Dark Shadows fic
Jan. 1st, 2012 11:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfwannabeAll fairly old, but I'm still pretty happy with most of it.
It was a beautiful night. Barnabas peered out of the window at the Old House, admiring the moon. It was a sight to behold tonight, full and pale. He should take a walk-down to Collinwood, perhaps. Yes, he could enjoy the stroll there and then visit with Vicki. He always appreciated her company. He grabbed his cloak and cane as he walked out of the door.
It was dark and cold, but, naturally, that didn’t bother him. A breeze moved through the air, ruffling his cloak and bringing with it the fresh scent of lilacs. It was quiet, unusually quiet for the spring, as if the animals in the woods knew that a more dangerous predator was out tonight. The stillness was broken only by the sound of twigs crunching under his feet. The façade of the Great House of Collinwood rose up in the distance, emerging from the mass of trees that surrounded the older house on the estate. The windows blazed with light, warm and inviting. He sighed as he approached the front doors.
It was ironic, come to think of it. The Great House- the house that he had seen form from a skeletal frame, that had been an empty shell of a house in his own time-teemed with life and vitality, while the Old House-the site of so much joy and hope and dreams- was nothing but a container for the dead.
He was at the Great House now. He knocked and waited patiently for a response. He could visit the Great House, for a time. He could laugh and smile and bask in the warmth of pleasant company, but he knew that before the end of the night he must return to the Old House. He must return to his grave.
Pairing: Barnabas Collins/Victoria Winters
Theme set: Gamma
Title: Watching, Waiting, Plotting
Rating: PG
Warning[s]: Implied violence and general creepiness, possible spoilers
Notes: References events up to the point I'm at in the series (episode 320 or 321). This was a lot of fun to write. Done for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
1sentence
Ring: Barnabas noticed that the ring Burke had given her was large, crass, and unrefined-rather like the man himself.
Hero: At times, he vaguely reminded her of the hero of a Jane Austen novel: reserved, eloquent, unfailingly polite, and always in the background.
Memory: He had an interesting expression on his face whenever he retold old family stories-almost as if he were reliving the event, rather than just recalling an old tale.
Box: He handed her the music box, silently treasuring the moment their fingertips touched.
Run: She came to the Old House more frequently now and each time Willie saw her there he silently willed her to run-to run as far as she could, never to look back.
Hurricane: The winds battered the walls of the Old House and rain crashed against the windows, but that night Vicki felt the safest she ever had.
Wings: Lost in thought, she ran her fingers over the wings of the angel engraved on Josette’s tombstone; she felt connected to this woman in a way that perhaps only Barnabas could understand.
Cold: On occasion, Vicki wondered if the perpetual chill in the Old House was due to something more than the lack of central heating-but she was always prone to romantic notions.
Red: Willie winced in anticipation, “Please Barnabas, I won’t try to warn her again-I swear it!”
Drink: He adored the delicate way her fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass.
Midnight: She saw him approaching, his silhouette perfectly framed against the moon, and decided not to meet him halfway-the scene was too picturesque to disturb with her presence.
Temptation: Sobbing, she buried her face in his cloak, giving him a perfect view of her long, elegant neck.
View: Hidden in the woods, he watched her as she gazed out the window, her beauty rivaling that of the sea she was looking at.
Music: She stared at the music box, captivated by the light, tinkling music it produced and entranced by thoughts of the man who had given it to her.
Silk: He smiled appreciatively as she ran her hands over the fine silk dress he had found in the attic.
Cover: “Miss Winters, you must pay me a visit sometime--to see the renovations I have had done.”
Promise: “Willie, for the last time, I assure you that I have no intention of harming Miss Winters.”
Dream: She had that odd dream again-the one where someone was in her room, which filled her with simultaneous feelings of danger and safety.
Candle: He looked so odd under the glare of electric lights; Victoria thought his face was much better suited to the light of gently flickering candles.
Talent: He had an amazing talent for responding to questions without really answering.
Silence: He approached her, saying nothing, and the two stood together, observing the moon in silence.
Journey: Although he hadn’t traveled far, the Collinwood of his youth and the Collinwood she inhabited were worlds apart.
Fire: “Willie, start a fire; Miss Winters is cold.”
Strength: She had no idea that the fingers that gently handed her the delicate lace handkerchief were the same ones which had wrenched the metal bars from Dr. Woodard’s window.
Mask: She had startled him when she spoke of seeing the little girl; he hadn’t meant for his face to show so much.
Ice: “It is far too dangerous for you to walk back to Collinwood alone-suppose you should slip and fall on the ice-please allow me to escort you home.”
Fall: She laughed, “Barnabas, I’ll be fine; I hardly think that a fall on the ice would be the end of me,”-but she accepted his offer anyway.
Forgotten: She was so pleased with the book Barnabas had given her, and especially with the personal inscription, that for a moment it seemed she had forgotten that Burke was also in the room.
Dance: “Why, Vicki, you cannot possibly understand the social etiquette of the ball without understanding the dances themselves-please, allow me to show you.”
Body: Barnabas was not surprised that Josette’s dress fit Victoria perfectly; it made sense that two so alike in mind and soul would also share physical similarities.
Sacred: “This was Her handkerchief” Barnabas said and Vicki could practically hear the capital letter.
Farewells: Burke Devlin was starting to wonder why, whenever he joined Barnabas and Vicki, Barnabas excused himself and left the room.
World: When the time came, he desperately wanted her to understand, as Josette had not, that he must take her from this world to give her a greater one.
Formal: His speech was always formal, she thought, but not usually in an intimidating way; his polite utterances were frequently warmed with genuine affection.
Fever: Her feverish dreams were filled with foreboding, mysterious figures and unknown dangers looming from the horizon, but all were chased away by the playful music that merged her waking and sleeping hours.
Laugh: Her laughter filled the room; it was melodious and full of warmth and vitality-just as he expected it to be.
Lies: “Of course, Vicki, as your friend I wish you and Mr. Devlin the best-I am only concerned with your happiness.”
Forever: He could show her exactly what “forever” meant-and he intended to.
Overwhelmed: “Oh, Mr. Collins, this is far too generous-a family heirloom-I can’t possibly accept it.”
Whisper: It seemed to Vicki that the very walls of the Old House whispered to him, telling him the tales of years past.
Wait: He would wait for her; after all, he was a most patient man.
Talk: He had such a way with words-she could spend eternity just listening to him talk.
Search: He searched her eyes for a glimmer of anything more than friendship, but found nothing.
Hope: However, the way her eyes lit up when he suggested the costume party lead him to believe the situation was not beyond rectification.
Eclipse: She didn’t fully understand his hatred of the lunar eclipse; he kept saying things about “complete darkness” and “the uncertain return of the light,” but surely he knew that the moon would be back in a few hours.
Gravity: Vicki liked the respectful way that Barnabas lowered his voice when he spoke of people of the past, as if he were taking care not to offend anyone.
Highway: Driving home from Collinsport, Vicki couldn’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, was following her.
Unknown: If she had known why he was so pleased to hear that she felt close to Josette, perhaps she would not have been so quick to tell him.
Lock: This time, if all went according to plan, there would be no need for a lock.
Breathe: “I cannot express how pleased I am to see you, Vicki,” he kissed her hand and, for a moment, she forgot to breathe.
Comments: "Eclipse" is meant to reference Barnabas being locked inside of a coffin for 100+ years. As much as he loves the night, I bet total darkness freaks him out a bit. If anything else needs clarification or explaining let me know.
He wasn't dead. She hadn't killed him. A flurry of emotions rushed over her.
Relief came first; the heavy burden she had carried for so many years was lifted from her shoulders. There was no more need for the fear of discovery, or for the dreadful secrecy that had kept her isolated for almost two decades.
Then came anger. She was furious at Jason, of course. He had lied to her; he had left her to suffer for eighteen years, and he had come back only to exploit her further. And she had let him. That was the most unbearable part. She had placed her trust in him. She had chosen to rely on him. And she could have stopped him at anytime, had she been strong enough. She shouldn't have waited for so long. If she had confessed eighteen years ago-
That's when the full implications of the situation hit her. Eighteen years. Gone. Wasted-well, not wasted. She had seen her daughter grow and thrive and flourish. That was anything but a waste. But still, how much more full and rich her life could have been! She could have gone to plays, attended concerts and charity events; she could have played with Carolyn at the beach. She had imprisoned herself in her own house for no reason.
But that was over. True, those years were gone-irretrievably gone- but Jason's blackmail had ultimately, ironically, lead to her freedom. Had he not pushed her to her limits she would have continued to punish herself for the rest of her days. Now she had options. Now she had opportunities. Now she had possibilities. She could, she supposed, be grateful for that.
At times, when she was resting, when she had almost achieved some measure of peace, his name would pop into her head.
Dave Woodard.
It had been months now, but she still felt her sin weighing down upon her. She had tried to reason herself out of it, telling herself that she had had no choice; that Dave's blood was on Barnabas' hands. She knew better. She had chosen to help Barnabas; even if she didn't have a choice at the time of Dave's death, murder should have been a foreseeable consequence of aiding a vampire. She was not a stupid woman; She had to have known what she was getting into, yet it had shocked and horrified her when the events had finally come to fruition.
And, of course, if she ever became too comfortable with shifting the blame to Barnabas, he was all too happy to remind her of her part.
"But Julia," he would say with the slightest hint of a smirk dancing about his face, "I couldn't have done it without you. Who was the one who suggested the undetectable drug? Who filled the syringe? Really, your assistance was indispensable."
She loved him, but at those times-oh, how she hated him! But then he would smile and say her name and reassure her that it would be easier to bear in time. And she would forgive him his cruelty. He always knew just what to say to push her buttons and she hated that, although she knew he was manipulating her, she couldn't help but let him do it.
She had killed for him. That was what it boiled down to. She had bloodied her hands and, in all likelihood, would continue to bloody her hands in order to help him. She had thrown her lot in with his and there was no retrieving it now, even if she wanted to.
Barnabas Collins never thought he would attempt to kill his wife.
Then again, there was very little in his life these past weeks that he had expected. He never would have thought that Josette would marry anyone else; he never would have guessed that he would kill Jeremiah. He never would have dreamed that he would be disinherited. He would have laughed if anyone had told him that he would marry a witch. Indeed, he would have laughed at the very idea of witchcraft. And he had laughed, only a few days ago, though it seemed another lifetime.
His life seemed to be nothing more than an ever-increasing series of distressing and improbable events, bearing down on him, pushing him to do something-to do anything. It was distressing-the clarity with which he now saw the entire course of events. What a cruel joke it was to have a man see so plainly what it is he could have done-should have done-long after it was too late to change anything. Yes, it was far too late for him; everything he had ever wanted had already slipped through his fingers- his love, his family, his property. There was nothing left. He could not change his fate.
But he could prevent it from occurring to another. He could-he must-destroy the one who had destroyed him. He would stop her. He would kill Angelique. And then-well, it really didn't matter. He knew that there was no way of continuing his life after committing such an act, but what was there left to continue with anyway?
No, the aftermath did not matter; all that was left was the act itself. And he must do it soon. He must get it over with before he lost his nerve, before he thought too much about what he had to do, before he had time to remember the principles he used to hold dear. For though he knew now that he had only one course of action left open to him, it was one that in better times he would have found repulsive. For an honorable man to have to murder his wife! And yet he must. So he would do it now, before his sense of honor and all that is right overwhelmed his determination, his rage, and his need for revenge. But most of all, before he felt, once again, that he had reason to live.
Title: None; done for an application for paradisa
paradisaCharacters: Barnabas Collins
Summary: Barnabas walks. And thinks.It was a beautiful night. Barnabas peered out of the window at the Old House, admiring the moon. It was a sight to behold tonight, full and pale. He should take a walk-down to Collinwood, perhaps. Yes, he could enjoy the stroll there and then visit with Vicki. He always appreciated her company. He grabbed his cloak and cane as he walked out of the door.
It was dark and cold, but, naturally, that didn’t bother him. A breeze moved through the air, ruffling his cloak and bringing with it the fresh scent of lilacs. It was quiet, unusually quiet for the spring, as if the animals in the woods knew that a more dangerous predator was out tonight. The stillness was broken only by the sound of twigs crunching under his feet. The façade of the Great House of Collinwood rose up in the distance, emerging from the mass of trees that surrounded the older house on the estate. The windows blazed with light, warm and inviting. He sighed as he approached the front doors.
It was ironic, come to think of it. The Great House- the house that he had seen form from a skeletal frame, that had been an empty shell of a house in his own time-teemed with life and vitality, while the Old House-the site of so much joy and hope and dreams- was nothing but a container for the dead.
He was at the Great House now. He knocked and waited patiently for a response. He could visit the Great House, for a time. He could laugh and smile and bask in the warmth of pleasant company, but he knew that before the end of the night he must return to the Old House. He must return to his grave.
Pairing: Barnabas Collins/Victoria Winters
Theme set: Gamma
Title: Watching, Waiting, Plotting
Rating: PG
Warning[s]: Implied violence and general creepiness, possible spoilers
Notes: References events up to the point I'm at in the series (episode 320 or 321). This was a lot of fun to write. Done for
1sentence Ring: Barnabas noticed that the ring Burke had given her was large, crass, and unrefined-rather like the man himself.
Hero: At times, he vaguely reminded her of the hero of a Jane Austen novel: reserved, eloquent, unfailingly polite, and always in the background.
Memory: He had an interesting expression on his face whenever he retold old family stories-almost as if he were reliving the event, rather than just recalling an old tale.
Box: He handed her the music box, silently treasuring the moment their fingertips touched.
Run: She came to the Old House more frequently now and each time Willie saw her there he silently willed her to run-to run as far as she could, never to look back.
Hurricane: The winds battered the walls of the Old House and rain crashed against the windows, but that night Vicki felt the safest she ever had.
Wings: Lost in thought, she ran her fingers over the wings of the angel engraved on Josette’s tombstone; she felt connected to this woman in a way that perhaps only Barnabas could understand.
Cold: On occasion, Vicki wondered if the perpetual chill in the Old House was due to something more than the lack of central heating-but she was always prone to romantic notions.
Red: Willie winced in anticipation, “Please Barnabas, I won’t try to warn her again-I swear it!”
Drink: He adored the delicate way her fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass.
Midnight: She saw him approaching, his silhouette perfectly framed against the moon, and decided not to meet him halfway-the scene was too picturesque to disturb with her presence.
Temptation: Sobbing, she buried her face in his cloak, giving him a perfect view of her long, elegant neck.
View: Hidden in the woods, he watched her as she gazed out the window, her beauty rivaling that of the sea she was looking at.
Music: She stared at the music box, captivated by the light, tinkling music it produced and entranced by thoughts of the man who had given it to her.
Silk: He smiled appreciatively as she ran her hands over the fine silk dress he had found in the attic.
Cover: “Miss Winters, you must pay me a visit sometime--to see the renovations I have had done.”
Promise: “Willie, for the last time, I assure you that I have no intention of harming Miss Winters.”
Dream: She had that odd dream again-the one where someone was in her room, which filled her with simultaneous feelings of danger and safety.
Candle: He looked so odd under the glare of electric lights; Victoria thought his face was much better suited to the light of gently flickering candles.
Talent: He had an amazing talent for responding to questions without really answering.
Silence: He approached her, saying nothing, and the two stood together, observing the moon in silence.
Journey: Although he hadn’t traveled far, the Collinwood of his youth and the Collinwood she inhabited were worlds apart.
Fire: “Willie, start a fire; Miss Winters is cold.”
Strength: She had no idea that the fingers that gently handed her the delicate lace handkerchief were the same ones which had wrenched the metal bars from Dr. Woodard’s window.
Mask: She had startled him when she spoke of seeing the little girl; he hadn’t meant for his face to show so much.
Ice: “It is far too dangerous for you to walk back to Collinwood alone-suppose you should slip and fall on the ice-please allow me to escort you home.”
Fall: She laughed, “Barnabas, I’ll be fine; I hardly think that a fall on the ice would be the end of me,”-but she accepted his offer anyway.
Forgotten: She was so pleased with the book Barnabas had given her, and especially with the personal inscription, that for a moment it seemed she had forgotten that Burke was also in the room.
Dance: “Why, Vicki, you cannot possibly understand the social etiquette of the ball without understanding the dances themselves-please, allow me to show you.”
Body: Barnabas was not surprised that Josette’s dress fit Victoria perfectly; it made sense that two so alike in mind and soul would also share physical similarities.
Sacred: “This was Her handkerchief” Barnabas said and Vicki could practically hear the capital letter.
Farewells: Burke Devlin was starting to wonder why, whenever he joined Barnabas and Vicki, Barnabas excused himself and left the room.
World: When the time came, he desperately wanted her to understand, as Josette had not, that he must take her from this world to give her a greater one.
Formal: His speech was always formal, she thought, but not usually in an intimidating way; his polite utterances were frequently warmed with genuine affection.
Fever: Her feverish dreams were filled with foreboding, mysterious figures and unknown dangers looming from the horizon, but all were chased away by the playful music that merged her waking and sleeping hours.
Laugh: Her laughter filled the room; it was melodious and full of warmth and vitality-just as he expected it to be.
Lies: “Of course, Vicki, as your friend I wish you and Mr. Devlin the best-I am only concerned with your happiness.”
Forever: He could show her exactly what “forever” meant-and he intended to.
Overwhelmed: “Oh, Mr. Collins, this is far too generous-a family heirloom-I can’t possibly accept it.”
Whisper: It seemed to Vicki that the very walls of the Old House whispered to him, telling him the tales of years past.
Wait: He would wait for her; after all, he was a most patient man.
Talk: He had such a way with words-she could spend eternity just listening to him talk.
Search: He searched her eyes for a glimmer of anything more than friendship, but found nothing.
Hope: However, the way her eyes lit up when he suggested the costume party lead him to believe the situation was not beyond rectification.
Eclipse: She didn’t fully understand his hatred of the lunar eclipse; he kept saying things about “complete darkness” and “the uncertain return of the light,” but surely he knew that the moon would be back in a few hours.
Gravity: Vicki liked the respectful way that Barnabas lowered his voice when he spoke of people of the past, as if he were taking care not to offend anyone.
Highway: Driving home from Collinsport, Vicki couldn’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, was following her.
Unknown: If she had known why he was so pleased to hear that she felt close to Josette, perhaps she would not have been so quick to tell him.
Lock: This time, if all went according to plan, there would be no need for a lock.
Breathe: “I cannot express how pleased I am to see you, Vicki,” he kissed her hand and, for a moment, she forgot to breathe.
Comments: "Eclipse" is meant to reference Barnabas being locked inside of a coffin for 100+ years. As much as he loves the night, I bet total darkness freaks him out a bit. If anything else needs clarification or explaining let me know.
Title: Aftermath
Characters: Elizabeth Stoddard, mentions of Jason McGuire and Paul Stoddard
Summary/prompt: Written for a Shakespeare prompt comm on LJ: "Such welcome and unwelcome things at once/'Tis hard to reconcile."-MacDuffHe wasn't dead. She hadn't killed him. A flurry of emotions rushed over her.
Relief came first; the heavy burden she had carried for so many years was lifted from her shoulders. There was no more need for the fear of discovery, or for the dreadful secrecy that had kept her isolated for almost two decades.
Then came anger. She was furious at Jason, of course. He had lied to her; he had left her to suffer for eighteen years, and he had come back only to exploit her further. And she had let him. That was the most unbearable part. She had placed her trust in him. She had chosen to rely on him. And she could have stopped him at anytime, had she been strong enough. She shouldn't have waited for so long. If she had confessed eighteen years ago-
That's when the full implications of the situation hit her. Eighteen years. Gone. Wasted-well, not wasted. She had seen her daughter grow and thrive and flourish. That was anything but a waste. But still, how much more full and rich her life could have been! She could have gone to plays, attended concerts and charity events; she could have played with Carolyn at the beach. She had imprisoned herself in her own house for no reason.
But that was over. True, those years were gone-irretrievably gone- but Jason's blackmail had ultimately, ironically, lead to her freedom. Had he not pushed her to her limits she would have continued to punish herself for the rest of her days. Now she had options. Now she had opportunities. Now she had possibilities. She could, she supposed, be grateful for that.
Title: Remorse
Characters: Julia Hoffman, Barnabas Collins, mentions of Dave Woodard
Summary/prompt: Written for a Shakespeare prompt comm on LJ: Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.--Lady MacBethAt times, when she was resting, when she had almost achieved some measure of peace, his name would pop into her head.
Dave Woodard.
It had been months now, but she still felt her sin weighing down upon her. She had tried to reason herself out of it, telling herself that she had had no choice; that Dave's blood was on Barnabas' hands. She knew better. She had chosen to help Barnabas; even if she didn't have a choice at the time of Dave's death, murder should have been a foreseeable consequence of aiding a vampire. She was not a stupid woman; She had to have known what she was getting into, yet it had shocked and horrified her when the events had finally come to fruition.
And, of course, if she ever became too comfortable with shifting the blame to Barnabas, he was all too happy to remind her of her part.
"But Julia," he would say with the slightest hint of a smirk dancing about his face, "I couldn't have done it without you. Who was the one who suggested the undetectable drug? Who filled the syringe? Really, your assistance was indispensable."
She loved him, but at those times-oh, how she hated him! But then he would smile and say her name and reassure her that it would be easier to bear in time. And she would forgive him his cruelty. He always knew just what to say to push her buttons and she hated that, although she knew he was manipulating her, she couldn't help but let him do it.
She had killed for him. That was what it boiled down to. She had bloodied her hands and, in all likelihood, would continue to bloody her hands in order to help him. She had thrown her lot in with his and there was no retrieving it now, even if she wanted to.
Title: No Reason to Turn Back
Characters: Barnabas Collins, mentions of Angelique, Josette, and Jeremiah
Summary/prompt: Written for a Shakespeare prompt comm on LJ: "If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well/It were done quickly"-MacBethBarnabas Collins never thought he would attempt to kill his wife.
Then again, there was very little in his life these past weeks that he had expected. He never would have thought that Josette would marry anyone else; he never would have guessed that he would kill Jeremiah. He never would have dreamed that he would be disinherited. He would have laughed if anyone had told him that he would marry a witch. Indeed, he would have laughed at the very idea of witchcraft. And he had laughed, only a few days ago, though it seemed another lifetime.
His life seemed to be nothing more than an ever-increasing series of distressing and improbable events, bearing down on him, pushing him to do something-to do anything. It was distressing-the clarity with which he now saw the entire course of events. What a cruel joke it was to have a man see so plainly what it is he could have done-should have done-long after it was too late to change anything. Yes, it was far too late for him; everything he had ever wanted had already slipped through his fingers- his love, his family, his property. There was nothing left. He could not change his fate.
But he could prevent it from occurring to another. He could-he must-destroy the one who had destroyed him. He would stop her. He would kill Angelique. And then-well, it really didn't matter. He knew that there was no way of continuing his life after committing such an act, but what was there left to continue with anyway?
No, the aftermath did not matter; all that was left was the act itself. And he must do it soon. He must get it over with before he lost his nerve, before he thought too much about what he had to do, before he had time to remember the principles he used to hold dear. For though he knew now that he had only one course of action left open to him, it was one that in better times he would have found repulsive. For an honorable man to have to murder his wife! And yet he must. So he would do it now, before his sense of honor and all that is right overwhelmed his determination, his rage, and his need for revenge. But most of all, before he felt, once again, that he had reason to live.
