#is it jealousy? perhaps

[junipernight]

Yangvik Week Day 6 - Jealousy

"Old Flame"

@yangvikweek2024

At the appointed time and place, the team discretely reconvened in a square at the south end of Caldera City. 

Even under her hat and cloak, Kavik could tell that Yangchen was tired when he spotted her across the square. He wondered if that meant the meeting with the Fire Lord Gonryu hadn’t gone well. Then again, even if Fire Lord Gonryu had agreed to the Avatar’s proposal, Kavik knew that it chafed Yangchen that the leaders of the world couldn’t simply do the right thing (or something approximating it) without being coerced, bribed, cajoled, or otherwise convinced.

Kavik swallowed the last bite of his fire bun, dusted his hands off, and casually began to meander in the same direction  she was now heading. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tayagum and Akuudan doing the same, and Jujinta was surely nearby. 

Besides Yangchen, none of them had ever been to the fire nation capital before, and the place they were going wasn’t like Yangchen’s usual safehouses; it was the house of a friend, she’d said.

For those reasons, the five of them skipped the acrobatics today, and instead pretended to be ordinary people casually (and separately) walking home from a long day's work. Kavik followed from a distance as Yangchen turned first left, and then right, down street after street. He paused and pretended to admire a stone dragon when two turns were close together, to make sure Akuudan and Tayagum (who were following him at a distance) wouldn’t lose the trail.

Ahead, Yangchen suddenly ducked into a doorway.

Kavik strolled past, not turning his head even a little, and surreptitiously sized up the house the way he would have cased a joint when he was an errand runner in Bin Er. His first impression was that it resembled the mansions of the Shang merchants. Whoever lived here was definitely very wealthy, but the magnolia trees peaking over the wall suggested a scholar or a poet lived inside, rather than a merchant. The architecture was modern, the stone lion-dragons unweathered. Relatively new money. Whoever they were, it was odd that they had chosen to live so far from the palace and the rest of the imperial court.

Kavik walked another couple of blocks, then made a sharp turn. He took a circuitous path back towards the house Yangchen had entered, scaling the wall with a few frozen handholds (which he immediately melted and dried behind him). He shimmied across the roof on his belly, and peered down into the courtyard below. He found himself looking into a garden, filled with lush greenery and zig-zagging paths. Yangchen stood in the middle, in the shade of a weeping willow tree, alone. She had discarded the pieces of her disguise, and her billowing orange robes stood out in bright contrast to her cool surroundings, like sunrise in a mossy forest.

Kavik sidled up to one of the magnolia trees he’d spotted before, and climbed down to join her. A few minutes later, Jujinta jumped down from the roof, and Tayagum and Akuudan descended from the opposite direction soon after. Yingsu brought up the rear.

“So… who’s your friend?” Kavik asked.

There was the sound of wood tapping on flagstone, and then an old woman stepped into view. 

The woman was simply but elegantly attired in a summer tunic and pants, with her moon-white hair braided and wrapped over the crown of her head. She didn’t have the hunched over look that so many elders had, but even so, she was still incredibly short.

Yangchen squealed when she saw her. “Akemi!”

Instead of a formal greeting, the Avatar ran up to the old woman, picked her up, and spun them around.

The rest of the team stared in bewilderment. Who is this lady?, Kavik thought.

The old woman laughed and tapped her shoulder with her cane. “Cut that out, I’m too old for your antics.”

Yangchen carefully put the woman down. Side by side, Kavik thought he could detect a faint resemblance. They both had the same oval face and shrewd eyes. Maybe Yangchen had a Fire Nation grangran? It wouldn’t be that surprising if she did. Boma had given him the impression that air nomads got around.

“Everyone, this is Akemi. My wife.”

Her what? Kavik’s jaw dropped.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kavik saw the others bow, but all he could do was stare. Tayagum clapped a hand on his back and bent him into something resembling a bow.

Akemi huffed, but the soft smile didn’t leave her face. 

“Avatar Szeto and I were married for 53 years,” she explained.

“See? My wife,” Yangchen insisted.

Introductions were made, and then Akemi led the group inside.

***

Tayagum nudged his husband at dinner. Akuudan looked at him questioningly. “Kavik hasn’t stopped pouting since we got here,” he whispered.

Akuudan didn’t need to glance over to see that it was true; he’d noticed earlier in the meal, but hadn’t bothered to unpack the kid’s expression because he’d been too engrossed in a story Akemi was telling about the former Avatar and four volcanoes.

“... but then Szeto bent the lava like it was water, and diverted it away from the town. He invented an entirely new technique on the fly, and saved thousands of people that day.”

“Don’t sell yourself short Keke, I may have stopped the lava, but you were the one who figured out how to appease the spirits. You’ve always been the better diplomat between us.”

Kavik scowled, and pierced a bit of spicy tofu with his chopsticks, much to Tayagum’s amusement.

‘I stopped the lava.’ Akuudan rolled Yangchen’s words around in his head. Not for the first time, he wondered about the nature of the legendary connection Avatars had to their past lives. Before knowing Yangchen, he’d assumed the rumors to be exaggerated, but Yangchen occasionally spoke as if she’d been there. As if she still had the memories of Szeto and others before him. Memories or no, however, Akuudan was sure Yangchen didn’t really think of herself as the same person as Szeto.

All dinner, she’d been hamming up her role as “loving husband” from her seat at the head of the table, singing Akemi’s praises and patting her hand and reheating her tea when it got cold.

Akemi, for her part, seemed to indulge the behavior like a doting grandmother. It seemed to be a long running joke the two of them had crafted. A very sweet one.

“... but I musn’t ramble about the past. Tell me more about your friends. Yingsu - you’re a strapping young woman. Are you and the Avatar companionable?” she waggled her eyebrows.

Kavik dropped his spoon with a loud clatter.

Tayagum choked back a laugh

Yingsu grinned. “You need to get your eyes checked, grandmother. I’m twice her age”

Akemi shrugged. “Well, the Avatar has always had certain preferences.”

The conversation moved on, and Akuudan could see that Kavik was too busy staring at the wall and ruminating to eat his food.

“Are you going to finish that?” He asked. (It was good food, and there was no sense letting it go to waste.)

Kavik frowned, and pushed his bowl across the table.

***

It was weird having a room all to himself. Kavik lay back on the bed with his arms crossed, frowning up at the ceiling.

He couldn’t decode what Akemi had been implying earlier, when she’d made her comment about preferences. It had something to do with Yingsu - but what? Yingsu was a lot of things: taller, older, a fire bender, a woman, very muscular. He was pretty sure Akemi wouldn’t know about the combustion bending, so he could rule that out. It was also more likely to be something that Yingsu and Akemi had in common, or had had in common in Akemi’s youth…

Not that any of this impacted him, directly. He was just looking out for Yangchen. He didn’t want her to get hurt by Yingsu, in either a heartbreak kind of way or an explosive fire-y way.

… they really had been quick to accept Yingsu into the fold. Were they absolutely sure they could trust her? Kavik was pretty sure he had been treated with more suspicion than either Yingsu or Jujinta had been.

A knock interrupted his musings.

He got up and padded over to the door, expecting it to be either Yangchen calling a team meeting, or Jujinta looking for his lost toothbrush again (their stuff frequently got mixed up when they had to pack in a hurry.)

Instead he discovered Akemi at his door.

“I noticed you barely touched your food. Fire nation cuisine can often upset the stomach, if one is unused to the spices. Would you like some ginger?” She asked

“Thank you for the consideration Grandmother, but my stomach is fine,” Kavik said.

“Excellent! Then you can come with me; I need a strong young waterbender to help me in the garden.” She headed down the corridor at a brisk pace, cane clicking, without waiting for a reply. Kavik stared at her retreating back in disbelief.

He raced to catch up to her.

“Do you often garden in the middle of the night?” He asked.

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly, surprising him. “It’s too hot to do something as stupid as garden during the day.” 

A fire national who shied away from the sun? There was something altogether too suspicious about the whole thing. Kavik refused to believe for a moment that Akemi had singled him out to help with simple gardening, even if he couldn’t figure out her real motives yet. 

They emerged into a courtyard. In the center was an overgrown pond.

“I need your help with that,” said Akemi, pointing straight at the moonlit pond… and the bobbing, waving white lotus flowers within it.

Kavik’s heart sank.

“The white lotus rises out of the murky depths, and unfurls her many separate petals,” he recited hollowly.

Akemi squinted at him in confusion. “Yangchen didn’t tell me you liked poetry.”

That was not the answering code phrase. But more importantly, “She talked about me to you?”

Akemi’s wrinkled lips quirked. Kavik noticed the smile lines deepen around her eyes. “Maybe. Now let’s get on with it,” she gestured at the pond. “Lift the water out.”

It was Kavik’s turn to be confused. “You want me to take the water out of the pond?”

“Yes.”

“All of it??”

“Yes. My, you ask a lot of questions.”

Kavik thought about asking why, but decided he would find out soon enough. He bent his knees, circled his arms, and lifted.

The water swelled and lifted out of the pond. He kept pushing and pulling until the pond was empty, and the former pond-water was suspended in a loose orb overhead.

He looked at the old fire nation lady, wondering what she wanted him to do now, and nearly dropped the water when he saw her clamber into the empty pond.

In the center, there were three heavy stone baskets, out of which the lotus flowers grew. The plants looked strange and graceless, flopped over with no water to support them. Akemi began to pull and snip at the lotus plants that had crept outside their bounds, collecting them in a bundle. She was apparently unbothered by the mud.

Maybe it was just because they were both old women who asked Kavik to do odd chores, but Akemi reminded Kavik of Mama Ayuneraq. She may not have responded to his overt query, but that could have been a choice. It didn’t prove she wasn’t a member of the Order.

“Tell me—how is she?” Akemi asked him

Kavik chose his words carefully. “She’s better now, ever since that business in Taku ended. But she lost Nu Jian only a few months ago, and the loss has been hard on her.”

“Yes, I’d heard about Nu Jian.” Akemi rested her hands on the rim of a stone basket, and bowed her head. “Grief can be very hard on a person.”

… The difference between Akemi and Ayunerak, is that Ayunerak would have prodded the conversation toward “that business in Taku.”

“Is she eating?” Akemi asked instead.

“Mostly,” said Kavik. “We have to wave the food in front of her face to get her to remember sometimes.”

“Is she sleeping?”

“Barely. She has this terrible tea she drinks that keeps her wired at all hours of the day. I’m tempted to hide it away.”

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Take the terrible tea away.”

“I can’t just take the Avatar’s tea away from her! She’s not a misbehaving child.”

“Then talk to her about it.”

Kavik focused on bending the pond water. It was easier to carry if he kept it moving, rather than try to hold it gathered in one place. Akemi finished the rest of her task in silence, gathered up the bundle of culled lotus plants, then walked out of the pond, her feet as sure-footed in the black slippery muck as an arctic rabbit’s on hard snow.

“The world will always have more problems than the Avatar can solve. Someone has to prioritize taking care of her.”

Akemi stomped her foot, and the mud peeled off her feet and clothes and flew back into the pond. Kavik blinked.

“You’re an earthbender,” he said.

“And you’re the boy my wife has a crush on,” said Akemi. “Mind you don’t fuck it up a second time.”

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 1 / 31 * RED-LETTER DATE 」

“Hey Doc? I wanna ask you something.” 

Emmett doesn’t pop his head through the doorway to acknowledge his friend, too focused on topping off one of the mugs of hot chocolate with a generous helping of marshmallows, but he does shout, “Of course, Marty,” into the air. “You know you don’t have to ask. Let me bring Verne his cup and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

Marty makes a vague noise that many years of friendship has taught Emmett means sure thing, Doc, and it takes him barely three minutes to drop off the hot chocolate to Verne, who smiled like it was Christmas morning when he saw the mountain of marshmallows floating at the top, and join Marty in the living room, carrying the tray with their own drinks. He passes one of them off to Marty who accepts with a smile and a nod and then takes a seat opposite him, fixing him with an expectant look.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Marty’s eyes immediately drift to the shelf, where Emmett and Clara’s small assortment of family photos sit, arranged in elegant wooden frames. In the centre is a black and white photo that has started to yellow around the edges, looking paradoxically fragile and yet able to withstand even the most rigorous tests of time, holding onto that frozen memory for all eternity. Emmett turns his head to follow Marty’s attention, his eyes alighting on the single photo he expects will be the topic of their conversation.

Ah. Out of all of them, there is only one Marty was never able to be present for.

For once, Emmett manages to look perfectly natural in a photograph, even dressed to the nines in a sharp suit. His smile stretches from ear-to-ear, making him look at least ten years younger, and though his face is angled away from the camera, his eyes are bright and alive, brimming with love and warmth. Marty could even imagine the photographer trying to get Emmett’s attention, demanding he look at him for the photo, only for every single word to go in one ear and straight out the other when Clara was standing beside him, smiling, the picture of radiance as she regards her husband with the same fond warmth. Her wedding dress was no more intricate than any of the outfits Marty had seen her wear during his few days in the Nineteenth Century, yet it seemed to be made for her and her alone, perfectly tailored and somehow able to put even the outfits of royalty to shame.

If Clara was the sun, Emmett was the moon that revolved around her. In that single moment, forever frozen in time, they were the only two people on Earth. 

“I had been wanting to ask for a while, but–”

“No, no, of course. You didn’t get the chance to see it, and I’m sorry for that, so I’d be happy to fill you in on the details.”

Marty curls his fingers around the warm mug, shuffling somewhat in his seat, and Emmett waits patiently, noting each one of Marty’s nervous habits as they arise. There are a hundred and one things Marty wants to say, Emmett can see them written across his body, written into every small movement, and, equal and opposite, there are a thousand things Emmett wants to say in return, things he makes an effort to hold back until Marty speaks first.

“I’m happy for you two, Doc–really, I am. Clara’s–well, Clara’s amazing. And I’ve never seen you so happy before. I was afraid that–” Marty shakes his head, his eyes focused on the photographs. “When I first saw the picture, I was…” He forces a laugh, but there’s no humour in it and Emmett would know that self-depreciatory tone anywhere. 

“It’s stupid, I know. I didn’t realise it at first, but I was jealous. Can you believe that, Doc? My best friend is happy, he’s got a family for Christ’s sake, and I was too busy at first being afraid that now you’re–you’re just gonna forget me because you’ve got Clara and the boys and the house and there wouldn’t be a place for me.”

Emmett’s eyes widen despite knowing the blow was coming and before he can open his mouth, allow the words that have been building up on his tongue to break free, Marty shakes his head and continues, reinforcing the wall and keeping the words at bay just a little longer.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Doc. I already said I know it’s stupid but I couldn’t help feeling that way. And I should have asked you about your wedding and everything a lot longer ago but I-I just couldn’t. And that’s fucking stupid, right? I want to know because I couldn’t be there for you and you’ve always been there for me.”

Marty’s words are a blade driven straight through his chest, each word twisting that razor-sharp blade a little more. He can’t help the pang of guilt he feels echoing in his ribcage, scraping against the bars of a prison he will not allow it to escape from, not now. This conversation was a long time coming–he’d almost expected it sooner rather than later, but he knew better than to push, knowing Marty would open up when he was ready–but no amount of anticipation could have prepared him for the blow that hearing it put to words would strike.

The Time Machine’s destruction had not been an accident. Everything had been carefully orchestrated to prevent any further corruption of the timestream, to spare himself the temptation–the broken heart–of trying to go back against all rational, scientific thought.

Ultimately, Marty couldn’t stay in the Nineteenth Century, not if he wanted to live a normal life, not if he wanted to be happy. And he couldn’t allow Marty to become another unsolved disappearance, leaving the McFlys to wonder and agonise over their youngest son who vanished from the face of the Earth without a trace.

Emmett may not have planned to stay, but even he couldn’t predict Clara’s intervention. 

Life had to go on, even under extreme or difficult circumstances. There was only one choice available, then.

Still, Emmett doesn’t hesitate.

“Marty, I could never forget you. Whether we’re in the same time period or separated across the timestream, you will always be my best friend. And I will never stop caring about you. I know things have been busy lately, both for you and for me, what with your college courses and the boys’ schooling and Clara’s acclimation to the Twentieth Century and making the necessary repairs on the house–” Emmett stops himself before he runs off the entire list of seemingly infinitely-growing projects on his list. 

“The point is, nothing is going to change that. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel neglected or unwanted at any point, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Marty nods, finally pulling his eyes away from the photo to take a good long look at his best friend. 

“I know, Doc. God, I know. You must think I’m an asshole.” 

“You’re not an asshole. Far from it.”

Marty actually smiles at that, swirling his hot chocolate carefully in the cup. “So… You’ll still tell me about your wedding day?”

“Of course I will, Marty.” Emmett pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression working its way over his face. Then, he smiles, almost conspiratorially as he recalls something of particular note. “The minister certainly wasn’t pleased when we changed until death do us part to something a little more fitting–until the end of time—”

@bttfdoctober

[b0tsbby]

It only concerns me a little bit I haven’t really seen a written introspection on Stampede Knives’ character, specifically him. 98 is 98 and Maximum Knives has enough elitists on his case to cover him, definitely not a fan favourite but people have broken him down.

I’m aware of how disliked he is, Stampede that is, but it really is something. Could I write it, and could I kill an analysis of him? Most likely. I’ve been injecting the character into my veins, breathing him in and out for a year, every incarnation of him.

But I’m so curious to see someone else do it. Curious to see if someone else will do it…Maybe to convince myself I’m not a complete fool, or stuck in delusion. Maybe to find someone else that got it.

Hate and disdain, is something I’ll never protect him from. He’s an asshole. But man, even he doesn’t deserve the shallow reading of him that’s too widely accepted I think.

But who am I to say what is and isn’t…

[chokulit]

ive gotten the realization that revue of jealousy might not actually be about mahiru's jealousy of hikari over karen, but in fact, jealousy of karen herself.

[the-golden-mango-of-discord]

i’m of the opinion that where one’s cursed shackle goes should be relevant to whatever heavenly sin one committed idgaf about the canon placements. ex wdym xie lian’s first shackle wasn’t the ankle one to represent the restriction of his hubris? that being said i desperately need to hear ppl’s thoughts about our other shackled characters and where their unforgivable sin/devastating insecurity souvenirs Should be

[moruboru]

having the time of my life rn

[bigothteddies]

teddy, how do you handle being jealous? i'm struggling with it really badly and am also polyam and it's such a hard thing for me to find more input on. thank you for your time, whether you do or don't respond

hmm I don’t know ! I think a large part of it for me is keeping my head above the water and always remembering the conscious effort it takes to maintain a healthy polyam relationship. I’m a very possessive person myself and dislike feeling like I’m not number one (I’m also v competitive unfortunately) but the fact is I’m an adult choosing to have these types of relationships and if I can’t handle them then I need to not be in them. And I love being able to openly love more than one person! I hate having to feel so limited in to who and how I can express my love. And that’s worth more to me than any jealousy I may experience. And a lot of the times for me, the jealousy is pretty internal! When my partner and I first got involved they were actually dating another couple IRL at the same time. There were definitely times I got a bit jealous ! Especially when they got meaningful attention or were able to take care of my partner IRL in ways I couldn’t and my partner expressed appreciation for them. But at the end of the day, I could look at my partner and see that they were happy and that meant more to me than some gut reaction emotions. Polyam is hard! It takes a lot of work and honesty on yourself and even more communication than a normal relationship. I also wouldn’t be afraid to say this isn’t for me. I’ve wondered some times at the end of the day if I was really built for it but it always came down to the freedom I was allowed was worth more to me than any negative emotions that could pop up. And that might not be the case for you and that’s okay! If that is the case though navigating your current relationship is something I’d recommend thinking about a lot, because one party deciding for both parts of a relationship that it’s monog now is never a good or okay situation. But either way I hope you find your balance and a way to make your relationship(s) work for you 🫶🏻

[mamawasatesttube]

kancer should've joined kon's rogues gallery tbh

[badnewswhatsleft]

actually joetrick real btw

[charlestrask]

oh. hm. and god never rejected abel.

[tortoisesshells]

if you were in control of a dark shadows adaption (or, hypothetically, could alter the original; whichever you find more interesting to think about!) what does your ideal version of 1795 look like? are there things you would change? things you’d want to keep?

Let me preface this by saying I do genuinely like or appreciate a lot of the 1795 arc! When it's at its best, it's a tragedy born out of hubris and the terrible things we'll do for the people we love (or the terrible things we'll do to hold on to love. or the problem of love without respect). I'm up to episode 741, and the confrontation between Joshua and Barnabas over the latter's coffin is still one of the best scenes in the show, for my money. That said; Broadly speaking, most of my problems with 1795 either have to do with characterization, or with historical context: that DS's unwillingness to delve into historical realities undercuts its ability to talk about monsters, and that it completely mishandles Vicki to the point of functionally ruining the nominal main character (who, to be fair, was already being pushed out).

Historical Context: DS loves the past, conceptually, but it really doesn't deal in historical conditions, and that's on full display in 1795 - witchcraft trials? zippers? claiming a house built in the early 20th century, with the attendant architectural style, was actually built in the years leading up to 1795? okay. I forgive that, because we do live, narratively, in a world with witches and vampires and curses and passenger rail service north of Portland, ME after 1965 - and in a make-believe world where the costumes are as good as a budget of a crisp single and a pb&j can make 'em. I say this mostly lovingly: DS simply is not the kind of show that cares about historical plausibility, let alone accuracy. Plus, Reverend Trask was great, and on the basis of giving Jerry Lacy scenery to chew on, the witchcraft trial plotline is excused.

More seriously and damningly, I do think it's a glaring omission on a show being made and aired in the late 1960s to have three characters said to be from the (fictional) wealthiest family of planters and enslavers on Martinique and have that go unexamined and unpacked, especially when commentary on class in Collinsport has been a constant undercurrent (sometimes more of an under-trickle, or under-vague-breeze) since episode one - and because Joshua Collins is very explicit about how beneficial the connection between the two families will be for the Collinses, who always need cargo for their ships. [Since David Ford's here, you'll forgive the reference to 1776: "Molasses to Rum" playing vaguely in the background] But that's the problem with Post-Barnabas DS. Since there's a Collins running around befanged and literally drinking the blood of others, the show's lost interest in discussing how, exactly, the Collinses became wealthy and powerful, beyond the odd occasional reference to the fishing fleet and cannery or, in 1795, the shipyards. We've got a real vampire, what do we need all that metaphorical monstrosity and class/race/gender analysis for?

As a choice the show's made, I think it fundamentally undercuts one of the show's most reliable and interesting points of commentary: how charming and human some monsters are, or that humanity and monstrosity are not entirely mutually exclusive conditions.

also speaking of monstrosity. the show excuses Barnabas for so much outright evil because he preys on sex workers, primarily, and other assorted poor men and women of Collinsport, who the show ... doesn't really see as people. but that's a separate but not unrelated rant.

Characterization: really, this is about Vicki. So much of what I dislike about 1795 has to do with Vicki's characterization changing for the worse (granted, I think this problem starts much earlier, but see digression a below) once she hits the ground in 1795, AND that the 1795 arc continuously insulates her from the important parts of DS's narrative. If the whole point of Vicki landing in the past was to explain how it all began (whether that's Barnabas's vampirism, or the opening of the great house at Collinwood - Sarah's ghostly goals are unclear here), she's party to neither: Vicki spends very little time in Collinwood, and is kept completely apart from even a hint of knowledge that Barnabas is a vampire. In effect: Vicki, as nominal main character, gets sent into the past, but not as a character - she's just a windowpane, or a magic mirror as far as her importance to the narrative goes. Which is unfortunate for her, because as a character taking up space, she's given screen-time without agency, intelligence, or inner life. The only change that being dragged by her puppet strings through 1795 effects in Vicki Winters is a rope-burn from a failed hanging, an infected gunshot wound, and a I-wish-he-were-more-permanently-dead rebound boyfriend whose response to Vicki panicking about being hanged was to slap her for being hysterical.

Forgive me for being unimpressed.

As far as fixing it goes - there's where I've been striking out. She's fatally passive in 1795 as written. Why doesn't Vicki try to figure out how to get back to her present? (and if she doesn't, perhaps ... gesture at why Vicki might feel like there's not a lot to return to in the present? She nearly jumped from Widows' Hill about 10 episodes before 1795 started.) Why does Vicki persist in making herself suspicious, when she was introduced as a character hampered more by inexperience than true ignorance? In the idea 1795 that lives in my head, why wouldn't Vicki try to figure out who the real witch was, because - given her experiences with the supernatural! - surely a witch might be any help in getting her out of the 18th century and back into the present? End of day, she needs a real plot which doesn't end with her in prison unconnected to the Collinses. Whether that's searching for an escape hatch back to the Swinging Sixties, or Sarah's ghost giving her clear instructions - some kind of a goal! - Vicki either shouldn't exist in 1795 (recycle Moltke as another Collins sibling? that would add a wrinkle to the question of Vicki's antecedents) or she has to be given something to do.

&, finally ...

Digression A: In fairness to the 1795 arc, I think the arc was only following a pattern of characterization and plot involvement that started with Barnabas's arrival: first, that Vicki initially wasn't really involved in the Barnabas plot because she was more involved with the Liz & Jason plot, and, unfortunately for Vicki, everyone still talks about Barnabas, where no one (alas for Patrick and Bennett!) talks up the blackmail thing; second, I think, that the one-two punch of the definitive end of the era of metaphorical monsters & the Burke recast meant that a lot of the dramatic tension that Vicki was carrying either got dismissed or dissipated. We're not playing Jane Eyre any more, we're doing Dracula: Vicki's relationship with Roger and David no longer bears any dramatic weight. We've completely sidelined the question of Vicki's origins, so whether or not Liz is her mother doesn't matter (and the revelation and dismissal of Liz's not-actually-monstrous conduct sort of defangs that relationship, too? oh, Liz isn't actually a murderer? so mother or not, there's no strain on her relationship with the conspicuously virtuous Vicki.). Burke's no longer threatening to burn down Collinsport for revenge, and all of his various relationships with the Collinses or Collinsport denizens have gotten abruptly normalized, so there's no tension to his relationship with Vicki any more: he's rich (don't ask where the money came from), he's in love with her, and now he's chummy with all her friends/stand-in family members. He doesn't even have conversations that are totally just about pens or guns with Roger, for god's sake. The show kicked out all the pillars Victoria Winters as a character had been built on, and it only gets worse after 1795. No wonder Moltke left.

[catominor]

oh also heres my little guys / story spotify playlist.. its kind of disjointed as in the songs represent different character perspectives / sometimes just general story vibes tbh

[alexiethymia]

a concept: Lockwood was as jealous of the Skull as Lucy was of Holly during The Hollow Boy

[alexythimya]

Is jealousy the worst emotion to feel or runner up

[salomeslashes]

Regarding my previous reblog, I am currently going through pretty significant trauma recovery! I was in an abusive marriage for like 4 years! It was primarily emotional abuse, but I am unpacking new things all the time, and the more time I spend out of it the more I realize I was pretty much fully dissociating for large swaths of that time.

I don't at all mind talking about it! In fact, it usually helps. If you have questions about the experience, feel free to ask. Do I mind if you use things I tell you in your writing? No. Not at all. I don't even care if it's horny! WHATEVER! DO YOU! As long as you're not writing about me, go nuts. Don't tag me in it though. I am still learning my new limits, and sometimes that means dipping on writing I might previously have enjoyed.

That said, I've got a whole litany of new triggers and learned behaviors and shit I am learning to cope with and trying to reduce, which is terrible...but there's a lot of joy too. I've started taking selfies again, and recognizing myself in the mirror. I'm allowed to eat whatever I want. I'm reconnecting with old friends, and I can even tell my friends I love them again!

And...I can just fucking close the bathroom door when I brush my teeth. No one is stopping me. Take that.

[shroudkeeper]

FIRST KISS PROMPTS: #11 - In a fit of jealousy/anger/hurt

First Kiss Prompt

She was far from his reach in public, a flower surrounded by men who could always stay in her company, it only caused his yearning to grow. But also something ugly to fester, it was unfamiliar to him lately. A master of concealing his emotions during business negotiations, his intentions were often shielded behind his rose-colored lenses usually, but, around her, he could not keep them in complete control, so much that the pain strained his voice this evening when he approached her in private, realizing how protective one of her clansmen had become.

How he was making it difficult to steal a mere glance in her direction.

When the feelings surfaced, he could feel the swelling in his chest and the knot in his stomach tightening with each word.

"..He can offer you more than I ever could. His strength is obvious, his prowess I dare not question, and among your men, I am unable to even keep you safe. What can I possibly offer you that you do not already have?! " His voice grew softer under the pressure of his sinking heart and his eyes could not bear to take in the warmth of her gaze as shame and envy took possession of his words.

Then came the soft shift of silks around him, the fragrance of spring showers and newly bloomed flowers ensnared him. His lamentations were silenced by the softest brush of her lips. There was no aggression there, no rancor, no other motive other than an offering of reassurance, followed by a wash of her warm exhale, which melted on his lips when she tried to pull away. His shoulders relaxed and in a languid, tentative gesture, his fingers ran over the curve of her cheeks..

..and found them dampened with tears and droplets of rain. The skies perhaps reflected the tumultous emotions brewing between them.

He said naught and surrendered to her touch and with it all the intrusive thoughts that plagued him. Her hand came to rest on his chest, over where his heart threatened to leap from. For a long period of time, they shared an embrace under this passing rainshower, and he would press kisses to her ruddy cheeks, her lips, and her closed eyes.