Shadowlass

New chapter of Possession posted

2014-07-21T00:47:50Z

So we really should check to see if hell has frozen over.

Linkety link.

I've been having some trouble with Angelfire, so if there are any issues viewing the site, please let me know.

Thanks to everyone who's been so patient with this story, and thanks to slackerace for going above and beyond as a beta. :)

New story posted

2011-02-13T23:39:38Z

I just posted a new story, Blue-Eyed Monster. Since kidnapping Buffy didn't work, maybe Spike should just eliminate the competition. PG, branches off mid-"I Was Made to Love You."

The world is spinning backwards! Dogs and cats, living together!

2010-09-14T03:49:50Z

I've updated The Education of Buffy Summers!

What? It's only been five years!

Squirrelly cuteness

2010-03-14T20:55:44Z

Thank you to whoever gave me the kissing squirrels! They're adorable.

feels loved

2009-12-11T00:39:15Z

Many thanks to angelchicken, swsa, and a kind anonymous soul, all of whom gave me snowflake cookies! They made me feel loved and Christmassy.

SeaBlue website moved

2009-10-22T02:50:17Z

Since Geocities is closing, I've moved the website for my SeaBlue fanfic, Blond and Dangerous, to a new location.

I'm thisclose to finishing to the next chapter of "The Education of Buffy Summers," so I hope to post that this fall or winter.

Look at Spock up there, approving of the smut. He's dirty like that.

Fic and Dreamwidth

2009-05-04T00:41:07Z

a) I have posted Joan and Randy vs. the Replicant at seasonal_spuffy.

b) I have set up a Dreamwidth account as shadowlass.

New chapter of "Possession"

2009-01-11T22:45:50Z

I just posted chapter 24 of Posssession--it's at ff.net and at my site, Small Bites.

!!!

2008-05-25T18:33:57Z

The Sandlot is up again! Did everyone know this? How wonderful!

New chapter of Possession

2008-02-18T06:27:51Z

I just posted chapter 23 of Possession. It's up at ff.net and my site, Small Bites.

Also, I just remembered that I never mentioned that a few months ago I posted a couple of new one-shot stories. My apologies, my brain gets out and goes for walks sometimes and then I forget to put it back. The stories, which can also be found at ff.net and Small Bites:

Swerve: When Willow’s “will be done” spell is broken, Buffy and Spike immediately end their engagement. To the horror of the Scoobies, that’s the only thing they end. Spoilers primarily for "Something Blue" and "This Year's Girl." PG.

Tin Lizzie: Spike and the automobile: a love story. Written to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Spike's first appearance on BtVS. Begins pre-series, spoilers through "Spiral." PG.

Sleepy now; going to bed.

LJ: When you reach a new low, keep digging!

2007-08-09T17:27:46Z

Seeing as how LJ is going down the toilet, I've set up accounts at other sites: at JournalFen I'm shadowlass, at InsaneJournal I'm shadowlass, and at GreatestJournal I'm shadowlass2000. Greatest Journal looks like it's the most user-friendly, but I've heard rumblings of deletions for content similar to what's happening here. At any rate, I'll simply end up where everyone else does, since I've no real preference.

Friend at will. Or, you know, not.

Celebrate Spike, for justice, and for... the safety of puppies... and Christmas, right?

2007-07-16T22:05:37Z

Spike, wonderful Spike! The tenth anniversary of “School Hard” is Sept. 29, and I’m holding a Spike…ficathon/vidathon/everythingathon in celebration, decadeofspike. All pairings and ratings welcome.

Posting will be open from Tuesday, Sept. 25 to Tuesday, Oct. 2. Now go, create! And celebrate the vampire who’s inspired so much fascinating debate and wonderful ~~porn~~ fic.

Happy anniversary to me!

2007-06-06T04:33:06Z

A few days ago I realized that June 5 is the fifth anniversary of my writing fanfic! In celebration, I've posted a new story to ff.net, the first place I ever posted fanfic: A Coupla White Chicks Sitting Around Talking ‘Bout Xander Harris. Anya and Cordy run into each other, have a cup of coffee, and talk about their lives and the guy they have in common. Rated PG; complete. Title sadly truncated by ff.net. I'll put it on my site in a few days, but for the moment I think it's appropriate that it's just at ff.net.

LJ trouble

2007-05-31T19:49:25Z

Just as precaution, I've opened a Greatest Journal account as shadowlass2000. Not planning to move unless there's some mass migration--just an FYI.

Possession updated!

2007-04-17T03:34:02Z

I just posted chapter 22 of Possession at ff.net and at my site, Small Bites.

Oooh!

2006-12-13T20:52:44Z

Thank you so much to the kind soul who gave me paid account time and extra user pics! *loves*

New Spuffy fic

2006-10-02T04:50:13Z

I've posted a new Spuffy fic, Case Notes on Summers, Buffy. Buffy really should have gone to a psychologist after she returned in season six, shouldn't she? Comic fic, PG-13. It's at ff.net and at my site, Small Bites.

Drusilla fic

2006-08-27T19:34:55Z

On a mostly insane impulse, I signed up for the Black Goddess Ficathon, which focuses on Drusilla. I've never written her before. *shiver*

It's beneath the cut and at my site, Small Bites.

TITLE: Still Life with Violet and Oleander
AUTHOR: Shadowlass
SUMMARY: Set shortly after her turning, Drusilla adjusts to life as a vampire, while Angelus adjusts to life with what he created.
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: I didn't create and don't own any of these characters.
NOTE: Written for the Black Goddess Ficathon for Laure, who wanted Angelus and Drusilla dancing and sharing a kill, set in period London.

Drusilla stared at her painting with dissatisfaction. The colors never came out quite as she wished; it vexed her. How could anyone tell what the picture was if the colors were wrong?

“More gold,” she murmured to herself, daubing her brush and stroking it lightly across the canvas.

Still it didn’t look right. Maybe something was wrong with the paint?

Then she heard his voice, and it didn’t matter very much anymore.

“Jesus, what have you been doing? I could smell this place down the hall,” Angelus said from the doorway, surveying the mess of bodies around the room, some intact, some not. Across one wall Drusilla was painting a mural of blood and ink and something he preferred not to get on his shoes; humans were fun when they were suffering, but after they died they were just messy.

Dammit, she’d been fine when he left. Okay, kind of whiny and clingy about staying by herself, but he’d told her he’d let her brush his hair when he got back and she’d calmed right down. He’d told her if she tried very hard she’d be able to see through the wall right down to the street, and he thought she’d bought it. He would have laid money she’d still be staring at the wall when he returned.

So much for that.

Drusilla looked around vaguely. “It was cold without you and Grandmummy,” she said plaintively. “I wanted to make it warm and friendly.”

“Then throw a log on the goddamn fire, don’t kill half the hotel’s staff,” growled Angelus in frustration.

She started to cry. “Margaret was lonely!”

“Your name is Drusilla now,” he snapped. How could she be like this? She was nothing like she’d been before he’d turned her; maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. It had been fun to toy with her when she was alive, take her world apart piece by piece and watch as she sank further into despair. But now, with her mind gone? She was an anchor. A big, crazy anchor that would drag him and Darla down if they let it. He should have listened to Darla; alive Dru had been amusing, but now she was a liability.

Maybe he should just stake her and be done with it. Though god knew he hated to admit defeat to Darla; she was so damned smug all the time, and she was insufferable when she was right.

Besides, without Drusilla who would entertain him when Darla was busy dancing attendance on her darling prune-faced Master? Angelus was a man who enjoyed his comforts. And Drusilla had her benefits; she was nothing like Darla, at least. Damn the jade.

Drusilla peered at him, tears forgotten. “Do you like the maid’s new earbobs?”

Angelus glanced at the maid’s body and couldn’t help but feel a frisson of admiration. “I think you’d have to call those eyebobs—”

She waved her hands, shushing him. “Daddy, we must get ready for our visitors.”

“What?”

“They’re coming.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice confidentially. “It’s because they want to have fun like the others, even if they have no invitations. We must be gracious just the same,” she instructed as Angelus stalked to the door and snatched it open to glance down the hallway.

He swore under his breath and slammed the door. He wedged a chair under the knob to provide what pathetic little reinforcement it could; against humans, it might last a while. “They’re coming,” he said tightly. He could defeat them without a problem, but dirty little battles in hallways weren’t to his taste; there was no way they’d be able to stay here after Drusilla’s little spree anyway. He threw open the window and looked down to the alley. Clear. The bumpkins hadn’t thought to cover it. Typical English, all force and no finesse. “Come on, Dru, we’re going out the window.”

“But my painting—Grandmummy’s clothes—my ribbons—”

He dragged her towards the window. “I’ll buy you more ribbons—”

“I want my ribbons!” she cried, digging in her heels.

“If we don’t leave now we won’t leave at all!”

She started to cry. “I don’t care!”

The hotel staff was beginning to pound at the door now, and Angelus ground his teeth. “You know the doll you saw in the window of that shop in Mayfair? I’ll get it for you if you come right now.”

Drusilla’s eyes lit up.

“Dolly! I’ve been waiting for her!”

“Then come on,” he said, pulling her out the window. They landed lightly in the alley below, Drusilla laughing giddily.

“It’s like flying! Let’s go again!”

“Later,” Angelus groaned, staring up at the hotel. He could hear the hotel staff pounding at the door, trying to break it down. A diversion would be helpful, in case the staff got any bright ideas about following them.

“Infernos mind their secrets,” Drusilla murmured secretively, stroking the ends of her hair.

“…What?”

“Like when one of us dies. Ashes, ashes, all fall down.”

Angelus stared at her, struck. She had a beautiful instinct. Like a young shark faced with its first prey, innocently attacking. Driven by ancient, primal knowledge, exquisite and fully formed and without thought.

He had made this. She was too perfect to ever destroy.

He pulled his matches from his coat pocket and knocked out a window at the side of the building. Inside a woman shrieked, but he was in too much of a hurry to enjoy it as he pulled out the end of the curtain and lit it. The flames leapt up as if the damn thing was soaked in oil. Stupid English with their love for preserving old things; the half-timbered building would go up like a tinder box.

“Busy ants, rush, rush,” sang Drusilla to herself as they moved out of the alley.

“They are like ants, aren’t they? All panic and impulse, no style,” he sneered, leading her from the alley. As the light from the smelly gas streetlamps hit her dress, he noticed what he hadn’t back in the room: the evidence of how she’d spent her evening was all over her dress. No respectable hotel would give them a room. Goddammit, he was not interested in hiding out in some damned shanty or having to kill the hotel staff and not getting any proper service.

He tugged Drusilla back into the shadows, hushing her protests. “You wait a second, and I’ll get a nice surprise for you.” He could hear her humming in excitement as he moved to the sidewalk and waited for a likely-looking woman to rush out of the hotel. The building had caught fire as nicely as he’d expected, and guests were starting to stream out.

Ah, finally. A little thing of a size with Drusilla. Probably a whore, Angel thought.

He reached out a hand and snagged her as she ran past. “This way, my lady,” he said solicitously, ignoring her panicked protest as he pulled her into darkness of the alley and casually swung her into the wall. The building beside the hotel was owned by someone smarter, who built the damn thing in brick and mortar instead of shit and timber, so the woman was nicely stunned.

“Drusilla, come here and have a drink while she’s still fresh,” he called.

Drusilla stepped out of the shadows, frowning mistrustfully. “She doesn’t smell good,” she said truculently.

He couldn’t argue with it. “Yeah, she’s French. But you know what that means, don’t you? Her dress is probably from Paris. And look at your dress. It’s a mess.”

She glanced down. “Oh!”

“Look at her dress. Isn’t it pretty?” he prompted.

Dru studied the woman, and her eyes grew large with delight. “It is.”

The woman groaned, the brick-induced daze fading. “Come on, we’ll both have a bite,” Angelus urged, drawing the woman against him and sinking his teeth into the tender area where the throat met the shoulder. The woman bucked against him and he growled his approval against her, grinding his sudden erection against her backside. Damned if lookers didn’t taste better every time.

He lifted his head. “Delicious. Don’t you want a little?” She nodded and leaned in. “Neatly, mind. You don’t want to ruin the dress, do you?”

Drusilla leaned in carefully, visibly restraining herself from her usually lusty bite. She bit as delicately as a cat, and he shivered at the sensation of the woman’s blood being drawn away as strongly as he was drawing it in. He pulled at it harder and heard Dru giggle a little as she drank.

He finished first, and pulled back. “Ready?”

Drusilla nodded, and they pulled off the woman’s clothes. If the fire didn’t consume her, the police would just assume it was a transaction gone awry.

He pulled the dress over Drusilla’s head and fastened it. She twirled in front of him, her face hopeful. “How do I look?”

Sometimes it didn’t hurt to be honest. “Beautiful.” He took her hand. “Come on, girl, let’s find ourselves a likely spot.”

~*~*~*~

They kept up a brisk pace for a long while, passing screaming fire trucks and shrieking hotel guests. By the time Angelus slowed their pace the hotel was almost out of sight.

“How will Grandmummy find us?”

“I’ll send a messenger. They’ll be happy for the late snack.” He released her arm before turning to face the burning hotel. He could still hear the screams of the guests, and it gave him a mellow, satisfied feeling. Not the evening he’d planned, maybe, but a good one nonetheless.

Drusilla wandered forward, uninterested in the fire. Finally she stopped, her head cocked to the grand house beside her, listening. He caught up to her and listened, but the house was quiet, its windows boarded up. Nothing to hold her enthralled. “Let’s go, Dru,” he said, tugging at her arm.

She didn’t move. “The music,” she crooned. “It’s beautiful.” She began to sway on her feet and he allowed her to pull away, watching as she spun to music that wasn’t there. “Do you see them dancing? She was so happy, but then everything went wrong. Now she moulders, but doesn’t leave. She won’t go on. Can’t.”

There wasn’t time for this. The night was growing late, and he had to secure them lodgings and let Darla know before she went back to the hotel and blew a gasket. “Come along,” he instructed, reaching for her hand.

Somehow she ending up taking his instead, drawing him back and forth, and almost against his will he was dancing. He wondered if it was the thrall she was already showing signs of possessing, but he was cognizant, his mind clear. He wondered why he indulged her.

She rested her head against his shoulder for a moment, not seductively, as Darla did, but trustingly. For a moment, he thought he heard the echo of violins and cellos.

A hack drove by, the drunken lordlings inside shouting obscene suggestions of what they should do instead of dancing.

The moment was broken, and Angelus pulled away from her with a start. “Time to get going,” he said, and this time she did not protest.

For nearly a minute he didn’t say anything. Finally he could stand it no longer. “The music—”

“What music, Daddy?”

“When we were dancing—”

“I didn’t hear any music.”

Angelus frowned at her, wondering if she was toying with him. “You said—”

“But it was lovely that you wanted to dance. You’re so good to your Drusilla.” She smiled at him radiantly, and he was bemused.

“We should find a hotel soon, before Grandmummy tries to find us and gets cross. And then tomorrow night we’ll get my dolly?”

It was like trying to push back against the ocean. “Tomorrow night, Dru.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

The End

Possession update

2006-02-27T17:19:03Z

I've posted chapter twenty-one of Possession. It at ff.net and at my site, Small Bites.

Absolutely gorgeous

2006-01-13T22:43:08Z

Photographs of snowflakes.

A Joan and Randy Valentine

2006-01-11T06:44:21Z

I've just posted A Joan and Randy Valentine, a sequel to my story A Very Joan and Randy Christmas. Valentine's Day is in the air and the gang is planning hearts and flowers ... but what's that about demon eggs? Fluffy rewrite of "As You Were" (I watched that for this, people! Somebody hold me.) It's at ff.net and my site, Small Bites.

Possession, chapter 20

2005-11-22T03:25:28Z

Huh. LJ doesn't really seem to be working for me at the moment, and isn't loving the linking, so here it is the easy way: I just posted chapter 20 of "Possession" to ff.net:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1539437/20/

and to my site, Small Bites:

http://www.angelfire.com/cantina/shadowlass/index2.html

I hope enjoyment is had.

Possession

2005-09-29T19:26:58Z

I've just posted chapter nineteen of Possession to ff.net and to my site, Small Bites.

New fic

2005-09-05T23:20:40Z

I just posted a new fic, "Our Little Secret," to ff.net and to my site, Small Bites. Spike handles his discovery of Riley's nasty little secret differently than he did in "Into the Woods"...and no, it's not slash. Implied Buffy/Riley, Buffy/Spike. PG-13.

FIC: Our Little Secret

2005-09-03T05:09:03Z

TITLE: Our Little Secret
AUTHOR: Shadowlass
CONTACT: shadowlass2000@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: Spike handles his discovery of Riley's nasty little habit differently than in "Into the
Woods." No, it's not slash.
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them or make any money off them.

Spike had always been an optimist … or, possibly, a masochist. And so every night he stood outside the house on Revello Drive, staring at the second floor. As if his devotion, his intensity, could make the walls transparent, or call her down to him. Call her to her senses.

But if he could see inside … he’d always enjoyed a little voyeurism. Why not? It was the little pleasures in life that mattered, right? And it wasn’t like he didn’t wank off to the Slayer’s picture about five times a day. But the thought of seeing her there, naked, with him—god, it made his stomach turn. Perfectly good human blood he paid that pissant Willy a premium for out of money he’d damn well earned cheating at cards and picking pockets curdled in his stomach when he thought about it, and if that was going to happen he might as well stick to pig and spend the extra cash on a better brand of Scotch.

Why on earth was she with him? It made no sense. He was a complete berk; a Ken doll with a pull-string probably made better conversation. But she was sticking with him with a grim determination that made Spike’s stupid love for her look highly romantic by comparison. What did she get if she managed to put up with him for the rest of her highly abbreviated life? A trophy? Or maybe a consolation prize?

There was no way Captain Cardboard appreciated her the way Spike would.

Spike ground his teeth as he stared up at the house. Was Finn murmuring sweet wicked words to her, or grunting and drifting off, his head full of visions of barbecued ribs and the keen differences between American and Canadian football?

Spike would almost rather it were Angel. Almost. Sure, the bastard was evil and smug and had forehead issues, but at least he hadn’t shoved a chip in Spike’s fucking head. Bastard.

The front door scritched, drawing Spike from his thoughts. He sank back into the shadows and watched Riley walk through the Summers’ front yard. At the sidewalk Finn paused for a moment, then began striding purposefully towards the corner. The way Spike had come, the way that led to the center of town. Not the way that led to Finn’s apartment. What’s this? wondered Spike. Well, we don’t we just find out?

Wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

***

Suck houses made Spike’s skin crawl. They were pathetic—like soup kitchens for vampires too inept to hunt. Take your dregs of vampire society, then wring every bit of power and blood memory out of them and you had a suck house. Made Spike want to go out and bite everyone he knew just to remind himself that he hadn’t sunk that low yet.

This place appeared to be a step or three below average. Mangy vampires servicing humans who barely had the jack to pay them. As far as he was concerned, if a vampire couldn’t find plenty of people to bite on the Hellmouth, he just wasn’t trying.

Finn was in with the enemy for more than an hour, and he hadn’t killed a one. When he finally left—holding a handerchief to his neck—a brunette appeared in the doorway after him. “Tomorrow night?” she asked.

Riley didn’t answer.

***

Riley did return the second night, and the third. Spike didn’t bother to check the fourth night.

Instead, he had arrangements to make.

***

The first thing Riley saw was moonlight glinting off pale hair, and he froze, unable to remember where he was. Then he could see, clear as if it were daylight, that it was Spike sitting across from him, and he had blood on his lips.

“I was wondering when you’d come around,” said Spike lazily, reaching up to push the traces of blood into his mouth. He lingered over the action, allowing himself to suck just a little on the pad of his thumb to get off all the acrid goodness.

Riley tried to leap up, but his limbs were sluggish, unresponsive. The girl—Rachel?— had drunk too much, and by the time he’d realized what was happening he was too weak to push her away. As he’d drifted into unconsciousness he wondered if he’d ever wake up.

God knew how much of his blood Spike had taken. He couldn’t believe Spike hadn’t finished him off.

He might be weak, but he was damned if he’d just lay there and let that monster smirk over him. Riley struggled to reach the stake that was never far from hand, and Spike laughed.

“Don’t bother,” he chided, pulling Riley’s stake from his duster pocket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Riley croaked, fear trickling down his spine—more acute than when he’d lost consciousness. The girl wasn’t going to kill him, probably, and wasn’t going to torture him; she didn’t know he’d been a part of the Initiative, that he’d hunted her kind and put them down like the animals they were. She didn’t know what he’d done to Sandy or Rita or the others. He gave her money and blood, and she gave him what he needed.

But Spike wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

“Just wanted a little of the good stuff. You sure they got all that government stuff out of you? Tasted a little adulterated to me.”

“The chip—”

“The chip is gone.” Spike snickered, enjoying the expression of horror on Riley’s face.

“What? You thought that because the Slayer stopped me last time that I’d just roll over? You don’t get to be my age by taking no for an answer. I’ve got connections in the underground. Enough money, you can get anything done.”

“Then why didn’t you kill me?”

“Now why would I want to do that?” Spike challenged pleasantly. “Then you’d be a martyr tragically cut down in his prime by some demon. Now you’re just a john whose worst enemy knows all about him, and took was he was selling free. And my, my … have I got a tale to tell the Slayer.”

“I’ll kill you,” Riley promised, his voice growing stronger.

“You’ll try,” agreed Spike. “Odds aren’t in your favor anymore, are there? But then maybe I won’t tell after all. Maybe it’ll just be between you and me. Our little secret,” he finished softly, drawing the words out with relish.

Riley paled, and Spike smiled. Didn’t like the thought of a secret between them, did he? A little too intimate for Riley’s taste. “Run along, farm boy. Just keep in mind what I’ll be thinking every time I run into you at the Bronze, or what I might accidentally let slip next time I’m in a foul mood and you’re strutting around like your shit doesn’t stink.”

“You can’t—”

“Tell yourself that.”

The door opened, and the brunette Finn favored stood in the doorway. “You done yet?”

Riley looked stunned. “You were in on this with him?”

The girl hesitated a moment before shrugging. “It was money, same as yours.”

Color was starting to return to Riley’s face. He had to get out of there—he was suffocating, he was going insane. He struggled to his feet and stood, swaying. Spike didn’t move to stop him as he stumbled across the room and out the door.

“Don’t worry, mate,” Spike taunted, turning his head so his voice trailed Finn down the hall.

“It’s just between us. Gotta stick together, right?”

He could hear Finn pause for a moment, then hurry away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Not bad for a night’s work, Spike reflected, standing.

The girl moved closer to him. “That was pig’s blood on your mouth—why didn’t you drink him?”

Spike shrugged. She nudged against him and he pushed his hand into her blouse. Didn’t really have anything in mind, but he was feeling expansive. “I don’t drink just anybody. God knows where he’s been.”

“He tasted fine to me,” the girl protested.

Spike scowled and withdrew his hand. “Well, you’re young, and your palate is undeveloped. Besides, he—god, why am I even talking to you?” he asked himself in disgust, pulling Riley’s stake from his pocket and dusting her in one smooth movement.

Spike brushed the dust from his leathers and pocketed the stake. Too bad he wouldn’t be around to see the Spud ask hopelessly after his favorite slag—then again, he thought the odds were pretty good that Finn wouldn’t be going back there. In fact, he had a feeling Superdud would be getting the hell out of Dodge pretty damn quick. Risk having Buffy find out about his taste for rough trade? He was going to find himself an excuse to leave and fast. If he thought he could just stake Spike, get him out of the way without anyone being any the wiser, he’d do it, but he’d actually bought that crap about the chip being removed. Unbelievable! What a rube—apparently inbreeding really was a bad thing. Wasn’t applicable to Spike, but he’d be sure to let Harris know. Spare him any little nasty surprises down the road.

Spike slid the window open and slipped through it, landing lightly on the pavement. No need to leave through the front—they’d go spare if they found out he’d offed one of their cash cows.

He wouldn’t always be faking it; his chip would be out someday, he knew that. And someday, someday soon, he’d have the Slayer—have her in a way Finn never could.

His mood was starting to lighten. Nothing like making his enemies piss their pants to make him feel all warm and shiny. And dusting the bint? Icing on the cake.

He was a little light in the wallet after bribing the suck house crew, so maybe he’d swing by the Bronze and relieve some frat boy of his excess cash. Why not? The night was still young, and he was on a roll.

Life was good.

The End