#... and then vincent says something along the lines of “i suppose we... do maybe need more fresh meat in the family.”

[jupiter-reimagined]

Okay, we are not ignoring those tags because imagine that this isn't the last time Kali gets left behind?

Like it keeps happening because Vincent keeps calling him and Charlie back because Vincent keeps missing Charlie. So every time, Kali is left behind and maybe with no way to communicate to Butcher and Charlie. And yet, he keeps waiting for Butcher.

Imagining that even after their initial reunion, Butcher and Kali still can't be happy for long and spend time being husbands. And imagine that eventually, the periods between the leaving and coming back lengthens because Vincent (so sorry to make you a villain here, Vincent) keeps saying that Charlie should stay with him longer.

vincent would do that, dont worry. he looked at the apology and went "all good 👍" djdjsbssk

butcher would get so fed up with him though. after like the 5th time, he starts negotiating.

charlie can stay behind for a few months. he'll be safe there, with his father, and butcher can just pick him up from the airport whenever charlie comes back to the ranch.

... but. now their sons bedroom is eerily empty for weeks, or months on end. quieter than it was before. with sammy sleeping there now instead, missing his big brother too much

[coryosbaby]

Sour Switchblade … Priest! Vincent Renzi x fem! Reader

Synopsis: She tempts him, just like she did before.

Content Warning . 18, MDNI Age Gap, blasphemy, religious themes & references, a plot with no context, demonic reader? Mutual masturbation, degradation, dom! Vincent

Author’s Notes: what I mean when I say that I need him biblically.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

It starts with the simple art of a short dress and a prayer.

Vincent’s eyes roam to her from across the church pew, blue orbs peeking out through a see of browns, greens, and other blues. His hand adjusts his priests collar as she moves towards the center of the room. Another priest settles a wafer into her mouth, which she takes with a soft tongue. Vincent’s eyes can’t help but wonder down her body after that, as she takes a sip of communion wine.

Her dress, a lacey white thing with puff sleeves, adorned with white tights and thigh high stockings, will surely be the talk of the church going women later. Especially with the way her breasts seem to spill out of the fabric, the red bra that is already showing through threatening to make itself fully known.

Vincent almost can’t breathe.

He knows it’s wrong to look at her like this. He’s a priest, and on top of that, she’s significantly younger— not underage, obviously. Maybe in her early twenties or so. But it still makes the man confess his sins almost every night.

And even with how taboo his stares are, she seem to look at him right back, everytime, exactly the same. Her lashes seem to flutter, her eyes seem to have a glint to them whenever he nervously mumbles a prayer or greeting to her. Even now, as she takes a sip of the red wine, her eyes meet his.

He smiles. She smiles back. The communion is over.

And now, the confession begins.

Vincent sits in the compartment a mere hour later, waiting for her to show up. She always seems to have something to confess when he’s the one in charge and it’s his last shift. Vincent twirls the cross necklace around his neck in anticipation.

It’s a few seconds before he hears the cluttering of the confessional door. Her scent evades his nostrils— sweet vanilla, chocolate, and something earthy underneath. Something that makes Vincent’s eyes want to roll to the back of his head.

“I’m here to confess.”

Her voice is a soft lilt, something tinted with mischief. She’s trouble.

“And what would you like to confess, my child?” Vincent asks. He can hardly see through the film between the two of them, but he sees a flash of white, then red.

“I’ve been bad,” she replies. And then, in almost a whine, “I’ve sinned, father.”

His lips part. His cock kicks underneath his robe, but he’ll have to wait for that— wait for later, when he’s alone in his chambers and can touch his cock freely, in secrecy. Priests are supposed to sustain abstinence— Vincent is no virgin, but since his training and initiation as a priest he hasn’t had sex since. Masturbation is forbidden, but it isn’t something he can control in himself. It plagues him every day.

It’s a lot harder for him than the others, he thinks, to contain his urges when he’s already felt the warmth of a woman’s touch. But he’ll try this time. He won’t make another mistake. By God, he won’t.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve been…” she pauses, sighing, and he hears the rustling of fabric. He wonders what she’s doing on the other side of that barrier. “I’ve been having these… dreams, father. Dreams where…”

Vincent clenches his jaw, his palm gripping his cock through his confines. By God, he’s a sick, perverted man.

“We all have dreams,” Vincent says gently. “Dreams that may help us along our path. What have you dreamt about, child?”

He’s shaky as he says the last line, hopes of her lying to him furrowing in his chest. Hopes of her leaving it alone, this entire thing. This entire game.

God does not come through for him. Perhaps he doesn’t want to, or perhaps he can’t. Perhaps she is the one to stop him.

“I’ve dreamt of you, Father Renzi.”

Vincent’s head tilts back, a small gasp leaving his throat. His hips buck against his hand. No no no no..

“What do these dreams entail?” He asks, breathless. He can hear the amused tone in her voice.

“You start out by giving me communion,” she explains. “You hold the wafer out so I can put it into my mouth, but instead it’s your tongue that lands against mine.”

Vincent’s eyes clench shut. His hand moves against its own accord. God help him. She continues with a drawn out, airy lilt.

“You touch me in a special place. It feels so good that I cry out your name like a praise. It makes me tingle all over, makes me lose all control,” and then, with a pause as she hears Vincent’s robes lifting, “Do you have dreams like that, Father?”

His cock is straining against his dress pants when the robe’s hem is pulled to the top of his thighs.

“I do,” he admits, popping the button on his pants. He’s hypnotized, her smell and the image of her body in his mind making him lose it. “I have them often, little one.”

And it’s true. He dreams of her painted in red and white, dreams of her, a she demon, on top of his body, writhing. Him, hands curling against her skin, under her spell. She is his temptation, and Vincent is sure that she will be his destruction.

She’s just as desperate as him now. He can tell because she lets out a sweet, sultry whine, a wet sound reverberating throughout the small compartment.

“Vincent,” she lets out, keening. He doesn’t remember if he told her his first name, but he has a feeling she figured it out either way. He groans, thankful that the church is nearly empty now since the service had just ended.

“espèce de petite prostituée. What would your parents think?” You little harlot.

“Are you touching yourself?” she asks, ignoring him. And then, after a wet sound and a cry, “I’m.. I’m touching myself too, Vince. I’m so wet.”

His hand slips past the waistband of his pants and he dips it inside. Wet, warm flesh and pleasure behind his eyelids emerges as he strokes himself up and down and catches a whiff of her natural scent.

“Fuck,” he grunts, arousal pooling in his lower abdomen. “Cheríe, what are you doing to me?” Sweetheart.

She lets out a tiny giggle, scissoring her fingers inside herself as she hears the man beside her fall apart. Vincent is her favorite— he gives her the most fun she’s ever had.

“My fingers are inside, Father,” she whimpers. “Fuck, I’m so warm.”

Vincent’s cock, red and tip dripping pearls of sweet arousal, slaps against his stomach when he finally gathers the nerve to pull his pants and underwear down past his thighs. He spits into his palm before stroking himself again.

“You are unholy,” Vincent states, though his mouth falls open when he hears the increasing sound of her wetness. “Fucking yourself like this, like a dirty whore… your cunt is drenched, isn’t it, chérie?” Sweetheart.

She grasps the side of the confessional, heat spreading up her neck and down to her toes. None of them have ever made her feel like this.

“Yes,” she says, rubbing the bundle of nerves in between her cunt lips. She’s close. “Father… sir. I want your cock.”

Visions come to Vincent’s mind, plagued thoughts of her kneeling down and taking him into her mouth, of him choking all words out of her. His cock thrusting into her roughly, stretching out her tiny hole and bringing her to her peak over and over. That would be her punishment for teasing him, for being such a godless creature. He would ruin her, just as she’s ruined him.

“You want it, yes? You want me to stretch your little cunt and leave your legs shaking,” he chuckles, almost darkly. She brings out the worst in him. “You want my seed dripping down your thighs, putain de salope.” You fucking slut.

She cries out, legs spreading further as she nears closer and closer to her peak. Vincent continues to speak, almost as close as she is.

“Your cunt in my mouth. Licking you, tasting you..” and then, with a delicious whisper, “Chérie, how do you taste?” Sweetheart.

That last sentence has the girl seizing up, her pussy spasming as her orgasm overtakes her. Sweet arousal gushes around her fingers, thighs, and underneath the seat below her. Her eyes roll back and she cries, “Vincent!” like a prayer.

This has the man on the other side whining, his teeth biting into his wrist as he spills over his fist with a loud grunt. He fucks himself through his orgasm, hearing her precious sounds overcoming him like a heavenly sin.

When the man comes down, his spend is drying on his hand and pants.

He sighs, satisfied and spent. He’ll have to confess this later, won’t he?

Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t.

Her voice rings out, smooth and teasing.

“Until next time, Father Renzi.”

He hears the open and closing of the confessional door, and out she goes like Lilith with her wings.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy

[heroexxs]

loveofcharacters​:

Her husband said exactly what she was thinking when Chase mentioned a studio. She and Mark knew exactly that Daisy was only going to school, to go through the motions on their request. Staring at Mark and Chase, there was a realization that the Chase was now part of the team. As Mark was bringing up school again, Emmaline touched his arm briefly interrupting his reminder. “Listen, Chase. How serious are you with wanting to get to know your daughter?” she asked bluntly paired with a challenging stare. “Are you offering this trip to get to know her beyond her musical talent? Because if you’re serious about this, you’re part of the team.” She added, she waved her hand between the three of them, proving the invitation she was extending. “So if you’re serious about this, as a team member you need to know, that we” she paused waving a few fingers between her and Mark, “already know, that Daisy doesn’t give a rats ass about school and the minute she’s given that diploma, Music is the only thing she’s going to work towards and we are so excited for what she’ll record, and the career she’ll have.” she explained. “But, that career cannot start early.” Emmaline said clearly. “She has three and a half more years of undergrad, just a few months before she’s declared a music major where she’ll get tons of studio time for assignments or whatever a Music major does, but you can’t step in and give her a shortcut.” Emmaline needed her ex to get this. She was already enough of the bad guy, and she couldn’t have Chase come in and deepen that wedge between her relationship with Daisy. “She’s already finding difficulty relating to the content these last few months and Vincent has been helping her so much. If she sees you as an option to rush to the finish line…” she let her sentence fall off and just shook her head. 

“Am I supposed to put my hand in the middle and we’ll all yell go team or something?” Chase said with a small chuckle until he saw that Emmaline wasn’t joking. Did he want to get Daisy into the studio? Of course he did, she had this raw talent and with his help, eh knew that nothing could stand in their way. She was young, people related to her and he knew that Mark and Emmaline had other plans but why couldn’t she have both? “Look, I get it. We all make sure she gets the diploma, get good grades and all that. Who’s to say that she can’t have both if that’s what she really wants to do?” He said with a little shrug of his shoulders. “I do want to get to know my daughter, I missed out on a shit ton and yes I’d like to get to know her a little bit, and help her dreams come true.” He said with another shrug of his shoulders. Chase wasn’t surprised that there was this pushback from the both of them. They wanted her to at least get some sort of degree and not just try and live out on this hope, btu he knew she had a lot of talent, even if Mark and Emmaline didn’t believe it just yet. “We’re not gonna cut any corners, nothing like that. I don’t think it’ll kill her to get a studio tour, kind of see what I do on a day to day basis... who knows maybe she’ll end up hating it.” He said with a little shrug of his shoulders. 

Mark couldn’t help but to roll his eye  at the male’s comment and shake his head. He knew what his intentions were, get her in the studio, try and record something and probably go out and try to sell it somewhere. This was cutting far too many corners and if Daisy did go, he just hoped Vincent would be able to tag along as well. She needed someone to be in her corner and keep her mind focused on her studies. “Because that’s just not how life works. She’s doing all of her core classes right now, and when she’ll head into the studio though school then she’ll be able to record something.” As he crossed his arms over his chest, this was something he was going to stand his ground on. “Can she go to the studio? Sure, but you’re not getting her behind the microphone. No fancy parties, just... show her around Nashville if she wants to go.” He knew how hard both kids were working on their finales and hoped that a little vacation would be able to help them relax a bit. “Tell her she’s doing a good job in school, I don’t know she can follow this dream but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t at least get an education.” 

“Hey, didn’t mean to belittle anything, they’re just kids I get it... c’mon we were all young once, right?” Chase said with a little chuckle and a small shrug of his shoulders. Not that he didn’t like the young man that Daisy was with, the only time he had met him there was some tension. It was like he could feel him glaring and disapproving him even trying to be in Daisy’s life. A small smile played on his lips when he heard Emmaline said that he would be invited to any holiday gatherings and he knew that must have been slightly hard to say given the tension between the three of them. “I’ll have to double-check, but whatever you have planned, if I’m not around I can get her back before then, promise." He said with a small shrug of his shoulders. "It'll just be for a little bit, she can see the studio, meet a couple of people, make a little vacation out of it."

"Wait, you want to get her in the studio? Is that what this is all about?" Mark asked with a little raise of his eyebrow. As much as he wanted to support Daisy's dream, he did want her to stay in school and see that through as well before jumping to any conclusions. It seemed like Chase had another idea that scared him more than either of them could imagine. The last thing he wanted was for Daisy to be used, and for them not being able to protect her. "Maybe no studio, Chase. Why don't you just show her around town, neither of them has ever been to Nashville before, I'm sure there's a ton of things for them to do besides stay in the studio all day." He said with a little shrug of his shoulders as he looked over at Emmaline for a bit of support. He knew that she would want the same thing, for their daughter to at least enjoy herself instead of working. "That and you know we gotta get her back to school on time, that right after the holidays is probably most important."

@loveofcharacters

[gotchawriting]

“I like to imagine you with me while embalming, it makes me feel like I’m not so lonely. Like I can talk to you while I’m working.”

She stares with her pale blue eyes, expectantly waiting a response. Something along the lines of “Oh how sweet!” She imagines him saying. Adoring and loving, how she always pictures him to be. How he’s supposed to be.

“What?”

“I mean it makes me feel like I’m not so alone at work. It’s so quiet and when I imagine you’re there it, it makes me feel much less alone. Am I wrong for that? I just get so lonely I don’t know what else to do, I’m sorry.

“It’s not wrong, but um, you miss me that quickly? I’m glad you can find at least some comfort at work; I know it’s a morbid career. But Columbia, that is a little worrying, it’s just a few hours.”

“A few hours? I work so much I feel as if I never have time to see you. Maybe… Maybe I should quit?”

“No, no need to do that come on now. Your work is good, it helps people, families, it brings in extra money for us. There’s no need for you to quit.”

“You make much more than me already, you’re already supporting us. We could afford it.”

“Well… Yes, we could, I mean it’d be possible. But I thought you liked your job? You’re doing so good don’t stop just because of me.”

Columbia twists her ginger curls around her finger, awkwardly playing with the strands; a habit Vincent has watched her partake in since he’s known her.

“I love my job, I feel useful but, but I miss out on so much. There’s always a new body to deal with and- “

“Columbia those are real people you’re taking care of, not dealing with.”

“I know that I’m not a child please, I just- I mean, I’m a little stressed. It’s only me and it’s a lot to handle.”

“Then we can look at hiring someone to help you-”

“I don’t want someone else! I don’t- don’t want help. It’s my funeral home and my business I shouldn’t need someone else there!”

She pulls on her curls, taking her finger and gripping her hair tightly.

“Columbia, what is this about? Help would be great for you; you can’t do everything on your own.”

[ifeveristoday]

I got out my DVDs for this rewatch (that’s not actually a big deal. I only have season 3 on DVD. 😂) so let’s get to it.

I forgot they did a cold open for this episode!

I know it’s for ambiance but man does Angel have a lot of candles displayed. Probably too ‘mainstream’ for his taste but the thought of Angel furtively going to a Bath and Bodyworks in the mall during their semi-annual sale and just buying out their whole candle selection gives me the purest joy. Let’s be real though, Angel would shop at some boutique/hole in the wall owned by a wizened old character with a twinkle in their eye and everything marked up 20%. Or it would be a steel and glass monstrosity with a collection labeled Candles for Men. That’s the range.

Back to the enormous fire hazard that this scene is -

Wait. Does fire burn on stone?

Shout out to the stunt doubles.

I think that Angel getting food for Buffy for a sort of alfresco picnic while training is really sweet, actually. Also, can't miss the opportunity for both carbs and phallic symbolism ala bread.

Everyone is so embarrassingly horny in this moment. I'd say get a room except they're in a whole giant mansion.

Always remember the bread! What did Angel do with the food after Buffy fled? Fed the no-doubt cursed pigeons that live in Sunnydale.

Thanks for the workout (insert stereotypical dirty laugh).

Oh yes, the awkward 'let's talk about your birthday without mentioning the last birthday you had at all because it's horrifying' chitchat. God, the anxiety Angel is radiating here and Buffy trying to smooth it over. You can't unfrost that trauma cake!

Angel, you utter dork. You're lucky Buffy finds you pretty. Very powerful himbo energy here. And it's nice to see some light-hearted flirting/banter between them.

How do you know when someone's aura's dirty? Buffy is only asking the reasonable questions everyone has.

Do you hear yourself, Giles. "I'm aware of your distaste in studying vibratory stones..." I can't imagine what that section of the Slayer handbook looks like. Are there pull-out charts?

Faith being conveniently gone for this episode. Boo, hiss.

That workout really did a number on Buffy. I see what you're doing with those crystals.

One of the sad parts of rewatching Buffy is that you just don't have the first time discovery feels of watching it - that magic is gone, but even though I know why Buffy's wobbling in her fight, the reveal is still upsetting. Thinking about how in Season 5, when she does get staked, just as she's questioning her powers - and here, where she's losing them.

Also, obvious observation is obvious - the sexual violence imagery is really, really blatant here - with the vampire crouched over her with the stake aimed toward her heart, just as she playfully staked Angel earlier in a more romantically set scene.

AND THEN THE THEME KICKS IN. Like, damn! Three minutes and you can pretty much tell what the plot is going to be - Buffy and Angel's UST is getting out of hand, Buffy's lone Rangering it, and something is wrong with her. And it's her birthday.

And Buffy's resourcefulness saves the day.

Perhaps you shouldn't be throwing knives in the library, Buffy.

Did they do a geography lesson on Cuernavaca? It's also just fun to say. Like La Cienega. Brief moment to ponder yet again about a show set in Southern California, actually shot in Southern California, with the huge Latine population we have and the Spanish-influenced names and culture and - getting sidetracked by all this casual 90s racism.

"We do it every year for my birthday," except your seventeenth, presumably because of the murderous ex-boyfriend stalking the town you live in and all your loved ones. [Or, he did take her and it was not shown on screen!] Sometimes I wonder if the continuity editors just go, you know, I'm going to let this one go for the 'emotion' and not just so years later, a Virgo with a deep-seated need to obsess over throwaway details will go into a thought spiral to make it make sense.

I think this is also the last time Hank Summers was spoken of with any real affection because then he was Deadbeat Dad for the remainder of the show. Oh, look. The Scoobies are surprised about the traditional birthday ice show that I'm going to nitpick about forever.

Oz is so supportive, and then the clunker of a 'deep' line of ice being cool because it's water then it's not. I do like the Whedonesque school of dialogue, but sometimes you gotta reel it back. I remember the dialogue on Dawson's Creek was getting pinged for the teenagers talking like grad students.

Quiet reflection. Oh you poor girl, you have no idea.

Quarterly projections - is a convincing filler phrase for when you don't need to know what the job is, because it's boring but sounds vaguely official. What does Hank actually do? Who cares! He's an asshole.

Sunnydale Arms, because of course, Sunnydale has a broken down abandoned murder hotel.

Quentin Travers. Boo. Hiss.

The scary music is very scary. Also one of the Council flunkies looks like a very young Vincent D'Onofrio.

This scene with them in the library is so bittersweet because Buffy is fishing for Giles's attention as a father figure substitute ("very sophisticated people go!" breaks my heart) and he pointedly is rejecting this for training talk.

Look for the flaw at its center. THE FLAW IS YOU GILES. YOU YOU YOU.

it's just so terrible, this scene because of how methodical and clinical it plays out. And Buffy is just not there, and then Giles smiles like nothing has happened.

Buffy makes it through another night - next day (another reason why this trial is so horrifying is that it takes place over several days - it's not on Buffy's birthday but leading up to it, so the idea of her getting weaker and weaker and unable to fight to make it to 18 in the first place) and it's time for the Cordelia has had enough of toxic masculinity scene!

Also, Willow blithely ignoring a person's feelings and treating Amy as just a rat is played for laughs and cuteness, but yeah...you can't treat people like puppets or rats [law and order sound]

I love Cordelia's coat. And also, while it does suck that she stood him up, he's not entitled to her time or attention and certainly not to threaten her. Go, Cordy! Fight like a girl! Yes! Pummel him into the hallway.

I also love Willow's outfit here because I think the colors are so complementary and warm and it's a cute outfit. Okay, the knit wooly hat is a bit too Blossom-esque, but whatever.

Buffy is tiny, we all know this, but I do think they purposefully dressed her in larger than her size coats in this episode to make her look even more tiny and vulnerable.

Giles is TOO BLASE for this scene also shut your mouth about throwing knives like a girl

"It's an archaic exercise in cruelty." SO WHY DID YOU GO ALONG WITH IT, BRAIN TRUST. (I am going to be very mean to Giles this whole rewatch, deal with it.)

"But I'm the one in the thick of it." No, you're not. You are going to be adjacent to it, at best.

Hey it's that guy!

Okay, in better lighting, flunkie does not look like Vincent D'Onofrio.

It's impossible to pin down one type of Vampire in the Whedonverse, except for the delineation between Grunt Bait Vampires, and Special Guest Star/Master vampires, but Kralik is the only other example of a vampire with mental illness besides Drusilla, yet he's medicated. Makes me wonder how exactly they got Kralik...he was a monster before he was a vampire, but who vamped him? I don't put it past the Watchers to have vampires created for this purpose.

Curse against lawyers!

Xander and Oz bonding over comic books is so fun. I regret they didn't really get closer until after Xander and Willow cheated because Oz was the one male friend Xander had.

They mentioned her birthday! Thinking about Buffy's love of poetry later on, this is a nice little detail, and it *is* a thoughtful, sweet gift. Also those poems: horny. Oh yes, maybe in a restrained way, but Elizabeth Barrett Browning knew what was up.

The Buffy and Angel relationship in season three is full of these starts and stops that I can see why and agree with others about how it's frustrating on a number of levels. They know why they can't be together, but they still try to find a common ground because they want to need the other one. They still have their identities to figure out - Buffy as the slayer and a young adult, Angel as a person, separate from Buffy and being Buffy's ex sort of maybe.

But this conversation in Helpless is genuinely sweet and a glimpse at what a normal couple at the crossroads would talk about - I think I'm also being soft on this because the other Important Male Figure in Buffy's life in this episode lets her down so spectacularly bad, that Angel being supportive and kind in his awkward way is a nice respite. It's good to be away from the angst and the horror that their relationship has had.

And the self-aware puncturing of the Moment between them is something Buffy does very well. "Taken literally, incredibly gross - I was just thinking that too". Look, it's cute and soft and I will allow it.

The horror of this episode (and there are so many) is that we have to watch Buffy become the helpless blonde in a slasher flick who is being chased by the monsters and she can't do anything about it - that she has to be rescued or die. That the real world with men catcalling and bystanders who ignore women's cries of distress is far scarier than the literal demons that inhabit the town - and Buffy brokenly saying she can't just be a person, she can't be helpless like that [like women are, still, today] is a gut punch. It's uncomfortable and unhappy because Buffy is supposed to be the hero, the [sigh] strong female lead who can kick ass and take names, and this episode is all about finding who Buffy is, separate from her super powers. Also an exercise in emotional torture, but must be Tuesday.

The physicality - the weakness that both Buffy and Giles display in this scene is so, so good. The way Buffy's hand trembles toward the needle in the case and the dawning realization of what Giles has done, has chosen to do - and he bloodlessly tells her what the Cruciamentum is.

Her tiny little "Liar."

GOD WHY DIDN'T SHE GET AN EMMY (rhetorical we all know genre tv only matters if it was Game of Rapey Thrones)

"You will be safe now, I promise you." LIAR.

Another puncturing a heavy moment - Cordelia as cavalry - I love it. Cordelia taking the most obvious approach to the situation - 'oh Buffy might have lost her memory, well he's Giles,'

I can't believe they robbed us of a conversation in the car scene with Cordy and Buffy.

Kralik had to have found a polaroid camera and a metallic sharpie for this whole scenario -- OH I KNOW WHO HE REMINDS ME OF. The Night Stalker and any number of serial killers that terrorized SoCal. Is the show being self-aware of the problem with mothers and parents in general?

Probably a glib accident.

I don't have much to say about the part where Buffy hunts Kralik because it's so masterfully done with the atmosphere and music.

Nice of Giles's backbone to enter the chat now.

This is not business. Ooo.

Buffy's "I thought I killed a man" emo overalls!

Like it's shadowy, but there's still enough light to see facial expressions. Lighting guy, I salute you.

Little red riding hood metaphor. Oh, that's so her stunt double.

CREEPY SEXUAL VIOLENCE REARS ITS DEFORMED HEAD AGAIN

Jump stair scare. I remember the first time I saw it, I jolted in the living room.

Serial Killer Shit. Why are vampires such drama queens?

THAT'S RIGHT, BUFFY DID THAT

The ending scene in the library is cathartic in that Buffy gets to stand up for herself finally, and recognizes what Giles gives up by helping her, delayed as it was, also there's the feeling of hate punching Quentin Travers via your eyes.

Still don't think she should have forgiven Giles so easily, but we don't get to see a lot of aftercare for Buffy when she gets hurt, and it is a very tender scene.

The Scoobies are being way too upbeat if they knew about the fact that Giles poisoned Buffy, which is why I'm assuming she told a very abbreviated version of events ending with Buffy killed the bad guy and Giles got fired, oops.

Xander's big strong man comment and then looking immediately to Willow to open the jar and not Oz...

I could watch this episode again with episode commentary from David Fury, but another day.

[silver-wield]

Say hello to some hurt/comfort Cloti goodness ❤️

The biting cold wasn't much better inside the cave than out climbing the cliff face. The glacier was a hard task for the most experienced climbers and, Cloud and his friends weren't even close to that. So far, they owed a lot of their progress to luck, trust and teamwork. The flags left by former climbers, along with the odd frozen corpse warning them of what could happen if they lagged or lost faith.

It was hard on everyone. Aerith promised everything would be all right before she walked into the light, but mysterious words and a vague reassuring smile only took them so far. They needed something more to carry them the rest of the way to Sephiroth's hiding place.

"Aiya, why is it so cold!? Where's the fire materia!? Who's got it!? Hand it over!" Yuffie's complaining echoed through the cave, causing giant stalactites to tremor.

"Shh!" Barret put a finger to his lips, raising his eyes upward.

"Did you just shush me!?" Yuffie stomped her foot.

"Shut yer pie hole, Lassie. We don't wanna die."

"You're a robot, what you worried about?" Yuffie stuck her tongue out at Cait Sith.

"Yuffie, please," Tifa murmured, frowning. "We don't want to make things more unstable than they already are." She pointed up.

Yuffie pulled a sheepish expression. "Oops," she whispered.

"Oops," Vincent echoed in a bland voice.

Cloud hid a smile and looked around. "Could probably cut through that pathway over there," he said, nodding towards a snaking path that weaved upwards. It looked treacherous and slippery. They'd have to literally cut into the ground to give them something to grip onto.

"And just how d'you propose we keep our feet from going ass over head?" Cid questioned, pausing to blow on his gloved hands. "We ain't wearing skates."

Cloud frowned. "We'll cut a path," he explained, right hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

"Sounds risky to me," Barret replied. "If a loud noise makes those wobble like a bowl full o' jello, then what's hacking the ground gonna do?"

Cloud’s eyes narrowed, he wanted to get moving, not stand around talking. "You think a giant icicle'll get the best of me?" No way.

Tifa stepped forward as Barret opened his mouth to protest further. "How about we use the right tools?" She held up a hooked wall hammer and smiled.

Cloud ducked his head and smiled. "Right. The right tools for the right job." He'd been too hasty for no reason. He held his hand out for it.

Tifa tilted her head to the side and walked past him. "If we're worried about disturbing the area then someone lighter should go."

A dart of panic hit him in the chest. Familiar words, a similar situation. Wasn't it? "Maybe Red should look for a safer path."

"Hmm?" Red XIII stepped forward, flame on his tail flickering and casting a glow against the cave walls.

"Huh? Now we're not in a rush?" Yuffie looked from Cloud to Tifa.

"No, we are." Tifa shook her head. "Let's get this done quick." She shot everyone a reassuring smile and stepped forward.

"Tifa-" Cloud bit back his protests. "Be careful."

Tifa nodded. "No probs."

~*~*~

The first few strikes to churn up the glassy surface went well. Tifa paused after each one, waited for the ominous shaking overhead to still, then struck again.

As a back up, Cloud still sent Red, Cait Sith and Vincent along another path to see if it looped around to where they needed to go.

"Slow and steady, T, you got this!"

Yuffie's quiet cheerleading set Cloud's teeth on edge. He opened his mouth several times to tell her to shut up, then stopped. She wasn't hurting anyone and was in fact helping keep Tifa motivated. His muscles still clenched like he was the one doing the job. The urge to hover and watch her back was strong. He knew she could handle herself and the danger was minimal. Still, he tensed.

"There." Tifa sat back and wiped her brow. "I think that's enough." She turned and gave everyone a thumbs up.

"Good job, girl," Barret said, nodding. He slapped Cloud on the back. "See? Ain't nothing to worry about." He followed up with a victory fanfare.

Cloud panicked. He was already moving as the echoing crack died down. "Watch out!"

Tifa's eyes widened and she looked up as though in slow motion.

Snatching her by the hand, Cloud pulled Tifa out of the way as a giant icicle crashed into the ground where she'd been standing. "You okay!?"

"Shit, Tifa!" Barret took a step forward, then stopped. "Oh shit!"

The ground crumbled.

Everyone leapt towards the walls as a hole opened up.

"Whose dumbass idea was this!?" Cid dug his spear into a wall and grabbed Yuffie's wrist, as Barret leapt to a ledge and clung one handed.

Cloud and Tifa backed up towards the pathway. "Damnit."

"Is everyone all right?" Tifa let go of Cloud's hand and took a step forward. Her foot slipped and she gasped.

"Tifa!" Cloud dove for her as she slid towards the edge of the hole. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he spun them around and drew his sword.

"Cloud! Tifa!" Yuffie stretched a hand towards them as they fell.

"Shit! Toss 'em a goddamn line!" Cid fumbled for the rope attached to his waist.

Cloud slammed his sword into the wall and it cut into the icy surface, slowing their descent. He grunted with effort and felt his grip slip. The buster sword looked dingy reflected in the glacier. The blade hadn't dug in enough. It was sliding free. It groaned with effort along with Cloud.

"I can't reach!" Tifa clung to him with one arm and stretched as Cid threw the end of the rope. As she swung out she lost her grip. "Cloud!"

"No!" Cloud let go of the sword and dropped with her.

~*~*~

Everything hurt, but something warm and soft brushed against his face. Cloud grimaced and opened his eyes. "Tifa?" She looked upset.

"Oh, Cloud." She looked ready to cry. The tight hug took him by surprise.

"What's wrong?"

"You're bleeding...and...you were mumbling."

What did I say? He put his hand to his head and drew it back. His vision blurred. Blood? Just like-? Pain lanced his skull.

"Cloud?" Tifa drew back and looked at him with concern. "What can I do?"

The soft look in her eyes calmed the ache. Words slipped past his lips lacking the usual filter. "Stop falling."

"Huh?" She tipped her head to the side.

He pulled her back into his embrace and repeated the statement. "Stop falling." It hurt too much. He couldn't bear to see it. Not if he couldn't catch her. Still not good enough.

"Sorry. I'll try not to worry you so much."

Her arms around his shoulders felt nice. As did the soft puff of her breath near his ear that disturbed his hair. He could stay like this forever with Tifa beside him. Cloud closed his eyes and breathed deep. "Tifa-"

The sound of grit and ice particles sent him into hyper alert. His eyes shot open and he was rising to meet the potential threat, pushing Tifa behind him with one hand and reaching for his sword with the other. His hand gripped air. "Shit." The buster sword was lodged somewhere high out of reach. He'd lost it. I was supposed to look after it. A living legacy. More pain left him gasping it hurt so much.

"Cloud?" Tifa put her hand on his arm.

"You're still alive, then." Vincent landed in front of them and the buster sword hit the ground soon after. "This yours?"

The pain receded and Cloud straightened. "Yeah." His answer didn't sound sure to his ears, but he shook his head and dismissed it.

"You're bleeding."

"Yeah." He dug in his pocket for a potion.

Tifa picked up his sword and held it out. "Cloud, maybe we should find a weaponsmith soon?"

He frowned and shook his head again. "It's fine." He modded it awhile ago, and the blade was worn, but it worked. Enough. Looking around, he tried to get his bearings. "How'd you find us, and where are Cait Sith and Red?"

Vincent's gaze flickered to Tifa, then back to Cloud. "We split up. They're helping the others."

He nodded. "Guess we should find a route." He looked at Tifa and his brows rose. "Something wrong?"

She didn't react at first, then slowly shook her head. "No, it's fine." As she walked past him towards a path Vincent uncovered, Cloud couldn't help but wonder if those words sounded as fake as when he said them.

[niphredil-14]

IkeVamp Boys With a Witch!MC

I was actually really excited to write this one because I practice witchcraft. Even though, I’m a total baby witch haha.

Requested by: n-culture-tech Warnings: None 

Sebastian: -As someone from the twenty-first century, when witchcraft is much more accepted, I think that he will, overall, be okay with it.  -Of course, there are still many misconceptions about witches and the craft, so he may have some not-so-correct-ideas still planted in his mind -Please don’t take these personally, just explain to him why they’re not entirely accurate and inform him of what is true about witches and witchcraft in general, and about your craft. - His witchcraft of interest: Kitchen Witchcraft, he’d probably also like the idea of working with herbs

Le Comte:  -Like Sebastian, he has lived in the twenty-first century and is not as prejudiced as some of the others who don’t know anything about it and are misguided by biases.  -When he learns that you are a practitioner, he immediately buys you a bunch of supplies - (which is really nice and considerate and generous of him, but now you have 100+ new tools that all need to be cleansed) (Ahhhhhhh) -He will do research, he will study. He just wants to understand more about you and what you do. You should offer to teach him! -Again, he loves to spoil you, so he will buy you a lot of tools. Please explain to him that witchcraft is about being resourceful and using both what is on hand, and what you are provided with by nature.  -It may take some time for him to understand, but hey, he’s trying. He just has too much money and one person to spend it on. -His witchcraft of interest: Hedge Witchcraft

Leonardo:  - Leonardo, as soon as he learns that you practice the craft, asks you to teach him about it.  -You should definitely agree because how often do you know more about something than your compagno?  -I think he will goof around with it a little bit, which is totally fine. After all, witchcraft is about the person practicing it, and if someone wants to bring fun, games, and laughter into their practice and learning experience, then so be it. -However, if you want him to stop fooling around and take it seriously, as it is something close to your heart, just say the words and he will be completely serious.  -He will probably take an interest after you show him some stuff, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he will practice. But, if you ever want him around during your spellwork or a ritual, just ask him, and he’ll come along. -His witchcraft of interest: Eclectic Witch (He’d also really like cosmic witchcraft and divination)

Isaac: -Not a huge fan right off the bat. - After all, magick is not necessarily science, and it can be hard to comprehend, especially to a logic-based mind (Ugh tell me about it.) -Not to mention, he was alive during a time that witches were persecuted, and prosecuted. -But, he knows that you are not evil, so he hears you out when you say that it isn’t satanic.  -It also wouldn’t hurt to mention that witchcraft is a practice, not a religion. You can worship any god, and believe whatever you want and still practice the craft. -He would probably ask you to help him do a spell or two, as an experiment.  -His witchcraft of interest: Cosmic witchcraft

Arthur: -Gonna write a story about it.  -He is immediately intrigued, especially because it is something that he doesn’t fully understand, and that isn’t common. -He is going to ask you to walk him through a spell, ritual, cleansing, or really anything else related to what you do.  -He is going to have so much fun learning about witchcraft with you! - Going to make bets with you. Like, if I win this game, you have to *insert something magickal*,  -MAGICKAL PICKUP LINES -”Darling, you must have cast a love spell on me, because I’m entranced.”  -”Arthur, stop.”  -His witchcraft of interest: Green witchery/herbology (I know that herbology is the study of herbs, but it can be used in witchcraft)

Jean:  -Hoo boy! -This one’s a doozy.  - Obviously, he s against it. It brings back a lot of bad memories, and was even the reason for his death! -Not to mention that he is a very strict Christian boy, and was taught that not only is witchcraft evil but satanic. None of which is accurate or true.  -You’re going to have to explain to him that it is usually used for the benefit of people and that it has nothing to do with Satan. Tell him that the pentacle is actually a sigil used to represent the element Earth, and it is not actually associated with Satan or evil in the craft. -Even if you tell him, he has a deep-rooted fear of the craft and will not be swayed.  -He still believes that it is Satanic, and will try to convince you to stop and go pray so that you aren’t damned to hell. -Which he is forced to stop when he realizes that you are not going to stop.  -He is just worried about you and wants you to be in heaven in the afterlife. -he stops trying to stop you because he knows he can’t -But he asks you to warn him of when you are going to be “doing your witchy stuff” -His witchcraft of interest: N/A (not available)

Vincent: -We all know that Vincent is too kind to be against almost anything. -But, of course, there are still some misconceptions. But, this man is such an angel that as soon as he learns that you are a practitioner, he asks what is and isn’t true, which just makes your heartthrob.  -You quickly clear up what is and isn’t accurate about witchcraft.  -He is super accepting and could listen to you talk about magick for hours, maybe even days.  -He just loves you, so he is willing to hear you out on anything. -His witchcraft of interest: Probably sigil making, or anything else that lets him use his creative side

Theo: -Doesn’t have a strong opinion on it at first, leaning towards being slightly opposed.  -Teases you, calling you stuff like a “witch pup” and “wolfie” and stuff like that. -That is until his angel of an older brother saves you by pinching Theo on the cheek and telling him to be gentle with girls.  -After that, Theo takes more of an interest in it, especially when you explain to him that there is a lot of creative freedom with witchcraft, such as sigil-making, and constructing things out of natural resources, like making wands or pentacles.  -He’s not too interested in practicing himself but is cool with you doing it. -Likes to watch you practice -His witchcraft of interest: Any of the creative fields, though he is more interested in watching the creative process of others rather than doing it himself.

William: -Fascinated.  -He couldn’t care less about what misconceptions he has heard, he wants you to tell him everything about the craft so that he can accurately represent it in a play.  - He would be very interested in ritual knives, though maybe you should steer him away from those. maybe get him interested in candle magick, or divination. Maybe scrying.  -He will invite you to his villa constantly and ask you to bring some supplies so that he can practice.  -You just turned Will into a witch.  -His witchcraft of interest: Like I mentioned before, he likes the ritual knives, but I wouldn’t trust him with those if I were you. Candle Magick is something I think would be better for him. Just don’t let him set anything on fire that isn’t supposed to be.

Dazai:  -His time is edging closer to the twenty-first century, so although he may not know a lot, and may not be entirely open to it, he is more than willing to listen to you and hear you out.  -Like Leonardo, he is gonna goof off frequently, if you want him to be more serious, again, just tell him that and he’ll calm down. -I think he would be another boy to like sigils (Sigils are very easy to make, and simple, and work well for broom-closeted witches because they look like doodles), but he would like to get some books about other types of witchcraft as well.  - I would suggest getting him into charm bags and/or divination/scrying.  -As we know, Dazai struggled with depression, and if it ever creeps upon him again, a charm bag of happiness would be helpful.  -Divination and scrying are fun, and I think that’s a reason to get him into them. Just be careful, he may try to tell Isaac that he is going to be attacked by an apple in the near future.  -His witchcraft of interest: Divination

Mozart: -He doesn’t necessarily like the idea of witchcraft, but he doesn’t hate it.  -especially if you like it.  - However, he will love the idea of cleansing.  -But other than that, he doesn’t have a very strong opinion on witchcraft.  - He doesn’t mind that you do it, and may even ask for a charm every now and again.  -His witchcraft of interest: cleansing (I know that this isn’t a type of witchcraft, but it is essential to the craft soooo) 

Napoleon:  -Napoleon, I think, wouldn’t care what you are or what you practice.  -Of course, if you are extremely interested in it, then he will most likely want to learn more about it/try it. -So expect him to bombard you with questions, about everything. From zodiac signs to moon signs to tarot and oracle cards to scrying, and hedge witchery. He wants to know everything.  -I think that shadow magick would be really good for him.  -I mean, astral travel could also be pretty cool -His witchcraft of interest: Shadow Magick

[antihero-writings]

His Dog, Warming Their Hearts

(Cover art by stlyrica_art on instagram!! Please go check her out!!) 

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji (manga)

Fic Summary: Not every stray finds a home at Christmas, but puppy Sebastian just might.

Character focus: Undertaker

Fic: 

Whimpering. High-pitched, timid, and pitiful.

For a moment, Undertaker wondered if one of his guests was still here. It wasn’t like him to forget, but maybe one of the coffins was still filled, its inhabitant clawing at the lid to get out, for just one last taste of life. That would make for an interesting tale, he smirked to himself: one of the dead, not yet at the funeral, trying to escape its eternal rest.

Despite the presiding theme of the shop, the noise was made by something alive.

Shivering in one of the empty, open coffins against the wall was an animal. A very small animal, that is. Its black fur was matted and dirty, the look in its brown eyes shivering more than the rest of it, but defiant still.

A puppy.

“Now what would a thing like you doing here in my parlor?” Undertaker asked, crouching down beside it, offering a long-nailed finger for it to sniff.

The puppy did so, cautiously as it could, though fear still gleamed in its eyes—the black robes, unnaturally long, grey hair, which more often than not covered his eyes, and the stitch-like scars weaving their way across his skin, not to mention the usually twisted smiles on his face, were enough to make anyone a little uneasy. The animal, however, seemed to come to the same conclusion that most people did; Undertaker was an odd fellow, but wouldn’t go so far as cruel.

“If it’s a nice funeral you’re looking for,” amusement lined his words as he circled his finger in the air to reference the shop, “you’ve come to the right place.” He sat down beside it. “That one there,” he knocked on the puppy’s current sanctuary, making it shy away, “is made from a very rare wood. I’d need a first-rate laugh for it. Though, I do admit,” he gave that signature, high-pitched laugh, more like a twitch at the corner of his mouth, “it might be a bit large for you.”

The puppy only shivered, neither caring, nor understanding his sense of humor. Though few could tell when he was joking, and most found their faces in a constant awkward grimace around him.

Undertaker sat up and frowned, his too-green gaze flicking to the door to his shop, which was open, just enough to let the cold—(not that one can feel the cold when they’ve been dead for centuries)—and apparently other things, in.

“Must’ve been me last customer,” he reasoned softly, “Fellow lost his son. And so close to Christmas too. A shame, really.” He shook his head. “Told me he was a nice boy.” He smirked. “They all say that, though. ‘Nice’ doesn’t last forever, you know.”

Undertaker paused, looked at the pitiful creature, putting a robe sleeve to his chin, “If you’ve not come for business,” he returned to the subject, “you’d best be on your way. I’m not particularly fond of tending the living, ya see.” He held up a finger. “Too much on the upkeep.”

He stood back up and strode over the door, holding it open. A gust of wind tossed his hair. The animal wouldn’t budge.

“Well, if you’d rather have a bit of fun,” his grin became more maniacal, and he held his nails in front of his face, “that can be arranged.”

The puppy seemed to get the idea, and gave a yelp, pattering over to hide on the other side of the coffin.

“That’s what I thought.” He inclined his head to the door.

Still, it wouldn’t oblige.

Undertaker sighed, putting his hand on his forehead. “You are a stubborn fellow aren’t you?”

Despite it not leaving, he headed into the back of his shop, where all things deemed not-fit-for-the-eyes-of-the-living occurred. He left the door to outside open a crack, hoping it would get out with nothing else getting in in the meantime.

Laying on the slab in the back was a boy, no older than fourteen, his skin pale and waxy, his limbs stiff in his clothes, a boyhood smirk still on his face. If Undertaker had been alive he may have worried about catching the fever that killed him. But being dead, he ran his hand gently along the boy’s arm. “Better this way.” He murmured. “At least now he can be a child forever.”

There was the sound of little claws on wood; the puppy had followed him, and was peering from behind the curtain that divided the sections of the shop.

Undertaker lifted his head “Persistent, aren’t you?”

“Are you forgetting that there are many things I could do that might just make you rethink your decision to stay?”

He held a bunch of tools from the table between his fingers like a magician, giving that creepy grin as the blades glinted in the candlelight.

The big, fearful brown eyes reflected the metal.

Undertaker rolled his eyes, setting them back down. He didn’t have any intention of hurting the thing, still it’s presence was a bit of a nuisance, and scaring it could prove for a good laugh.

He sighed. “Well, if you if you insist on staying—” He picked up a skull from the corner of the room, poked his head out from behind the curtain and threw it at the door, shutting it. Then he strode over to a shelf where he kept little ‘souvenirs’ from his guests, and dragged down an old, moth-eaten coat—(the poor man’s wife could barely contain her tears)—and made a little nest against the wall.

“Can’t have you interrupting my work, now,” he wagged his finger as the thing stumbled over to the makeshift bed, before mocking, “Would you like any refreshments, my lord?”

It curled up in the coat, it’s tail beginning to wag.

“Don’t be forming any attachments to me, now. It’s off to the pound soon as I get a decent break.”

The puppy lowered its head and stopped wagging its tail.

After working for a while he turned to see it was fast asleep.

He smirked. “Poor thing doesn’t even know what’s good for it.”

Once finished with his present task, he put his tools away, blew out the candles, and attempted to escape, when the creature appeared at the door again, as if it had a sixth sense about things about to leave it.

He chuckled low, grabbing his hat off a nearby coffin, and held the door open wide, letting a flurry in, gesturing for it to leave.

Those eyes looked up at him unknowingly. The ex-reaper clicked his teeth and flung open the door, gliding out through it.

The patter of little paws sounded against the floorboards, it squeezed its little body through the gap as the door closed, landing on its bum in the snow, shaking the flakes off its floppy ears.

“I don’t suppose you plan on following me all day?”

The puppy tilted his head to the side, wagging its tail a little.

Snow crunched beneath his boots, the puppy running circles and zigzags around him as he walked, leaving little pawprints in the snow around his own steps.

It smelled like Christmas; the cold always has a sort of smell, but the food stalls nearby added gingerbread and peppermint aromas to the winter air, the sweet sent of pine drifting about, as the Christmas trees made the world a museum for their decorated corpses.

Kids ran about in fluffy hats and scarves throwing snowballs and making angels. One bumped into Undertaker, and ran away fearfully, nearly bursting into tears when he picked her up and put her back on her feet saying, “You be careful now, we wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you hitting her head.”

He was examining a snowman they made when he noticed a familiar face across the street.

It would have been easy to just walk up to him, to say ‘hello, good afternoon, sir’ but if he had done that he wouldn’t have been Undertaker.

No, instead of acting like normal person, he darted behind the nearest decorative poinsettia, and proceeded jump from bush to bush—(the puppy wagging its tail inquisitively at him, wondering what sort of game this was)—until he was right beside him. Then he snuck up and whispered in his ear, “Penny for your thoughts, my lord?”

Most people would have screamed, grabbed the nearest available weapon and proceeded to whack him over the head with it, but this man was not normal himself. Instead his face broke into a smile.

“Undertaker,” he tipped his hat to him, “It’s good to see you.”

“Vincent Phantomhive.” He twirled his hat off his head, bowing too low, “Now what’s a rich fellow like you doing coming down from his castle?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m ashamed to say I haven’t quite finished my Christmas shopping.” He held up a bag which was allegedly full of Christmas gifts. “Rachel would be furious if she found out I was finishing up days before Christmas.”

“You willing to pay for my silence?” Undertaker sidled up beside him.

Vincent shoved him back. “You willing to do something nice for a friend?”

“Oh so we’re friends?”

Vincent scoffed, about to say something, when he stopped to look up at the sign on the shop beside him.

“She mentioned there was a brooch she wanted—Oh!”

When they’d stopped the puppy was able to catch up, and had made its presence known by pouncing on a loose lace of the earl’s shoes. “And who might this fellow be?”

“Just a beggar who wandered in to my parlor earlier today.”

Vincent smiled and crouched down to rub its chin. “He—is it a he?—is rather friendly, isn’t he?” he scratched behind its ears, and the puppy ate up the attention like a decadent chocolate cake. “Does he belong to someone?”

“More likely the product of a few strays. And people can’t resist a cute face—You wouldn’t know anything about that now would you? Probably fed him and made him grow accustomed to people.”

Vincent waved him off.

“Well don’t get too attached to this one, I was just on my way to take it to the pound.”

“Oh must you?” the puppy’s tongue was hanging out, his little tail whirring like an engine. “I’ve heard the kinds of things they do to dogs there. A little thing like him wouldn’t last a week.”

“You can dispense with fellow human beings with ease, but a Heaven forbid a cute puppy meet the same fate.”

Vincent glared at him.

“No you’re right,” Undertaker added sardonically, “why I don’t just open my parlor to every stray that walks in?”

“You know that’s not what I’m suggesting.”

“Then what other options are there? Turning him back out to the street isn’t much kinder.”

Vincent set down his bag and picked up the dog, who proceeded to lick his face. “You know, Rachel and I have been talking about getting a dog. For the twins. You know, like a guard dog.”

“You think Licky over here is a good candidate for guarding your home? I thought you noblemen were all about the purebreds.”

“What’s that saying about teaching dogs tricks? He’s young, with a little love and perseverance I’m sure he can be taught.”

“You do realize it could carry all sorts of…unsightly maladies.” He grinned like that would be fun to see.

“Well, I do think it would be much more lethargic if it were sick, don’t you?”

Undertaker shrugged. “Some things that are sick don’t show it till the whole house has it.”

Vincent frowned, looking at it more critically. “There’s a veterinarian around here, isn’t there? We could have it checked out.”

“We?”

“You.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well it won’t be a surprise Christmas present if I bring it home tonight, now will it?”

Undertaker put his head in his palm. “Even if he was willing to do that—which, I’m not—Would your wife would be alright with you bringing in a stray?”

“Oh she loves dogs. And, well we don’t have to tell her he’s a stray, do we? We can get him checked out, clean him up, feed him. No one will ever know the difference once he’s all dressed up.”

“What a tangled web you weave, dear Earl.”

“I just think he would be a lovely Christmas present, that’s all.” he held out the puppy—which looked like he was about to explode with joy—as if admiring a fine work of art.

Undertaker stared at the puppy with something akin to a grimace.

“You will take care of him in the meantime, won’t you?”

Undertaker stood there with his mouth half open.

“I assure you, you’ll be compensated most generously for your troubles.”

“You must have multiple first-rate laughs up your sleeve if you think I’ll agree to this.”

Vincent nodded, grinning. “You know I always deliver. …So it’s decided, you’ll bring him around, all cleaned up, checked out, and fed on Christmas.”

Undertaker stared at the puppy. “This sure is a lot of work for a mutt.”

“For the smile it’ll bring to the twins’ faces? It’s worth it.”

******

This wasn’t normal.

It wasn’t normal for Undertaker to take care of living things; when he had said he wasn’t in the business of doing so, it was meant to be a rule, not just a nice notion.

Each time he had to remember to feed it, to clean up after it, he wondered if Vincent had paid enough.

It also wasn’t normal to drive a hearse to something other than a graveyard or church, much less to carry something living.

And lastly, it wasn’t normal for him to make house calls, much less to take the aforementioned living thing to a friend on Christmas evening.

Undertaker arrived at the manor, stepping down from the hearse to retrieve the puppy from the back.

It—he—was much happier now; over the past few days, Undertaker had cleaned him up, bought or made him food, and today had tied a red bow around his neck, just for flair.

“What do you think, little one?” he asked, as he opened the back, throwing the puppy a dog biscuit from the container he was carrying—he baked a batch earlier—which he jumped up and caught, chowing down happily. He wagged his tail, glancing eagerly from the house to the Undertaker.

“You’re lucky,” Undertaker mentioned, biting off a piece of dog biscuit himself, leaning against the side of the hearse, “Not every stray finds a home at Christmas.”

After finishing the biscuit and setting down the container, he took off his hat and scooped the now clean and presentable puppy up into it, making his way up the path to the manor.

The snow was coming down more densely today, the wind attempting to brush the hair from his eyes—though didn’t matter if the wind and the white saw those green, green eyes.

Tanaka greeted him properly, then let him know his master would be with him shortly and went to collect the earl.

“Merry Christmas, Undertaker,” Vincent remarked, smiling as he walked down the stairs to the front door.

“Is it merry?” Undertaker asked.

“Is it not?”

“Well I have no doubt that it is, for you.” He chuckled, “But I also don’t doubt that I’ll still get customers today. All a matter of perspective.”

“I suppose so,” Vincent mused as he reached him, “Now, where is the little rascal?”

As if on cue, the creature popped its head out from inside the hat.

Vincent beamed at the sight of him, reaching out his hand to let him sniff his fingers—at which the puppy brightened, tried to jump out of the hat—then scratching gently beneath his chin.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, little one. You look so charming.”

“Why thank you,” Undertaker twirled a strand of his hair around his finger.

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Thank you for all you’ve done, really, I couldn’t have done this without you. …Please, come in!”

Vincent motioned for Undertaker to follow, guiding him through the house to the living room where his wife sat watching the twin boys play with their assortment new toys, barely old enough to walk, bumbling around at their mother’s feet.

“Ah, hello! And Merry Christmas!” Rachel exclaimed happily, getting up and curtseying.

Undertaker gave a little bow.

“Boys,” Vincent put his hands on his knees to speak to his sons, “this man has one last gift for you.”

One of them toddled up and clung to his father’s pant leg, staring up at Undertaker inquisitively, the other hid behind their mother, holding onto her dress, looking fearfully from the creepy-looking stranger to each of their parents.

Undertaker crouched down and held out the hat for them see the gift.

“Oh!” Rachel exclaimed softly, putting her hands on her face standing. Her face broke into a smile, giving a perfectly gratefully look from her husband to Undertaker, “A puppy! How wonderful! What’s his—is it a he?—name?”

Undertaker shrugged. “The name’s up to you, my lady.”

Rachel took the puppy out of the hat, who licked her nose, wagging his little tail.

“What do you think Vincent?”

“Hmm, we never got around to talking of names, did we?”

Rachel crouched down to show their sons their new pet.

“Look boys!”

The toddlers really had no idea what was going on, and looked at the creature apprehensively. One of them eagerly toddled up to pet it, while the other stayed a safe distance away, not leaving his mother’s side. The puppy licked the more adventurous boy’s hand, who giggled.

“What about you boys? Any ideas?”

The puppy got overzealous, knocked the shy one over, making him cry. She picked him up while Vincent held the dog and the other boy—who was now very interested in the creature—in each arm.

“He’ll need a strong name, don’t you think?”

“Certainly! Hmm…what about George? Edward?”

“Too…Well…Hmm…” Rachel mused, bouncing the shy boy, and petting the puppy between the ears, “I’ve always liked the name ‘Sebastian.’”

“What do you think boys? Do you like that name?”

The shy one sneezed.

“‘Sebastian’ it is!” He beamed at his family, before turning back to Undertaker, “Where are my manners? Please, Undertaker, stay for dinner!”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Undertaker began, putting his hat back on his head, and his hands in his sleeves, backing up. “Didn’t I tell you I’d be getting customers today? After all, Death doesn’t take the day off for Christmas.”

“Maybe not,” Vincent put an arm around his back guiding him into the room, smiling in the same creepy way Undertaker always did, making it clear ‘no’ was never in the word bank. “but you can.”

[oddeyevibes]

TLND Ch1: The Theatrics of it All

Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Vice City or any of it’s characters, I only own my OCs. Also, many of the images and gifs used are not 100% representative of the story, there are chosen to help create ✨~ambiance~✨. 

Summary: Tommy has come to Vice City to kill people for money. For him, it’s business and a duty as a member of the Forelli crime family. Dallas has come to Vice City to kill people for money. For her, it’s business and an art form and a lifestyle that has been apart of her family for a long time. A lot might not see it, but they were made for each other. 

Trigger Warning: Blood, graphic depictions of violence

Prickle Pine, Las Venturas

1986

Most people in Prickle Pine always associated with people their neighbors have never seen. This is usually where the rich elites always found hanging out in the Strip lived anyway. So some old couple with nothing better to do but to people-watch probably wouldn’t be calling the authorities any time soon on seeing strange people come out of different houses every day of the week because it was too natural at this point.

So when a midnight blue Sentinel XS pulled up to the Michaels house. No people-watchers thought it was too suspect to see them get a wealthy-looking visitor. The front door opened revealing a man in a faded red and white striped bathrobe known as Bane Michaels. A middle-aged white man who made an infamous name for himself by helping produce some of those pornographic, action-oriented movies the porn industry has ever seen.

He was regular on The Strip and many of his more prudish neighbors came to know him for always having younger women visit while his much more older wife, went off to the hospital for treatment. People watchers merely thought it was another one of those visits.

Bane stood in the doorway a jittery mess as the driver of the Sentinel stepped out of the vehicle. By the look of her outfit, you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a woman whose husband died in “mysterious” circumstances. She was wearing a black pencil dress with a pair of black peep-toe wedges along with some thick-rimmed black sunglasses and a black shoulder purse to make the outfit look a little more perfect. For Bane, she was like an angel of death walking towards his door. This was the woman that would help solve his problems. 

“Well...don’t you look excited to see me.” She commented.

Bane moved aside and let her into the house, immediately locking the door and showing her to the spacious living room which looked like it never left the 60s. It didn’t help that there was a TV playing an old sitcom of that era.

The woman sat down on one of the single-seated couches across from Bane who relaxed as he sat down, waiting for the good news. “Well?”

“I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that you are now a widow, Mr. Michaels.”

Bane’s smile grew wide. “Hahaha! Thank you! Thank you SO much!” The man quickly stood up, grabbing the woman’s hand and shaking it frantically, much to the woman’s clear disdain. She yanked her hand out of his grasp. The man took the hint and sat back down. “Y’know, I heard about you from Carlos. I was so sure he was going to do the job until he recommended you.”

The woman shrugged. “Carlos got wrapped up in a more steady gig.”

Bane took the hint and nodded. “Once the life insurance comes through, I promise you, you’ll get your money. Never done something like this before so I’m not quite sure how long it’ll take.”

“Well, I have. Just make sure you don’t say or do anything stupid and suspicious. Remember, when the hospital calls, you don’t know she’s dead.” The way the woman spoke held an air of both sultriness and coldness. Bane was definitely talking to someone who has experience. “Unless they called already and you messed it up.”

Bane shook his head. “Nope, no call yet. Why don’t we…” Bane scooted forward a bit and flashed the woman a smirk. “Maybe we can wait together?” He asked.

The woman tilted her head to the side. “Are you trying to flirt with me?” She asked with a blunt tone of voice. There was no hint of reciprocation in her words.

Bane shrugged. “Well,” He casually leaned back against the seat. “I am a single man after all.”

“You’re wife’s body not even if a coffin yet.”

“That old broad’s been dead for years. Shame though...she was a real cougar, that one. It was fun running around with an older woman. Especially, when they’re loaded. The probably is, what we men want from an older woman gets lost REAL fast when age starts catching up with them.” He continued going on. “Tits start sagging, they need every pill in the fucking book to keep functioning, hair starts going gray, y’know?” He asked with a chuckle, but the woman didn’t respond. Once he realized she wasn’t going to laugh, he sighed and kept going. “Only reason I stayed with her was because of the money. Porn is nice and all but I wanted to do more. I wanna be big but in this city, you gotta pay big to win big, y’know? Edie, love her to death, but she wasn’t going to understand what I needed. I couldn’t let her divorce me either, she’d take her money and run, leaving me with nothing.”

“So you plan to find some young girl?”

He nodded. “Unless you’re willing to fill the position?”

“No.”

Bane chuckled. “Worth a shot.” The brown-haired man stood up and went over to a brown foyer table holding a variety of liquor bottles as well as a couple of whiskey glasses. He proceeded to pour himself a glass as the nearby landline phone began ringing. A smirk on his face, Bane waltz over to answer, prepared to pretend to be heartbroken.

“Michaels Residence, Bane speaking.”

“.....Michaels Residence?” The evil smirk on Bane’s face slowly disappeared. The man glanced back to the woman sitting on his couch. She was currently paying him no mind as she watched the silent erratic movements of the sitcom still playing. He turned his back towards her and continued the conversation. “Edie?” He asked in a terrified whisper.

“I’m not even in the dirt yet and you’ve already claimed my house?” The older woman said and the smile could be heard in her voice. Bane didn’t say anything in response. “What? No funny remark? You used to be made of them, Baney.”

“You’re alive?” He whispered, not wanting to alert the woman behind him since he planned on giving her a piece of his mind.

“Of course I am. You tried to pay for the Montoya’s to kill me using life insurance? I got something more reliable...an owed favor.” There was so much vile as she said the last part of her sentence.

PHT!

If the walls had eyes, they would be covered in the blood that quickly shot out of Bane’s forehead. With the little thinking energy he had left, the man’s eyes had shot up to try and catch a glimpse of the hole in his head. In a second, his body fell forward, colliding with the wall and crashing down on the table, knocking over the different bottles and sending them to the floor with a series of loud crashes as the phone in his hand was let go and fell in one of the puddles that began soaking the ugly colored carpet.

Turning his back to the woman proved to be a fatal mistake. His last mistake. Once he did, she had quietly made her way over to him, calmly pulling out a suppressed .22 pistol and waited for her moment to pull the trigger.

The woman flashed a satisfied smirk as she put away her gun before bending down to pick up the phone. “Ms. Rubio?”

“I wish I could’ve been there to see the look on his face.” The older woman sounded more than happy with the outcome.

“Well, he was very scared if that makes you feel better.”

“I suppose that’ll do.”

“You never told my cousin what you wanted in terms of body disposal.”

“I have some guys of my own. I want to see what’s left of the fucker. If it wasn’t for MY money, that ingrate wouldn’t have what we had now. To think that son of a bitch was plotting to kill me.”

“Small world though.”

“Indeed. When are you and your cousin leaving Las Venturas?”

“Should be by the end of this week.”

“Should have your money by then.”

“No need. This is a favor, remember?”

“I always tip.” The line went dead.

The woman shrugged and hung up the phone. She took a long look at the corpse before letting out a single chuckle and leaving the residence, locking the bottom lock behind her. As far as the neighbors knew, the woman in black that left Eden Rubio’s house was another young fling of Bane’s.

Several days later

Portland, Liberty City

Marco’s Bistro

“Tommy Vercetti? Shit...didn’t think they ever let him out.”

Sonny Forelli had a loud voice. Everyone in the Forelli family knew that. Hell, everyone in the families knew that. It wasn’t a voice that commanded respect but one that wanted fear. The Don of the Forelli family reveled in the fact that others feared him and if he felt someone didn’t fear him, he would take care of them. The idea of catching more bees with honey was a concept lost this Forelli man. He was a man-sized brat but no one in the Forelli Family would call him out on it.

The Don was currently sitting in his brother’s bistro alongside two associates, Casio Graci and Vincent Moreno, who had informed the man that Tommy Vercetti was officially let out of prison. The man that was now known as the ‘Harwood Butcher’ was sentenced away fifteen years ago on 11 counts of manslaughter. The thing is: he was only supposed to kill one guy.

No one besides Sonny knows the specifics of what happened and how a simple hit by a Forelli mobster turned into a bloodbath. It worked out though for the Forelli family’s reputation among the families. If someone like Tommy Vercetti was working for the Forellis, the other families kept their ears perked for any more Forelli men. Sonny didn’t like to admit it, but Tommy helped him...again.

Only a few men in the family knew this, but Sonny despised Tommy’s very existence. No one was dumb enough to comment on it though, out of fear of Sonny’s wrath. No one knew the specifics of it but it was clearly some sort of paranoia. The thought that everyone would look at Tommy the way they SHOULD’VE been looking at Sonny. There were some outside of Sonny’s close circle that had ideas but they were thrown out of the window upon hearing Sonny and the Forellis kept Vercetti from getting the death penalty.

“He kept his head down,” Casio explained. “It helps people forget.”

Sonny chuckled. “People will remember soon enough. When they see him walking down the streets of their neighborhood, it’ll be bad for business.”

The two associates glanced between each other with worried expressions. Cutting Tommy loose was probably not the best idea cause then one of the other families might take him in. Can’t have a hitman like Tommy working the Sindacos, the Sicilians, or the Leones. Definitely not the Leones.

Casio looked at Sonny. “Well, what are we gonna do Sonny?”

The Don sat back in chair thinking for a moment. Truth be told, Sonny didn’t want Tommy anywhere near him. He didn’t want him asking too many questions upon returning. Fifteen years? Vercetti was definitely simmering with curiosity. “Alright,” He leaned in towards the table, his face illuminating a bit more under the green light. His gesture causing the others to do the same. “We treat’em like an old friend and keep him busy out of town, ok?”

The two looked confused.

Sonny leaned back in his seat once more. “We been talking about expanding down south, right? Vice City is 24-Carat gold these days. The Columbians, the Mexicans, hell, even those Cuban refugees are cutting themselves a piece of some nice action.”

Vincent shook his head. “But it’s all drugs, Sonny. None of the families will touch that shit.”

The only reason Vice City had become a gold mind was because of drugs. Not just any drugs but the classic white girl, Cocaine. Most of the Italian mob stationed in Liberty City didn’t go anywhere near drugs. The most they dealt with being weed. Florida, Vice City, in particular, was a place where cocaine was becoming the wave. As of now, it was unknown territory to the families.

“Times are changing. The families can’t keep their backs turned while our enemies reap the rewards. So, we send someone down to do the dirty work for us and cut ourselves a nice quiet slice, ok?” He explained. Sonny looked over to Casio, “who’s our contact down there?”

“Ken Rosenberg,” Casio replied with an eye roll. “Schmuck of a lawyer. How’s he gonna hold Vercetti’s leash?”

“We don’t need him to. We just set him loose in Vice City, we give him a little cash to get started. Ok? Give it a few months,” Sonny relaxed in his chair. “Then we go down, pay him a little visit, okay? See how he's doing.”

Escobar International

Vice City

Tommy’s been down south maybe like...once. It was only a business trip and he’d stood in as one of Sonny’s bodyguards. The was fifteen years ago back in 1970 and he knew the city had probably changed a lot since then. The man wasn’t someone into the latest trends but still, the thought of missing out on a whole decade did something to him mentally. After all, he was barely an adult when he got locked up but hand the bodies of professionals that’s been in the game long before his birth.

Tommy thought about a lot while on the inside. He was grateful for the Forellis for keeping him off death row, he really was, but he was also suspicious of the events in Harwood. Unfortunately, Tommy would have to keep his questions to himself since the first thing that happened upon being released from prison was him being sent to Vice City.

Now instead of killing men left and right which, granted, he may have to do anyway, Tommy was meant to simply help the Forellis make some deals down south. Setting themselves up amidst all the other gangs that have claimed territory in the city.

He didn’t really know what his face looked like but it apparently caught Lee’s attention. “Don’t be so nervous Vercetti,” Lee advised, catching the man’s attention from watching the plane land through its window. “Harry and I have done deals like this before. Simple procedure, go in and out, hasn’t changed since you’ve been locked up.”

Tommy felt annoyed. “I know how these things work.” He shot back with a mild attitude.

Lee didn’t say anything or indicated that he was offended at the response, merely shrugged and went back to reading the magazine. “ Big Shot Porn Producer Reported Dead...robbery gone wrong? ” The man muttered.

Tommy turned his attention back to the window, trying to get back on his previous train of thought.

The air in Vice City was most certainly dry. Tommy almost felt sorry for anyone who didn’t dress down enough. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the bugs here were plenty and HUGE. The worst he dealt with in Liberty City were big ass rats and roaches and flies if a place was filthy enough. Here, the bugs have 34 wings and are always out to cross boundaries. Tommy wished he could’ve stayed inside the airport where the air was cool and the bugs were kept at bay.

But the sight of a white Admiral pulling up provided some quick relief. Though, the appearance of a frantic, curly-haired man in a white suit sort of dimmed in down. He never met Rosenberg but from what Casio and some of the others told him, Rosenberg was easily startled, like a lamb.

The car stopped before the three men and Ken got out, leaning on top of the car’s roof to greet the men. “Hey, hey, guys! It’s, uh, Ken Rosenberg here!” The man shouted. “Hey! Heh, heh, hey, great, hey!”

‘I hate this guy already.’ Tommy thought to himself.

He and the others not replying sent a chill down Ken’s spine, making the neurotic man even more nervous. The Forelli lawyer let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, uh, I’m gonna drive you guys to the meet, ok?” The three nodded and began entering the car, Tommy found himself situated in the back sitting next to Lee once again. Meanwhile, Rosenberg kept explaining the whole deal. “Now, I’ve talked to the suppliers and they’re very keen to start a business relationship, so, uh, if all goes well, we should, uh, be doing very nicely for ourselves, which is, y’know, good.”

With everyone situated in the vehicle, Ken began driving and explained the whole all the way to the docks about the sellers they’ll be purchasing from. Tommy wasn’t too bothered to make any type of comment or even inquire more about, a tiny part hoping Lee or Harry would do that for him, especially Harry, considering that he was the one sitting next to Ken and getting the most of the yammering. To no avail though.

The now 35-year-old let out a silent, annoyed breath as he looked out the window watching his new residence for the new months pass by him in a blur. This would all look nice to gander at if he wasn’t on business. ‘Maybe some other time…’ he thought. For now...just get the deal done was all that was on his mind.

Vice City Docks

Upon the vehicle pulling up to the docks, Tommy was a little on edge. Maybe it was because, in Liberty City, every hour was working hours, he assumed that the docks would be filled with workers paid to mind their own business with maybe one or two ‘ upstanding citizens ’ trying to play the hero.

However, the Vice City docks were damn near-deserted. No sign of anyone clocking in. Maybe the people they were selling to had those types of connections. To make a bunch of construction workers disappear with a snap of their fingers. But, since they weren’t already here, Tommy kind of tossed out that line of thinking.

The sound of a helicopter getting louder caught the attention of the four men in the car. Shaking off the jetlag and gaining their full attention.

“Ok, that’s them in the chopper,” Ken stated. “Ok, here’s the deal,” Harry and Lee began exiting the car while Tommy stayed to hear the rest of the stipulations. “They want a straight exchange on open ground. Alright?”

Tommy nodded, “Right.”, before exiting the car and walking with the other two Forelli men. Meanwhile, one of the dealers, a slightly overweight dark-skinned man wearing a red shirt holding two briefcases, no doubt the product, exited the chopper while his pilot waited and made his way over to meet Tommy and the others.

Once all four had come face to face the deal started. Tommy’s done these before. It was nothing new and nothing had changed. In and out. Get this over with and once all is said and done, focus on finding out what happened back in Hardwood. This is was the only reason Tommy didn’t make a fuss about immediately being put back to work upon being released. He wanted to ease everyone else who worked with him in order to get them talking. A good 20 minutes and he can get to work.

“You got it?” He asked the man in the red shirt.

The man smirked. From the demeanor, Tommy could tell that this man was someone who didn’t take nonsense much like him. “One hundred percent pure grade-A Columbian.” The man replied, placing the two silver cases before the trio.

Tommy gestured his head towards the cases. “Let me see’em.”

The man stopped for a second, looking up at Tommy. “The greens?”

Harry and Lee opened the cases they were holding, showcasing the money. “Tens and twenties,” Tommy replied, “used.”

The man nodded with a smirk, straightening up his posture. “Then I think we got a deal, my friend. Hahaha--”

They only needed a few more minutes to get this deal done but life showed that it had other plans when the sound of multiple gunshots rang out across the docks.

Tommy instinctively ducked as the bodies of both Harry, Lee, and most likely the man in the red shirt. The guy in the copter most likely lifted off and got the hell out of dodge.

That left Tommy to sprint like the wind towards Rosenberg’s car. Taking the phrase ‘leap of faith’ to a literal level when he vaulted through the open window of the backseat. Rosenberg peeled out as Tommy shouted for him to get out there.

Just like fifteen years ago, a ‘simple’ job went terrible in an instant. Between the adrenaline rush of the shootout and the deja vu from back then, the escape from the stocks turned out to be a blurry one for Tommy Vercetti.

The only words that came to his mind were ‘ah shit’ as Rosenberg frantically whimpered in the front seat.

Next Chapter ⏩

[meat-husband]

Do you think you'd write a part two to that yandere!vincent piece you wrote? :0 I haven't stopped thinking about it, it was soo good!

Well, this is like the third or fourth one now lol but here’s a lil origin story for how reader came to be in the basement.

I am boo boo the fool and completely forgot to q this, so it’s a day late lol

-

The shop you worked at was dirty, a grimey place that stayed open 24/7 to cater to the main clientele, the long haul truckers that came in off the interstate. It provided quick food and as many cups of coffee as you could drink, so long as you didn’t mind the rundown environment, but it wasn’t the kind of place that anyone expected five star meals from.

Opposite to most places, the peak hours were almost exclusively late at night, when most drivers needed to stop off for something to keep them going overnight. The daytime shift was slow, a trickle of people that dried up into nothing as the afternoon went on, with only the occasional customer. The food you sold was all premade convenience store fare, hotdogs and chicken left in a spinning rotisserie until someone was desperate enough to buy one, so you usually spent the downtime reading, tucked into a chair behind the counter. You barely looked up when the bell rang, signaling the arrival of another customer. In any other store it might have been rude not to offer some sort of hello, but the people that came through here were blunt and rough edged, getting in and out with little to no small talk.

“Hey, there.”

You drop your book, standing to ring up whatever has been laid on the counter, but you find it empty. You look up, meeting the eyes of the man across from you, but he has nothing in his hands and judging by the way he approached the counter, he wasn’t interested in looking around.

“Smokes?” You ask, already turning to flip open the display case.

“No, thanks,” he replies with an easy smile, leaning an elbow on the counter between you. “Not lookin’ to buy anything today.”

You frown at him. He was handsome, dark hair and sharp brown eyes, and the twitch of his lips as you looked him over told you that he knew it. His clothes were plain and worn, dirty from work, and he didn’t necessarily look out of place, but he didn’t look like a trucker either.

“Well, this is a store,” you tell him, sliding the display door closed. “If you’re not gonna buy anything, ain’t no point comin’ in.”

That gets a laugh out of him, smile widening, but his good humor only irritates you. You might not have been busy, but that wasn’t an invitation for him to come wandering around looking for conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded genuine, tamping down his amused tone to something more charming. “I don’t mean to bother you, I just came in because of my brother.”

He gestures vaguely over his shoulder and you lean to the side to look out the dingy window. The parking lot is big, a shared space with the weigh station next door. A few trailers are parked across the way, but the spots closest to your shop are empty, except for one. A beat up old thing, streaked with mud and trailing a bumper that was tenuously held in place, stood a few rows back. Someone may have been in the cab of the old truck, but it was too far away to see.

You turn your eyes back to the man in front of you, frowning again. “Okay, then what’s he want? You said you weren’t buying anything.”

“Well, we’ve been by a few times before. Just stopping in from time to time, you know.”

You supposed this might be true, even though you don’t recognize him, but there weren’t really any regulars out here, so you didn’t bother to remember names or faces. He stops to give you a look that you think is supposed to be charming, but you’re at the edge of your patience already. He’s not spending money, so you’re not getting paid to stand here and listen while he tries to talk you up.

“My brother, now, he’s pretty shy -”

Here we go, you think, crossing your arms and glaring. Of course it’s all an elaborate set up, probably to ask for your number. It’s not the worst excuse you’ve heard, and it’s a good deal more polite than you’re used to, but there’s no way you’re sending this guy away with anything but a firm no.

“- so he didn’t want to come in himself, but he’s got quite a crush on you, and -”

“No.”

He stops, tilting his head to the side and looking at you with a confused smile that borders on annoyed. “‘No’ what?”

“You can’t have my number, or know when my shift ends, and I don’t want your number - or your ‘brother’s’.”

The smile slides from his face, straight into a nasty glare, face twisting with anger. It makes you pause for a moment, a trickle of fear running through the back of your mind, but there is a little bit of satisfaction at seeing the arrogant look wiped off his face.

He stands up, taking his elbow off the counter.

“Alright, fine.” He spits the words at you, turning back towards the door.

You watch him stalk away, a little bit of relief flooding you, but it doesn’t last for long. Halfway to the door, he stops, raising both hands as if in surrender, and slowly turns back to face you. He gives you a forced smile, taking a few steps towards the counter.

“Alright, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” he starts, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Why don’t we start over, huh?”

“Sure.” Your voice is sour, arms crossed over your chest and eyes glaring, but he continues despite your obvious frustration.

“My name is Bo,” he says, putting obvious effort into keeping his tone friendly. “Nice to meet you.”

You bite out your first name in return, quick and short, hoping to get this over with and send the creep on his way. His forced smile doesn’t waver, plastered over his face like a mask.

“Now, like I was saying, my brother is a little shy,” Bo repeats, his demeanor slowly becoming more calm as he speaks. “But I noticed Vincent makin’ eyes at you whenever we came by, so I thought I’d come in and put in a good word for him.”

You stare at him for a moment, letting the silence linger between you to make sure that he’s done with his pitch. Bo returns your stare, tensed shoulders betraying the irritation that lurked under the friendly veneer he had put up.

“Alright. Good word duly noted,” you reply, voice even. “That all?”

He stares at you, face slack with confusion at first, but you see the spark of anger light up his eyes when your words finally hit him. When he turns around, throwing the shop door open on his way out, it’s not the reaction you had expected. It was an abrupt end to the unpleasant conversation, but you couldn’t say that you weren’t happy to finally have the man out of the store.

-

Working the morning shift means you’re not out of the store until late afternoon, the cool fall sky already going dark, and by then all thoughts of the encounter were out of your mind. You hadn’t been fortunate enough to snag a ride home, so no car waits for you in the parking lot, and the walk home is the only thing you’re thinking of when you leave. It wasn’t a dangerous area, exactly, but a cheap convenience store just off the interstate wasn’t a good place to be caught off guard, either.

The parking lot exits onto a small paved road, more of an alley that branches off from the main street. On the far side there is a larger path closer to the interstate, usually lined with parked trailers, and the weigh station in the distance is the only source of light once you leave the first row of spots outside the shop. You head towards the little road, eyes on the ground as you walk the familiar path, and you wouldn’t have noticed him at all if it weren’t for the sudden spark of headlights ahead of you.

An old truck is parked at the edge of the lot, lurking in the darkness just outside the exit onto the road. The engine rumbles loudly when it’s started, headlights burning white in the shadows and your attention is immediately pulled towards it. The door jerks open, a figure leaning half out of the truck, and you frown when you recognize who it is.

You need to walk past the vehicle to get to the road, so you firmly plant your eyes on the ground, hoping to slide around it and stay out of the headlights. Even if he does spot you, you reason, the jacket and hood you’ve slung over your work clothes might be enough to keep him from recognizing you.

The truck is leaking exhaust and your eyes water as you approach, raising a hand to rub at them. Your gaze leaves the ground for only a moment, but they land on the figure now coming around the front of the truck. He lifts a hand in greeting and you huff, annoyed to see that he had, indeed, noticed you. You look at him from the corner of your eyes as you pass, trying to avoid meeting his eyes. Had he been waiting for you? It couldn’t have been a coincidence that he was lingering outside as you left, but you didn’t recall seeing him after that morning.

“Hey!”

The sudden shout startles you and, against your better judgement, you look up at him in surprise. There is a smile on his face, friendly and charming, just as he had been when he had introduced himself.

You give him a half nod, feeling awkward that your attempt to ignore him hadn’t worked out, and turn to leave, picking up the pace as you walk away. The feeling of eyes on your back makes your skin crawl, but you don’t turn around.

Footsteps, loud and fast, follow you along the cracked pavement. The sound makes your muscles tense, a spot on the back of your head tingling where you imagine his eyes are focused, and your heart beats faster the closer they get.

You turn at the last second, facing him with a scowl on your face.

“Are you following me?”

He smiles. It probably should make you scared, but through the adrenaline you’re just irritated, seeing the annoyingly smug look he’s fixing you with.

“Sorry, just tryin’ to get your attention,” he replies, stopping a few feet away and putting his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to apologize, you know, for earlier.”

You find your frustration with this man growing by the second. The brief encounter you had had this morning was hardly on your mind hours later, so you couldn’t see why he was so determined to not only bother you even more, but to keep bringing up his past rudeness.

“Yeah, alright,” you agree with a sigh, already starting to turn away. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, that’s kind of you,” he says, stepping to the side and keeping himself in front of you. “But I feel real bad about it, and I’d like to make it up to you.”

Your eyes narrow and you feel yourself go from irritated to pissed before he’s even finished saying the words. How persistent could one man be when you were very obviously not interested?

“Can you please fuck off?” You can see that the sudden venom in your voice catches him off guard. “How creepy is it to follow someone around a dark parking lot trying to hit on them after they’ve already said no?”

It takes him a moment to think up a reply, but you can see the outrage on his face.

“Hey,” he snaps back, all the friendliness gone from his voice and his face red from anger. “Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself, I already told you it’s my brother -”

You cut him off with a mocking laugh, watching as his face reddened further. Maybe he was angry or maybe he was embarrassed at being called out, but you don’t want to spend anymore of your day talking to him.

“Yeah, whatever you say.”

The parking lot is big and dark, but somehow you feel safer walking into its shadows than trying to pass by the old truck parked next to the exit. You’ll take the long way around to avoid him, you decide, mentally mapping out your path. The median between the pavement and the road was uneven and overgrown, but you would risk slipping in the underbrush if it meant you could go in the opposite direction from him.

The familiar sound of footsteps, heavy, angry breathing and the metallic pop of a car door all reach your ears at once. You’re grabbed by the arm, too fast for you to even think of resisting, too fast for you to even turn and face the man behind you. He has you overwhelmed in a fraction of a second, taking control of your body’s movements and wrenching your arms behind your back with a practiced ease.

You cry out, a confused noise that you don’t mean to let out, trying to spin your head around far enough to see him over your shoulder. A rough shove forces your arm further into an awkward position, a sharp white pain seizing up your shoulder, but you can’t wiggle away.

“You should have been nice,” the man snarls into your ear, hot breath on the side of your face. “Would have turned out better for you that way.”

He sounds almost excited.

You hear him, but the words don’t sink in fully. The pain in your arm is too much to comprehend anything else, but your mind still recognizes the threat.

“Lot of fucking help you were!”

The words are shouted into your ear and you’re confused for a moment, before you realize that they weren’t directed at you. He turns and you’re forced to shuffle around in front of him, the pressure on your shoulder searing down your side.

The passenger door of the old truck has been thrown open, but you hardly have time to realize that before someone is in front of you. A large, cold hand is pressed to your face, palm against your cheek, fingers curling around the messy bits of hair that now stick to your sweaty face. You try to jerk back, but there’s nowhere to go with your arm still held in a vice grip behind you.

Your face is level with their chest, lanky black hair and a worn jacket all that you can see of them. The hand on your face cups your cheek in a too familiar way and you can sense that they are leaning over you, shoulders hunched to keep you blocked in.

“Hurry up and get ‘em in the truck, Vincent.” The other man hisses, pushing you forward and into the chest of the one in front of you.

The push jolts you forward, the arm behind you numb with pain. A cold, heavy spark of panic lands in your stomach. You do not want to get into that truck, but two sets of hands are forcing you towards it. With a gasp you suck in a quick breath, letting it out as a piercing scream. You twist between them, as much as you can with your arm locked in place. They’re startled for just a second, but it’s all the time you need.

You kick backwards with one foot, missing the first time but connecting with something on the next try, a harsh grunt of pain echoing in your ear. You can feel him buckle slightly, the grip on your arm going slack, the relief from the pressure building in your shoulder almost makes you dizzy. Hands grab at your clothing, trying to keep you under control, but you fight against their hold, letting out another breathless scream. Swaying on your feet, you lunge to the side, towards the dark, open expanse of pavement, knowing that all it would take is a few seconds to make it back into sight of the store.

When you find yourself on your back, blinking up at the sky and a worried, uncannily lifeless face hovering over you, it doesn’t register at first how you got there. Your vision spins and slowly a throbbing pain starts up in your head. The man above you pats your face, making low whines under his breath, and you weakly bat his hands away.

“All this fuckin’ trouble,” you hear the other man spit out, a deep anger in his voice. “I shoulda made you do this shit yourself, Vincent.”

[caseybanning]

Loose Ends

(Light spoilers for Ambition: Nemesis 140-160 but not in great detail)

"--Obviously I wasn't daft enough to take up his word," Casey balked before taking a sip from their wineglass. Their voice is just loud enough to compete with the dinner crowd around them. "Regardless, I still had to reply with something, so I had agreed to his wretched little deal. My instincts were right about him though and knew he couldn't follow through, so I had to track him down." They paused, staring down at their dinner plate. "If I could go back to my younger self and tell them to get as much as they can in writing, signed, a lot of things probably would've been so different."

"Mhm," Mary mused. She'd been keen to let Casey continue prattling on through this whole evening, curiously barely saying much in return and instead kept quiet with supper and drink. There was a lull in the conversation, and Casey glanced nervously to their aunt. Mary has occupied herself with spreading a pat of butter on a mushroom roll, still faintly steaming from the basket.

"The holiday in Port Carnelian was nice, by the way," Casey says. "... I guess holiday isn't too accurate though, since we're on the subject of business. It was partly a business trip but the rest of my time there was in leisure once I got what I needed taken care of there. Roland enjoyed it as well."

"And how is he getting on these days? Roland." Mary picks up her fork, a cube of potato speared onto it's tines.

"Splendidly." Casey says. "We are thinking of taking another holiday soon when we're able. I have to stick around here a bit longer yet and make sure that Tallulah is in tip-top shape for the season. There's already a growing list of potential renters that want to take her out." A thoughtful pause. A woman's tinkling laugh cuts through the conversations around them from the other side of the restaurant. "Do you ever stop to think why we refer to ships as "she"? For all the hangups my parents still have about trying to see and understand me as I am, I'm sure they don't give it much thought to refer to a boat by a peculiar pronoun instead of just 'it'." They remark.

From the corner of the restaurant, a gentle piano melody begins and they both pause to listen. "Bach, I think," Casey muses after listening to the first few bars.

"They'll come around, or they won't." Mary says bleakly, swiping her napkin against the corner of her mouth. Casey gives her a considerate look and sighs.

"I can hope for sooner." They reply. "All in time, I suppose. Whenever that may be."

The candles on the table flicker and they both watch, enjoying the pause in the conversation before Casey starts up again. "Oh, did you hear about that new musical down at Mahogany Hall? Roland and I were going to obtain tickets for next week. Susannah may be coming with us, and we can bring you along." Their knife and form glint in the candlelight as they start cutting into a piece of meat.

Mary grimaces and looks up, her chin jutted out almost defiantly as she stares them down. "What are you doing?" She asks, a sharpness to her question.

Casey's movements pause. "What do you mean?" They ask, their voice light.

"You do this when something is wrong," She says, talking over Casey's quiet words of protest ("I do not.") "--where you just start filling the silence with whatever comes to mind. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Casey insists. "...Well, there is something that I wanted to ask you later, maybe after we've enjoyed most of our meal... but it's not necessary right now."

"Something to ask me?" Mary asks, unconvinced. Her arms are crossed across her chest, brows high up on her face. "I mean, why wait?"

Casey folds up their napkin and sets it aside. "It's business," They reply in a steady voice. "Boring, dreadful, will later involve some paperwork that I know the both of us will hate..." They glance up to meet her expression, which has cooled from quiet anger to open confusion, so they continue. "I wanted to sell the townhouse."

Mary's teeth clench together behind her closed lips, the tips of her fingers digging even more into her arms as she tries to keep herself still. Casey doesn't seem to notice. "If you were interested in buying it," They explain further. "I don't want to sell it to just anyone, or leave you to contend with some other landlord that would bind you to a more gruesome contract. I want to sell it to you."

The candles simmer. A screeching scrape of a knife is heard from the next table over.  Casey's hands lace together on the table as they lean closer, but Mary hardly seems to even breathe. "You've practically lived there longer even than I," They explain. "You've maintained it well, it's in a good location for your activities... you could re-sell it, rent it, live here in perpetuity, whatever you'd desire. I don't need revenue from it." They shrug. "I've been thinking about it for quite a while, actually--"

"Casey," Mary finally replies, her voice low, and each word out of her mouth keeps a deliberate, targeted rhythm: "What are you doing."

"Trying to sell you a house." Casey replies just as strongly.

"Like hell that's what you're doing," She hisses back. "You think that's what's happening here? That I'm going to just sit here and accept that for what it is? I've known you since you were about five minutes old," Casey shifts in their seat and looks down. "I've seen you at every lowest moment in your life and tried to keep you from the brink each and every time, I know something is wrong, so what trouble are you in?!" She shouts. The conversations around their table freeze, briefly. "Just because you've given this careful thought doesn't mean that you're trying to, what, lie up loose ends? Are you dying?"

"No." Casey's voice is quiet. They're not able to look her in the face now.

"Good," She continues. "Dying young is overrated."

"And I'm not planning on it--" Casey starts to explain, watching their aunt exhale out of the corner of their eye. "--but in the event that, maybe--" Mary's jaw drops, indignant, but Casey presses on. "--in the event that something truly dire were to happen, the townhouse is in your name in my will anyway."

The piano melody changes--Vivaldi, providing a baroque upbeat background to the death glare Mary is giving Casey at that exact moment. She huffs angrily and adjusts her glasses. "It's useless to try to stop you, whatever you're actually planning that would spur this decision." She says. "I just need you to understand, it's--you--disappeared for a month." Her voice is raw. "Or years ago when you went off to the Iron Republic, or--hell, when you left Vincent and we already thought the worst!" Casey opens their mouth to speak but Mary cuts them off again. "Why do you keep doing this?!" She demands. "Why do you keep... why are you so driven--why does it seem like you are so determined to run headfirst into the things that are likely to kill you someday?"

A sever whisks by with a tray and pauses for the smallest moment at their table, her mouth open in a question. One look at their expressions and she gives a considerate nod. "I'll come back later," She nods again, quickly moving on to the next table. Casey closes their eyes, the tips of their fingers fiddling idly along the edge of their flatware. Mary glances at their hands and could see picked-at cuticles, red and sore. Their brows are tensed, and the candlelight only exaggerates the small lines that have begun to crease at the corners of their eyes these last couple years. Casey looks at her, the cheery mask finally fallen away into something softer. Vulnerable.

"I can't tell you here," They finally reply. "Not with..." Their voice trails off and they gesture outward to the restaurant. "...I promise, I'll tell you everything that I can, just not here. Not right now."

--

Hours later, the wall clock in Mary's parlour chimes in the silence. Neither of them seem to want to look at each other, with Mary's arms crossed and her gaze stuck on something outside the window. Casey leans forward in their seat with a sigh, rubbing their hand over their weary face.

"Does anyone else know about this?" Mary finally asks. "The... with the Masters?"

"Roland." Casey replies numbly. "Anyone else who had worked with them to accomplish it. Whoever is left, anyway. You, now."

Mary turns her body more toward them but can't look up just yet, instead now fixing her eyes to a spot on the floor. "I was able to find help at the University for something previously thought impossible," Casey continues. "You know how I couldn't recall anything from the month I was gone?... There was someone I found that was able to conduct an experiment to aid in giving some of those memories back. Normally with irrigo they're gone forever, but not in this case. It's not enough though, I need more context for them." A beat. "That's truly why Roland I went to Port Carnelian."

"What comes after?" Mary asks.

The clock ticks. Casey brushes their hand back through their hair and sighs. "Honestly... I don't know." They admit to her, their voice quiet. "I don't know how much farther this goes from here. There are two obvious ways that this ends, but it's the getting there that needs planning. Right now I'm occupied with tidying up things in case, well..."

"You die." Mary says. "Or worse, if you're caught. That's what you've been saying. How about a third: you just stop here?" Mary splays her hands out. "Do what you need to in order to understand your memories, but you can just stop here. James' death was an incredible tragedy, Casey. But there is no reason for you to risk running after him." She says.

"They ruin lives." Casey says, venom in their words. "Steal cities, watch them be destroyed over and over, constantly rebuild on top of the rubble like it's nothing, try to carry on as if it's normal, and step on our backs if it would get them as if it can get them a bit higher on the Chain. At this point, it is no longer just about James."

"Why do you need to do this, though?" Mary asks. "Why is it you? Why not someone else? If this... conspiracy with the Masters goes farther, you're not going to be able to succeed alone."

"In my research it became understood that there are other families that have been impacted by this conspiracy," Casey explains, crossing their arms. They drag the toe of their shoe along the woodgrain in the floor. "As for why no one else has made an attempt like this... I'm not sure about that either. We know that the Revolutionaries, if they can ever come up with a coherent plan, want to do something in the name of the greater good but by any means necessary. Trying to keep as many people out means less overall damage to innocents."

Mary is quiet for a long while, just looking at Casey from her chair.

"I don't want to bury you," She finally says. "I don't want to send whatever is left of you to the Tomb Colonies. I don't want to live the rest of my life wondering where you've gone if you're captured and made to disappear. Sell me the house when you come back alive. That's my counter-offer: that you must come back alive. And then we can celebrate."

"It's a deal," Casey says quietly.

[fly-pow-bye]

DuckTales 2017 - “The Lost Harp of Mervana!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow

Written by: Colleen Evanson

Storyboard by: Vincent Aparo, Kristen Gish, Victoria Harris

Directed by: Tanner Johnson

I am being trustworthy with this one.

In the season opener, Huey managed to find a diary filled with the missing treasures Isabella Finch couldn't find, and with the help of her wisdom, he's going to guide the rest of the family to find each one of them. Scrooge lets the others know that this search for an item in Isabella Finch's journal of lost treasures is specifically Huey's quest. This is supposed to be Huey's season, after all; one was about Dewey's quest to find his mother, two was about Louie's quest for more money, and three is all about Huey trying to follow in the footsteps of Finch; the Uncle Scrooge of even Uncle Scrooge as revealed in that episode. No relation.

This episode specifically has him do a speech on the titular Lost Harp of Mervana, Mervana being a place that was lost to the sea, much like Atlantis. He's doing a really good job at being an adventurer already, as he's even mimicking Scrooge's long-winded monologues, as much as Scrooge doesn't like it when people call them that.

Even Scrooge can’t help himself with his love of long winded explanations of lost items and joins in on the description, giving details about how the people of Mervana were legendary creatures that were half fish and half man, and could walk on land and swim in water. They try to make him look like a crazy old man along with his crazy young nephew, even if this is pretty normal for him. It’s pretty normal for Huey too, to be honest; the only thing unusual is that it’s not the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook he’s reading from.

Webby is far more intrigued by the mere mention of half man, half fish creatures, even if the creature he was holding a picture of didn’t look anything like the kind of creatures Webby was thinking of. She can't wait to see them on this new adventure!

Louie doesn’t exactly have a positive outlook on this adventure, though, as he immediately assumes whatever they find is going to attempt to kill them in some way. Seinfeld always finds a girlfriend he’ll eventually disgust, the Three’s Company will always find a misunderstanding, and Huey Dewey and Louie will eventually end up in some sort of mysterious or historic peril.

Louie even pulls out a running tally of all the times each of them were offered as a sacrifice. Dewey’s especially proud of his record, as his tallies go far below everyone else's. He's the wacky one, and he's going to remain the wacky one throughout this episode. In fact, while some episodes, everyone has a role. The important ones are that Louie is the skeptic who always thinks the worst of the situation, while Webby is the positive thinker who thinks nothing can possibly go wrong. This may be one of the rare moments where Webby is clearly in the wrong, as I can't imagine anything otherwise would lead to a good episode.

Eventually, Webby gets the chance to say the M word that Huey and Scrooge specifically avoided, as a bunch of them swim on by. Even Louie appears to be impressed; it isn’t every day where someone sees a mermaid swim with such grace. While Zeus is more like the original myths, these are indeed Disneyfied mermaids: half duck, half fish, and no willingness to drag people into the ocean to drown them. We already had the Kelpies for that.

Not impressed at all is Della, who decides to activate the torpedoes, because she has ichthyophobia. I am not aware if they ever brought up her hatred of sealife before; it seems like something she would have forgotten after being stranded on a rock that almost definitely doesn’t have them. Those torpedoes aren’t even mentioned again; it’s just a way for them to have a cold open and to reinforce how much Della hates them fishies.

But hey, it's a cold open to the full opening this time. Hooray, I thought we would never see it this season. It's here we find out all the Della scenes are in the shortened version; they didn't bother adding her in any of the other shots. Is it a sign that this is going to be a rarity?

The two introduce themselves as Aletheia and Vero. They’re all about truth, and, as they hint in their introductions, their names even mean truth in Greek and Latin, respectively. They also describe Mervana as a place without suffering, a place where one can find their inner truth, and a place where material belongings can be gotten rid of in the name of peaceful harmony. Scrooge isn’t too happy about any of those aspects, and that’s going to be a theme in this episode.

Not everyone shares Scrooge's lack of enthuiasm, though Louie has good reason to believe otherwise. Meeting all of these mermaids in this cave between the deep blue sea and their destination is basically her dream for Webby, and one of the first lines she says while exploring this new place cements it.

Webby: Look at this stuff! Isn't it neat?

No, not in a sing-songy way, though I'm sure most would read it that way. That reference was almost as blatant as that "rescued" pun from the previous episode.

As they reach Mervana in their quest to make their collection a little more complete, Aletheia decides to tell the visitors the story of how Mervana ended up under the sea, as shown with a stone wall with pictures on it. Generations ago, these mermaids used to spend time equally between the land and the sea, until King Honestus, another mermaid named after a word for truth, decided the troubles of the land were too much for his people. He left to find his own truth, only to never return. According to legend, he became one with the ocean. The mermaids of Mervana continue their quest to find their inner truth in honor of him, in the hopes that one day, he will return. Not sure where becoming “one with the ocean” would mean he could return, but it's the legend they believe in anyway.

Louie expresses his opinion on this story in the most subtle way possible.

Louie: Something’s fishy here.

Surprised that line didn't come sooner, to be honest. Webby tries to convince him that this must be his dream world because everything is free, but he responds that it’s too perfect. Forget all of the trust, he assumes that King is going to come back to eat him, and they don’t know anything about a harp. Mrs. Beakley drowns out Louie with some bongo playing, telling him that the mermaids are harmless. Webby knows this must be proof: there's no way her Granny would ever lie.

Louie offers a different sort of proof: a cave behind a waterfall saying “do not enter.” Of course, they don't obey that; Louie definitely needs to find out if those mermaids are mermurderers, and Webby follows to find out how wrong he must be to come up with such a pun.

There is a B plot here: the rest of the family are going to join in on the truth searching, starting with an arts and crafts session where they make fins that represent their inner truth. Huey tries to convince Scrooge that joining in on that would lead to the mermaids letting out their secrets, including one about that Harp, and he reluctantly agrees. Scrooge tries to do this with the least effort possible, clearly showing how little he wants to participate. It ties in pretty well with the A plot, as people may look for clues for either Louie or Webby's interpretation on what these mermaids are really up to. The truth may lie somewhere in the middle, or maybe it's somewhere completely different.

How are the kids doing on that cave trip? Well, they did hear some mysterious singing that implied that some girl is "fibbing, fibbing, fibbing", which must mean there's something weird and mysterious.

While that may have been something related to the harp, the weird and mysterious something turned out to be a giant fish monster. If one looks closely, they can see that the monster wears a crown, giving some credence to Louie's theory that the king is just going to return to have duck soup, but neither Louie nor Webby can pay attention long enough to notice it.

Thankfully, they're saved by Mrs. Beakley, who managed to go from the bongo corner of Mervana to deep within a cave with a giant monster without them noticing. I'm sure "because she's Mrs. Beakley" is a good enough excuse.

Webby desperately tries to hang on to her belief that the mermaids aren’t people with gills that want to kill, saying that they must be thinking that they’re telling the truth, but they just don’t know. Her 100% positivity clashes with Louie’s 100% negativity, and that’s the crux of the A plot. It may seem like we would have Mrs. Beakley as the mediator, but she tells Webby that this is definitely some sort of mixup and that the mermaids are definitely people to be trusted.

Or, maybe not, as, once she tells Webby to take the lead, she picks up Louie and tells him she doesn't trust the mermaids either, while Louie raises his hands with victory. She says this for reasons she doesn’t really reveal, though it wouldn’t be a stretch if it was similar to Louie’s. Her conflict is that she doesn’t want her granddaughter to know about any of this suspicion, because this would completely ruin her positive attitude. I would assume any unknown danger that she just decided to let her granddaughter deal with by herself would ruin it, but maybe she's just that trusting of her abilities.

While the kids are having a cave story, the fin story is going about what one would expect. Dewey paints Hot Rod flames on his, Huey draws the Junior Woodchuck logo, and Scrooge just has a dollar sign clearly scribbled in a few seconds. He really wants to get to that harp, but until Scrooge can find his true self, the mermaids won't give them the knowledge they seek. The A plot's about Louie and Webby, and the B plot is mostly about Scrooge, and Huey, who was the focus in the intro, is just kind of there for the rest of the episode. In his own season!

There is one thing unexpected: Donald Duck, of all people, managed to find his peaceful soul with his rainbow colored fins and meditative pose, which impresses Aletheia and Vero. While this would be far from his inner truth, this does make sense: as this is a place without suffering, this can certainly change Donald Duck's way of life, who’s life was always followed by his bad luck. If one ever wanted to hear Donald Duck say "namaste," this is their episode.

Dewey wants to use his Hot Rod Fins to let his mother know that fish are totally awesome. Unfortunately, this does not do anything to cure his mother's hatred and/or disgust of fish. Dewey showing off his fin like Homer Simpson showing off his new chainsaw and hockey mask isn’t helping anyone, though we don't get to see her reaction beyond her gagging at the sight of one of her sons with those disgusting fish fins. This C plot honestly doesn’t need much discussion because it doesn’t really heed it. This is not to say it won't converge with the others, but, one will see.

Getting back to a plot that matters, after climbing a bunch of stairs, as Louie complained about the lack of escalators in these ancient place, Louie, Webby, and Mrs. Beakley go to the room that happens to have what they were looking for...

...the Lost Harp of Mervana, who was under a blanket. It is suggested that other people have tried to find out, but couldn't get past that giant monster. The harp is actually part mermaid, part person, part harp, which really makes Webby happy. As a person, she can talk and sing, as it turns out that she was the one who was mysteriously chanting "fibbing, fibbing, fibbing" this whole time. She never gets to play herself, though.

The Harp of Mervana seems to involuntarily sing if someone is "corr-eeeeect" or if they're "fibbing, fibbing, fibbing", and this is shown with her singing "corr-eeeeect" when Louie talks about how those stairs were a mess. There’s a subtle hint already of how this could play out just with that stairs quip; while the stairs were a mess that needed to be repaired, Louie was just saying that because he doesn’t like climbing so many stairs. With this ability to show the truth, Webby can finally prove to her housemate and Granny that there's nothing sinister under the sea.

Of course, the harp tells them that wouldn't be the truth if there was nothing sinister under the sea. They ask what the real story is, and she decides not to tell them. See, since she's a harp, she's going to sing it instead.

We know this is the real story because this is told via flashback rather than via a stone wall. To make a long story short, Mervana sank because he simply decided the sea was way less of a bummer than having to repair what’s on the land. Namely, the decaying tower. This led to the buildings sinking, and the mermaids decided to stay in the sea for the rest of their lives.

This turns out to be a bad thing, because their ability to turn their legs into fins has a horrible side effect if prolonged for too long. This is connected to that monster from earlier. I debated whether I should spoil this plot point, since the monster's design does hint at it to the point where it's kind of obvious with that 4-shot up there, but Louie treats the revelation as a complete surprise, so I'll try to be slightly vague about it. I'm not saying I'm going to hide it well.

Mrs. Beakley tries to comfort her granddaughter, who is starting to lose her positive attitude with all of this knowledge, but having a living lie detector in the room helps about as much as Dewey talking like a maniac in that previous scene. Honestly, even the show forgets about that scene; Dewey just appears in Mervana the next time we get back to it. Anyway, she tries to tell Webby some comforting lies, like...

Mrs. Beakley: I believe there's a little good in everyone...

Harp of Mervana: She's fibbing, fibbing, fibbing!

Mrs. Beakley: I believe people are trying to be good...

Harp of Mervana: She's fibbing, fibbing, fibbing!

Is she saying that everyone having a little good in them is a fib, or that Mrs. Beakley doesn’t actually believe that everyone has a little bit of good in them? Maybe I’m overthinking it, as it is probably the latter, but I do like how it could be the former, too.

But enough granddaughter-grandmother talk about the morality of telling comforting lies, Louie says that they need to get the Harp back to the Mervanans, or they will die. To Louie's dismay, the Harp finds no fib in that claim.

Let's let a short cutback to the C-plot hint towards why that would be, where Della decides that, because she's Della Duck and nothing should stop her so easily. Unfortunately, that crowned monster happened to be swimming nearby, showing that he has escaped the cave. I guess that monster must have known a shortcut past Mervana.

With either interpretation of the harp's claim that Mrs. Beakley was fibbing about people being trustworthy, Mrs. Beakley was lying to her granddaughter. Her positive attitude is gone, and she has to be dragged down by Louie. Mrs. Beakley grabs the harp, and rather easily too, to the surprise of even the harp.

Harp of Mervana: You’re very strong!

Mrs. Beakley: ...correct!

Nice reversal, though I can see that Mrs. Beakley is above mimicking her “corr-eeeect!”

This all leads to a climactic showdown between the monster and Clan McDuck, as the mermaid's spirit is broken merely by the former's presence. That leads to about a minute of moping until Louie convinces them to fight back by "embracing their inner truth". Even he seems to fight back against this by uttering an "ugh" before that line. This also convinces Webby, too; I'm glad that plot is resolved in a relatively decent matter.

There's some pretty neat scenes with this encounter, though I feel like they do skip around a bit. Donald Duck is convinced to drop his relaxation act so he can fight this monster in his usual way, and the next scene has him cowering with the others with no real connection. While I won't say what this monster is, though I can imagine anyone could guess, I will say who deals the final blow to this monster.

...Della, who suddenly decided to get out of the submarine and swim all the way to this beach! See, those scenes where she had a fear of fish had a point after all: it's to show that she can get over her fear of fish. Not sure if I could say she got over her hatred; she is delighted with kicking this monster she knew nothing about.

Of course, there's more to it than that, but I got to leave something out. Watch the episode to find out, but I will say it is a satisfying ending.

How does it stack up?

The episode itself does have some interesting twists and turns, but I wouldn't say it's among the series' best. All in all, it's pretty good. I'll give this one a 4.

Next, Louie's about to start a scheme. Oh, and Daisy Duck’s there, too.

← Double-O-Duck in You Only Crash Twice! 🦆 Louie's Eleven! →

[fnaficsfordays]

When Dawn Breaks...

Chapter 7

Previous chapter, Next chapter

AO3 Link

Word Count: 2103

Michael sighed as he sat in the car seat, hands still resting on the wheel. Twisting the keys, the engine came to a halt, the chain dangling on his fingers for a moment. Shoving them into his pocket, he opened the door, getting out and making his way towards the sidewalk. The sky was devoid of any moon, the sidewalk barely lit by the twinkling stars far above. But he still found his way to the swinging doors easily, pushing it open.

However, as soon as he took a step inside, he paused. Something was… off. He could hear a familiar pair of voices from down the hallway, coming from the first office.

“-can’t call them. The police could never do a thing in a place like this- they have no power here.”

“But there’s only a few minutes before they’ll be active. What if this was actually from them? Maybe they’re already up and this is another victim!”

“I know. That’s the most plausible, and it’s probably true. But if we can wait for the others to arrive, then we can make a definite decision.”

“Decision about what?” Michael finally got to the doorway, poking his head in. Inside were Scott and Jeremy, the latter flinching as he spotted him. “What happened now?”

Jeremy glanced at Scott for a moment, gulping. “Should I say?”

“I’ll do it.” He sighed. “There’s a trail of blood that seems to lead from this office and deeper into the pizzeria.”

“Wait, what?” Scott stepped to the side, revealing, indeed, a thin, scarlet drip of blood that started from just within the left doorway, stretching into the darkness beyond.

“I discovered this when I arrived, about twenty minutes ago.” He scratched his mask. “I shined the light, and as far as I could see, it keeps on going through the hallway. I’m not sure where it ends… but I wasn’t willing to try and explore until everyone else arrived.”

“I still don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jeremy muttered. “The animatronics are going to wake up at any moment, and I don’t want to be stuck in the darkness with them.”

Michael bit his lip. “I’d have to agree with that… waiting it out is probably the best we can do right now. Vincent’s not here yet?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.” Scott replied. “We’re not able to tell where the blood trail leads through the cameras either, since it’s still very dark. We haven’t even tried going to our office.”

“We thought about calling the police too… but with this business, it’s… really not worth the effort.”

“Duly noted.” Michael glanced around. “So… I suppose we’ll all just stay in here?”

“That’s the plan.” Scott nodded. “Perhaps, when the shift ends, we’ll turn on all the lights in the building and follow the trail… but for now, we’ll wait it out in this single office.”

Vincent’s going to have a field day with this. He didn’t say the thought out loud, but he felt the smile tug at the corners of his mouth. His antics were the whole reason that they’d separated into the two offices, hadn’t it been?

But when the clock finally showed 12 AM, no grinning purple face had come sauntering down the hallway. No silvery eyes sparkling with madness, no lazy voice coming through the doorway, nothing.

“We’d better get ready for anything.” Scott said grimly. “If all that blood was actually caused by the animatronics… chances are they’ll be more aggressive.”

“Vincent’s still not here yet.” Michael muttered.

“He’ll show up when he does. But for now, we need to focus on ourselves.”

He sighed as he picked up the monitor, sitting on the desk as he started to flick through the cameras. Jeremy took the chair, while Scott remained standing, leaning against the wall. Michael shifted on the desk, the silence foreboding as the minutes ticked by. There was still no sign of Vincent, nothing at all… despite the fact that he’d always done shifts in this office, it felt strangely uncomfortable and crowded without him.

Great, Michael, now you’d rather spend time around a convicted murderer instead of two normal, sane people. The pizzeria’s really done a number on your own mind, huh?

He shook away the nagging thought. Vincent was far from just a murderer. He’d been thinking about what he’d told him last Friday, about his traumatic childhood all weekend. Even if he wasn’t bothered by it… part of Michael felt a touch of sympathy.

“Do you… think he might have done it?”

The sudden whisper from Jeremy broke the silence, Michael glancing up. “What?”

He nodded at the line of blood. “I mean… we can’t tell by the cameras, and… he hasn’t shown up, so… maybe this is from another victim?”

“Well… that would make sense.” Scott muttered. “Perhaps he just got sloppy and forgot to clean up.”

Jeremy shuddered. “I don’t think I ever want to head back down there if he’s started killing again-”

“No.”

Both of them looked at Michael with a surprised expression- well, he assumed it was a surprised expression underneath Scott’s mask too. “W-what?”

“I don’t think…” He sighed. “It just wouldn’t really make sense for him to start killing again after so long.”

“Really?” Scott said. “You know how he is in the head-”

“I do, but…” Michael bit his lip. “I thought he was actually kind of… getting better, for a while. I know he got convicted for murders, but… he hasn't actually harmed anyone ever since that single incident. He stopped bringing in knives, the drawer’s been completely empty the last time I checked, and he just… seemed more calm.”

A tense silence befell them after his last words, Michael still keeping his eyes fixed on the tiles. The hours went by slower than ever, mingled worry and guilt settling over his head.

He had been honest, hadn’t he…? He didn’t think that Vincent would suddenly start acting up again. The past few weeks of shifts had been oddly calm. Still with the usual pranks and banter, but somehow… mellowed out. Almost as if he was regaining a ghost of his sanity. He hadn’t realized how much he’d filled up the atmosphere during all the shifts- always so relaxed and mischievous, even if he was a bit mental as well. Michael hadn’t ever thought he would miss the touch of madness he always brought, and yet… he’d take any jokes about the trail of blood from his grinning purple face at the moment.

“Did they have that bad of a memory that they needed a trail to not get lost?”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he imagined it. Of course, he’d have such disturbing and cynical things to say… but he would welcome it, especially in a job like this.

He was jolted out of the thoughts by the door shutting on a metal face. Michael glanced up at the clock. Only 3:27? It felt like the sun should have been fully up already.

Vincent. That was the answer to why the shift was crawling by so slowly.

He tried to pass by the hours with the monitor, but it was all but impossible. It was too tense, too strange. He didn’t even look back at the clock again, only waiting for the bell to chime and the lights to turn on. Where’s the insanity when you need it, huh?

Ding!

Finally. Michael snapped his head up, slowly watching the lights come to life outside the office, flooding the hallways. He slipped off the desk, watching Scott raise the shut doors.

“Here we go.” Michael sighed, stepping through the doorway.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” Jeremy muttered.

“I’ll be right behind you. Just keep moving.” Scott stated.

As he first glanced at the trail, he could see it stretching through the whole hallway. “Okay… it goes pretty far.”

“H-how far?”

“It goes past the whole hallway.” Michael started to walk next to it, stepping around the scarlet liquid. It wasn’t just a trail- he could see it smeared along the path, vague handprints splattered into the blood. It only widened as they followed it, turning through the hallway.

Suddenly, he halted, eyebrows knitting in confusion as he turned the corner. “Wait… what the hell?”

“What is it?”

“There’s a… flower in the blood.”

It sat there innocuously, the deep blue petals shining with the scarlet liquid. Michael bent down next to the limp blossom. He reached for it for a moment, before drawing his hand back.

“Seriously?” Scott walked up next to him. “What’s a flower doing here?”

“No idea… it could have dropped from their pocket I guess, but… there’s no stem, and-”

“W-wait, guys?” Jeremy stuttered, pointing further down the hall. Michael glanced up, following his hand. There, the blood veered underneath a shut door.

“That’s our office.” He whispered. “Oh god…”

“And there’s more flowers along it out here.” Michael was walking towards the door, glancing at the trail. “What even…”

“Wait, check the window first.” Scott said. “In case if they’re inside.”

Michael nodded, turning away from the flowers as his gaze finally fell through the pane of glass-

He froze. He could feel his heart stop for a solid minute as he saw where the trail stopped. It was smeared even more, running toward the desk, more flowers speckled with the scarlet liquid… but he barely cared about that, as he stared at what lay beneath the desk.

A body laid there, a hand slick with blood fallen on the tiles.

But even the blood couldn’t cover up the purple skin underneath.

No.

The world blurred as that thought rang out in his head, hand finally reaching for the door handle, shoving it open as his legs finally moved, running towards the desk, heart hammering as he collapsed to the floor, not noticing the red stains getting on his clothes, he didn’t care, all that mattered was- was-

He choked on a cry as he saw him, laying there, silver eyes shut, limp in the shadows of the desk, flowers scattered around his corpse, the blood was cold, his hands were so stiff and light, he tried to blink away the tears that were beginning to fall, hoping to see something else than what was laying in front of him, but no matter how hard he tried-

It was him. It was still him.

Michael barely noticed someone wrapping their hands around him, dragging him away, talking in his ear. “Michael- Michael, wait- you need to calm down for a moment, hold on-”

“He- he’s right there-”

“I know, I know- breathe for a second, Michael, come on.” Scott’s voice was gentle but firm. “You need to get up for a moment, just keep breathing, Jeremy’s calling the police, just come on.”

“I can’t-”

“There’s nothing we can do. Come on, keep breathing, it’s going to be fine. Everything will be fine.”

He gulped, still breathing heavily, choking on the lump in his throat. He would have collapsed back onto the ground if Scott hadn’t maintained his grip, holding his trembling body. His heart was still ringing out in his ears, vision still blurry as he pulled him away, backing slowly out of the room.

“T-they’re on their way, Scott-”

“Good. Come on, let’s go ahead and wait outside, they’ll be able to meet us there. Michael?”

“I-I don’t think he can hear you, I think he’s in a shock…”

“Michael, can you hear me?”

He finally raised his head a bit, giving a small nod.

“Okay, I’m going to let go of you. Can you stand?”

Another small nod.

“Alright, just keep looking forward. It’s going to be okay.”

He finally felt the arms release, wobbling for a moment as he leaned against the wall. “I-”

“It will be fine, I promise.” Scott said. “Come on, keep walking. We’re right here.”

Slowly, carefully, they started to make their way down the hallway, Michael still looking at the floor. The blood trail kept forcing its way into his line of sight, making the images ring out in his head.

“Keep going. You’ve got this.”

But he didn’t have it, he could feel his vision starting to slip away, the thoughts crowding his mind with each step. His limp body, the smears of blood, his cold hands, the flowers…

It was one thought too much as his body caved in to the shock, legs buckling underneath his next step as he fell to the floor, not even feeling the tiles before the world around him went dark.

[silver-wield]

Found a few more ficlets I thought I posted, but apparently didn't, unless tumblr ate them.

The biting cold wasn't much better inside the cave than out climbing the cliff face. The glacier was a hard task for the most experienced climbers and, Cloud and his friends weren't even close to that. So far, they owed a lot of their progress to luck, trust and teamwork. The flags left by former climbers, along with the odd frozen corpse warning them of what could happen if they lagged or lost faith.

It was hard on everyone. Aerith promised everything would be all right before she walked into the light, but mysterious words and a vague reassuring smile only took them so far. They needed something more to carry them the rest of the way to Sephiroth's hiding place.

"Aiya, why is it so cold!? Where's the fire materia!? Who's got it!? Hand it over!" Yuffie's complaining echoed through the cave, causing giant stalactites to tremor.

"Shh!" Barret put a finger to his lips, raising his eyes upward.

"Did you just shush me!?" Yuffie stomped her foot.

"Shut yer pie hole, Lassie. We don't wanna die."

"You're a robot, what you worried about?" Yuffie stuck her tongue out at Cait Sith.

"Yuffie, please," Tifa murmured, frowning. "We don't want to make things more unstable than they already are." She pointed up.

Yuffie pulled a sheepish expression. "Oops," she whispered.

"Oops," Vincent echoed in a bland voice.

Cloud hid a smile and looked around. "Could probably cut through that pathway over there," he said, nodding towards a snaking path that weaved upwards. It looked treacherous and slippery. They'd have to literally cut into the ground to give them something to grip onto.

"And just how d'you propose we keep our feet from going ass over head?" Cid questioned, pausing to blow on his gloved hands. "We ain't wearing skates."

Cloud frowned. "We'll cut a path," he explained, right hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

"Sounds risky to me," Barret replied. "If a loud noise makes those wobble like a bowl full o' jello, then what's hacking the ground gonna do?"

Cloud’s eyes narrowed, he wanted to get moving, not stand around talking. "You think a giant icicle'll get the best of me?" No way.

Tifa stepped forward as Barret opened his mouth to protest further. "How about we use the right tools?" She held up a hooked wall hammer and smiled.

Cloud ducked his head and smiled. "Right. The right tools for the right job." He'd been too hasty for no reason. He held his hand out for it.

Tifa tilted her head to the side and walked past him. "If we're worried about disturbing the area then someone lighter should go."

A dart of panic hit him in the chest. Familiar words, a similar situation. Wasn't it? "Maybe Red should look for a safer path."

"Hmm?" Red XIII stepped forward, flame on his tail flickering and casting a glow against the cave walls.

"Huh? Now we're not in a rush?" Yuffie looked from Cloud to Tifa.

"No, we are." Tifa shook her head. "Let's get this done quick." She shot everyone a reassuring smile and stepped forward.

"Tifa-" Cloud bit back his protests. "Be careful."

Tifa nodded. "No probs."

~*~*~

The first few strikes to break up the glassy surface went well. Tifa paused after each one, waited for the ominous shaking overhead to still, then struck again.

As a back up, Cloud still sent Red, Cait Sith and Vincent along another path to see if it looped around to where they needed to go.

"Slow and steady, T, you got this!"

Yuffie's quiet cheerleading set Cloud's teeth on edge. He opened his mouth several times to tell her to shut up, then stopped. She wasn't hurting anyone and was in fact helping keep Tifa motivated. His muscles still clenched like he was the one doing the job. The urge to hover and watch her back was strong. He knew she could handle herself and the danger was minimal.

"There." Tifa sat back and wiped her brow. "I think that's enough." She turned and gave everyone a thumbs up.

"Good job, girl," Barret said, nodding. He slapped Cloud on the back. "See? Ain't nothing to worry about." He followed up with a victory fanfare.

Cloud's eyes widened. He was already moving as the echoing crack died down. "Watch out!"

Tifa's eyes widened and she looked up as though in slow motion.

Snatching her by the hand, Cloud pulled Tifa out of the way as a giant icicle crashed into the ground where she'd been standing. "You okay!?"

"Shit, Tifa!" Barret took a step forward, then stopped. "Oh shit!"

The ground crumbled.

Everyone leapt towards the walls as a hole opened up.

"Whose dumbass idea was this!?" Cid dug his spear into a wall and grabbed Yuffie's wrist, as Barret leapt to a ledge and clung one handed.

Cloud and Tifa backed up towards the pathway. "Damnit."

"Is everyone all right?" Tifa let go of Cloud's hand and took a step forward. Her foot slipped and she gasped.

"Tifa!" Cloud dove for her as she slid towards the edge of the hole. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he spun them around and drew his sword.

"Cloud! Tifa!" Yuffie stretched a hand towards them as they fell.

"Shit! Toss 'em a goddamn line!" Cid fumbled for the rope attached to his waist.

Cloud slammed his sword into the wall and it cut into the icy surface, slowing their descent. He grunted with effort and felt his grip slip. The buster sword looked dingy reflected in the glacier. The blade hadn't dug in enough. It was sliding. It groaned with effort along with Cloud.

"I can't reach!" Tifa clung to him with one arm and stretched as Cid threw the end of the rope. As she swung out she lost her grip. "Cloud!"

"No!" Cloud let go of the sword and dropped.

~*~*~

Everything hurt, but something warm and soft brushed against his face. Cloud grimaced and opened his eyes. "Tifa?" She looked upset.

"Oh, Cloud." She looked ready to cry. The tight hug took him by surprise.

"What's wrong?"

"You're bleeding...and...you were mumbling."

What did I say? He put his hand to his head and drew it back. His vision blurred. Blood? Just like-? Pain lanced his skull.

"Cloud?" Tifa drew back and looked at him with concern. "What can I do?"

The soft look in her eyes calmed the ache. Words slipped past his lips without being filtered. "Stop falling."

"Huh?" She tipped her head to the side.

He pulled her back into his embrace and repeated the statement. "Stop falling." It hurt too much. He couldn't bear to see it. Not if he couldn't catch her. Still not good enough.

"Sorry. I'll try not to worry you so much."

Her arms around his shoulders felt nice. As did the soft puff of her breath near his ear that disturbed his hair. He could stay like this forever with Tifa beside him. Cloud closed his eyes and breathed deep. "Tifa-"

The sound of grit and ice particles sent him into hyper awareness. His eyes shot open and he was rising to meet the potential threat, pushing Tifa behind him with one hand and reaching for his sword with the other. His hand gripped air. "Shit." The buster sword was lodged somewhere high out of reach. He'd lost it. I was supposed to look after it. Another pain in his head had him gasping in pain.

"You're still alive, then." Vincent landed in front of them and the buster sword hit the ground soon after. "This yours?"

"Yeah." His answer didn't sound sure to his ears, but he shoo his head and dismissed it.

"You're bleeding."

"Yeah." He dug in his pocket for a potion.

Tifa picked up his sword and held it out. "Cloud, maybe we should find a weaponsmith soon?"

He frowned and shook his head. "It's fine." Looking around, he tried to get his bearings. "How'd you find us, and where are Cait Sith and Red?"

"We split up. They're helping the others."

He nodded. "Guess we should find a route." His gaze went to Tifa and his brows rose. "Something wrong?"

She didn't react, the slowly shook her head. "No, it's fine." As she walked past him towards a path Vincent uncovered, Cloud couldn't help but wonder if those words sounded as fake as when he said them.

[slippinmickeys]

Release Valve (5/10): Gone

Scully sat back in the waiting room chair with eyes closed, her head thunking on the wall behind her. Her clothes were now dry, but stiff from evaporated rain water. She was getting blisters on both heels. Exhaustion warred with adrenaline after-burn, her limbs felt heavy and jittery at the same time. She didn’t want to look at her watch.

Explaining to Marcie Vincent’s parents and doctor why they shouldn’t remove the chip— if that’s what it was—had gone about as well as could be expected, which is to say not well at all. They were in a wary truce, now, the chip staying where it was and all parties desperate for the girl to wake up and give them some answers.

Mulder lowered himself into the chair next to her with a popping of joints. She cracked an eye to see him holding out a cup of steaming coffee, which she gratefully accepted. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

“We’re going to need to leave through the back when we go,” he finally said, sounding as tired as she felt. “There’s press starting to accumulate out front.”

“And the hits just keep on coming,” said Scully, her voice sounding gravelly to her own ears.

Isaacs approached them. “Agents?” She said to them, “I just spoke with the Sheriff. He’s going to leave a deputy stationed outside Marcie’s room in case the kidnapper comes back.” “He’s thinking this was a kidnapping?” Mulder asked. “You’re not?” Asked Isaacs. “The car that dropped her—“

Mulder held up a hand. “Someone had her,” he said, “we can all agree on that. But I don’t see any evidence that suggests kidnapping.” “Yes, sir,” said Isaacs. Scully narrowed her eyes at the young woman. At Quantico, Isaacs had always had an instinct for dissecting what was going on in a case, in all her classes – not just Scully’s – every instructor Scully had talked to had said the same thing. It’s what reminded her the most of Mulder and why she thought she’d be an asset to the X-Files. Their unit’s cases were bizarre and solving them required both instinct and an ability to see things tangentially. “What do you think is going on here, Agent Issacs?” She asked her. Isaacs looked at her thoughtfully. “I agree with Agent Mulder,” she answered. “The lack of any ransom demand, the rape kit, the fact that there was no apparent evidence of an abduction, all point away from kidnapping. I think Marcie Vincent snuck out of her house to meet with Vanessa Glassie. But I’m bumping on the medical evidence. I’m bumping on the weird shit I’ve seen, and the fact that she was dumped by what was clearly a human being, and not some succubus Cajun wives tale,” Mulder raised his eyebrows at that. “Something happened to her out there. Something weird. But something human.” Mulder grinned at the younger agent, then looked to Scully. “She reminds me of you,” he said. “And I was going to say the same to you,” Scully replied. “Then I think we picked right, Scully,” Mulder stood and clapped his hands together. “Isaacs, ask the Sheriff to meet us out at the Vincent property tomorrow afternoon, and to have the hospital call us if there’s a change in Marcie’s condition. I think we all need to get a little shut-eye.”

Mulder leaned in to look at the ground underneath Marcie Vincent’s second floor bedroom window. There was a trellis running along the entire side of the house -- it would have been easy for a nimble teenage kid to climb down it. The dirt outside was soft – it showed every impression. It was clear from the recent rain. “This is where you found footprints in Marcie’s size after she disappeared?” He asked the Sheriff. The Sheriff had his thumbs tucked into his service belt, which creaked as he leaned back. “Yep,” he said, “headed straight for the woods. There’s a path back there, but the dogs lost the scent not far into it.” “Where does the path lead?” “All over. They got ATV’s, some other recreational vehicles, they got paths all over the property.” Mulder turned to Stone. “Stone, do you still have the printout of the sat map I sent you?” Stone pulled it out of the inside of his jacket pocket. Mulder shook out the map onto the hood of his rental car, and the Sheriff meandered over. “The path where the dogs lost her scent,” he said, “can you show me on here about where that would be?” The Sheriff pointed to an area of the map toward where the ghost lights were photographed, where Vanessa Glassie had slipped away from her friends. It was also where Marcie Vincent was supposed to meet her the night she disappeared. “As the crow flies, about how far is it from the Vincent property to where the Glassie girl slipped off?” “A few miles at the most.” “Walkable?”

“Not something I’d want to do at night,” said the Sheriff. “What about if she had an ATV? That might be how the dogs lost her.” “Now that’s something,” said the Sheriff, blowing out a breath. “Agents?” Mulder said, and Scully, Stone and Isaacs came over to take a look. He had a finger on the map at about where the dogs had lost Marcie’s scent and finger on the area of the swamp where the kids had been out partying with the will-o’-the-wisp. “Stone, you got a pen?” Mulder asked him. Stone nodded and pulled one out. “Connect the dots,” Mulder said, and Stone drew a straight line between Mulder’s two fingers. Isaacs let out a low whistle. “Oh shit,” said Stone looking at each of the other agents in turn. The line went directly through the building they’d found. XxXxXxXxX “It goes right through the building,” Stone said, not able to keep the awe out of his voice. “What is this building?” the Sheriff asked, confused. “That one,” Mulder said, tapping on the map, thunking loudly on the hood of the car under it. The Sheriff squinted over the map. “What the hell,” he said, “there’s not supposed to be anything out there.” “Sheriff,” Mulder said, folding up the map, “did your team do an inventory with the Vincents to see if any of their ATVs or other vehicles are missing?” The Sheriff shook his head.

“The shed where they keep them is on the clear other end of the property, we didn’t even think to look.” “Will you get in touch with the Vincents and see if we can’t check that?” “Right away,” the Sheriff said, already pulling the walkie-talkie off his shoulder and moving off toward his cruiser. “We need to take a look at that building, see if we can get a warrant,” Mulder said to the other agents. Isaacs nodded and pulled out her phone, stepping away. “Even if you do get a warrant, there’s no way we can get into that building,” Stone said, “it has no entrances.” “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Mulder said. The Sheriff came back to the group then, his walkie still in his hand. “Marcie Vincent is awake,” he said. XxXxXxXxX They crowded around the teenager’s bed, her parents on either side, each holding a hand. The girl was pale, her lips still blue. “Her color’s better,” said Scully softly. Mulder couldn’t tell a difference. Mrs. Vincent looked at Scully but didn’t say anything. Scully’s insistence on not removing the foreign body in the girl’s neck had made her persona non grata. “She’s in and out,” Mr. Vincent said, looking at Mulder. “We’ll wait in the hall,” Mulder said. Twenty minutes later two nurses and the girl’s doctor came walking quickly down the hallway and entered her room. All of the FBI agents stood, Mulder held up a hand to them and leaned in the doorway. The girl was moaning softly, the doctor shining a light into her eyes and talking to her. “Marcie, do you know what day it is? Do you know where you are?” Marcie mumbled something that Mulder couldn’t hear. The doctor came over after a few minutes. “You can ask her some questions,” he said, looking at them levelly, “but she’s pretty out of it. You may not get much.” Mulder nodded and they all entered the room. Mulder went up to the girl’s side and the other three held back, milling by the door. “Marcie, my name is Fox Mulder, I’m an agent with the FBI. Can you hear me?” She mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative noise, so he kept going. “Do you know where you’ve been this last week?” She shook her head infinitesimally. She still hadn’t opened her eyes. “Were you on your way to meet with Vanessa?” He asked. She gave a small nod. “What happened that night?” Mulder asked. Her eyes shot open then, and her mother startled, jumping back from the bedside. “The lights,” she said, looking directly at Mulder, her eyes wide and bloodshot, “the lights!” She repeated herself with conviction. Then she sunk back, her eyes slipping closed, once again out of consciousness. XxXxXxXxX

Mulder flipped his phone closed, turning to the other agents. They were sitting around the same corner booth at the diner they’d eaten at the previous evening, though it seemed a lot longer ago than that. “The Sheriff said the hired hand at the Vincent property checked the ATV pole barn, and one is missing.” “So you’re thinking Marcie snuck one out and had it waiting for her in the woods the night she disappeared?” Scully asked him. Mulder nodded. “It’s what I would have done,” Isaacs said, taking a swig from the bottle in front of her. They’d all let the FBI spring for a beer, needing to disengage a bit. “Did you sneak out a lot?” Stone asked Isaacs, his eyes bright, intrigued. “Taking the Fifth,” said Isaacs, trying to smother a smile. Mulder leaned his shoulder into Scully, enjoying the camaraderie. “I want to get back out to that building,” Mulder said, “maybe tonight.” Stone looked at Mulder, holding up a finger in mock seriousness. “I reject your suggestion,” he said, turning to Isaacs, “and would like to hear more about Isaacs’ misspent youth.” They were all chuckling at that, when a man approached their table, putting a quick damper on the mood. “Agents,” he said, “Trevor Tremblay, Vermilion News-Review. Is it true Marcie Vincent was returned with her body entirely drained of blood?” Journalists. Mulder could have decked the guy. Scully spoke up. “If her body had been entirely drained of blood, she would be deceased. She is alive. That much has already been released to the media, sir.” “Was it the fi follet?” He asked, shoving a small recorder under Scully’s nose, “Did she say?” Now Mulder really did want to deck the guy. He put a hand out and moved the recorder about a foot away from Scully. “We have no further comment at this time,” he said.

“Sounds like a yes,” said Tremblay.

“No comment.” Tremblay smirked, pocketing his recording device and walked away. “Was that man bothering you?” The waitress asked as she came to the table to clear it. Mulder shook his head, the felicity of minutes before drained and washed away. “Can we get the check please?” He asked. XxXxXxXxX No warrant had come through – Isaacs having been told by the DA that they weren’t even sure what to put on it – so they decided to wait until morning to head out to the government building Isaacs and Stone had found. The Sheriff and Deputy McLaren accompanied them. “I need to see this with my own eyes,” the Sheriff had said to them. When they emerged from the tree line after having left their vehicles, a low haze hung over the horizon and the sky seemed darker. After a few minutes, Scully touched Mulder’s arm. “Is that…” She said, “Do you smell smoke?” Mulder grew alert and jogged up the small rise ahead. “Shit,” he said, as the other agents and officers climbed up behind him. There was a plume of dark smoke coming from the direction they were headed. The building was on fire. XxXxXxXxX

Mulder sprinted down the rise and through the field toward the blaze though he knew it was too late. Any evidence that had been there was long gone or burned. The people responsible one step ahead of them, as always. “God damn it!” Scully and the other agents and deputies jogged up behind him. The tall one, McLaren, was bending over with his hands on his knees, out of breath. Mulder whirled on Isaacs and Stone. “Tell me everything you saw here. Describe it in detail. Everything!” The agents looked at him in alarm. “Mulder,” Scully said gently, putting a hand on his arm. “No,” Isaacs said confidently, “I get it.” She walked over to Mulder and started pointing, describing everything she could remember in meticulous detail. “And the fence,” Stone said, after she’d finished. He used his fingers for air quotes. “’US Government Property No Trespassing.’ The fence is gone.” Mulder turned to Scully. “We need to get back to the hospital. Now. If they’re cleaning up evidence…” He didn’t need to finish the thought. He and Scully had seen this too many times before. Scully turned to the Sheriff and asked him to check in with his deputy stationed outside Marcie Vincent’s room. The deputy reported back an all-clear. The Sheriff and McLaren stayed back to manage the blaze while the agents trudged back toward civilization, a veil of foreboding clinging to them like smoke. XxXxXxXxX

They were the worse for wear when they finally lumbered once again through the hospital hallway. Deputy Miller gave them a small wave from his chair outside the girl’s room. Her doctor came walking down the hallway toward them, his face set grimly. “Agents,” he said, “I appreciate that you’re trying to do your job, but I’m having a hard time doing mine. Marcie is not going to get better without rest – if you’re in here every few hours, that’s just not going to happen.” “What do you mean ‘every few hours?’” Mulder asked. “We haven’t been in here since yesterday.” The doctor looked questioningly toward Miller. “What about the agent that was in here this morning?” “What agent?” Mulder asked. Miller looked confused. “The other agent,” the deputy said, “the one you sent over this morning?” “I haven’t sent over any other agents,” Mulder said, opening up the door to Marcie’s room. It was empty. “Where’s Marcie?” He asked. “Deputy Miller, where’s Marcie?” Miller’s confusion turned to fright. He popped up out of his chair so fast it tipped over. “She’s—she’s having another test,” he said, looking from Mulder to the doctor. “The nurse came and the other FBI agent escorted her…” “I haven’t ordered any other tests,” the doctor said, paling. Mulder took off at run toward the hospital entrance, Scully, Stone and Isaacs on his heels. Nothing. He grabbed the security guard posted at the door. He flashed a quick badge.

“Was there a patient transport out this door?”

“No, sir!”

“Take me to the security office. Now!” They hustled down several hallways and one staircase. When they turned a corner there was another security guard yanking on the door handle. He turned to them, sheepish. “Went to the john and got locked out,” he said, weakly. “Daryl won’t let me in.” The guard who’d been escorting Mulder, Scully and company pulled out a key ring from his belt and quickly unlocked the security office door. The door opened a crack and then wouldn’t budge. It was being blocked. The guard, Mulder and Stone all put a shoulder into it at once and it flew open. The door had been blocked by the body of Daryl – a clean gunshot through the center of his forehead. The security monitors were all turned off and the videotape decks were empty. Gone. Everything. Gone.

[today-we-will-survive]

Group Project pt. 2

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.6K

Requested: kind of by @a-romantic16 😂

It’s really hard to keep a straight face when you—along with forty other students—are watching yourself, blown up twenty sizes and attempting/failing to act. You really didn’t think you were doing that bad of a job the day you were filming, though maybe you were doing a lot better before Taehyung had the brilliant idea to add one(1) frikin adorable camera operator into the mix. Now you watch in horror as you deliver your lines with a trembling voice, your eyes wide with nerves. What a disaster.

“I can’t take this anymore,” your voice echoes through the amphitheater-style room. Why did your professor have to borrow this room when your normal, much smaller, much less theater-like room would have sufficed?

“No, please, Janet, don’t leave me,” Jungkook says dramatically and grabs a hold of your wrist when you stiffly turn away from him. “Please give me a chance to explain.”

The you on the screen shakes her head and looks back briefly. “I’m done listening to you talk, Vincent. I’m tired of hearing your voice.”

“Then I won’t try to convince you with my words,” Jungkook says just before tugging hard, causing you to stumble into him with a squeal—which definitely wasn’t scripted—your hand landing on his chest. “Let me try something else.”

Oh God. You cover your eyes with your hands, letting out a groan that’s luckily drowned out by the dramatic music that swells when you and Jungkook kiss on screen. With a slight shift of one finger, you peak out from behind your hands only to have your eyes assaulted by the most awkward, cringe-worthy five seconds of your extremely short acting career. So short, in fact, that this kiss feels like it’s taken up the majority of it. Why did Taehyung feel the need to put a scene in like this? Why did he cast you—someone with absolutely no acting experience whatsoever—for this project that was supposed to be focusing on lighting? LIGHTING!!!! THAT’S IT!!! He could have made a music video! Or a time-lapse of his frikin cat! Why did he feel the need to try and get dramatic? But most importantly, whyyyyyyyyy did you agree to do it? At least when you did agree, it was supposed to just be you. It was supposed to be a simple monologue, but of course, he had to throw that out the window—along with your last bit of dignity—and bring Jungkook in.

Your face heats up anew when the music fades and the credits roll noiselessly up the projector screen. The silence in the room is too thick making the sound of your heart pounding in your ears that much louder. Surely, everyone else can hear it.

When at last the screen blackens completely, a smattering of applause fills the darkness and then the lights come back on. A quick, pleading, glance at your watch tells you that class actually ended two minutes ago and, well, you need to find a hole to go crawl and die in so before anyone has a chance to say a word, you grab your bag off the chair beside you and dart out the door, glad that you decided to sit so close to the back.

The halls aren’t all that crowded, this being a building with only a few classes that get out at this time, and for that, you’re grateful.

This seems like a good enough place to die of embarrassment, you think when you turn the corner and find yourself in a deserted hallway. With a sigh, you sink down against the wall, letting your bag drop beside you and put your forehead on your knees.

Calm down, Y/N. Maybe it wasn’t actually as bad as you think it was. After all, people did applaud at the end. Though maybe they were just applauding because the torture of having to sit through it was finally over.

“Oh no,” you utter again as you relive the absolute mortification of having to kiss this boy that you’ve had a crush on since the beginning of the semester—repeatedly, you might add, before Taehyung was finally satisfied with the scene—then having to sit there while your peers watched.

“Y/N?”

Your head lifts so fast, the back of it hits the wall and you wince at the sudden pain. When you peel your eyelids open, you immediately want to close them again because standing in front of you is the exact last person you want to see right now.

“Jungkook,” you crack. “Hi.”

“I blinked and you were gone. Are you alright?” he asks, his forehead creasing with concern.

You make your way clumsily to your feet and brush the back of your jeans off. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Never better.”

He quirks an eyebrow.

“Alright,” you say with a heavy sigh. “I’m completely mortified.”

“I don’t think it was terrible,” he shrugs. “I mean, not the worst film I’ve ever seen.”

“Why, because you were in it?” you ask.

“No,” he utters and digs his hands into his pockets. “Maybe because you were.”

Oof what? You’re so caught off guard by that response that you can only stare dumbly at him as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “I mean, it could have been worse,” he continues. “At least Taehyung didn’t cast himself in that role.”

“I bet he would have done a better job than I did,” you reply shifting from one foot to the other.

“Yeah but I’d rather kiss you than him any day.”

Again, what? Your heart falters and somehow you manage to trip even though you’re standing still. “Really?” you ask.

Jungkook’s mouth lifts into a grin and when his lips part, you catch a glimpse of those adorable bunny teeth and somehow your heart begins to beat even faster. He nods shyly and you see his cheeks tinge pinkish.

“Actually,” he says. “I’m glad I was able to find you. You ran out of the room so fast, I thought I’d have to wait till Monday.”

“Wait for what?”

Jungkook steps a bit closer, his head tilting downward so he’s looking at his shifting feet. “Well, it feels kind of weird that we’ve kissed so many times—”

“Ugh, so many times,” you groan pressing your hand over your one eye.

“I thought, maybe, I should ask you on a proper date. You know, maybe that way you wouldn’t feel like you’re having war flashbacks every time you see me.”

Your other hand comes up to cover your other eye and you groan again. “Please, God, let me die,” you say and Jungkook laughs.

“Was I really that bad?” he asks you.

You slide your palms down your face and look at him. His mouth is quirked upward but his own eyes are turned down a bit. Almost disappointed.

“No, no,” you say quickly. “It wasn’t you, Jungkook. I promise. It was the whole…situation. Reading cringey lines, trying to act in front of a camera, calling you Vincent, was not the way I imagined my first kiss with you would be.”

Now the smile reaches his eyes. “You’ve imagined our first kiss?” he asks.

You feel the color drain from your face at the realization of what you just confessed. “Oh no,” you whisper. “No no no no no.” You turn away and start walking slowly down the hall, leaving him staring after you as you continue muttering to yourself.

“No, please, Janet, don’t leave me!” Jungkook calls.

You stop and turn around again to face him, your hands still pressed to your burning cheeks. “You did not,” you say.

“I figured it would get you to stop,” he says and starts walking toward you. “I have an idea.”

At this point you’re basically floating above yourself watching this whole terrible scene unfold. “What?”

He steps even closer. “How about we redo it.”

“Redo it?”

Jungkook bites his bottom lip, glancing down at your own mouth before meeting your eyes again. “Our first kiss.”

“Our first kiss?”

“Is there an echo in here?”

You release your face at last with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess right now,” you say. “I just feel like this whole day has been surreal.”

“Can I help make it a bit better?” Jungkook asks stepping closer still. There’s only about a foot between the two of you now and for some reason, you’re having a hard time figuring out what brought the two of you to this moment.  

He brings a hand up and traces the shell of your ear with a fingertip before settling his palm against your cheek. “Is this okay?” Jungkook asks, his breath fanning across your skin.

His hand is warm on your face and for a second that’s all you can focus on. That and how close his lips are to yours. You look up to meet his own gaze, his dark lashes framing those eyes that are too sparkly to be just reflecting the fluorescents in the hall, irises so dark they look like literal miniature galaxies. You’d get lost in them if not for how close his mouth is to your own. It takes a second longer for your soul to return to your body and you carefully reach up, gripping his shirt at his sides with trembling fingers before at last giving a small nod.

Jungkook’s own breath hitches and you watch the tip of his tongue swipe across his bottom lip before he closes the space between you.