike entered Drusilla and they became one. Over and over and over, muttering to her how much he loved her and how he would never leave her. Drusilla returned the same sentiments, marking his back and his chest. He was hers, she was his. This was it.

First Split

Drusilla had run away early in the night before Spike woke from his long sleep, plagued by the vision that haunted her constantly. He was going to love someone else and it was torturing her; no matter what kind of sadistic play Angelus had done to Drusilla before he turned her, it didn’t hurt as much as the vision of Spike kissing and making love to another woman. She even heard him mutter words of love to her and that was it. Drusilla couldn’t stand it. She disappeared into the night and she didn’t speak a single word for the months to follow where Spike hunted her down. He didn’t know any better, she sobbed. He doesn’t know he’ll leave me.

First Reunion

He chased her through streets, through alleyways, on the rooftops, inside building after building until he cornered her into a warehouse, soaked to the bone from the heavy rain occurring outside. She stared wide-eyed at him, keeping a fair distance. He was furious; he was livid. His entire aura was bright red and she could feel the hurt coming from him and so desperately she wanted to hold him to her and apologise over and over for causing such hurt. She knew because she could see her face in her head and the question he had asked over and over in his search: why Dru?

“Because I saw it!” She yelled, readying herself for an attack as he sauntered forward. “I saw you wiv ano’er woman, Spike. I saw it every night, clear as if it were ‘appenin’ right in front o’ me. You were goin’ to do it and I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t stand it!”

She broke into tears, falling to her knees and clutching at her unbeating heart. Spike’s demeanour became alarmed and he rushed to Drusilla, falling to his knees and bringing her into his arms, holding her tightly against him.

“Dru, I’d never leave ya,” he pulled back, holding her head in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I’d never. I’d never do what you did to me.”

She continued to cry, her hands limp in her lap and the sobs choking her. She managed to sputter out between chokes, “I love you. You’re my love. Mine.”

His dark eyes softened and he brought her forehead to his. “I am, Dru. I’m yours.”

First Forever

Rarely ever did Spike and Drusilla make love like this, but they did. He moved sweet and slow and she kissed him tenderly, gently as if he were made of porcelain or something precious. He lowered his head to her breast, sucking a nipple past his lips. Drusilla stared ahead at the ceiling and gazed at the stars she could see beyond.

[wayward-hums]

Backscratcher Solved

The things you believed in will stay like the needle in the eye of your son, forever, while violet lights on Christmas windows tell their young to count the stars above for the tow trucks to come.

One snap of both fingers on both hands is that quick to forget the loss of the eye for the storm. Bjork and her son on some island are editing magazines, as the newspapers cut their font accordingly.

Believe in Weimar - all the dogs that make you happy today are the cats with burnt tails at night, and that weeps you out.

Tell Eno about the sign, as present continuous couldn't be if not for being alive. Forget the Judge, he knows.

My fire is despairing in Chernobyl while the elephant's leg is laughing inside one snake turned into a wrong god.

My orange later is the new blue and black depending on the dalton in the snow.

Cilla approves of my literature beyond the thistles of the pale lilac rainbow.

Roma follow lithium when Kurt knows how right Reznor could have been if he still believed in self destruction from Lucas.

There's too much actor geometry in my systems. I think this is stolen from Ballard. Ballard who did you steal it from? Jews probably... Then I feel shameless to steal it from you once more.

If you want to find my twisted sister, my anchor has made a pact in Panjeea not to look in the eye when the Celtic ring is breaking on the middle finger.

The man hammering the anvil still sits on the fence before the oval, surrounded by coal and covered by the trees.

Pigeons not only develop a coop, they wait before the docks positioning themselves in the manner of your being and everything turns against Gira machine because his Polaroids don't match the patterns on Andy's chest.

My murder of crows never Rows M for H anymore, as the P is at composed consolidation with the Mac and cheese.

Is your purple super handed man still escaping through your husband's elbow while you stick your eye in it to see how close you are from reaching your own screw? He says quietly that they always come and so they do. They really do. I see them wandering around me in Jung and its shadows. I see stars. Little openings, usually of green glow.

My hook aura can do a cucumber before 9pm.

***

Keep all lose ends, you never know whether the mercurial son won't end up trashing background music.

Your belt in hypercube can do prime numbers showing the tree that cut its own head and turned into a stone from which Pegasus took young self into nowhere.

Gabo Othala Gabo Othala Gabo Othala.

The silver lining is on your apricot.

Remember that babies are on the mint trolley so the smoke is showing you Odin from the blood to the excrement in the river.

Mondays are manic and ratty, Tuesday is for the eternal love of Thom. On Wednesdays the leprechaun is flexing the muscles, while Thursday belongs to David... and it is so low, Lou needs to cut himself in the reeds for Iggy to pop alive on television. Running around the beach with a yoggi.

Jessica's Fridays are doing shrimps in the green mile jar for a doormouse.

Weekends don't come around. Or they do when Moz is unable to look me in the eye, cursing the father.

No-one really sells the world exactly, not even my self, my voided body.

Saturday could be the moment for Nick Cave's split with Blixa if not for the fact I'm on Jupiter and she is on Pluto.

No matter how much your raisin shows, the towel will sweep the others for you on a snow creamed Marilyn kiss from three Irelands visiting to and fro and then back to young Erin again.

This is not the time for the b&w, but for the 'S' that goes onto 'M' for the demon that doesn't breathe (it lives in the idea in the hallway-room that wasn't reversed to the time before the great break)

||

So count to nine (hee-haw) because 13 is the number reserved for jumping Heather / feather of the church of Brigid.

Silvans blow their Peruvian pipes for Oliver to replace Stuart, like a fiver killed through my barking girl hidden within an exhibitionist gym for when we were young animal girls.

Sometimes things feel like faceless beauty looking cardinal purple for Art to go turquoise and celeste on a mean lean green sunflower pact with a-cordian Jon.

There's too much carnelian on the Fubar for the floss of Leviathan and red weather drums hiding Indian eggs on mount I donated a paper plane to cover the moon of wolves in my polar bear lying on the floor.

A misogynist chef that cooks awesome hospital food without much attitude for love sings "wo' y'all yall".

"Keep it snappy for suffragette equalizers on central Deadpool Rock Resistance", said Edith in Glasgow while singing bread melody of the morning frost in pure mist.

David lynch knows not to pull 7 for a very long time in this factory.

Sunglasses at night might help, but children of the plague have begun their surreal journey with abacus to give a three - fingered hand shakes.

Bolt the doctor in the eye of your chin.

Apples don't talk of piety when they're unafraid of the mirror iris. Ewe and Grace won't ever do the thin daughter's water scale channel in the open.

There is a teal in Argos for the Chinese salmon and eels.

We won't scratch Hungarians to bring turkey to the bridge for the anti-heroes hidden in literature's fantastic eyelashes.

Please remember the terrifying future of the freeze. Why your brother is so full of angst about spiders and machines from war of the worlds. You love him and you understand how step-ladders work now.

Although you're still around the difficulty to forgive, regardless of the amount of Tzur's Ho and purple Sign O' the Times, she must have your name.

Gather self around the time you crunched and went back to say Carlin was not just right, he was essential.

You don't want to die holding an Artaud shoe but pancreatic cancer doesn't feel appealing either. Why is it always cancer or suicide by society?

Don't slice the ear, keep the slave in the black tulip for scientists to wonder.

Japan is saving the moment of air / water release for the grainy deserted field of barley, Roxy Boney.

Yoko Ono never meant to tell me until this December that I am Pepe Pewing lasers for Hong Kong.

I am forgiven.

There is sorrow for Libby in my dust bunnies, I crumble my rib and lung.

The right side of the body hailing to the man is the realm of the dead. Live your hands separately, I told them enough.

Raspberry slipper hill on Francis the magpie turn leopard once for the Tinkerbell to off herself for Disney-Pasta with a sample of Finland for the birds on your assessment notes.

At first you may think that the weirded masked nympho is having a pact with a hoover man and denotes the conversations to the red lion man blackmailed by the pen handling yellow, 9"11 causing peckers, over and over.

I said I won't Sanchez you that white frame for Chris and John, but I allowed my blue trousers to go full circle and come back as I don't feel much like creating portals in 2005, so don't dare stealing my love.

Time and morality are so relative it feels it was me who has always been giving to the eternity; I have given flowers for the red crown that brought cracks on the crocodile pavement for ankh girl go sandman.

I have awakened you and nursed Joe in his dream on the 01/12 by spitting on my totem.

If they are looking through my right eye, my left fountain keeps flowing gum that will come back in style, since the owls have left the ward with marlboro and lassoes, Dennis Jordan won't buffalo buffalo even for the ear.

***

Birds see my floaters and I don't catch black snow. One tiny spoon of Italian ice-cream wounded by an old relative (that is not with me anymore) is enough to convince Vienna of waiters.

FedEx kid told Tom who lately broke a lot of wall not to look me in the Wilson this time, one neighbour on covid19 is enough, we reckon. His son did some Buckley a while back. Who else looks like dope?

I learned that my cairn was a farmer. The one legged Alan tossed the coin to me. The deor collects no dandylion.

The tin with the stag in four A reflected the same pattern as the Rudolf before the || hallway, just like my radiator - dried bobble today.

They tried to recount me by removing my magnetic field of mice away, while adding heavier than life gravity onto my atlas that still reminds me of clear bag in Hungarian.

***

When I spoke to you the first time your blonde hair and pale skin were set on fire. I love every time you move your head towards a cat caress.

Phil Spector is still reincarnating outside the window. Swayze's wife must be furious about the theft of patsy Cline into the crazy vein of my middle finger.

The teared rose on Mexican palms have led me to a higher wisdom of Armenia.

Now that I listened to you I understand the highs of organic artists better and I'm disappointed it is leaving me while the gravity of rock and roll becomes too heavy to relate to my foetus on the leash the way I could relate before.

You have to be that tall to pass my headge-row with a lion tattoo on the armpit, when you drive over the body of that girl and get away with it, buddy.

Tear for Eddie.

Who is off the nut today? I'm only playing poker cards on my brown paladium. The ancient black cat knows no Asian bullshit

Hyenas are laughing about their shimmering initiation. Bird laughs with droplets falling on my right elbow. It serves me not (back when I got scared in the restaurant chain) until I'm served Jasmine knot.

I'm that girl everyone keeps selling and that man you can't look in the eye on your right. Stop using my raspberry rabbit, it is mine!

Why do You insist on using language as if it couldn't harm you? I'm least likely to, anyway.

***