nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy.

fanfiction blog of alicia. expect dark shadows and once upon a time and, for something completely different, jem. because i do what i want. (also, swords on dreamwidth is basically the same thing so.)

[drunkenlaments-blog]

sleepwalking (dark shadows ; burtonverse ; julia/vicki kind of idk ; pg-13 ish or something)

vicki stares at the ground, at the shot glass she's turning in her fingers, while julia's doing her best to peer at her, to see inside her head, to uncover those secrets she remembers accusing her of at dinner.

The chandelier is flickering in an eerie way when Julia walks through the foyer from raiding the drawing room's liquor cabinet. She slows, stares up at it, and there's that girl – Veronica or Vivian or – the governess. She stands there by the railing, white robe billowing around her, gazing at the lights and looking like something that time forgot. For a long moment, Julia is mesmerized by her – Vicki, that was it – and the way she seems luminous, but she stops in the middle of the foyer and places her hand on her hip, the long-necked bottle dangling almost to her knee in her other hand.

“What're you doing?” Julia calls. Vicki jolts, and Julia thinks that she might topple over the railing in her fright.

Vicki takes a breath and looks down at her. “Sleepwalking,” she says quite simply, “but I could ask you the same question.”

Julia's mind is quick to come up with a response; she's lived in this house far longer than Vicki's few hours, and she's under no obligation to explain herself. But Vicki's innocent, curious gaze makes her frown and avert her eyes, looking instead to the liquor bottle she's swiped. It should suffice as an answer, Julia knows, but she comes up with an extra little half-truth: “Can't sleep.”

“If it makes you feel better, I doubt I'll be able to, either.” There's an almost playful tone to Vicki's voice, and even though she's far above her, Julia can see her wide eyes move to the chandelier once more. The flickering's died down – only a few wayward bulbs sputtering their last – but Vicki scans it anyway. Searching.

“Partners in insomnia. Fantastic.” Julia hopes the wry comment will bring Vicki back down to earth once again – not that she cares, but no one in Collinwood need be in a trance unless she put them there. It earns her a gentle smile, but no words in response. Julia sighs, then gestures toward the basement staircase with her head. “I've got something for that. Come on.”

A moment passes where they only look at one another, and Julia doesn't think that Vicki will actually take her up on the offer, but then the moment is gone and Vicki is practically floating down the staircase, robe waving behind her like a pair of wings.

She's timid when the two of them make their way down the stairs to Julia's makeshift apartment. Pale hands are either wringing or pulling at the sleeves of her robe, and those big blue eyes keep darting to the door. Julia resists the urge to roll her own as she practically throws the bottle down into a cushioned chair and fishes around on the table for a little orange bottle. The cap's off and then two pills are in her hand, and she's holding them out to Vicki. She looks at the small blue circles warily, and Julia sighs.

“Sleeping pills, I promise.” She shows Vicki the bottle for proof, shaking the few pills that remain. Confident enough, Vicki gives another small smile and makes to down them, but then she's frowning and looking around.

A brief pause where neither of them move. Julia mutters to herself and grabs a shot glass off of the same table, filling it with that same liquor she brought down earlier and practically shoving it at the girl. Vicki makes a face and Julia swears that she nearly backs away from it, and it's all she can do not to close her eyes and pray that she doesn't give Julia another lecture because she seems the type. But Vicki gingerly plucks the glass from Julia's fingers.

“No negative reactions. Promise.” Julia thinks that she seems to be doing a lot of that in the past few hours, but it works, and Vicki downs the alcohol and pills and winces as it goes down. Julia almost laughs.

“Thank you,” she says. She's back to picking at her robe again, and there's a long silence. Vicki stares at the ground, at the shot glass she's turning in her fingers, while Julia's doing her best to peer at her, to see inside her head, to uncover those secrets she remembers accusing her of at dinner.

“What's this house like at night?” Vicki asks, just as Julia comes out with, “Something on your mind?”

And then, neither speak.

“You seem anxious,” Julia observes.

Vicki tilts her head, light brown locks sweeping past her shoulder. “Do you have something for that, too?”

That's the exact moment as Julia pinpoints it. The exact moment when she takes note of the way the lamplight illuminates Vicki's face and the pale curve of her neck and shines off of the satin material of her robe. The exact moment when she understands her need to understand her – to understand her threat, to understand the woman with her eyes and her youth and her elegance. The exact moment when she realizes that Victoria Winters appears to be a beacon of purity, all flowing satin and white ruffles – in stark contrast to what Julia remembers is a short, thin negligee. Julia pulls the fabric lower on her thighs.

Vicki shakes her head and that soft smile has returned. “I'm sorry, it's been a long day.”

She holds the shot glass back out to Julia as something of a peace offering or an apology, Julia surmises as she takes it back. She pays careful mind to avoid even the slightest touch of Vicki's fingers.

“You get some rest,” she tells Vicki pointedly. Chin up, shoulders squared. Professional airs. “The pills should kick in any time now.”

“Good night, Doctor Hoffman. And thank you.”

Julia nods and Vicki turns, and Julia stands there and makes sure she can hear the governess on the very top step before she collapses on her own couch with a sigh.

The short answer was yes. Yes, Julia did have something for Vicki's request, but nothing she was prepared for.

And Julia wishes she were prepared. Being caught off-guard is not a specialty of hers.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

the poison slowly creeps and stops me dead (dark shadows ; burtonverse ; roger collins)

three sets of eyes in the picture frame seem to stare at him, and Roger swears he can see the faces twitch into just the right amount of disdain.

There's a family photograph - Roger, Laura, and David as a toddler - sitting on one of the tables in the drawing room. Roger's gotten fairly good at ignoring it in all the times he's gone in there to sulk (and besides, God and Joshua Collins forbid he disturb Elizabeth's family shrine by removing it), but today, it doesn't work. Three sets of eyes in the picture frame seem to stare at him, and Roger swears he can see the faces twitch into just the right amount of disdain.

He swallows hard. He swivels in his chair, toward the window, and more importantly, away from the photograph.

But the image out the window, the waves crashing against the cliffs outside, does nothing to help. There's a boat out there, not much more than a speck on the horizon, and Roger doesn't know what they're doing all the way out there with the storm clouds threatening overhead. But suddenly, it's his boat, and he's on it, and there's a crash and a scream and Laura's overboard, but by the time he gets to her, she's sinking. Nothing but her fingertips are above water and in seconds, those are gone, too.

What happened, Roger? There was a life-preserver. I saw it. Rope, if nothing else.

The photograph's mocking eyes are practically boring holes into the back of the chair and him, and he spins back around. That motion combined with the vision has him out of breath, and his fists slam down on the desk.

"Stop," he says a little too loudly, and his eyes dart toward the door. Dysfunction and legends of vampires he can deal with, but possessed pictures cross the line, and dammit, Laura - if you want to talk to him, you can materialize for him, can't you? Like you do for David, remember?

In a second he bolts out of his chair and slams the picture down with enough force to break the frame, Liz's pride be damned. A moment to catch his breath, and he saunters back over to the desk and kicks his feet up, digging in his breast pocket for a small black address book. Combined with a few glasses of brandy, the lovely ladies in there are sure to solve any problem. He flips it open to a random page and grabs the nearby telephone to dial the number.

"Cassandra? Cassie, hey there, doll. I know, I know. It's been too long. Let me make it up to you, huh?"

[drunkenlaments-blog]

the overflow (dark shadows; burtonverse; david, josette, elizabeth, victoria ; g-ish idk ; ~*SPOILERS*~)

Nobody else can tell that Vicki isn't Vicki anymore. And he's afraid of her.

Her voice is the same, as are the clothes she wears and the way she flips her hair, but she isn't Vicki anymore. There's something different in her smile - more smug, more entitled - and in her posture, in the lilting tones of her laugh. Even the way she eats and the way she walks. Little things that most people don't notice. David notices. She looks at him across the table at dinner, a glance that's almost empty, but he can feel the unwarranted scrutiny after years upon years of such looks from his father. He notices it right then, but nobody else can tell that Vicki isn't Vicki anymore. And he's afraid of her. But he can tell Aunt Elizabeth. They're staying at a small hotel downtown. An old establishment, and they've taken up a whole floor, and Aunt Elizabeth is usually in the one she's designated as the temporary office up past her head in papers. David knows she needs to do the work to help Uncle Barnabas, to get their house back, to get their business back - to actually live again, he thinks, or is that what his father would have said? But Aunt Elizabeth always makes time for him. Especially now. Except now. She takes her glasses off and sets them on the desk and David thinks that she looks tired. And older. He can see the lines deepening around her eyes. They sit down on one of the beds. "Miss Winters has gone through a lot," she tells him. Aunt Elizabeth's voice is gentle like it always is, and she smiles faintly. "I think taking a tumble like that off the cliff would change anyone, don't you?" David nods hesitantly. This isn't how he expected the talk to go. Aunt Elizabeth is supposed to listen. "We're lucky Barnabas was there to save her." And that's where it ends. No assurance that Vicki - his Vicki, the real Vicki - would come back soon. Just that she's changed. Maybe Aunt Elizabeth has changed too. And maybe, once upon a time, he could have asked Doctor Hoffman, but Doctor Hoffman's gone away just like his father. Just like Vicki. He sits in the hallway, halfheartedly pushing multicolored dinosaurs about on the floor, and thinks that he should ask Uncle Barnabas. But even if Uncle Barnabas knew what happened that night, Uncle Barnabas is in jail. Willie says he's coming home soon, but soon doesn't help when David needs to know now. And so he goes straight to the source. Vicki sleeps late anymore. Sometimes, she doesn't wake up until nearly afternoon, which means their lessons continue until dinnertime. David's awake well before she is, and he fidgets outside her door until he can hear her. And then his little fist is knocking persistently at her door, but mid-knock she swings it wide open with a perturbed glance. "David." She catches herself. Her look softens, but her tone is still clipped. The Vicki he knows wouldn't talk like that. But Vicki isn't Vicki anymore. "Can I talk to you?" he says, hardly above a whisper, and the new Vicki stares at him. David likes to think he can see the excuses running through her mind. "I suppose, child. If it's quick." David almost doesn't wait for her to open the door wider - he nearly barrels through the small entranceway and plops himself down on the bed. Vicki is left standing. He says, "I haven't seen my mother lately." And Vicki tilts and shakes her head. "Your mother is dead." That seals it. David knows then and there that he is right, but he's read comic books and seen television shows: there is always a way to bring the hero back to normal. Vicki was kind to him. He owes it to Vicki to try. "Her ghost," he prods, and when it does no good apart from making this woman shift her eyes to the floor, he adds, "But I thought it might be the hotel. So I was wondering if you'd seen your ghost." "My ghost?" "Your ghost! You can't have forgotten her. You said her name was Josette." There's a short pause and the woman with Vicki's face bursts into laughter. It isn't Vicki's laughter. It's too light and tinkling and high and it makes David shudder and a pit opens up in his stomach. When the sound subsides, there is nothing but a strange smile on her face, and David quietly asks, "What's so funny?" "It would be sufficient to say that Josette no longer haunts me." David skips lunch. He grabs the largest of his dinosaurs and makes his way through town. He knows the way well; before his governesses, he would walk to school, and sometimes Aunt Elizabeth takes him and Carolyn back to the house to check on the progress. But this time, no one accompanies him. He doesn't tell anyone - Carolyn's holed herself up, and Aunt Elizabeth has no time. Willie is visiting Uncle Barnabas and the last person he wants to spend time with is his governess. So David makes the trek alone, nothing but a toy for company as he navigates the streets all the way to the driveway and up the hill to Collinwood. It hasn't changed from the last time he was here - at least not that David can tell. Collinwood seems to be nothing but wooden beams and bits of cloth, and sometime he catches the stray trail of ashes. But even here, with it open and incomplete, David feels more at home here than he ever will at the hotel. Here they'll be able to hang more pictures, eat family dinners, put up a Christmas tree, and everything will be back to normal. He'll see his mother again. Surely Vicki will come back, once she's reminded of where home is. David. The boy whirls around, calling, "Mom?" but it isn't Laura who greets him. It's nothing more than a wisp of a girl, dress soaked, hair still managing to flip despite being doused with water. "Vicki!" He knew it. And his excitement at seeing his governess - his Vicki, the one who believes in him and the one who is his friend, the one who doesn't laugh at him or stare - he drops the dinosaur and goes to fling his arms around her. He can only grin sheepishly when his arms come away soaked, and not holding on desperately to her. She laughs. And it's her laugh, even though it makes a strange echo. She lowers herself down to his height. Nearly half her body disappears through the floor, leaving nothing but a puddle, and that's when it clicks in David's mind. "You're a ghost." Vicki reaches out and grabs his shoulders - her hands are damp and not altogether there, like his mother's, but cold instead of warm. I need you to help me.

And David doesn't need to be told twice. He already knows that the answer is yes. He knows that he'll help her in any way he can. Because Vicki believed in him. She still does.

Because Vicki never left him.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

they were torn wide open (dark shadows ; burtonverse ; victoria, josette, barnabas ; pg-ish idk? SPOILERS)

She feels the grass under her feet and her hair whipping at her face and knows for certain that she is back. She can see the cliff, she can hear the waves – not much more now, and then she can see the rocks and the waves crashing against them, welcoming her. Victoria closes her eyes and takes the sight in and the wind seems to lift her - until two arms drag her back down and hold her tightly.

AKA the one in which i attempt to fill in that one plothole. so uh. spoiler warning.

Victoria thinks she is safe in her room, watching all the commotion on the ground far below. A safe place where nothing can hurt her, where the fires can't come near her, and the gun on the officer's hip isn't loaded with her in mind. But she can make out Liz's voice downstairs, though not the words themselves, and the safeness drains and is replaced by guilt.

The Collinses have been kind to her. The Collinses have not busied themselves with questions about her, likely due to their own secrets. The Collinses have fed her and paid her and relied on her, and, in that moment, she is no longer Maggie Evans nor Victoria Winters: she is a Collins. She is one of them.

She should be down there, defending what has been given to her. And with her newfound resolve, she turns to do just that, but there Josette hovers, right in front of the door.

“Help me.”

Victoria closes her eyes and opens them. Josette is still there. An old trick her parents had suggested, and one that had never worked, she remembered insisting. Of course it would hold true now. She braces herself and steps through the specter, shaking off the icy chill and the feeling of dampness. It returns all too quickly when Josette covers Victoria's hand on the doorknob.

“Help me.”

Victoria apologetically replies, “I can't,” and Josette's blank gaze shifts to the door. There's a small, yet audible click, and Josette simply floats through the wall. Victoria shakes her head and twists the doorknob to no avail: it's locked.

She pounds on the door, tugs on the doorknob, anything she can think of. Somebody has to be out there. Somebody has to hear her, but then three gunshots ring out and practically startle Victoria out of her skin. In an instant, she's back over to the window, flinging the curtains back and letting them fall behind her. She watches as Barnabas has a woman – Angie, was it? - pressed to him. A crowd has gathered, but they're recoiling as he leaves her. She stays limp for a moment before her neck twists grotesquely, and though Victoria cannot see every detail, she feels the fire burn up her spine and through her head when Angie's crazed eyes land directly on her, accompanied with a wide, sickening red grin.

Victoria loses control of herself and stumbles away from the window, falling back onto the floor and suddenly, she can feel nothing but fire. Invisible flames course down her arms and body and she shuts her eyes. Squints them together, block it out, Maggie, they can't hurt her if her mind is elsewhere, but behind her eyelids are the blinding red and oranges that seem to be missing on the outside. Time is lost to her as she is curled up on the floor until suddenly -

A cliff. Wind. And the icy water below.

Widows' Hill, she realizes immediately, though she'd never been there – Barnabas had made her promise, but now it seems like heaven and she scrambles to her feet and turns.

“Help me.” Josette has returned.

“Widows' Hill,” Victoria states – almost questions, though it's unintentional how her voice wavers. Josette hovers for a moment before rising to the ceiling. Her arms spread wide and she lets herself fall, sinking through the floor of Victoria's room.

She waits, whether for an approval or a reappearance or, dare she think it, a chance to say goodbye, but the fire surges up again, this time through her right shoulder, and she nearly dives for the door again. This time, it flies open, and she is greeted with the curious, wide eyes of David.

He says nothing, only peering at her, and she tells herself to embrace him and assure him that everything would be fine, but she can't control her movements, she finds. Her legs move deliberately, she can't even twist her head to look at him, and she brushes past him, simply intoning, “Widows' Hill.”

It's when Victoria is halfway across the grounds of the estate that she realizes she is watching her body continue the journey. Her dress floats in the wind and she walks with the same resolve, but Victoria herself hovers nearby, precisely as Josette had done moments ago. Then, she slows. Victoria notices herself look down and examine her hands, turning them over as though they were new. But the fire still stings Victoria; there is no release. She takes advantage of the slowness of her body to speed toward it, and then she is marching again. She feels the grass under her feet and her hair whipping at her face and knows for certain that she is back. She can see the cliff, she can hear the waves – not much more now, and then she can see the rocks and the waves crashing against them, welcoming her. Victoria closes her eyes and takes the sight in and the wind seems to lift her -

Until two arms drag her back down and hold her tightly.

There's a tight twisting in Victoria's stomach and the flames ignite on the back of her head.

He wants to save her. She doesn't want to be saved, she wants to be free and away from the fires and from him. She feels burns and blisters from his arms around her, though Victoria cannot be sure what is real anymore. She tells him they are opposites, that she belongs in the light, anything to make him concede, but it fails, and then Victoria is over the cliff – hovering, once more, watching herself proclaim to Barnabas that “there is only one way.”

Victoria screams, feels her neck catch fire, but the sound is carried away by the crashing waves. For a fraction of a second, she sees Josette in front of her, but then she is grounded again and she steps back and lets herself plummet from the cliff. She does not scream, simply reveling in the feeling of the flames leaving her, of the cool wind stinging. Josette falls with her, she notices, but so does Barnabas. He catches her and she attempts to shove him away, but once more, Victoria has no control of her motions.  

And then Josette is no longer next to her, but Victoria is next to Victoria, all the way down the cliff to the rocks below. She watches her own body grow paler, all sense of humanity disappearing. She looks to the left, to the right, anywhere but directly at herself and what she cannot be sure that she is seeing. But her old friend is nowhere to be found until, amidst Barnabas' cries, she – Victoria – the body opens her eyes and proclaims herself to be Josette. The one she always trusted. The one who persisted, despite claims of “overactive imagination,” or downright insanity.

Now, Josette does not even look at Victoria.

The burning is gone, but she remains. This time, without even the spirits for comfort.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

nothing but my name (the most damn ridiculous dark shadows au ; roger and carolyn and vicki and burke and barnabas ; g)

The cane should have given it away. Polished ebony with a shining silver wolf's head. Barnabas Collins: one of the pioneers of the goth rock movement ten years ago - Vicki could have bashed her head in for not recognizing it. 

"I'm sorry - nobody to see Carolyn unless they've made an appointment," Roger had said. "Her rehearsal time is precious.

Vicki fought the urge to roll her eyes as she scribbled his quote down onto her notepad. Carolyn, across from her, grinned and flipped her crimped hair across her shoulder.

She said, "Uncle Roger's really good about making sure people don't harass me and whatnot. Usually just, like, 'friends' -" she made air-quotes with her fingers upon speaking the word, " - from high school, but you never know! Better him take care of it than to let some creep in!"

At that, Vicki forced a smile. The fact that she was almost certain she could see the entirety of Collinsport from her second-story window made her doubt the validity of that statement.

She didn't see the battle going on in the parlor, didn't see the curly-haired man in the sharp suit pushing his way inside, wedging his way through doorway arm-first. She didn't see it, but she heard Roger's protests and threats to call the authorities.

Threats that weren't acted on, she noted, but she stayed alert, leaning in her seat toward the doors of the drawing room.

"There's someone who I think you'll be very interested in meeting," said - someone. Vicki didn't recognize who. There was silence for a long time, and then a slow clicking on the floor. Vicki stood.

"I haven't got time for this nonsense, Mister Devlin!" she heard Roger snap, and her gaze quickly flicked to Carolyn in a silent statement of awe. 

"Your uncle knows Burke Devlin?" Vicki whispered. Carolyn's eyes darted momentarily and she shrugged, shaking her head.

She didn't know.

Carolyn Stoddard, aspiring pop star, had no idea who Burke Devlin was - one of the most - if not the most - notorious and successful musical managers in the industry. Vicki just kept her jaw from hitting the floor, and she hurried over to the door. After a pause went by without sound, she cracked it open just so.

What greeted her, apart from Roger and Burke - she'd read too many reports, seen too many photographs of him not to recognize him immediately - was a man.

Just a man. A man of average height, dressed head-to-toe in black, topped off with a large sunglasses an a hat, both of which he removed. Nothing but a man's face was revealed, as average as his height. The only artifact that stood out was his cane, which the man exchanged from one hand to the other. 

Roger crossed his arms. Vicki could tell he was just as confused as she was. What was so special about this man that Burke Devlin would push his way into Collinwood for an introduction?

Luckily, her questions were answered immediately, as Burke Devlin gestured to the man grandly and announced, "May I present to you - Barnabas Collins."

This time, Vicki couldn't catch her jaw before it dropped. Her hand fell away from the doorknob, causing the drawing room door to swing wide open, revealing her. Carolyn  was suddenly out of her seat, pushing past Vicki and stopping just inside the foyer. Roger turned to stare at them both, but Vicki's gaze stayed flicking between Burke Devlin and Barnabas Collins.

"Ladies," Burke said with a nod. It was all she could do to nod back.

"Barnabas Collins?!" Carolyn exclaimed breathlessly. Looking over, Vicki could have sworn that the blonde's eyes were trying to escape from their sockets.

Of course. The cane should have given it away. Polished ebony with a shining silver wolf's head. Barnabas Collins: one of the pioneers of the goth rock movement ten years ago - Vicki could have bashed her head in for not recognizing it. And she called herself a journalist when she couldn't even recognize one of the most over-exposed stars of the past decade, regardless of the distinct lack of white makeup and black eyeliner.

Her mind focused again, and she saw Burke staring at Roger expectantly, arms crossed. When Roger remained still, Barnabas cleared his throat, looked straight at her, and asked, "And you are?"

Barnabas Collins. Speaking directly to her.

Her mind screamed at her, reminding her of her profession, but it didn't keep her heart from stopping. Finally, she managed to gasp, "Victoria Winters. Vicki." She extended her hand and Barnabas raised it to his lips. Vicki went still - if anything was too much, it was this. He must have caught onto her overstated awe because he smirked and looked down at her other hand.

"Are you a reporter?"

Vicki tilted her head, not understanding the question - or, rather, the eerily accurate impression - before she realized her notepad and pen were still clutched in her hand. Tightly. The paper was wrinkled. She nodded. 

"Miss Winters is documenting the preparations for my niece Carolyn's first concert." Whatever silencing spell that had held Roger must have snapped, because he was back, charm in full force as he crossed in front of Vicki and over to Carolyn. He gave her a gentle push in Barnabas' direction. "Carolyn Stoddard."

After the two had exchanged introductions, Barnabas chuckled to himself, saying, "I had no idea that my family would be as elated to meet me as I am."

There was a frantic flurry as Vicki and Carolyn looked at each other, then to Roger, then to Burke and Barnabas. Burke had a raised eyebrow, and suddenly all the arrows were pointed to Roger.

"I had hoped that would be kept a secret," Roger mumbled. 

"It's true?!" Carolyn practically shrieked the question, but Vicki couldn't complain. She was sure she was feeling just as much excitement as the younger girl - the difference was, Vicki was incapable of vocalizing it.

"It's true," Roger replied with a sigh before turning his attentions back to Burke and Barnabas. "It wasn't relevant - I wanted Carolyn to succeed on her own merits, not because of who her relatives may be."

"You're a musician, then," Burke said, suddenly taking an interested in the blonde. Carolyn, suddenly flustered, managed to nod enthusiastically. Burke rubbed his chin thoughtfully and mumbled, "Interesting."

Roger and Carolyn glanced at one another.

Barnabas clarified, "I'm considering taking on a protegee, actually."

The words dangled in the air, no reply to snatch them up, and Victoria could tell that her article was about to become far more compelling.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

the apathy and urgency (dark shadows; movieverse ; julia/barnabas-ish ; pg)

hey! potential spoilers/massive au warning here!

Julia freezes, needing every second she can take to calm herself down. He can't know, she thinks, there's no way. It's a lucky guess. From the fire in his eyes, no one would know the difference

[spieqels-blog]

it starts when you're around (dark shadows, 1970 parallel time, quentin/vicki)

Quentin knows that he shouldn’t let her say these things. That he should have dismissed her from his house the moment that he saw her lounging in the drawing room. But he doesn’t.

Read More

[drunkenlaments-blog]

the way it used to (dark shadows ; burke/maggie-ish? ; pg)

neither of them had been confidantes, as maggie had suspected. instead, she’d been some kind of turncoat.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

collisions (dark shadows ; parallel time!quentin/victoria ; hard-pg-13?)

if the two of them should collide somewhere in the dark, who would be there to blame them if they held on as hard as they could?

[drunkenlaments-blog]

you change your position and you are changing me (dark shadows ; quentin/victoria ; pg)

victoria became something different to him, more than a drowning slip of a girl wild with the cold, but more of a relic. an old figure of the house that was untouchable. an old remnant of the house that followed his every move and could read him like an open book.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

a hallucination (dark shadows & supernatural ; bela talbot & nicholas blair ; pg)

 "you're not -" she cuts herself off, her brows drawing together as she laughs nervously. "not the devil, are you?"

She swears she can already hear the hellhounds scratching at her door, but when she listens - really listens, tuning out all of the jumbled nonsense her brain is coming up with - she knows there's nothing there. She's hallucinating. Wonderful, she thinks, still not moving; Bela's determined to keep completely still when they come, to go with them willingly, but that's easier said than done when "going with them" means letting herself be ripped limb from limb by vicious, snarling beasts. But somehow she finds solace in the fact that the time she finally begins to lose her sanity is the time when she faces certain death. Bela takes another deep breath and somehow manages to still her mind, the only sound in the room the ticking of the clock on the nightstand. Going against her better judgment and telling herself that there's nothing in the room that wasn't there before, she opens her eyes and turns to look at the clock. Five minutes have passed. "Ten minutes." A voice to her left has Bela whipping her head to the other side, her eyes going wide. Her shock doesn't lessen when she sees a man standing there, seemingly having appeared out of thin air as she's certain that he hadn't been there before, and even more sure that she hadn't let him in. She swallows hard, her breath quickening even as she tries to keep a steely demeanor. "Who are you?" The man smirks at her, and Bela notices he was holding a glass of wine. "If I were you, dear, I'd be more polite. I could be a blessing, after all." "I said -" Bela's losing control. Her hands are shaking as she fumbles across the bed for her gun. A gun. Hell, anything that she could use as a weapon, at this point. "Yes, yes, I heard you," the man interrupts her, picking at his dark moustache and leaning back against the wall. The light from the lamp on Bela's nightstand casts parts of his face in shadow, making him appear all the more eerie. But Bela figures that, with as much - or rather, little - time she has left, anything can frighten her. "You have less than ten minutes to live," he continues. "There's no question of where you're going - we've been busy making all the arrangements. Who do you think I am." Bela sets her jaw and stares at him. He couldn't be. But who else? "You're not -" she cuts herself off, her brows drawing together as she laughs nervously. "Not the Devil, are you?" The man laughs loudly, the sound filling the room. "No," he says. "No, but thank you for the compliment." He winks at her and takes a sip of his wine before reaching up to tug at his green tie. "You may call me Nicholas, my dear. Nicholas Blair." She glances at the clock to see how much time she's wasted conversing madly with this man that she isn't even sure is there, but she suddenly seems to have lost the ability to comprehend exactly what the minute and second hands are telling her. "Get to the point," she snaps, and her eyes flick toward her door. "Oh?" Nicholas arches an eyebrow at her. "Pushy, aren't we?" Then, he laughs quietly to himself. "But, I suppose it's justified. As I said, we've been busy making the preparations for you." "Preparations?" The words take a moment to register with Bela. "You - work there? In Hell?" "Where do you think I came from?" Bela stays silent and shakes her head, her eyes drifting from the door to Nicholas and back again, not quite believing he's there. She's lost her mind; she knows it. She won't even feel it when the dogs begin to devour her, will she? Whether he's a hallucination or not, Nicholas still demands her attention. He sighs. "And being from there, I know the inner workings, Bela." He pauses for a moment to see if she responds. She doesn't, her eyes now fixed on the door. She's determined he doesn't exist, that what he has to say doesn't - can't - matter. "I know how to get you out." It gets her attention, and that's all he needs. Her eyes are frightened when she turns her head toward him. "I don't -" He shrugs. "Just how do you think I'm here right now?" Bela blinks. That was all it took. Her attitude changes. She takes a deep breath and her eyes narrow, a cruel sort of smile on her face. "You're not," she says simply. Nicholas' brow furrows and he opens his mouth to say something, but she cuts him off before he can begin. "Do you really think I haven't tried everything?" She laughs, and it's cold. She shakes her head. "Impossible." This time, he takes a glance to the clock. There isn't any time left, and he can hear them coming down the hall. If she's going to be too proud to accept, then so be it. She wouldn't deserve his help anyway. Bela starts to say something to him, but he's gone before she can decide whether he was really there. She swears the ticking of the clock goes louder, and then she hears a growl outside of her door.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste (dark shadows ; roger/victoria ; pg/pg-13-ish idk)

he's had conquests of the sort before, but he can't recall one that's affected him so deeply.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

something in the way (dark shadows ; roger/victoria ; pg)

the way she looks at him makes him second-guess his intentions.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

there ain't that much room at the top (shock treatment ; janet/farley ; pg)

janet took a seat and farley mused as he lit up a cigar how pretty she was to look at. maybe he could work around the whole "silent and dazed" thing.

lmao this is so old.

[drunkenlaments-blog]

there'd be a price (jekyll and hyde: the musical ; pg)

she'll tease him and scold him playfully and everything will be fine, just like it always is. always was. how it was at the beginning before all the ideas and formulas and experiments

[spieqels-blog]

all was golden when the day met the night (ouat, belle/rumplestiltskin).

there’s just her and him and her enchanting smiles and the hem of her dress dusting his shins as they spin and the mirrors. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Read More

[spieqels-blog]

alignment (ouat ; stranger/kathryn)

no, idefk.

The stranger studies her, takes her in, and she frowns when he takes too long to answer with, “I think you’re a little misguided.” He smirks. “It’s not hard to see how this plays out.”

Read More