Characters which inspired my version of Darkiplier.


Glorificus (aka “Glory”)
Species: Hellgod (deity of a Hell dimension)
Appearance: young woman with strawberry-blonde hair in haute couture clothing
Status: Deceased
Personality: Unstable, narcissistic, egotistical, arrogant, violent
Powers: near-invulnerability; superhuman strength, speed and hearing; illusory/protective glamour; omniglot; black magic
Weaknesses: vulnerable to magic (as wielded by the powerful witch Willow Rosenberg), divine weaponry, mental instability requiring her to feed on others’ sanity/minds, can be wounded/killed when her human host takes control of her vessel
Species: Higher Being (formerly one of the Powers That Be, gone renegade)
Appearance: woman with dark complexion and simple, but elegant clothing
Status: Deceased
Personality: deceptively sweet and kind, manipulative, easily angered, delights in torture and violence
Powers: instantaneous mind control, ability to create a hivemind from those under her control, superhuman strength, healing/necrotic touch, omniglot, black magic, ESP
Weaknesses: her True Name, exposure to her blood breaks her mind control for an individual under her thrall, she requires a steady diet of humans to maintain her strength
Species: Old One (pure, pre-humanity demon that ruled the prehistoric world)
Appearance: humanoid female with blue skin/hair (a corrupted form of her host’s body, Winifred Burkle)
Status: Extant
Personality: aloof, cold, arrogant, violent, though willing to work with those she feels is a benefit to her
Powers: superhuman strength, speed, agility and endurance; heightened awareness and empathy; time manipulation; interdimensional travel; some shapeshifting ability; energy blast; experienced in combat and battle tactics
Weaknesses: diminished in human form and after being drained by the Mutari generator, which results in her no longer being able to manipulate time or travel through dimensions

Richard Wilkins (aka the Mayor)

Species: Human (formerly, later Ascended to become pure demon)
Appearance: middle-aged man in a suit and tie
Status: Deceased
Personality: friendly and cordial, well-mannered with an aversion to swearing, intelligent, loyal and paternal, casually cruel to Buffy and her friends
Powers: near-invulnerability and immortality (when in human form), black magic, protected by multiple vampires and loyalists (including and especially Faith, the rogue slayer)
Weaknesses: explosive materials (when in demon form), his father/daughter relationship with Faith


Crowley (aka the King of Hell/King of the Crossroads)
Species: Demon
Appearance: middle-aged businessman in a suit, tie and long coat
Status: Deceased (as of Season 13)
Personality: manipulative, clever, suave, snarky, narcissistic, charismatic, alluring, holds grudges, volatile underneath his apparent charm
Powers: enhanced perceptions, superhuman strength and stamina, demonic possession, teleportation, telekinesis, pyrokinesis and thermokinesis, invisibility, mimicry, black magic, biokinesis (to torture his victims without touching them), immunity to hallowed ground and some religious iconography, regeneration, mental manipulation (including wiping memories and causing spontaneous unconsciousness), animal communication
Weaknesses: Devil’s traps, holy water, divine weapons, Angels, higher-level Demons, hex bags, exorcism, burning his human remains
Lucifer (aka the Devil)
Species: Archangel
Appearance: middle-aged male in casual clothing (though he has taken possession of other human forms)
Status: Deceased (as of Season 13)
Personality: temperamental, manipulative, arrogant, smug, cocky, prone to rage, violent, holds grudges, rebellious, extremely volatile, petulant
Powers: nigh-omniscience, nigh-invulnerability, instantaneous regeneration & healing factor, angelic possession, teleportation, ESP, time travel, conversion of humans into demons, exorcism, energy blasts, can cause earthquakes, pyrokinesis and thermokinesis, weather manipulation, electromagnetic interference, flight, biokinesis and molecular combustion, power negation (for less powerful beings), reality warping, precognition, shapeshifting, necromancy, sonic scream, smiting, soul extraction and consumption, spellcasting, superhuman strength and speed, invisibility, telekinesis, telepathy (including dreamwalking), mimicry, experienced in hand-to-hand combat, torture expert
Weaknesses: divine weapons, enochian sigils, can be contained in the Cage (specially built by God to contain him), holy fire, high-level magic, being in a weak vessel limits his powers, some religious iconography, removal of his angelic grace, more powerful beings can potentially contain or destroy him, Hyperbolic Pulse Generator
Amara (aka the Darkness)
Species: Primordial Entity (God/Light’s sister)
Appearance: a pale woman with long dark hair in a simple black dress
Status: Extant
Personality: narcissistic, impatient, easily upset, well-meaning, willing to learn from her mistakes, fears being alone, infatuated with Dean Winchester (as he was the one who released her), was happy when she finally reconciled with her brother
Powers: omnipotence, omnipresence, invulnerability, reality warping, necromancy, spell deflection, extreme empathy, instantaneous healing, has a corrupting effect on those she touches/comes in contact with, soul/grace extraction and consumption, superhuman strength and endurance, umbrakinesis, weather manipulation, telekinesis, teleportation, invisibility, all existence would end if she were killed
Weaknesses: the combined force of multiple powerful beings, the Mark of Cain, Soul Bomb (combining a multitude of souls, though untested and never proven), God/Light can potentially kill her
Species: Horseman/Primordial Entity
Appearance: a tall, thin older man with a sallow complexion in a dark suit and long coat
Status: Unknown (his vessel was destroyed, but you can’t actually kill Death)
Personality: cold, aloof and distant; seems not to care about humanity as a whole, but has aided the Winchesters multiple times; is the only being Dean & Sam are genuinely afraid of/intimidated by; thinks of Lucifer as “a bratty child having a tantrum”
Powers: omnipotence, omnipresence, necromancy, necrotic touch, weather manipulation, teleportation, invisibility, superhuman perception, terrakinesis, thermokinesis, telepathy (including memory suppression)
Weaknesses: Can be bound with a high-level magic spell, God/Light and Amara/the Darkness can potentially harm his True Form, his Scythe can destroy his human vessel

F O R E V E R   K N I G H T

Lucien LaCroix (formerly General Lucius of Pompeii)
Species: Vampire
Appearance: older male with buzzcut white-blonde hair and pale skin in a dark suit
Status: Extant
Personality: manipulative, seductive, cruel, intelligent, obsessive (in regards to his vampire offspring), controlling, egotistical, narcissistic, cold, holds grudges, indifferent to (and sometimes actively derisive of) humans, delights in physically/mentally torturing others, soft-spoken (unless angered)
Powers: superhuman strength and speed, enchanced hearing and vision, flight, hypnotism/mind control, near-invulnerability, extended longterm memory, multi-lingual, regeneration, empathic connection to those of his bloodline, physically imposing
Weaknesses: religious iconography, sunlight, must subsist on human blood to maintain his strength and power, his vampire sire Divia

It probably goes without saying that these are the TV villains I enjoy most. Of course, I absolutely love them all, and Crowley is my all-time fave. And, interestingly, of all the beings on the list? LaCroix’s the least powerful… but he’s also the most seductive and manipulative.

But, now that I’ve revealed my inspirations, you probably won’t be able to unsee it the next time you read my fic about Him…


Originally posted by ozzkat


Now I realize why WKM’s ending destroyed me.

Long before Youtube was a thing, back in the early 90s, there was a television show called Forever Knight. It was a story about a repentant vampire named Nick (long before Twilight and Buffy) who had taken up a job as a police officer, and used his dark powers for good. He protected innocent people to atone for a long, checkered past full of misdeeds.

In the third and final season of Forever Knight (which aired in 1995-1996), the writers basically used poor Nick like a chewtoy, systematically destroying every shred of hope he had, culminating in losing the mortal love of his 800 years. That was the final straw, and Nick ultimately begged his master to kill him. The final shot of the show being a stake raised and ready to strike through his still, but giving heart. He surrendered to the darkness of death.

Nick, while not squeaky clean, was noble and good when the viewers knew him. But in the end, he gave up on life. As a teenaged fan, I had adored Nick and was devastated by his surrender. To this very day, I still find myself wondering why the writers pounded on him so much, why they couldn’t have written his final moments being the hero one last time.


Originally posted by mr-markiplier

Now in 2017, with Who Killed Markiplier?, we have Damien. In the first episode/chapter, we’re introduced to this charming and gentlemanly mayor who only wants to protect the innocents of his fair city. While he himself is not squeaky clean either (as the newspaper headlines in the detective’s office imply he’s under investigation for something related to his campaign), he’s ultimately noble and kind.

In the second episode/chapter, we see him emotional over losing a friend but trying to hold everything together for the sake of his remaining friends. He’s hurting, but he’s trying to protect those he cares for. In the third episode/chapter, things are going off the rails and he’s just trying to hold on, scared and desperate to save his loved ones. The events have steadily worn him down, but he’s still trying to keep a handle on things. He’s still trying to help.

Then, the final episode/chapter. Damien is gone for a long time and, when we finally find him, he’s surrounded by darkness. He’s despairing and angry, and he lies to our faces about wanting to work together to fix things.

In the end, he gives up his humanity. He gives up on any attempt at rebuilding his life, becoming a cold and vengeful monster. He gives up on himself, surrendering to the darkness.

I was promised a fun murder mystery, and I could accept the introduction of the supernatural into the story. What I cannot accept is what was done to Damien. I would have much rather he sacrificed himself to the dark powers to save his loved ones one last time, rather than… this. Ultimate and final surrender to that darkness, giving up on humanity. He’s not the Damien we knew. Not anymore.

Two loving, kind, noble characters I adored. And I watched them both fall into despair, into a spiritual death, all the life and good in them sucked away, their hopes dashed and being beaten until they couldn’t get back up. That’s why it hurts. It hurt then, and it hurts now.

Nick and Damien both deserved better. Because they were better people than most of us could imagine. They tried so hard to be good, to do good, to help others… but it amounted to nothing. In the end, they both gave up because they had nothing left to give.

And that’s why, right now, I’m crying. Again.

Die & Rise

The long and short of it, is that this is a fill for Merfilly’s wildcard prompt requesting: A) “A poly-friendly shipping story,” featuring Nick, Natalie and Janette in any permutation (whether as two people sharing the third person or as an equally weighted three-way relationship), and/or B) a focus on “how they cope with vampiric or mortal challenges.”

I mostly chose option B, with a vengeance, using an old fic idea of mine that I’d never actually put to paper/word-doc. Until now. Because, after co-penning an original novel, I now feel confident enough that I can handle more horror influences.

And yes, this is another post-LK kind of thing. It has nothing in common with any of my other FK fics, being a separate entity of itself. You’ll see why I mentioned that in a moment.

Anyway, enough of my yammering. I hope you all enjoy this. If you’re scared to go to bed tonight, or just vaguely unsettled by the whole thing, then I’ll know I did it right. 😛

It was dark. Darker than she’d ever imagined.

No light, no light.

She tried to sit up, and swore when her head hit something hard. Reaching up to rub the pain away, her hand brushed against soft, velvety fabric. She pressed upward further and found it cushioning against the hard something that she had banged her head on. That cushion clearly hadn’t been sufficient against her hurting herself, she thought with dry amusement.

She tried to pick up her feet, but her shoes banged against the surface above. Frustrated, she felt along the sides, her hands running along that hard material. But it was smoothed down, as if it had been waxed to a high shine before she’d gotten here.

Here. Where was here?!

Oh God. It was a small space, trapping her on all sides. Despite the comfortable material she was laying on, she couldn’t feel any air flow…

Distantly, she marveled how her heart wasn’t drumming frantically despite her burgeoning panic. She knew exactly where she was now. The small confining space, wood on all sides, with plush velvety comfort… small enough that she could only lay down on her back… it all added up, into something horrible. Something that no human could ever imagine experiencing in her life. Ever.

Jesus Christ! It was a coffin. She had been buried alive.

If she was alive. She had no air, but wasn’t hyperventilating, and her heart was unnervingly quiet. Instinct was screaming at her to get out get out GET OUT!

She began to claw at the fabric above her, her nails ripping at it with an ease that would have disconcerted her if the situation she found herself in wasn’t scary enough. Stuffing tumbled onto her face, and she spat a stray bit of cotton that had found her mouth out. Where it landed, she neither knew nor cared, as she continued to tear away more fabric and stuffing.

Her nails finally hit the wood above, now unobstructed by the cushioning. Her scratching gave way to pounding, and the world exploded around her. A tsunami of dirt flooded her underground prison, drowning her in damp earth. She coughed, her previously calm lungs now burning from having accidentally inhaled the very thing she shouldn’t have. She continued to claw her way through the dirt, rendered completely blind but for her reaching hands.

She could hear bugs skittering away from her grave, themselves terrified by the unexpected shifts she was causing in her haste to find the surface. It seemed like an eternity before she was able to enter a sitting position, as she moved in a demented parody of a diver trying to break through the ocean’s surface.

Finally, after what felt like several more forevers, she was able to stand somewhat upright, her feet now the only part of her touching the coffin. But, even basic grade school-level knowledge of mortality-related minutia warned her that she had at least one more foot to go before she could breathe air again.

She was tired, hurting, lungs still burning… but now from her holding her breath to avoid inhaling more dirt.

Distantly, she felt more than heard the pounding of feet against the surface. Her heart rejoiced as one hand finally met with empty air, and a strong familiar grasp latched on and pulled her out.

She lay on the ground now, limp as a slug and covered in the grave dirt, hacking up the earth she had breathed. Her eyes were too caked with mud for her to open them, but she felt that grasp give way to gently placing her head against a broad, finely clothed shoulder. The scent of a lemony aftershave coupled with a distinctively natural, masculine scent teased her nose in the gentle breeze. She didn’t have to see him to recognize him anywhere.

“Nick…” she began, her voice creaky from lack of use, then giving way to more coughing.

“Shhhh,” he told her. “You’re all right now. I’m here.” The earnestness of his tone made her smile, in spite of the situation she had found herself in. “I’m so sorry…”

“…not your fault…,” she wheezed, her airways still complaining at their recent abuse. But they finally righted themselves, and she could speak again. “The ground is the same for every dead thing. Things that go in the ground should not come up. I should not be up. Not from the dirt. I should be in the ground, feeding the little worms. They’re so hungry, you see…”

“Shh, Nat,” he said, his hand gently rubbing her back to soothe her rambling. “You’ll feel better after you’ve fed.”

I’m hungry,” she realized with innocent wonder. In her desperate bid to escape the grave, she had hardly noticed the rumbling of her stomach that issued its demands now. “I’m hungry and dirty. Like a child making castles in the sand.”

His hand stopped its rubbing along her back. “Natalie,” he said softly, and she could tell there was worry in his voice. “Why don’t I take you home, so you can have a bath and feed yourself?”

“I like the sound of that,” she agreed. She felt herself lifted into his arms. “I’m tired. It’s so much work to wake up. My bones are rattling with the sleep of death.”

They were moving… or rather he was moving, carrying her as if she were feather-light, her arms draped around his neck. “The conversion tends to feel that way… though, it’s usually not so literal.”

He set her back on her feet, and she found herself leaning against something metallic. A door was opened and shut, and he wrapped her in something warm and fluffy—a blanket?—and used the edge to wipe the caking of mud away from her eyes.

“You sparkle like a diamond,” she cooed at him. She had clearly shed dirt on him as he’d held her, but never had he been so beautiful to her eyes. To see his handsome face after what she’d just been through made the whole damn thing worth it.

He actually chuckled at that. “No, that’s just your senses adjusting to the pre-dawn light.”

She shook her head sadly. He didn’t understand. It all made perfect sense in her own head, but when she tried to get the words out…

“I’m wrong. So much wrong inside me.” She began to whimper, in a prelude to tears, as she huddled against his rental car. Why couldn’t she get the words out right?!

He held her close once again. “It’s all right, love. We’ll figure it out.”

The ride was quiet, down several unfamiliar streets to a motel. Of all the places she’d imagined Nick being in, this certainly wasn’t one of them… some by-the-hour dive that had paint that was beginning to crack and peel, and two simple queen-sized box spring mattresses.

And she certainly didn’t expect to find Janette there, either, coming out of the bathroom where the sound of running water issued.

“Oh, pauvre cherie!” Janette’s voice was warm and comforting. “What an ordeal you’ve had!” She gestured to the bathroom. “I’m running a bath for you now, so you can cleanse yourself of all that unpleasantness.” She placed a dainty hand on Natalie’s back gently leading her forward, to where soap and water awaited. “Come with me.”

Natalie heard Nick sigh, strip his dirty jacket off and then all but collapse into one of the beds.

The water was dirty now. She held her breath until the burn returned to her lungs, and breached the water’s soap-and-dirt laden surface. But she herself was now clean, the water bearing the dirt away from her.

From her vantage point in the bathroom, she could hear the murmur of conversation between the two. Her Nick. Her Janette. The possessiveness of her own thoughts surprised her, as she stood up in the tub and reached for a towel.

“I’m saying she’s… not well, Janette,” Nick was recalling, in a frustrated voice. “You weren’t there; you didn’t hear her. She was talking all right but… well, she wasn’t making much sense. Or… she was, but she wasn’t. It’s hard to explain.”

“Hmmm,” Janette mused. “She may have been in the grave too long. Starvation will not kill one of us but, for a new one, it can cause much damage.”

“You think starvation has damaged her mind?”

“If what you say of her is true… well, do you have another theory, Nicolas?”

He became silent.

“I know how you fret for her, mon cher. But she is not the fragile little mortal anymore. She is strong; she will recover. She just needs time, which she now has in abundance.”

“She was always strong,” he replied softly. “It’s now that she’s weakened. She sounded like a child, Janette.”

Natalie emerged from the bathroom, her towel wrapped around her, but still dripping slightly. “I am wrong inside, Nick.” Her lower lip trembled. “Help me?” she whimpered. “The sparks don’t fly the way they should. No. No.”

Nick went to her again, holding her protectively as she cried softly in his arms.

“But you can still think for yourself, cherie?” Janette queried gently, though the vampiress gave Nick a significant look.

“The sparks snap inside, but they don’t fly out like they should,” Natalie lamented.

“So you know exactly what’s going on, but you are having trouble communicating?” Nick suggested.

Natalie nodded, her cheek brushing against his shoulder.

“Well,” Nick replied tenderly. “I’m understanding you right now.”

“You can hear the stars sing too,” she replied, remembering the copious amounts of time he used to stare out his loft window, lost in thought. Perhaps, in a way, he could get lost in his own mind too. Maybe that’s why he understood her, because he could feel what she meant and not just hear her mangled, dissociated ramblings. Her heart lightened at the thought. I’m still me, she wanted to say. Just… different. I’m still here.

“The stars sing for us, Nick. If we’re very quiet and listen.”

“I will always have the time to listen, if you want me to.” And he smiled at her.

She was positively brimming with delight at the thought, and Janette smiled fondly at the couple.

“I’m sleepy,” Natalie then announced. “Will you hold me, so I don’t fly away into little pieces?” Don’t let me be a prisoner inside my head. Be patient with me.

“As long as you want.”

“Forever and forever,” she agreed.

To get into the right mood for this piece, I sat up after midnight listening to a portion of the back catalog of death metal band Arch Enemy (up to and including their 2003 album Anthems of Rebellion) before I started writing this. Good Lord, can Angela Gossow scream! (And for my fellow metalheads out there, so far my fave track of theirs is… wait for it… “We Will Rise.” Apropos, n’est ce-pas?)

I know Merfilly is a Ravenette at heart and, while I do like Janette, I’m a hardcore NNer. So, while it may not be exactly the poly thing with a side of Nanette that she was hoping for, it does kinda hint at it in Nat’s thoughts. More important to me was the horror elements (both dealing with common fears that we all tend to have as reasoning adults).

And yes, I did mention it was post-LK, while not being explicit about it in the fic… but just try to think of how she ended up in that grave in the first place. (Hint: The one who put her there is Sir Not Appearing in This Fic.)

Oh, and the title was taken from a song on Lacuna Coil’s 2014 album Broken Crown Halo.

Please kudo if you enjoyed this fic, and comment on what you liked and what needs improvement. No flames, plz.

A Little Hanky Panky

Inspired by a prompt left on DreamWidth’s fic_promptly comm by theleaveswant:

any [fandom], any [character(s)], the hankie code – give me characters going out flagging, and/or older/immortal characters reminiscing about how much easier it was to find someone to pick up in places/times where it was common, and/or people who know the code laughing at people who don’t realize what they’re flagging (hello Bruce Springsteen cover art), give me an AU where people flag things that aren’t possible in this world (basically, I’m flagging orange on this one)

Orange, in the Hanky Code, means “anything goes.”

Me being me, of course, I immediately took Leaves up on it. So I googled the Hanky Code and came up with the perfect colour for Nick & Nat: a lovely shade of maroon. Take heed of the tags; the action is tame, but the dialogue and character thoughts sure as hell aren’t!

And yes, I’ll explain the choice of maroon further, at the bottom. Enjoy!

Nick couldn’t help but stare at her while her back was turned, as she leaned against the morgue counter.

Really, how many people carried a handkerchief in their back pocket these days?

He tried not to think about the significance of the colour she had chosen—a rich, dark maroon—because that way lay madness. At least for him, anyway. There was no way she had chosen that colour deliberately. Right?

Right. There was no way his Natalie could possibly know what it meant to have a dark maroon handkerchief tucked into the right back pocket. It was just a crazy coincidence; an innocent act that meant more to him than she could possibly know.

But it—and the faint smell of her, hidden underneath modern hygienic products—was driving him insane as it was. He had to know.


She stopped her writing and shifted slightly, so she could look back over her shoulder at him. “Yeah?”

“You have a handkerchief in your back pocket. I’m just wondering why it’s there.”

The answer he got from her was accompanied by an enigmatic smile. “You mean you don’t know?” His acute hearing heard the thrum of her heart pick up speed then, as if she’d just realized what she’d said.

His train of thought crashed as it left the station. His mind now began to whirl at the thought, the message DOES NOT COMPUTE! flashing in his head.

Then he mentally kicked himself. Of course, she knew. She was an intelligent woman, and she had already proven she was attracted to him in much more subtle ways… ways he’d tried to ignore due to inherent risks involved. But now, she was obviously choosing to forgo subtlety and preferred to telegraph her ideas instead.

He took a breath and summoned his dignity, along with a little of the vampire’s innate charisma, and he knew in that moment what to do (while inwardly thanking the powers that be that his inner turmoil wasn’t outwardly visible to her). He approached her then, brushing her hair back so her neck was exposed to him.

His cool breath raised gooseflesh on her soft throat as he replied, “My question now for you, Miss Lambert, is what would you like me to do about it?” He kissed her neck then, letting the tips of his fangs gently rake her skin.

She took the bait. “I…” she began, her breathing audibly picking up. She clearly had not expected this turn of events. “I mean… would you…” Her breath then hitched in the middle of an exhale as one of his hands wandered along her shirt, the other joining to undo the buttons of her blouse.

“Don’t be so coy,” he teased her. “If you want to wave a flag about it, you have to be willing to say it.”

She whimpered as his hand now ghosted along her breast. She was obviously very sensitive to touch at the moment, hormones going haywire. He could smell her menses now that she was so close. It was the perfect time for him to entertain the idea of intimacy without potentially causing her harm.

“I want…” she began, shuddering in pleasure at his touch. She turned around and looked him in the eye.

Good girl.

“I want you to taste me.”

“Now?” he replied playfully, getting down onto his knees and tracing his fingers along the lines of her skirt. Yes, the smell of her was particularly strong, now that he was this close.

She swallowed hard, and he took pity on her. He laid a kiss against her now-exposed stomach. “Not right this minute, then.”

He stood, feeling a wicked smile creep onto his face. “Get your coat, and sign off early. We’ll continue this discussion at my place.”

So, as you can probably imagine now, a maroon handkerchief (among the gay and BDSM communities) means you’re into bloodplay. Wearing the hanky in your left pocket means you like cutting others, biting them, etc. with the intent of drawing blood. Wearing it on the right (like Natalie) means you like to bleed for your partner.

Also, among straight and lesbian couples, it can mean a desire to earn your “red wings.” Go to Urban Dictionary if you’re not sure what that means; I wouldn’t recommend Googling it.

So yeah. Maroon’s the perfect colour for a vampire, no? (And if you don’t know what maroon actually LOOKS like, you might want to get a primer on colours.)

Here endeth the lesson. 😛


Written for the fic_promptly comm on DreamWidth. Prompt/theme was: “Pretend: Any canon with law enforcement or a character in law enforcement, doing undercover work.”

Summary: The moment he had been waiting for was almost here. A brief snapshot of Nick while he’s undercover on the job.

Nick gazed calmly at the drug dealer who sat across the table from him, even as the butterflies in his stomach (empty of his required bovine sustenance) were doing barrel rolls.

It had taken some long, difficult months to convincingly weave the tale of becoming the latest cop to go on the take, but the moment he had been waiting for was almost here.

“The shipment is almost in. They’ll be at the docks by 3 a.m.”

Nick nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.” Then, after another half-hour of conversation about other things, he merely excused himself to the gentlemen’s restroom.

Concealing himself in a stall, he fired off a quick text message to his captain’s cellular phone. Dock 3am

Now, all he would have to do was wait and continue to make small talk with the criminals he was surrounded by. But the spiked drugs that had been killing those kids would soon be off the streets for good.

If only he could do the same with all the drug dealers, arms smugglers and every other criminal that made life difficult for law-abiding mortals. Baby steps, he reminded himself. Do what you can, where you can. It’ll all be worth it in the end.

For just a few hours more, all he had to do was pretend he was one of them.

Texting was widely available—in a more crude form—by early 1995, which would have been in the middle of FK’s second season. The prices of texts were astronomical, so messages had to be really brief to stay cheap.

And yes, this was a scene I had in my head for a long time, but I could never figure out a proper story to build around it. So the prompt—which I found while trawling fic_promptly’s “lonely prompts” pinboard—was perfect for for this little one-off moment.