#iswm family au

[ghiertor-the-gigapeen]

Part 1

Google and his dad, the universe where captain left

(Yes, google got his glasses from head engineer)

[rebar2042]

Another messed up family AU I think after WKM, Yancy was raised by Celine, and Murdock was raised by the Actor. And both of them failed miserably at parenting.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Visceral Valentines

(Disclaimer: six of the characters in this story belong to me. For more information on R.D., go here. For more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on Azalea, go here. For more information on K.O., go here. For more information on Phoenix, go here. For more information on Parker, go here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if you’d like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

(While Howie is only mentioned here, he still deserves credit because he’s another one of my blorbos. So, go here for more information on him, as well as his buddy Miles.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, murder/death, knives/blades, slight mutilation, descriptions of illegal business, slight mentions of human experimentation, cannibalism, violence, kidnapping/abduction, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The tunnels felt like veins. 

R.D. strolled along one of the raised walkways beside the tracks. The rails were too stagnant to pose a threat. It’d been years since that flood had swept through here and forced abandonment. Still, she liked having a vantage point.

Most subway systems were built with pretty simple layouts. Most maps made them look a lot smaller or shorter than you’d expect. Just a group of straight lines that didn’t even interest all that much. 

This one sprawling beneath the Cove Port Inlets was different. There weren’t many maps of it (as far as most of the city knew, these tunnels barely even existed anymore) but the leader of Caliban’s crowd had managed to get her hands on one of the last old copies. 

Sometime in the past, R.D. had gotten a glimpse of said map. A quick one, but memory could be a perfect weapon depending on A. how you kept it, and B. what you did with it. 

Not only did the picture show just how far the tunnels reached in some places; it showed a network full of crossing and branching and curving. A lot like those circulatory diagrams in textbooks that would be kinda-sorta uncomfortable for someone to find in your house if you didn’t work for any nearby hospitals.

To a point where some parts felt a little less necessary than others. 

But there was some undeniable advantage to be taken with that.

Blood vessels collapsed almost immediately after death. Without circulation, the fluid inside them had to rely on gravity instead of circulation, forced to pool in lower spaces of the body. It was the first phase of the skin’s discoloration. Sometimes it could allow air bubbles to form in the arteries.  

She imagined that it felt like the last dregs of a phantom pulse. Low and drawn-out. Desperate, gurgling whispers that grew more quiet by the second until…

___

The days were still shorter, but the sunsets around here were stubborn. 

Right now, the sky remained somewhat bright. Clouds were gathering up to form a blanket at a slow, steady pace. 

Most of them were tinted a bluish-gray shade (perhaps there’d be a rainstorm sometime later), but thanks to the sinking sun, a section of them were outlined with a warm, orangish-pink glow. Like tangerines on fire.

It really resembled something out of an oil pastel painting. 

Even if R.D. didn’t mind the tunnels, it was still crucial to take in the sky before venturing down there. Otherwise you could end up getting whiplash similar to the type that radiated from casinos and barcades. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” An oily baritone called from the driver’s seat. Murdock raised a leather-gloved hand to adjust the rearview-mirror, tilting it to focus first on his black-tinted shades, and then on the slightly younger man who sat beside R.D. in the back. 

“I’m sure,” K.O. replied, shifting in his seat and fidgeting with the tiny silver hoop adorning his left earlobe. The bruises on his knuckles appeared rather fresh. “This street is on the way to the chopshop, so Howie’s been scoping it out for a week now. And he said that Lookie-Loo just always takes his sweet time.” 

They’d been on the edge of the uptown area for a while now, parked by the side of a particular road. The buildings looming on either side of Murdock’s car weren’t after-hours joints, but that didn’t mean they lacked any secrets. 

If anyone knew anything about hiding stuff in plain sight, it was R.D. 

…And Caliban. 

And his peers, much like the ones who’d been nice enough to pick her up for the next phase of things.

“Thanks again for the help,” R.D. piped up, nodding to the fighter and hitman in turn. 

“No problem!” K.O. smiled, gray-blue eyes sparking as he glanced her way. “Stuff like this can be the best.” 

“Yeah,” Murdock chimed in, spinning the thin chain around his neck between his fingers, turning the circular brass pendant into a blur. “Not like we want to deal with this guy any longer. You’re doing as much of a favor for us here.”

Like any other couple, it wasn’t uncommon for R.D. and Caliban to take turns venting about things that happened in their respective work-spheres. 

From what she’d heard, in recent times The Pentas Family had been dealing with a pest. 

One who had been spotted trying to follow certain members on their way to certain jobs. 

One who just managed to sneak away after he was noticed lingering outside Pentas-owned businesses at odd hours a few times too many. 

One who was slippery in that special, teeth-grindingly aggravating way.  

And yet, despite Pentas reputation with the underground grapevines, neither Caliban nor any of his buddies had been able to learn his name.

So, they called him Lookie-Loo. 

“I still have no idea how you’re keeping Cal off the trail,” Murdock continued as he glanced through the windows. “He’ll pick the smallest details apart to get somewhere. I’ve only ever seen him drop something once, and that was literally just because he almost gave himself an aneurysm in the middle of a job.” 

R.D. paused, thinking back to all the times Caliban had come home late in varying conditions, leaving her to react with concern, or exasperation, or fondness that was hidden behind either of the other two, or, or, or. “Was that due to stress, laughter, or Diet Coke?”

Murdock pursed his lips in consideration. “...A combination of the three, I think? That night was a huge one for the history books, so my memory’s foggy.” 

R.D. hummed and nodded, making a note to try asking Caliban about it sometime later. 

“Seriously, though,” K.O. added, tilting his head to the side. “What’s the secret? Even Aza has trouble hiding stuff from OH SHIT THERE HE IS!” 

All at once the fighter was bouncing in place, clutching at the headrest of Murdock’s seat and pointing through the back window. 

Murdock responded with a squawk, which transitioned into a quick string of more colorful things as he shrugged K.O.’s hand away before his own grasp flew onto the steering wheel. 

R.D. peered through the glass and, sure enough, a stranger was traipsing along the sidewalk, a phone in his hand and buds in his ears. He was a bit on the scruffy side, looking somewhere in between K.O. and Murdock’s ages. He tossed a glance over his shoulder every few seconds—clearly there was some well-earned twitchiness as well. 

Despite the new adrenaline thrumming through the air, R.D. couldn’t help but think about that latest question. 

She remembered leading Caliban back downstairs after finding what he’d set up in her office. She’d given him a few hints; she’d seen that infamous spark of curious, determined energy flare through his eyes, seen his mouth stretch into an eager smile. 

She’d watched as he raced out of the house to follow her directions. 

All that…and he hadn’t given her too much trouble at all.

Sure, he’d had a few joking questions, which she’d been quick to deflect, but he hadn’t launched a search around the house. (...Unless, of course, he’d circled back to do so after she’d left. She really hoped that wasn’t the case, because that would throw at least one wrench into the surprise.)

R.D. would’ve given this more thought, but then things started happening. 

It was hard to look away when K.O. threw his door open, lunged out to hug Lookie-Loo’s waist and drag him inside. 

It was hard to focus on anything other than sliding over to make room for the poor bastard, to stay out of the way when K.O. hauled off with a punch brutal enough to make the guy’s head slam back against the car’s window.

It was hard to hear much aside from the blood rushing through her ears and tires screeching against asphalt as Murdock sped off.

___

Although R.D. made sure to shift her weight as she moved, her footsteps still bounced off the concrete walls and ceiling. 

Old, condemned places like this had a way of just not caring whether you were a raccoon or a refrigerator—if you wandered in areas that most people instinctively knew to avoid, then some noise was gonna follow you. 

Where each of the platforms had an old panel light hanging overhead, the tunnels themselves offered industrial caged lights, protruding from the concrete every ten feet or so.

Many of them never produced any illumination at all, but a handful of them managed. Much like the platforms, the glow was persistent, yet always dim, always flickering and sputtering.

(According to Caliban, The Boss had managed to somehow siphon electricity back into the tunnels. Just enough for her colleagues to not have to feel their way around with their hands while leaving the rails safely dormant, as well as not tip off any of the local companies.)

When you really thought about it, however, that dysfunction came with a few advantages. 

The varying stretches of darkness here and there could be great hiding spots, so long as you held still and stayed quiet. 

They could help make sure an intruder lost their way, whether you had to leave them behind or were luring them into something even worse than whatever they were chasing you for.

And on the other side of the coin…

Those old workhorses on the walls could distort your shadow, make you seem either closer or farther away than you actually were. The blinking could help you practically vanish and pop right up again (providing your reflexes were fast enough).

Tricks like that could be tough to pull off, but if you managed…ooh, that just upped the ante in such an awesome way. 

That was how Caliban saw it. He’d had told R.D. about times like that.

Jobs that had seen him racing along the pavement down here, able to feel his eyes spinning in their sockets due to how the dull flare mixed with the shadows. 

Blood looked pretty much like oil in the darkness, but even the weakest, oldest lights could make it beam.

No matter how much red was there, whether spraying or dripping or leaking, it would still look so deep, so warm, so RICH…

“Hello?”

R.D. halted in her tracks, pressing herself against the wall. 

The voice echoed across old, dead cement and rusted metal. Despite how unfamiliar it was, she still knew the source.

Hell, she’d been expecting to hear it call out at some point, been wondering how close she could potentially get to it. 

___

It could be shockingly easy to smuggle a body into certain places. It just depended on how you handled things. 

Of course, sometimes you just couldn’t afford to divide said body into multiple pieces and then stuff said pieces into luggage or garbage bags or anything else that you’d have to be a special kind of desperate to try keeping after the fact, no matter how thorough you were with scrubbing the stains out. 

Sometimes you couldn’t even afford to have the body qualify as such right then and there. Because, for whatever deranged reason, you needed your victim to keep moving and breathing. For just a little while longer, at least. 

In that case, a crematorium would probably be your best bet. 

And even then, that was a colossal “probably”…unless the crematorium’s manager knew the same things you did. 

Having a weird little friendship with an in-the-know manager didn’t hurt, either. 

“Oh, wow.” Phoenix had been pacing the floor for the past few minutes, but now she hovered by one edge of the table. “Is this what he got for you?”

R.D. paused, looking up from her project. Following the arsonist’s gaze, she discovered a rose lying just a few inches away from the unconscious man’s side. Its white petals were adorned by streaks of violet so dark that they almost looked black. Then again, they grew a bit lighter toward the center.

“Yeah, it is.” She offered a small smile, nodding. “I think they’re called dragon roses.”

There were eleven more of them back home, still in a shiny vase that two boxes had been propped up against. The first was filled with various uncommon types of tea—Jasmine Pearls, Uji Gyokuro, the works. The second held a set of carefully-arranged beakers, flasks, test tubes, and other basic necessities for a chemistry lab.

(“Since you said one guy broke a lot of your old stuff…” Caliban had cheekily explained when he’d found her looking over the presents in her office.)

(Granted, the guy responsible for the breaking had plenty of reasons to put up a fight, considering what R.D. and her team had put him through, as well as what they’d had planned for him next. But hey, he was dead by the time she’d griped to her husband about the encounter, and now she had some fresh replacements, so, yay!)

“Very pretty. Can’t blame you for wanting to keep it close,” Phoenix nodded back. “Y’know, drying techniques are nice and easy. If you really want to make flowers last long, I mean.” 

R.D. hummed. “Maybe.”

How had she taken this one without even realizing? 

She should’ve felt the flower’s stem in her hands, should’ve caught the delicate scent wafting up from its petals—

Scratch that, how had she even held onto it during that car-ride? How did it manage to even make it through the drive in one piece? 

She’d had to help tie some nylon strips around Lookie-Loo’s wrists while he slumped down to the floorpan, eyes glazed-over and drifting shut just as K.O. had tugged a burlap sack over his head.

Well, that nylon had been removed shortly after she’d dragged him down here with Phoenix’s help. He was still out cold, and R.D. needed access to his arms.

(Aforementioned sack was still in place, though, adorned by strips of duct tape that formed a frowny-face with Xs for eyes.)

She readjusted her grip on the scalpel, holding it between her fingers like you would a pencil. 

Crimson beads were coaxed out of his skin as she traced the blade along, mindful to not let it sink too deep. That was the only reason she had to avoid the veins in his wrists. 

He needed to stay alive for a while longer, otherwise this plan was shot.

(Sure, she could still make do, but it wouldn’t work out nearly as nice.)

“Not gonna lie,” Phoenix piped back up, “I was kinda worried he’d wake up right when you started on that.” She resumed her pacing, raising a hand to brush the long, straight black hair over her shoulder.

R.D. shrugged, not taking her focus off of the carving this time. “Well, the back of the head is pretty sensitive. Get hit there hard enough and you could have permanent problems. And he probably has a garbage sleep-schedule, based on the times you guys saw him snooping.” 

Despite how much strength K.O. had used, no blood had been drawn in the car. She couldn’t be sure if Lookie-Loo’s skull had even fractured. The skull was the strongest bone in the body, after all, no matter how vulnerable the brain could still be.

(R.D. made a little note to bring that up with Caliban when the time came. Yes, healthy organs often went for the highest prices on the Black Market, but some sickos out there wouldn’t say no to deformities, whether natural or added-on.)

His chest was still rising and falling, albeit with just enough effort to be concerning to anyone else.

Satisfied enough to give her wrist a break, R.D. stepped back from the table. She caught Phoenix peering at Lookie-Loo, her brow furrowed in the way that suggested you weren’t exactly disturbed by something. No, you just…didn’t really expect that something. 

It made sense; the building this den was hidden under was Scattered Wishes, after all. Dead bodies were typically the norm. Hence why the business was located a good distance away from the rest of the city. (And that was even without the fact that certain bodies were donated by contract killers for disposal rather than grieving families for a send-off.)

“I take it revenue is still steady enough?” R.D. asked with a grin.

“I mean, I’d be lying if I said I’ve never seen a twitching finger here and there,” Phoenix chuckled. “But hey, you can make severed frog legs do that with some salt. Nothing too special.”

“True.” R.D. nodded, then gestured to her handiwork. “What do you think?” 

Phoenix ventured beside her, tilting her head at all the thin, red lacerations forming little shapes that ever-so-slightly leaked onto pale flesh.

“It looks nice,” she answered, the smoke in her dark brown eyes seeming to curl in time with how her smile softened. Her elbow nudged against R.D.’s in a friendly way. “This was a sweet idea.”

R.D. hummed, using a small cloth to wipe the scalpel clean before returning it to the pocket-sized sheath she’d brought along. Much easier to conceal than the case full of her other dissection tools back at the lab. 

This particular idea of “sweet” could’ve been used as damning evidence in a court of law (ironic, considering what Phoenix did for the other half of her work), but it was still great to hear.

A pre-recorded swoosh chimed in, accentuated by the way R.D.’s phone buzzed against the table. She pulled it over to tap at the screen; a message from one Parker Thenope popped up. 

Hey, just sent him out a few minutes ago. Might be taking bets on how long it takes. See ya later! 

R.D. almost jolted in surprise, but she squashed it down. Yeah, she’d wanted the updates to be a bit more on-the-dot, since Caliban could cover a lot of ground with hungry adrenaline.

Then again, Ear Caffeine (as well as the den beneath it) wasn’t all that close to the crematorium above her and Phoenix’s heads.

It’d take some time for Lookie-Loo to get good and lost. 

Phoenix must’ve seen the look on R.D.’s face, because she dutifully crossed the subway-office-turned-den to pull a heavy metal door open.

R.D. took hold of the poor bastard’s wrists and started dragging him off the table. This wound up causing his lower-half to crash against the concrete floor with a dull thump. 

Which, in turn, elicited a low, muffled groan of pain to leak out from beneath the sack-mask.

Both her and her accomplice’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. 

So, in less than a second, R.D. hauled her victim across the threshold. Out on the platform, she let go of his arms, reducing him to a heap on the cold, stony floor. 

A heap that was now being wracked with those full-body twitches that everyone got in their sleep and no-one ever wanted to see on camera. 

“Good luck!” Phoenix whispered, offering a little wave before tugging the door shut again. 

“Thanks!” R.D. replied, barely able to hear herself as she pulled the sack-mask away from her victim’s head and took off down the adjacent tunnel.

___

“Hello?” The voice repeated, putting a little more force behind the word. This did nothing to hide the fact that it was quivering around the edges, which seemed to make it linger in the cold, still air. “Is anyone there?”

R.D. lowered her head, straining her ears. 

There—a faint pattern of light, uncertain thumps against pavement. 

Nervous footsteps. 

They sounded a bit closer than she would’ve liked, but not too close, in the grand scheme of things.

There seemed to be just enough distance to pull him along and leave him behind. 

Her eyes darted every which way, scanning her environment until she discovered a chunk of debris lying just a few feet away. It was half the size of a softball, but it offered a decent amount of weight as she picked it up. 

And then it was a blur, ever-so-slightly arching in the air as she chucked it, crashing down onto the decrepit railway. 

The ensuing chorus was short, but the metallic ClAnKs! felt almost deafening in a place like this.

A startled cry rattled along after it. Then, after a slight pause: “Who’s out there? Can you hear me?!”

R.D. turned on her heel and started sprinting back the way she came. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, but her footsteps still put up some competition. They were much louder than before, and that very intentional. 

“Hey—hey!” The voice cried, its owner picking up his own pace. “Wait, hold on!”

R.D. raced around one corner, her lips quirking.

___

Shf-thump, shf-thump, shf-thump.

The noise was almost too quiet, but R.D. still froze.

A light, strange cadence against concrete. Too small to have been produced by a person, unless maybe they were barefoot and walking on their tippy-toes. 

Shf-thump, shf-thump, shf-thump.

A pale, cat-sized shape trotted out of the shadows up ahead. A Y-shaped nose twitched in an adorable manner as the creature paused to sniff at the ground. 

It was so odd, feeling relief at the same time as a spike in adrenaline. 

Snare had come along as a present to Caliban from his sister, sometime after he and R.D. had moved in together. He was a lot like his owner: weird, carnivorous, prone to shenanigans that were fun to watch and roll your eyes at.

Sure, the hare had technically never been R.D.’s pet, but she had her own little rat-pack for that, and he was still nice to have around. (It’d taken some time for said rats to adjust to him, but by now they liked playing around with him, so that helped.)

He was also a bit of an omen—good or bad, depending on who you were and what you were doing—since wherever he went, Caliban was seldom too far behind…

R.D. took a tiny step back. In that exact second, without her knowledge, her forefinger and thumb tugged at one of the rose’s petals, which broke away with a muted snap.

Not muted enough, considering how Snare’s head popped up, his long, oval-shaped ears twitching, almost standing at attention. He rose up ever-so-slightly, his paws hovering in the air, beady, dark-amber eyes staring over and up at his second most familiar human.  

R.D. stared back, offering a smile. 

“Snare?” A voice called from a distance in the shadows, set in a Midwestern accent with a bit of that edge you could expect to hear from some kind of announcer. R.D. recognized it in less than a heartbeat. “What’s up, buddy?”

Snare glanced over his shoulder at the yawning mouth of the next tunnel behind him, then refocused on R.D..

R.D. raised one hand, pushing a finger to her lips. Shhh…

Snare blinked, tilted his head.

Then he dropped back onto all fours, raising one of his hindlegs to kick at the wall beside him, creating a chorus of dull thuds.

Subsequent footsteps bounced along, growing a bit louder with every second.

R.D. felt her face drop, shaking her head and spreading her arms in a lame gesture at the white hare. Although his face was always hard to read, there wasn’t a single shadow of a doubt that he regretted his actions. 

She turned and started sprinting; the plucked petal fluttered to the ground in her wake.

Just as she reached the opposite end of the tunnel, just as she was vanishing into another batch of shade between lights, she tossed a glance over her shoulder. 

She was just in time to see Snare bound over to where she’d been standing, grab the rose petal between his buck-teeth, and carry it off as he scampered back the way he’d came. 

CRAFTY LITTLE BASTARD..! R.D. thought, equal parts impressed and infuriated as she ran.

Sure enough, not even thirty seconds into her jog, she heard Caliban’s voice again.

“Hey! I see you!” Confused giggles bubbled along his words. “Where do you think you’re going?”

R.D. would’ve liked to shoot back with some of her patented sarcasm, but she also wanted to keep the surprise on track, so she had to bite it down.

She lowered her head, putting on more speed. Her pulse was almost buzzing through her eardrums, so it was a wonder how she picked up on the sound of a similar, one-party stampede somewhere behind her. 

“I know you’re here!” Caliban called again, laughter rushing out of his lungs between each breath. “I’m gonna getcha!” 

If her jaw wasn’t already aching, R.D. would’ve appreciated the irony of how this could almost qualify as a Final Girl’s Circuit. 

Almost. Expect for the career she worked and the things she knew. 

She rounded a corner—another platform was waiting just a few feet away, complete with a steel door that stood a little off the center of the wall.

All the doors down here looked pretty much the same, but she was sure she knew whose den this one led to. 

She skidded to a halt, just barely remembering the code-pattern she’d learned so long ago as she rapped her knuckles against cold, smooth, tarnished metal.

The knob rattled, a compliment to the keening squeal on the part of the hinges as someone pulled it open from the other side.

There was maybe a few inches of space between the door and its frame, but R.D. didn’t hesitate to squeeze through the gap. 

The den was only so much warmer than the tunnels, but you could still feel the difference.

A wooden cabinet stood across the former office, its shelves full to bursting with boxes, jars and bottles that came in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors.

A smaller bookcase was positioned beside it, similarly stuffed with books on cooking, baking, toxic animals, hazardous chemicals and how they affected the human body, stuff like that.

Opposite of that stood a table, which was supporting a glass terrarium, a heat lamp casting an orange-tinted glow over the plants and rocks and driftwood perch inside

A thin passageway loomed off to the side of everything, concrete stairs ascending up into darkness.

R.D. caught movement in her peripheral vision, recognizing a cherry-red headband sitting atop a head of long, silky chestnut hair. 

Azalea Crawford raised an eyebrow at her. A knowing smirk etched its way across her face.

The door rattled with a familiar pattern of knocking. 

Azalea waved a hand toward one particular corner of her den. 

R.D. nodded, sidling over to stand right behind the door. One hand clasped over her mouth before her brain even sent the signal. 

“Yeeeees?” Her sister-in-law asked, tugging the door open once more, creating just enough of a gap to poke her head through. 

“I know she’s in here,” Caliban’s voice replied. It sounded like he was still catching his breath, but helpless chuckles were still leaking out. 

“Who?” Azalea wondered, tilting her head and putting on a mask of obvious over-exaggeration. 

“Aza, c’mon. You KNOW who.” There was some light shuffling from the other side.

“Here, look—” Azalea moved about a couple square-inches to the side, stretching one arm to gesture to the room behind her. “See? There’s nobody here but me.”

Right then, R.D. noticed a long, thin shape coiled around Azalea’s neck like a loose scarf. Scales glistened under the dim light; red, adorned by a pattern of small, bright yellow stripes, each bordered by a strip of black. 

The scarlet kingsnake—Cuddles, a helpful voice in R.D.’s brain clarified—angled her head toward the friend her owner was hiding. A tiny forked tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, her beady black eyes growing curious.

Caliban leaned forward, to the point that R.D. could see the edge of his face past the door, could see the way he squinted in a conspiratory, intentionally overplayed manner. 

But just before he had a chance to glance her way, his sister pressed her free hand against his forehead, making him squawk as she gently pushed him back.

“Seriously, what’s going on?”

Azalea shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

“Yes you do!” Caliban argued, a chortle stretching out the statement. “I know you’re in on whatever this is! Parker said you might give me a hint.”

“Yeah, ‘might.’ That’s not a guarantee,” Azalea snorted.

“Pleeeeaaaase?” 

“Look, when’s the last time you got any hints on a job?”

Caliban sputtered a bit. “Literally every job relies on at least a few hints—” He cut himself off, staying quiet for a few long, merciless seconds. “...Why’d you bring up jobs?” 

“You tell me, Mr. Thrill-of-The-Hunt.” Azalea then gave a brisk shake of her head, along with a sigh that just dripped with false tragedy. “Oh, I’ve said too much already~”

“AAAH! No you haven’t! No you haven’t!” Caliban protested, his voice getting a smidge more high-pitched.

R.D. had to bite her tongue to keep her giggles trapped inside her chest.

“C’mon, Aza! What is it? Tell me, tell me!” More playful shuffling against the door. “Please just help me out with this! I need to know!” 

“I’ve already done my part,” Azalea replied with a smile that almost could’ve been innocent. “My hands are tied now.”

Another pause that felt slower than a tortoise getting drunk off molasses. 

“Yeah, Snare making doe-eyes isn’t gonna work on me,” Azalea announced, though her own eyes went soft and adoring for a second. 

Caliban was probably about to retort, but a different sound beat him to it.

Something more faint, more muffled. 

An echo from somewhere outside. Far off, but not too far when you thought about it. 

R.D. felt her eyes brighten. 

Of course the victim had heard all the noise she and Caliban had made. (Did that mean his blood would be on Snare’s paws?) He was probably more confused now, more scared than before. 

“...What was that?” Caliban asked, his voice tapering down to an excited whisper. 

Azalea shrugged again. “Go see for yourself.” 

More footsteps, cautiously trekking away from the door.

Then they grew faster, quickly fading into the distance. 

Azalea stayed where she was, watching. Once the relative silence had returned, she pushed the door shut, leaning against it. “All clear.” 

R.D. corrected her posture, letting her hand fall away and sighing as if she’d been holding her breath for an hour. “I owe you one.”

Azalea snickered, shaking her head. “No, don’t worry about it.”

“Did you see him while you were out?” R.D. wondered, not meaning her host's brother. “When you snuck the other half over there, I mean.”

“Almost. He tried to follow me, but I took the longer route to shake him.”

R.D. nodded, pacing about the room. She’d go back out in a minute; no way Caliban hadn’t covered some distance already.

“Glad you like the roses,” Azalea chirped, bouncing in place. “It took us a while to find the right seeds. He really wanted them to be fresh.”

R.D. glanced down. Of course the rose was still with her. 

Thank God the thorns had been snipped off. Otherwise, her palm would be a bloody mess right now. 

___

R.D. was back in one of the darker sections when she heard the scream.

Goosebumps prickled over the back of her neck.

Her heart skipped a beat. 

But unlike so many times before, she didn’t have to suppress her smile.

Other noises followed—rushing footsteps, of course. Wild and fast and desperate. Striking old, rusted metal.

Words, too. They blurred together, coming out a mile a minute, loud and ragged and growling around the edges. Laughter broke them up as well, growing more and more sadistic with each breath.

It was hard to make them out, but that didn’t really matter.

The second voice was familiar to R.D.. It’d never stop being familiar. She liked hearing it (even when it was used for making puns and then expressing just a little too much pride for said puns).

More screams tore through the air.

These ones were longer, louder. Echoing back onto themselves thanks to the concrete, filled with palpable pain and raw horror. 

“AUUGH! NO! NO, NO—NOOOOOO!”

Displaced air whooshed nearby—right beside R.D., actually. As if she’d been on the side of a highway and a car had sped past her.

Slightly below the walkway, to be precise. 

One of those caged lights was looming on the wall up ahead. 

It cast something of a halo over the two figures she could now see racing along the tracks.

She watched as one pounced, slamming into the other’s back, forcing him to the ground.

Shadows performed a distorted dance as they stretched over the walls and ceiling. 

One was pushing and squirming, trying and failing to escape from the other while it lunged, clawed, stabbed, BIT.

Despite all the erratic movement, the light still shone against crimson leather.  

R.D. strolled closer, fidgeting with the rose until she came to hover below that light.

She peered down—there was Caliban, working himself into a frenzy.

He pinned Lookie-Loo to the ground. Snapping his teeth, sending viscous little droplets flying as he buried his face into the other man’s shoulder, shaking his head the way a dog would when it ripped an old squeaky toy apart.

(Well. Dogs didn’t always do that to squeaky toys, but it’d probably be better for your mental health to stick with the former allegory, wouldn’t it?) 

A metallic gleam followed his movements. Damascus steel was splattered with red as he raked his favorite meat cleaver across his victim’s abdomen. (Just a few more strong swipes and he could’ve torn the poor bastard’s stomach open like a gutted fish.) 

R.D. lowered herself to sit on the edge of the walking, letting her legs sway a bit. 

Too bad Lookie-Loo was so distracted, kicking and shrieking and sobbing. 

He could’ve seen R.D. and tried to drag himself toward her.

He could’ve tried to shout for her to run, get away, save herself.

He could’ve noticed that she wasn’t at all afraid. 

He could’ve tried begging her for help (and if he was really quick on the uptake, maybe he could’ve realized that he had to beg her to call his attacker off, to please, PLEASE JUST LET HIM GO!).

Snare scampered around the two of them in tight, quick circles. Little stains were already marring the white shade of his fur. He seemed to notice R.D. out of the corner of his eyes, because he paused, glancing up at her.

After coming to the conclusion that his owner was more than a little busy at the moment, the hare hopped up onto the walkway. From there, he trotted over to R.D., nudging at her elbow, eyes sparkling. 

R.D. gave his long ears a gentle scratch. Sure, she was still feeling a little salty over the stunt he’d pulled earlier…but damn it, he was cute.

Meanwhile, Caliban pulled back. He hovered over his prey for a long, agonizing moment, chest heaving in and out as he panted for air. 

Lookie-Loo kept thrashing, trying to clutch at the fresh, gaping wound in his shoulder.

It looked like he was about to glance at Caliban. Maybe he wanted to try and shove him off, take advantage of the sudden stillness. Maybe he still thought he had a chance.

Caliban’s eyes were feral, almost as wide as the sharp, hungry grin his bloody teeth formed as they gnashed at the air with his laughter.  It was a sight that would’ve made any self-respecting hyena proud.

Then he opened his jaws wide and dove back down.

After that, his victim finally stopped screaming.

Stopped screaming, and started gurgling.

There really wasn’t much else you could do when enamel was sinking into your throat.

Lookie-Loo’s eyes (which, in the grand scheme of things, were the real cause of all this) bulged, dangerously close to popping right out of their sockets, and he fell silent.

More blood came out, though it slowed down to oozing instead of spraying.

Caliban growled deep in his throat, tearing a chunk of flesh free. He was still chewing as he slowly got to his feet, looming over the fresh corpse on the rail…only to pause.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes going from ravenous to curious as he took in all the cuts littered about his meal’s arms. 

Took in how those cuts each formed the shape of a heart.

R.D.’s smile softened. Even if he wasn’t facing her yet, it was easy to see how the pieces were coming together in his head. “You’re welcome.”

Caliban’s eyes met hers in about a millisecond. Though she knew his irises were brown, right now they appeared to be an unhinged shade of yellow.

(In fact, they always seemed to flick to that at times like this; wherever he was running on adrenaline or hunger.)

Beneath them, something warm and grateful slipped into his grin. It could’ve powered the entire city for a few minutes. 

Caliban stepped away from the body, practically skipping his way over to the walkway. He stood before before R.D., resting his arms on the edge. 

“You did this?” He asked, his voice a strange mixture of softness and energy. “You set this whole thing up for me?” 

“I mean, I can’t take all the credit. Had some help along the way,” R.D. mused with both a nod and shrug at the same time. “But I know how much you enjoy stuff like scavenger hunts, so…yeah.”

Caliban’s silver canine-cap glinted as he let out another laugh, this one much softer and brighter than the peal she’d heard from him earlier. 

R.D. moved a bit too slow to escape the bear-hug he wrapped around her, but then again, she didn’t really mind. 

“Did you have fun?” She asked, tousling his hair.

“Of course I had fun!” He assured, eyes still shining. “That was one of the best rushes I’ve had in weeks!”

Sooner or later, R.D. stood back up as Caliban returned to the body, grabbing it by one of the ankles and dragging it up onto the walkway.

From there, the two of them walked side-by-side, chatting about how the day had gone on their respective sides. 

Snare made sure to trot in front, as though he was escorting them back to the den underneath their home. Not that the guidance was needed (but it was accepted because Snare was just a little guy and he wanted to help out). They both knew the route inside-out.

All conversations had to come to an end, one way or another. 

This one did so via Caliban cutting himself off with a squeal as he spotted something sitting right outside the door to his den. The very same thing Azalea had been nice enough to leave there while both he and R.D. were away earlier: a plushie modeled after a cartoonish venus fly trap, its material going from green and fluffy around the mouth to light brown and smooth around the pot. 

Dead weight thumped against concrete as Caliban released the corpse’s wrists, running over to pick up the gift for further inspection. 

“Oh my God..!” He laughed breathlessly, tilting the stuffed plant, making its “head” wobble to and fro. “How did you find this?”

“Sorry, I signed a non-disclosure about that,” R.D. joked. “I know it doesn’t have a purple tongue or spikey leaves, but—”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect!” Caliban declared, beaming as he hugged the plushie close. 

Both he and his wife were a bit too late to remember that there was still fresh blood on his clothes. Yeah, it blended in pretty well with the red leather of his jacket and the black fabric of his hoodie, but it was  still wet. Just like the splatters on his face and hands. 

“...and machine-washable, I hope?” Caliban asked, his features uncharacteristically sheepish as he pulled the gift back, revealing that there were, indeed, a few dark stains that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. 

“Yeah, you'd better hope,” R.D. remarked, smirking as she reached up to give him a light flick on the side of the head.

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @the-matpat-ever @im-a-weird0 @b-is-in-the-closet @lampsforsocks

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

The best part is that Caliban would totally do that as one of his morbid jokes, because I feel like he'd get really weirded out by a consenting/willing victim.

(Which reminds me: did I ever mention my headcanon that Murdock just really hates masochists? Partly because he's a true sadist—so, having a victim somehow enjoy the process would take all the fun out of a hit-job for him—and partly just to riff on Mark's whole thing, lol)

[abuglikecreature]

hi hi!!! im roch (pronounced rock, but im not a pebble) >:3

i like he/it/they pronouns the most :))

this is my agere blog, where i post and reblog anything that makes me happi!! get ready for a million bajillion exclamation marks!!!!!! (also, im bad wit words n got fingers that dont always cooperate wit me, so the spelling on here isn’t gonna be amazing lols)

i regress to maybeeeeee 4-7, but idkkk! when im lil im just lil, yk? but im also bodily a minor, so no nasties!

im happy to talk, though i might not always be able to respond all that quickly :^

these r some of the stuff that makes me SUPER happi!

Marvel! Mostly the Xmen n mutants side of things (includin spiderman bc hes sillyyy). I just think theyre soooo cool!!!

Deadpool!!!! Hes my favvvv!!! Ik i jus put marvel but dp is my super mega fav and i luvvvv him

Sylvanian families/Calico Critters!!!!!! I luv luv luv these lil guys!!! i have a whoooole collection of them and the babies r my favvvsss!!!!

Skulduggery Pleasant!!! oh boyyy you dont wanna kno how obsessed i am wit that silly skeleton...........

Minecraft!!! + Minecraft dungeons + mcsm, i just luv luv luv the silly lil block guys!!

Markiplier’s work, i luv luv luv iswm n the universe hes made up even if it confuzzles me sometimes :P

The Stanley Parable!!! Dunno if theres rily any agere content for this but idc i luv luv luv the narrator! And stanley is my silly lil squishy

Tf2!! pyro's my faaaav, theyre literally me!! fr!!!

TADC!!! so fun n silly n kinger is such a dad!!

Mouthwashing!! definitely not a family friendly game, but on this blog its “nothing bad happened aus” only! i heart daisuke

Stardew Valley :3 im not very good at rememberin what the villagers like but its oki i lovvvve foragin

Detroit Become Human ! big feelings galore from the story , gotta love papa hank ^^

Stray!! My fav comfort game, i love the Outsiders n the kitty soooooo much!,

HermitCraft & the Life Series ^^

N i like any animal!! ever!! all the lil creatures, even the silly hairless ones! theyre all sooooo beautiful

I also like makin stuff for ppl!! Im happy to take any mood or stimboard requests, maybe even a drawing req if im feeling up for it!! if u wanna ask for one i could do my best work if i kno it well already, so feel free to pick from my lil list! a lil specificity would be awesome, just mention it if u want any colour or theme or anythin else :3 (if its not based on any particular media, just like a concept or color or food or whatever u might like, id be happy to work wit that too :])

i think thats it for now, have fun!

banner by me :3

#roch yaps: my talkin tag

#my stuff: anything i make, like boards or drawings

[kzmi-j]

My brain is defective.

Every time I see a fanart of Murdock, I'm automatically searching for #a heist with markiplier.

But no.

Because, my dear dumb brain, Murdock does not appear in Heist, he's in Space.

So why do I always associate Murdock with Heist?

Is it because he's a criminal, and since it's a Heist, and he's a murderer, it enters in the same category in a way that we're all going to jail?

Or is it the jail? Because since Rebars has been doing this family AU where Murdock and Yancy are Celine and Actor's sons, I've been associating those two together all the time.

And since my brain has a little bit of logic left, it associates Yance with AHWM, obviously. But since Murdock is his brother, it's just weird that they DON'T appear on the same one, yk?

However THEY DO. Because Yancy is also in ISWM, like Murdock. So why can't I associate them both to ISWM so I'm sure I won't be wrong, instead of associating them both to AHWM which is totally wrong?

I'm confused.

My brain is confusing.

[localacegoblin]

2024 Tumblr Top 10

1. 478 notes - Aug 27 2024

2. 146 notes - Feb 9 2024

just saw the knuckles trailer cant believe eggman has 7 evil ex-agents stone has to contend with

3. 110 notes - Nov 26 2024

robotniks arc in sonic 3 should be about blood relatives vs chosen family and why you dont always have to stick with people you...

4. 108 notes - Apr 5 2024

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7. 34 notes - Oct 29 2024

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new iswm au idea. its called 'the captain experiences hell'. its what would happen if all of the bad endings with the crew leads...

9. 31 notes - Jun 16 2024

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Created by TumblrTop10

didnt know why i expected any of my art to be here 💀

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

@sammys-magical-au Remember how I said Murdock is a bird-whisperer in the lore of my stories?

I'm still not sure what kinds of birds he might keep as pets (or if he'd even keep any at all...though that one idea you had about him keeping a couple chickens is somewhere in my head, lol).

But still, just imagine him doing this to either a pet or just a random crow he's feeding at the park.

Happy birdie

(via)

[vanilla-ending]

I love finding the most batshit ways to incorporate f/os from different medias together- like sure, ISWM and GotG are both in space, just make ISWM more present day- but Foxy?? The pirate?? From FNaF?? Not even canon FNaF- FNaF the MUSICAL-

I’m thinking about making an AU version of the AU version of Foxy I f/o where he’s one of the Evolutionary’s experiments that gets saved from the ship towards the end of Vol 3, and since Ziggy’s there with her family, maybe this one attaches to her and she just goes. Fuck it, son boy allowed- I just need to draw up a design for it but poor poor Engie and Mack now have a son as well /hj

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2022 Day 4: Paying it Forward

Summary: Illinois and Eric have adopted a little ward of their own, and Illinois introduces him to his own adopted parents.

A/N: A continuation of Day 2.

Prompt: Grey

Characters: Noir, Illinois, Eric, Dark, Host, Wilford

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

He’d spent his whole life hoping from one place to the next. But not too long ago he saw a man standing at the edge of the little playground attached to the orphanage. The adults and other kids couldn’t see him. He was wearing a long coat and had dark stained bandages over his eyes.

Describing him hadn’t gone too well, he was colorblind. All he saw was in shades of greys, whites and blacks. All of the caretakers’ attempts to teach him colors so far hadn’t gone well.

The day after he saw him for the first time, everyone began calling him Noir. Which wasn’t his name but he liked it.

Two days after he started seeing him, he was told that he was going to be adopted. After a week he was brought to a little room with tables and coloring books when he saw a man being led in by one of the social workers. She was smiling.

Which was weird. Noir had never seen her smile like that.

“He’s right this way Mr. Jones,” she smiled.

Noir looked up from his coloring book to see the man in a tweed suit with a hat in his hands.

“Hello,” he smiled, walking over and sitting down. “What are you coloring?”

“Nothing,” Noir looked over at him, throwing a hand over it.

“It looks cool,” the man told him.

Noir took his hand away a bit.

“What’s your name?” He asked. “My name is Illinois. Everyone just calls me Illy.”

Noir just stared at him. He met to give his actual name but what came out was, “Noir.”

“That’s a nice name,” Illinois said.

The conversation after that was relatively stilted, but Illinois told him he was looking to adopt him. He worked in his father’s business helping him move boxes and freight around.

He seemed alright and after the next day he was being picked up in a nice car. Illinois went in to get him and finish signing paperwork. There was another man with him, someone that Illinois introduced as Eric.

Eric seemed hesitant to get near him which confused Noir.

He was put into a little car seat and driven to a different part of town to a restaurant. Noir was excited for it and when Illinois led them in. He was talking about the restaurant and Noir was allowed to pick whatever he wanted on the menu.

Eric was nice, he didn’t talk very much but he seemed very nice. Noir liked him so far. They let him choose whatever drink he wanted. They let him pick what he wanted. He even got to pick a little ice cream dessert for after the food.

Illinois split a meal with Noir since the bowl was huge with rice, beef, lots of different vegetables, and a fried egg on top. Illinois called it bibimbap, but Noir could not pronounce or remember that yet. Within the next five years he would be not only able to pronounce it, but he would be able to make it with his dads and be well on his way to being fluent in Korean but like Illinois.

Eric was watching Illinois walking with Noir and his heart skipped a little bit. He’d completely written off even the ability of having a family. But over the past year he and Illinois had really been talking about it seriously. About Illinois working more from home to help their future child settle into a new routine and help him through what would be his first few years of school. Illinois had never gone to a public or even a private school and he wanted some type of formal schooling for their child. Eric would still go on patrols but Host would help him have more of his evenings so he could still be with their kid.

Eric had grown up in a very busy, full home, and so had Illinois but for now they would have the one and after a couple of years decide if they wanted another.

While they ate, Dark came in. The Host had been insistent on sending Dark alone at first to meet the newest member of the Barnum-Doom family. It was the same restaurant where Dark had taken his adopted Lost Ones after adopting them, and it was the first place that Illinois had wanted to bring Noir.

When the ringing pitched into the room, Illinois looked over, smiling in excitement.

“Appa,” Illinois smiled and stood up.

Noir turned around in his chair to see someone walking into the room from a hole that was ripped into the air like a torn cloth. The man had a suit and he made Noir’s eyes hurt when he looked at him.

The small child felt fear before, and looking at this man made him afraid, immediately. Noir let out a startled noise and shrinked a little bit in his chair.

An action that didn’t go unnoticed by Dark.

The Entity froze, taking a step back, moving towards the hole still ripped open in the room. But when he took another step back someone walked out of the Void portal and the Host’s aura snagged Dark by the arm and pulled him back towards Illinois and Noir.

“The Entity should not go anywhere,” the Host said as his aura kept Dark from running away. “He is meeting the newest member of his family.”

Dark pulled his arm away, but didn’t try and leave again, only looking at Noir who was trying to use the table to hide.

“You alright?” Illinois asked.

“I am fine,” Dark said. “I merely did not mean to distress him.”

“Noir will grow accustomed to it.” Host said. “The Entity will be in steady contact with Illinois and Eric’s child.”

“What’d you do with my aura?” Illinois asked.

The Host was staring off in-between Illinois and Dark. “The Host needed to ensure the House would not devour any child that was brought near it.”

“We’re not in the Manor,” Illinois said.

“The Entity and the Madman’s family bring the House with them wherever they are.” The Host’s aura curled around him. “It was an unavoidable consequence of joining this family. For Noir it makes little difference to him, he is colorblind.”

Illinois looked back at Noir in surprise who seemed to slowly getting braver and peeking out over the table. “Really?”

“It will become more evident to Illinois and the others over the months and years,” the Host said. “Noir was the only choice that could have been made. Another candidate the Host could have found was cut off from the Host. So the Host had Noir’s extraction from the home prepared.”

“Yeah, I could feel your magic all over the place, thanks for finding him.” Illinois said.

“It was the least that the Host could do.”

While Illinois and the Host were talking, Dark was bringing something from the void. After a couple seconds Dark had a box in his hands, carefully held together with a large bow. There was not a wrinkle in the ribbon of the bow, all the loops of the bow were perfectly looped. As he delicately held it, he kept glancing at Illinois. The Entity fully expected Illinois to tell him to leave the room entirely.

Illinois noticed the gift and turned back to his newly adopted son. He slowly walked over and knelt down to quietly and slowly coax Noir out of hiding. “This is my dad, Dark. He adopted me, and now Eric and I have you.”

Slowly Noir followed Illinois as Eric stood up. Slowly as he got closer, fear was changing into nervous apprehension.

When he was about a couple feet away, Illinois stopped him.

“Hello,” Dark greeted, his tone was rather stiff and controlled.

“Hi,” Noir said.

Illinois knelt down so that he was close to the same level as Noir. “Why don’t you tell him your name, buddy?”

Noir didn’t answer at first as he looked up at Dark but he eventually said, “I’m Noir.”

Dark nodded, in the absence of not knowing what else to say.

“How old are you, buddy,” Illinois asked, trying to urge the conversation along.

“Six,” Noir said and held up five fingers instead.

Illinois and Eric smiled.

Dark’s aura came down and held the box out for Noir. Which Noir reached out to take.

Until now Dark had been careful of keeping his aura close, trying to quiet the screaming that was going on in his shared head. His blue soul was screaming and demanding Illinois’s new child because it was obviously something that Illinois loved. But he was being so careful to not let any of it show. Then he held the gift out and the instant Noir touched it all the color was pulled out of him. Dark’s aura absorbed it as it recognized Illinois’s aura.

Noir flinched, not hurt but he felt something tap at his hands as all the color in room began to bleed out. All shades of grey, even the red and blue of Dark’s aura was being dulled and muted. Replaced with different shades of grey. Noir didn’t see a difference, but everyone else did.

Dark stepped away as the boy’s skin and clothes began to turn greyscale. Noir was just opening the box, blissfully unaware of what was going on.

Noir didn’t feel as nervous or scared around Dark anymore. He took out the little cat stuffed animal that had been in the box in his hands. It felt very soft. He couldn’t tell what color it was, it was all grey for him.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dark said, taking a step back and looking at Illinois.

Illinois looked at Noir, “You alright?”

Noir nodded as he held the cat plushie close to his chest.

“He seems alright, no harm, no foul,” Illinois said as he looked at the Host.

“Noir is perfectly fine,” the Host said. “Noir will live, grow and thrive.”

“Alright, it seems to be alright, not the weirdest thing about our family, he’s kinda like you now,” Illinois smiled at Dark.

Before Dark could open up another portal to leave, Wilford walked in. He made more of the color come back into the room. Noir didn’t get his coloration back, staying the same greyscale as Dark was usually in.

Wilford had gotten bored waiting and decided to show up on his own. He looked around the room and paused when he saw Noir and let out a small little gasp.

Noir stared at Wil as he felt something sweet in the air. It wasn’t a taste or a smell. It felt like he was eating something excessively sweet. Everything around him felt like it was slowing down.

“What a little sweetheart,” Wilford smiled as he walked over. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Wilford looked over at Dark expectantly.

“Of course he is, Wil,” Dark said.

“Is this one of yours?” Wilford asked as he looked up at Illinois.

“Mine and Eric’s,” Illinois said.

“How delightful,” Wilford smiled.

At that point Dark and Wilford joined the little family lunch. It got Dark to stay around Noir for a little bit longer and things seemed to be going well for everyone.

For now, at least.

But Dark’s attention was transfixed on Noir. His blue soul saw a young Illinois in Noir and all the heartache that came with it. The blue soul wanted to continue the gift giving and preferential treatment onto Noir for one simple reason. Illinois tended to keep things he liked close to him, and if this child was happy, he would let Dark keep being around him.

So keeping Noir happy was now as important as keeping Illinois happy.

[ghiertor-the-gigapeen]

[Google and head engineer]

Google doesn't like y/n

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

I usually try to make some quick of sarcastic joke out of the synopsis for my stories. But honestly, I just want to stick to the basics right now:

It's been such a weird, random, and above all, fun journey to have worked on this collab with you, @insane4fandoms . Thank you for all the hard work, detail, and thought/emotion you've put into the comics, and for letting me attach my stories to those comics, and for being so incredibly patient with all the time writing takes on my end.

Thank you for the kind words/reviews you've been giving me with each completed snippet; I really don't get enough feedback for my work in general, so each time a reader is nice enough to leave their thoughts/comments, it feels genuinely amazing.

Although we've both clearly got a lot of WIPs on our respective plates, I do hope that we'll be able to have fun with something like this again in the future.

And to think, this whole thing started out with a simple meme-comic that you just so happened to mention Ness and my special fanmade scrungly in.

As always, I hope you enjoy the story!

___

Terminal Case of the Ol’ Switcheroo [Epilogue]

(Disclaimer: only two of the characters in this snippet belong to me. For more information about Caliban, go here. For more information on The Newcomer, my very own technical Reader!Character, go here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe…but if you’d like to see my personal headcanons about him, go here. And if you’d like to learn about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(One more thing: I’ve actually written a full character analysis on the dynamic between Mad and Caliban. If you’re interested, please feel free to check it out here.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, knives/blades, implied kidnapping, implied violence, talk of murder/death, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of illegal business, eating/drinking, implied stalking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

___

Four days later…

Considering they’d been roommates for so long, Ness and Jack had grown accustomed to snide comments about the former keeping his own vehicle. He lived with a cabbie, didn’t he? Why not just enjoy the service? 

Well, first of all: No. That whole idea was just rude on so many levels. 

Second of all: The whole concept of roommates revolved around two or more people actually being able to stand living with one another. And yes, circumstances varied, but constantly begging for rides was a good way to tip that Jenga tower with a quickness. 

Third of all: Yes, Jack was willing to help out those he was close to. Even so, he was a friend, not just some personal chauffeur. 

Fourth of all: As stated before, Ness was an adult who had his own damn car…which had been at the local garage getting some much-needed repairs since the beginning of the week. Hopefully it would be ready to drive again soon. 

It’d been a hot minute since Ness had needed assistance from Jack—well, technically he’d already gotten some help before today. Back when his roommate and Abby had found him and Mike hiding in the storage closet at Sparky’s. 

Maybe that was why this particular evening felt ever-so-slightly surreal as the air was filled with their quiet chatter. 

“…So, how’s Mike been?” Jack asked, the wheel slowly spinning under his hands. 

“Better,” Ness replied, resting his chin on his palm and gazing through the passenger window. “The loopiness lasted longer than I thought it would, but it’s definitely gone by now.”

Part of him said this to reassure his friend.

Another part of him, meanwhile, said it to reassure himself as the image of a needle sinking into Mike’s neck flickered behind his eyes. 

Jack snorted. “Since when is that guy not at least a little loopy?”

Ness raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I mean, from what I’ve heard, he’s still mad at you for letting Abby hold Buckshot.”

The intended retort seemed to die on Jack’s tongue. He glanced at Ness out of the corner of his eye before he started sputtering. “That—that was an accident, I swear! I didn’t even realize I’d set it down; she only picked it up because I was busy helping you carry Mike! She was just trying to help!”

“Hey, I’m not denying all that,” Ness mentioned, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. He paused before folding his arms across his chest. “...But you’re still gonna have to make it up to him.”

Jack heaved a long-suffering sigh, shifting in his seat (which the aforementioned Buckshot was now resting underneath, tucked into that hidden compartment and waiting for another emergency on another day). 

“You can’t say I didn’t show her how to properly handle that stuff earlier,” he murmured. “Better to teach ‘em basic safety when they’re young.” 

Ness nodded, humming in vague agreement.

Afterward, a different type of silence settled into the air. A layer of ice that anyone could walk on, but no-one ever really wanted to be the one to break. 

The two of them spent the next few minutes glancing at one another out of the corners of their eyes, both trying so furiously to look like they were just existing together that they only succeeded in making the obviousness unbearable. 

Jack carefully took one hand away from the wheel, guiding it toward himself. He began fidgeting with the puka shell necklace that Ness had never actually seen him take off. He took the time to gently spin each of the shiny, pale-as-bone-china little shapes between his fingers. The same way he always did when he was thinking. 

Or, to be more precise: when he was nervous. 

He’d already taken these recent rides as opportunities to ask Ness things. To remind Ness about things. 

Was Ness feeling okay? Was he drinking enough water? Why hadn’t Ness told Mike about the stalker-issue when it’d first started out?

If Ness really didn’t want to say anything about what had happened a few nights ago, then that was his business…

But still, if there was anything Ness ever needed to get off his chest, about how things were going in his life, he could trust his roommate to listen. He knew that, right?

Of course, this was all just more evidence supporting how good of a roommate Jack was. He looked out for his buddies. He was willing to make himself content with an explanation as simple (sometimes infuriatingly so) as Hey, it just be like that sometimes.

Ness chewed his lip. 

He had a legitimate reason for keeping secrets right now. He was only doing it to keep his circle safe.  

That didn’t change the fact that it still made him so damn nervous—

THUNK

Just as the cab turned a very familiar street corner, just as it rolled underneath a very familiar tree growing by the sidewalk on said corner, a blurry figure came plummeting down just before the windshield. 

Jack yelped, his car screeching to a halt as he stomped on the brake pedal. 

Ness all but trebuchetted against the back of his seat, letting out a short scream that was much higher-pitched than he’d care to admit.  

The figure shook itself, a bushy tail waving about as it began to cautiously sniff at the metallic embrace of its one-in-a-hundred-chance-random-landing-pad. 

It took exactly five whole seconds of breath-holding and staring before the two of them realized that the culprit was just a clumsy squirrel who’d fallen off a branch somewhere above. 

Naturally, Jack was the first to snap out of it. 

He rolled his window down halfway, then called out, “What’re you doing?”

The squirrel’s only response was to freeze again, tiny nose twitching and beady eyes contemplating. 

“…Don’t walk on my hood!” Jack ordered. He waved a hand at the windshield. “C’mon, shoo! Shoo!”

Once the squirrel had taken the hint to hop off and scurry across the street to climb the trunk of a completely different tree, Jack resumed driving, only to stop yet again a couple minutes later. 

Ness rolled his shoulders as he unbuckled his seatbelt, pushing the passenger door open. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Jack smiled, nodding as the waiter stepped out into the night. That was another green-flag for the guy: he didn’t often mind when his roommate decided to spend the night somewhere else. “See you tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow!” Ness echoed, hefting the door shut. He took a few seconds to wave as the taxi headed off, ready to start searching for any potential riders.

With that, Ness turned and started walking up the Schmidt driveway. 

He’d been prepared to use the extra key that was hidden somewhere on the porch, but the front door swung open right as he climbed the short concrete steps.  

Abby stood in the threshold, smiling as she reached out to hug him. “Hi, Ness!”

“Bitty!” Ness replied, immediately returning the embrace, his surprise only lasting so long. It was just so good to see her happy, the way kids deserved to be. He’d only ever seen her frightened once, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to again for a long time. 

“Ah—hold on, why are you here?” He asked as the girl tugged him inside by the arm. “What about—?” 

He stopped short, watching as Mike poked his head out of the kitchen and came traipsing over, hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

“...Hey,” Ness greeted, his chest suddenly feeling a bit lighter. “What happened to your shift?” 

Mike shrugged. “The boss brought in some extra help before I got there; turns out her niece wants to learn the trade, so I guess she’s being taught through volunteering. I was told that the schedules would be updated by tomorrow.”

Ness hummed, “Huh. That’s…oddly wholesome.”

“‘Oddly?’” Mike repeated. 

Ness merely raised his eyebrows, and the way Mike offered a half-nod-half-shug indicated that he got the point. 

Sarcasm aside, it was good to know that things were going smoothly with the job Mike had been working ever since he’d lost the gig at Freddy’s. Acting as security for an animal shelter had to be one of the best things for bouncing back. Even if it’d caused near-incessant levels of pestering from Abby (and sometimes Ness) for a puppy or kitten or a kitten and a puppy. 

“Well, what about your shift?” Mike asked. “Everything go okay for you?”

Ness smiled, nodding. “Yeah. Just the same stuff as usual. No bad customers this time, thankfully.”

Abby’s face fell at that, her eyes growing sympathetic. “I wish there were never any bad ones.”

Ness shrugged. “Yeah, me too. But that’s just life. What’re you gonna do?”

Abby thought for a moment before mischief etched its way along her features. “Smack ‘em with a plate! Or, or! If they complain about a drink, just pick it up and dump it on their heads!”

Ness threw his head back, cackling. “Sometimes I really wish I could. But even if my coworkers have my back, I’d still get in trouble.” 

Abby pouted again. “Why don’t the bratty snobs ever seem to get in trouble for pushing you guys around?”

Ness paused, his laughter coming to an abrupt halt. Putting on a somewhat serious face, he knelt down and loudly whispered, “Look, as much as I love the concept of fast-learning and teaching stuff early…I’m not sure you wanna dive into philosophy just yet.”

Abby giggled, playfully rolling her eyes as she headed over to her blanket fort and began making slight adjustments.

“Oh, by the way,” Mike declared as he settled down onto the living room couch. “I’m onto your little scheme.”

Ness froze, the dark blue waist-apron he’d just untied slipping through his fingers and fluttering to the floor. 

No…no, he had to be mistaken. Mike had to be bluffing. 

Three whole days had passed since the incident, and nothing had happened at all. 

Sure, there was still a cold, clammy knot of dread taking up space in his stomach. 

Sure, he hadn’t been able to get much sleep last night, so he’d decided to make use of that time by researching the rumors about a macabre museum states and states away that had just re-opened its doors to the public after months of closure, and he’d been trying to listen to music all the while, but he’d had to keep taking his earbuds out because he thought he’d heard something moving outside. 

Sure, he’d been unable to help but brace himself to feel movement somewhere directly behind him, brace himself for that movement slowly-but-surely creep closer until he could feel hot breath tinged with something metallic on the back of his neck.

…And sure, Ness—and the trick candles he called nerves—had been wrong. Apart from himself, Mike, and Abby, the house had been vacant last night. No intruders. No silhouettes looming in outside, trying to stay away from the beam of the streetlamps on the sidewalks. 

But in the grand scheme of things, life had gone back to normal. (As normal as it could be at Sparky’s and in the Schidmt household, at least.)

“What do you mean by that?” Ness asked, trying desperately to keep his tone of voice playful. He tilted his head to the side, smiling wider to take any focus away from how pale he’d suddenly gotten. 

Mike snorted. Though he didn’t look at Ness, too preoccupied with fishing his water bottle from his work-bag, an eye-roll was evident in his voice. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Ness, unsure what else to do, found himself carefully glancing at his boyfriend’s sister. 

Abby looked just as lost as he was, her little brow furrowed in confusion. Her big, warm doe-eyes, however…if he looked close enough, he could see a tinge of something else. It wasn’t concrete understanding, thank God. 

But still, even if she’d apparently made peace with letting him keep a secret or two, she still had her questions. And even if those questions wouldn’t see the light of day because she cared about Ness’ feelings, they still wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

Ness had kept his word, for everyone’s sake. He’d stayed quiet. It’d been fortunate that everyone had been so focused on Mike in the aftermath, but even though that had only lasted so long…he’d done his part. 

Whenever Jack or Abby tried to ask him about where he’d been or what exactly he knew or where his demented doppelganger had disappeared to, he’d managed to mislead them, to steer the conversation away from all the gory details. 

And, as far as he could tell, his tactfulness had pulled through. 

It just wasn’t possible for Mike to know…

“Trying to get me to open up a disguised glitter bomb, or a paint cannon, or one of those stupid spring-loaded plastic snakes,” Mike continued, a wry, exhausted grin spreading across his face. “All to get back at me for a mistake I made months ago. Don’t deny it; maybe you have other people fooled, but I know how petty you really are.” 

He chuckled, running a hand through the mess of short, frizzy, dark brown curls atop his head. “As if Abbs wasn’t already the reincarnation of Kevin McCallister. Now I’ve gotta deal with your tricks, too.”

…And just like that, an invisible tidal wave crashed over him. A suspsiciously loud sigh of relief was almost knocked out of his chest, but Ness was quick, keeping it trapped where it belonged.

“Whaaaaaaat? No, no-no-no, that’s got nothing to do with you. I mean—well, it’s just—the craft store has been having a ton of great deals lately, so…” Ness stammered, putting on a mask of overexaggerated, poorly-hidden anxiety. 

Ironic how that was helping to relieve his true nervousness.

He then threw his fresh stutter out the window, raising his hands to his face like a cheap imitation of Edvard Munch’s The Scream, he turned his attention to Abby. “…He’s figURED IT OUT! WE’RE COMPROMISED!” He rushed forward, snatching a decorative pillow from the armchair and raising it over his head like a grenade. “GET HIM, GET HIM!” 

Abby’s eyes widened, a lovely, excited, mischievous smile manifesting out of nowhere. She stood up, grabbing two more pillows from her blanket-fort and letting out a sound that was equal parts war-cry and laughter as she executed an impressive running-leap to tackle her older brother. 

Mike moved far too slowly, unable to shield his face from the onslaught in time. He fell back onto the couch cushions, laughing and yelping in mock-protest. It was unclear whether he was encouraging Abby’s play-fighting to make her feel strong, or just playing it off like he was holding back to cover up the fact that he was so quickly neutralized by a ten-year-old who wasn’t even half his size.  

Though the pillow-fight only lasted for a couple blissful moments, Ness was still out of breath by the time everyone was holding still again. (Really, though, you couldn’t blame him. The sudden ambush had been absolutely devastating, because Abby was the crown-queen of plushie-weilding assassins, thank you very much.)

Mike heaved a sigh, giving Abby one last noogie before correcting his posture and plucking the remote up from the floor. 

“Seriously, though,” he announced as the TV’s screen sparked to life, “one of your orders was sent here again. I left it on the table.” He nodded over to the dining room’s hollow doorway. 

Ness blinked, leaning against one of the sofa’s armrests. “I haven’t ordered anything lately.” 

“You’re really still going with the joke, huh?” Mike smirked. “Go see for yourself. Not like it’s the first time this has happened. I’ve told you before that I don’t mind.” He paused, pursing his lips. “...But still, a heads-up would be nice.”

Confused as he was, Ness couldn’t really deny that last part. Sometimes the mailroom back at the apartment complex was blocked off or closed for whatever reason. And jumping through all those hoops that were supposedly vital for reclaiming lost stuff at the depot…yeah, he wasn’t sure why archaic forms of torture like that were still legal. 

Besides, Ness had been staying over at this place more and more often, so…

Shrugging to himself, Ness turned on his head and wandered over. He went to the kitchen first, approaching the washing machine and dryer that had been set up in the corner. The freshly-repaired window seemed to give the whole area a little extra gleam.

(Then again, that gleam would apply to any place that didn’t have shards of broken glass strewn about the floor.)

After chucking his waist-apron into the former and turning its dial to the right setting, he took a seat at the dining table. 

There was, indeed,  a yellow mailer package waiting patiently for him. 

Squinting, Ness reached over and pulled it closer. He lifted it up, shaking it carefully. Nothing inside seemed to rattle or sway, but there was an obvious weight to it. 

“I found it on the porch this morning,” Mike called from the living room. “Come to think of it, it must’ve been delivered way earlier than the mail usually is.”

Ness tore the folded flaps at the top open, causing a bundle of red tissue paper to slide out. With a quiet, curious hum, Ness took that bundle into his hands and ripped it away by one edge to reveal…the same bundle, only slightly smaller and shrouded by black tissue paper. 

He tore the black covering away to discover another sheet of red.

Once the second red sheet was gone, another black sheet appeared udnerneath. 

Red paper, black paper, red paper, black paper, red-black-red-black-red-black-red-black…

Just as Ness began to worry that this would turn into a multi-hour endeavor, he ripped away the thirteenth red sheet and found a tight wad of bubblewrap. He had to fish out his pocket-knife to cut the tape away, but soon enough, he was peeling away the final layers to reveal the small prize at the center. 

Ness held it between his forefinger and thumb, raising it closer to his face. 

“A frog?” Abby wondered as she trotted into the room, zeroing in on the bubblewrap that was silently demanding to be popped.

Ness nodded, turning the shiny enamel pin to and fro, gazing at the bright yellow material, complimented by splotches of black.  Its back was to the world, legs stretching out at angle that hinted it was trying to climb along something.

“A poison dart frog,” he corrected.

“Ooh! Okay, so, a really, really dangerous one!” Abby mused. She leaned closer to get a better look. “Well, I think it’ll look nice with your other one. Did you get one for Mike? So you guys can keep matching?”

Ness shrugged and smiled, knowing that she meant the pride pin he often wore on his leather jacket (a frying pan adorned by wide stripes of pink, yellow, and sky-blue), as well as the one he’d gifted Mike shortly after they’d started dating (a cassette tape with horizontal lines of pink, violet, and cobalt). 

As nice as the memories were, and as pretty as this dart frog pin was…that did nothing to change the fact that Ness did not remember ordering this. At all. 

Yeah, online shops like Etsy were addictive, and yeah, Ness had a habit of ordering several items at once. But he only did that kind of stuff around holidays or birthdays; he was a waiter, after all.

A small eruption of plinks and dings and chimes came rattling through the air. 

In a different time or a different situation, hearing the abrupt, unmistakable call of a pinball machine in a place that had no such machines installed anywhere might be cause for slight panic. 

However, considering Ness had set such a classic sound as his ringtone in favor of the generic options, this managed to be as casual as it was disruptive. 

Still holding the dart frog pin in one hand, Ness got back to his feet and picked his phone up from the kitchen counter. 

The screen read Unknown, with only a blank profile to offer.

Ness raised an eyebrow. Like many people, he’d gotten used to scam and spam alike; in fact, with a little help from Jack (and, later on, Abby), he’d learned some efficient ways deal with them. Mainly via using the unbridled power of second-hand embarrassment to make whatever desperate thief hang up within ten seconds. 

…But, of course, there was always the chance that the call was legitimate, that a friend’s number had changed for whatever reason, that kind of stuff. 

So, Ness tapped the Accept icon and raised the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey there, Ness,” a voice greeted.

Ness’ eyes widened. His lips parted with a short, low gasp for air. Something with jagged edges crawled through his guts. 

“...S-sorry, do I know you?” The question came out more on instinct than intention. While doubt did have a reputation for acting up at the wrong times, Ness knew that it had nothing to do with this. 

“I’m sure I’m in your brain somewhere,” the voice replied, his tone an invisible pen that drew a sly grin along his face. “I know trauma does some funny stuff, but you don’t strike me as the type to edit your own memories as part of coping. Don’t try that in the future, by the way. Never ends well for anyone.” 

Though Ness wasn’t sure how to respond to a comment like that, his understanding was immediate.

Because the voice wasn’t exactly familiar…but he still recognized the speaker. 

Hell, he could picture rows of teeth that glinted in dim light, that seemed a tad too sharp the longer you looked at them. He could imagine that voice drifting through those teeth. 

He could remember seeing his very reflection against the silver material of one that clearly hadn’t grown from the speaker’s gums like all the rest. 

Ness blinked, and he was suddenly moving again. Away from the dining table. Past the living room. Down the short, narrow hallway. Into the very bedroom he and Mike had started sharing during his visits. 

He closed the door as softly as he could, though the click of the lock being engaged felt deafening.

“Are there any Sidneys with you right now? Or just in town at the moment? I think I might know a guy who’s been trying to get ahold of one.” A wave of snickering crackled through the microphone. 

Considering his life had temporarily departed onto the path of some weird, amatuer-ish thriller movie days prior, Ness wasn’t sure if he was supposed to start laughing or crying…or just hang up and chuck his phone into the wall and curl up in the fetal position to question everything again. 

That last option definitely wouldn’t prove anything, so he opted to start pacing the floor. He approached the window by the side of the bed to shakily close its blinds. “No, I don’t know anyone named Sidney. Is that a joke, or are you trying to sabotage one of your competitors?” 

“Not sure, though I wouldn’t turn down a chance to combine the two.” Caliban giggled again before sighing. “But the question isn’t anything like that. The question is: did you expect to hear from me again?”

Ness hesitated. He certainly hadn’t expected anything like this, but…well, you couldn’t have a stalker for months without having an extra tablespoon of paranoia mixed into your mind. 

“No, I guess. Not exactly,” he finally responded. 

Caliban hummed. “Ah, that’s good. In my line of work, sometimes you can get extra points for unpredictability.” 

“What do you want?” Ness blurted. “Why are you calling me?” 

“I mean, I held onto your phone for so long, I figured I might as well memorize the number. Just for the novelty, y’know?” Caliban explained, chuckling. “Plus…it’s really not often that I get a chance to check in on certain people.”

In spite of his anxiety, Ness raised an eyebrow. “You mean your victims?” 

“Uh, excuse you, I’ve checked in on victims before; it all just depends on the nature of the job,” Caliban scoffed. 

Ness shuddered, wondering about threatening and taunting mind-games this guy might have played with particular targets. 

“Besides, take a good look where you are,” Caliban continued. “You helped me set things right, and I returned the favor. You’re hardly what I’d call a victim.” He paused, then quickly added, “Well, not a victim of mine, anyway.”

Ness’ heart skipped a beat, thrumming in a harsh manner against his sternum. Memories of the packages, of the letters, of Mad’s face, all twisted with hatred in his snarling mouth and a sick type of light in his eyes.

There was no way Caliban didn’t already know who he was thinking about, so Ness simply murmured, “Is he…is he—”

“Dead?” Caliban interjected, his voice turning thoughtful. “Oh, yeah, no. He’s still kicking; I made sure of that.” 

Ness’ jaw hit the floor. “W-What?! But why? I—I though you hated him!”

“I do. And the way I see it, dying would be way, waaaaaaay too good for him. What with all the crap he’s pulled wherever he goes.” Another sharp, unhinged, hungry cackle slithered into Ness’ ears. “But on the other hand: getting caught and mauled over and over and over again? If that’s not karma, then I don’t know what the hell is.” 

Ness sputtered. Caliban’s place, wherever it was, was a few hours away from here…but what if Mad was somewhere out there again? What if he’d hitch-hiked with some poor soul who didn’t know any better? 

“Is he still with you?” Ness asked in a hoarse voice. 

“Getting right down to business, I see.” Caliban hummed approvingly. “Yes and no. Plans are just moving along.”

“Wha—okay, what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Ness demanded, struggling to keep his voice down. It wouldn’t do to have Mike or Abby hear any of this.

“Take a wild guess,” Caliban replied. “Look, you’re probably about to pull a sign out of Hammer Space that says ‘HERE WE GO AGAIN’ and start waving it like a flag. But before it gets there, listen: you won’t be seeing him anymore. And neither will your friends.”

Ness felt something race up his spine. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it wasn’t a chill. More like a warm spark, actually. 

Caliban took that bewildered silence as the green light to continue. “It took a lot of work, but hey, I enjoy a challenge. Even if the idiot’s still living in Delulu Land, he knows better than to try coming after you.”

Ness lowered his head, starting at the floor. Mad had made it obvious time and time again that he wasn’t one to take things lying down, to learn his lesson, to just. STOP. 

But then, everyone had to at least take a few breaks here and there. 

“What did you do?” Ness asked, both out of fear and genuine curiosity. 

“I did some of the best I can,” Caliban chuckled. “Let’s just say that the face he has now certainly ain’t the one he was born with.”

“...Really? You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious!” Caliban seemed to be beaming at this point. “Watching one of your own kidneys get removed will do that. Not to mention the sections of skin I took. Gotta be thorough, don’t we?”

“O-oh…” Ness mumbled, a sudden bout of nausea swirling around his head. 

Mad’s voice pounded on his eardrums—all the threats he’d spat out back at Sparky’s. How he’d insisted that Caliban would just take a Two For One deal rather than sparing the same waiter he himself had been after. 

But he’d been wrong. That hadn’t happened at all. 

Somehow, it was obvious that Caliban was nodding. “What can I say? Butcher money where your mouth is.” 

And then he was cackling again, giving Ness ample opportunity to imagine the cannibal’s grin widening, his teeth gnashing the air, his eyes nearly feral as they bulged from their sockets. 

Sooner or later, the laughter slowed to a halt as Caliban took a breath. “So, did you get my little souvenir? What do you think of it?” 

Ness’ brow furrowed in confusion…only for him to nearly slap a hand over his mouth as it gaped open in shock again. Due to the shiny little pin still in his grasp, however, he couldn’t. 

“The dart frog pin?” He wondered, raising the object in question closer to eye-level. “This is from you?”

Caliban hummed affirmative. “And I’ll take that as a yes. The package looked so official, didn’t it? One of my friends is amazing when it comes to forgery.” 

“…Why? Why did you leave it for me? What does it mean?” Despite his relative relief about the state Mad was apparently in, Ness still felt wary. 

“Oh, c’mon, Ness. Think: why do posion dart frogs look the way they do? Why would any animal evolve neon colors instead of camouflage?” 

“To—to show off their toxicity,” Ness replied, part of the animal nerd he’d been in grade-school piping up from the back of his brain. “To warn any predators that they’d better not try eating them, or—” He cut himself off, puzzle-pieces slowly connecting through his mind.  “Or else…they’ll…regret it.”

“Right!” Caliban pronounced. “There wasn’t any time for you to actually see them, but…well, I don’t work alone. Never have, really. Not even when I take on solo-jobs.”

Ness swallowed a lump in his throat. Mad had mentioned Caliban running around with a mob…and Caliban himself had mentioned something about family before, hadn’t he? Was he remembering things right?  

“That pin I sent you isn’t the only one. There’s plenty more out there,” Caliban continued. “We use them as identifiers. To keep track of who our potential allies are. Same goes for enemies: just something to make them think twice before they try screwing around with us by proxy.”

“So…so, this means we’re good?” Ness coughed. 

“Yep,” Caliban responded. This time, his voice was a bit softer than before. “Look, if you’re really worried about it, then just get a tattoo. Ink like that absolutely RUINS the taste of the skin, plus it risks denting the price of a section on the market. Trust me: even the smallest tattoos can have that effect.”

“A-alright?” Ness cringed, equal parts grateful and horrified by the information. “And…you don’t want anything from me?”

“Nope. Just try to be smart whenever you feel the need to wear that thing.”

Ness nodded; he didn’t know why, since it wasn’t like Caliban could see the gesture, but there wasn’t much else he could do. After all, it wasn’t every day you were gifted a symbol of protection from a cannibal mobster who’d kidnapped you by accident because you just happen to look a lot like some other serial killer. 

“Sure,” he breathed. He felt…lighter. As if a bunch of invisible strangler-vines had wilted away from his shoulders after growing there for months. 

There was a pause. Caliban stayed on the line, though he’d gone just as quiet. Ness couldn’t imagine a scenario where the cannibal felt the same level of awkwardness as him, but anything was possible, right?

Finally, as the background cracked around his voice, Caliban stated, “Take care of yourself, Ness. A lot of people clearly do, so you shouldn’t just put that all on them.”  

In spite of everything that had happened—all the fear, panic, dread—Ness smiled.

Admittedly, it didn’t last long, as Caliban decided to add, through another small fit of snickers, “Your boytoy, too.”

“...Mike is nOT A BOYTOY,” Ness snapped. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault the guy looks like he still has a Myspace,” Caliban argued. 

Ness sputtered, trying desperately to hide how he knew that Mike did, indeed, still have a Myspace. “That—that—that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Sometimes it really does. Not saying Facebook is worth anything either, but still.” Caliban barked another laugh.

 But before Ness could try to retort, a short, high-pitched beep! rang through the phone, silencing the other end.

He pulled the device away from his ear, staring down at it for a few long seconds before lightly tossing it onto the bed. 

Then, he trudged over to Mike’s closet. The duffel bag he’d gotten in the habit of leaving here waited in the corner. 

Ness knelt down and opened it up, rummaging through all the spare clothes and toiletries until he fished out his cyan leather jacket. Careful not to prick his fingers, Ness attached the dart frog pin a little ways below the garment’s collar. As quick as the process was, he felt the need to hold his breath.  

The enamel glinted in the light as Ness held the jacket up; the little dart frog actually complimented the leather’s shade pretty well. 

Chewing his lip, he returned the jacket to its place and fetched a set of soft pajamas (the bottom half of which was covered in a tiny print-pattern of Mothman). Once he'd exchanged his work uniform for that, he unlocked the bedroom door and strolled down the hallway. 

He wondered if Mike and Abby would be up for watching a movie tonight. 

Movies always seemed to be the best thing when the world finally began slowing back down.

___

Caliban glanced up at the dark sky, breathing in the fresh, cool air. 

Another night, another impending job. 

Another vacant field that was miles away from any nearby cities (including both the Cove Port Inlets and that town surrounding Sparky’s).

He’d lost count of all the times he’d thanked his lucky stars that his cellphone been set up to not have any calls or texts recorded. 

He slipped the device into one of his jacket’s pockets—right across from the one his meat cleaver rested in. Then he circled around the twitching, heaving lump that he’d dropped on the ground only moments ago, cackling to himself all the while. 

Mad’s swollen, bloodshot eyes followed his movements, glazed-over yet still somewhat aware. Still full of pain and anger and bitter defeat. 

He had to keep squeezing them shut every few seconds, probably to try and combat the stinging, burning pain that lingered under the bandages that Caliban had begrudgingly layered about the incision site in his side. 

After a few seconds of panting and gagging, his busted lips pressed together in a nasty scowl. It was so very obvious how he wanted to spew all sorts of colorful words the cannibal’s way, but he’d already screamed his throat raw from the recent harvesting. He wouldn’t be able to say much for at least the rest of the evening. 

In fact, he wouldn’t be able to do anything for the rest of the evening.

Caliban knew that, in spite of the nylon binds wrapped tightly around his wrists, Mad would eventually free himself. But all the exhaustion left in the wake of his frenzied adrenaline would keep him from struggling until sometime the next morning.

“Remember, Mad.” Caliban knelt down to his enemy’s level, one hand lashing out to cup his chin, forcing him to retain eye-contact, fingernails digging into skin. “If I catch word of you so much as looking that waiter again, I’ll take one of your eyes next time. And if you try to set foot in the town he’s from, I’ll saw off one of your legs.”

Though he neither nodded nor shook his head, Mad’s reaction was still easy to read. He squirmed in place, trying to edge away, his eyes bulging from their sockets—not out of mania or glee…but fear. 

There was still hatred, of course (Mad could never truly resist his self-absoprtion), but there was no mistaking the strand of pure, unfiltered fear that mixed with his agony is such a delicious way.

“Not that I’d sell any of those pieces for a higher price than that kidney,” Caliban continued, a vicious smirk on his face as he harshly jabbed at those red-tinged bandages. “After all the crap you insist on getting yourself into…honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t started taking swigs out of your jerry cans just yet.” 

He released his hold, shoving Mad onto his back before standing up again. Never one to turn down giving off the same vibes as a shark or hyena or any other infamous hunter, Caliban resumed his pacing.

“Y’know, even with this always-coming-back thing that you never seem to shut up about,” he pronounced, “I think you’ve already been dead for a long time. The person you used to be died the day you started your so-called ‘career.’”

Out of habit, Caliban fished his cleaver out of his pocket, simply fidgeting with it. The tool was already pretty enough, what with all those wavey streaks naturally set in the damascus steel. But moonlight shining off of the blade made it look even better. Of course, that didn’t always compare to when it was spattered in red, but it was still a nice sight. 

“That’s why you were so obsessed with tormenting him, isn’t it?” Caliban wondered aloud, intentionally making it sound much more like a statement than a question. “Because you just couldn’t stand the fact that he’s not the same rotten shell that you are…”

Caliban gazed at the other killer’s expression. 

Sure enough, his words had struck a nerve. Mad craned his neck to sneer at him, trembling with rage. Though Caliban had only been occasionally dealing with him for a couple years now, he could easily tell that Mad had been the type of student who probably had an identity-crisis every time he couldn’t be the smartest person in the room.

“...But instead of even bothering to actually earn anything like what he has,” Caliban went on, “you just decided to try dragging him down to your level, huh?” 

The cannibal clicked his tongue, shaking his head dismissively. 

“It’s never gonna work, buddy. No matter where you go, what you do, who you kill…you’re never gonna be the better ma—” 

BWAAAAAAANNNN!

The classic blare of a car-horn came roaring out of nowhere, causing Mad to flinch and Caliban to nearly jump out of his skin.

The horn went off a few more times, very intentionally in a pattern:

BWAAA-BWAAA-BWAAA-BWAAA, BWAA-BWAAAN!

As Caliban whipped around to stare at the car that was parked on the side of the road, waiting for him just a couple yards away, there was a second or two of silence.

BWAAN!

…Okay, now there was silence. Caliban rolled his eyes, knowing that the car’s driver could see him nodding despite the relative distance. Slipping the cleaver back into his pocket, he began strolling over to the vehicle. 

“See you around,” he called over his shoulder. He only got a few raspy, unintelligible murmurs in response, but that was better than Mad’s typical, grating voice.

Caliban soon found himself stepping back onto the road, moving around his ride and pulling the passenger-side door open. After buckling his seatbelt, he looked over into the eyes that were currently hidden behind a pair of black-tinted sunglasses.

“Look, I’ll admit that I’ve got no room to talk about monologuing,” Murdock announced, his deep voice rolling into the air as he slowly spun the wheel. “But we’re still kinda on a time-crunch right now.”

“Fair point.” Caliban offered a combination of nod and shrug. “But still, you could’ve just sent a text if you really wanted me to cut things short.” 

“…I could always just make you walk to the job-site,” Murdock warned, groaning in time with how Caliban laughed at the little pun. 

“Except for the part where you can’t,” Caliban contended, “since we were assigned to take care of this target together.” It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. When they weren’t squabbling over jokes, the two of them made a pretty great team.

“He’s got you there,” a voice that had slowly grown more and more familiar over time piped up from the backseat. 

…Okay, scratch that, the three of them made a good team. At least, that was the case whenever Murdock decided to bring his tagalong—the newest member of The Pentas Family—into the action. They were still being trained in the art of a contract-killer, after all. 

Caliban peered up at the rearview mirror to see Snare bouncing in The Newcomer’s lap, purring in that gravelly way only hares could pull off as they stroked his back and scratched his ears. Even if they hadn’t removed their gloves, the hare didn’t seem to mind how the scarlet-dyed leather felt against his fur. 

“Traitor,” Caliban jokingly called out to his pet.

The Newcomer smiled and shrugged, only to let out a small yelp as Snare pushed his nose against their ear. 

In truth, Caliban was quite glad that Snare had warmed up to The Newcomer so fast. Especially considering how shy they’d been around him when Murdock had first brought them along to learn basic body-disposal (the kind with dismemberment and disembowelment, at least).

“Yeah, you are needed on the job tonight,” Murdock agreed, glancing Caliban’s way as he maneuvered the car down the road, further and further away from where Mad had been dropped off. “You’re gonna be needed on the next upcoming jobs that we’ve had scheduled for months now. Those same jobs that were almost thrown up in the air when you decided to just suddenly run off without telling any of us.” 

Caliban pursed his lips, shifting in his seat. “Hey, c’mon, I didn’t forget about any of that. I moved as quickly as I could because of that; I was only gone for one night.”

Murdock furrowed his brow, taking one hand from the wheel to aggravatingly adjust the raven hair that tickled his shoulders. “Still doesn’t change the fact that someone vanishing off the face of the Earth is only a good thing when we’re responsible for it.”

“Aza was worried about you,” The Newcomer added, a bit of sadness creeping into their dark gray eyes. “It’s a good thing your wife reached out to explain when she did; The Boss nearly sent out a search-party.” 

Caliban cringed. Okay, yeah, he’d definitely have to find a way to make up for that. Just the idea of his sister being scared made him feel sick, and The Boss had already done so much for him and her…

“Look, I know I probably should’ve handled that whole mess differently,” he admitted, fidgeting with his jacket’s zipper. “But right there in the moment, when I figured out just what kind of mistake I’d made…I panicked.”

He threw his thumb over his shoulder, toward the back window. Though they were now well on their way with no figures still lingering in view outside,  it was obvious who he meant by the gesture. 

“You know who that was.” 

He paused, then added, his tone tapering down a few octaves: “You know that…that he goes after kids.”

Both Murdock and The Newcomer’s faces fell, almost in perfect unison. It was usually difficult to read the former’s expression, thanks to his shades. But right here, right now, it was clear as crystal that he understood. That he felt the same disgust, the same fear as Caliban had. 

The Newcomer swallowed a lump in their throat, lowering their head and holding Snare close to their chest.

The Pentas Family wasn’t made up of saints. Never had been, never would be. But when it came to the rules The Boss had set when the mob was first established, NEVER stooping low enough to harm children was at the very top of the list.

Murdock let out a quiet sigh, nodding solemnly. 

“...Still,” he mentioned. “This is—what, the seventh time you’ve gone after him? How stubborn can he possibly be?” 

“I’m not sure what he’s made of,” Caliban shrugged, staring though the window. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wound up chopping his own damn hands off in the future. But he’s gotta call it quits someday.”

He folded his arms across his chest, thinking. “And until then, someone might as well make his life hell every so often. Just to remind him about that.” 

Murdock hummed thoughtfully, spinning the brass chain of his necklace between his fingers. “...Well said.” 

“Thanks.” 

The moments dragged by as a new quiet settled inside the car. 

The moon was hidden behind a swathe of clouds tonight, but its blurry outline still glowed right through them.

The wind howled outside, shaking any trees that dotted the fields around the road. It was a sound that never, never failed to be eerie. As if the breeze was promising anyone who dared have shelter right now that, if the elements couldn’t get them, something (or someone) else certainly would. 

Case in point: tonight’s target, whose hideout was apparently only fifteen minutes away from the forest that grew near the edge of the Cove Port Inlet’s city limits. 

The same forest the Murdock would be driving through, sooner or later. 

“...Did you really stab that guy with a broken broomstick?” Murdock blurted, tilting his head to the side, a curious smirk gracing his features. 

Caliban rolled his shoulders, baring his teeth in a sharp, shiny grin. “Yeah, I did.” 

“Wait, what?” The Newcomer gasped, excited energy flooding back into their eyes. They leaned closer, bracing red-gloved hands against the back of the front seats, glancing back and forth between their mentor and his accomplice. 

“A broomstick can do that kind of damage? Seriously?” They demanded, much more out of astonishment than doubt. 

“Sure!” Caliban insisted. He then nodded to Murdock, asking, “Hasn’t he taught you about improvising by now?”

“Well, yeah, but I guess I just thought about the more obvious things,” The Newcomer explained. "Like…golf-clubs! Since they have so much metal weight on one end, y’know? No doubt getting beaten with one of those would hurt like hell. But…wow. A broomstick as a makeshift spear?”

A rich, oily laugh seeped into the air as Murdock playfully elbowed the cannibal beside him. “Okay, now you’ve gotta tell them everything. Give us the full play-by-play.”

“All the gory details?” Caliban hummed, chortling right along. 

Murdock tried to scoff, but he was still distracted by the way his mentee’s eyes widened in time with an inquisitive smile. 

Caliban couldn’t blame him—it was nice to see a killer-in-training give off the same vibes as an eager student. 

With that, the three of them drove off into the night, the atmosphere around them full of chatting, laughter, and of course, the promise of eventual murder.

___

@sammys-magical-au @lexusinsannus @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @yourannoyinglittlesistersteph

It’s here, ITS FINALLY HERE

WHOOHOO @wouldntyou-liketoknow

This silent comic epilogue on my side seems to be a little bittersweet, no real conclusions for the crew for what the hell happened, but everyone is safe (the important ones are at least lmao) Caliban’s hair is different cuz of his tussle with Mad, he looks good tho- @crazy-obsessed-enby @iswmperson @lexusinsannus

Mike will be extremely loopy and sleepy, but when wasn’t he like that? lol Abby is just happy that her brother and Ness are safe, and Jack may or may not be a little upset he didn’t get to use his shotgun on somebody.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Things Happen After Dark...

(Disclaimer: one of the characters in this story do not belong to me. Casey Clowes was created by my amazing friend, @insane4fandoms.)

(Now, as for the fanegos who do belong to me: for more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on Azalea, go here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, and if you’d like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

HAPPY NEW YEAR! (Only twelve minutes late...oh well 😅 🍾)

(Trigger Warnings: murder/death, blood/gore, violence, descriptions of illegal business, poisoning, strangling/suffocation, cannibalism, broken bones, beating/blunt force trauma, knives/blades/weapons, eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Sections of the old concrete floor were slick, shining against the dim, flickering lights up above.

An unmistakable metallic stench hung in the air like heavy fog. 

Casey hated the fact that it lined up so well with how he could hear his own blood rushing through the veins in his ears.

The shivers were so violent, racing up and down throughout Casey’s ribcage. He ground his jaw; he couldn’t let his teeth start chattering. 

He’d already shown more fear than he’d care to admit—now, he couldn’t afford to show too much more. 

That would only make it easier for them…

To be clear, it wasn’t that Casey was unfamiliar with these sorts of places.

Old buildings that loomed on the sides of roads, basically out in the middle of nowhere, adorned by sun-bleached brick or faded paint and broken windows. 

The peculiar spots that had been left to rot for whatever reason a long time ago, that anyone could pass on their way to something better.

It was a bit ironic, really; he’d been hired to gather evidence against stalkers so many times before. And yet, sneaking around certain places at odd hours was exactly how he went about earning his keep and paying his bills.  

Sure, he wasn’t immune to cold sweat, or shivers up the spine, or having to duck and cover and just hold his breath until his lungs set themselves on fire and brace for some kind of horrific impact until he could finally, finally manage to peek out and move to safer ground…

But you just couldn’t be a private investigator if you couldn’t handle that kind of stuff.

It was just a fact of life: the more condemned a place was, the more likely people were to slip in through its cracks and do God-knows-what because they knew that pretty much everyone else wouldn’t venture inside.

He’d already snooped around two abandoned factories much like this one earlier in the year. 

Hell, those cases had even started off in a somewhat similar way to tonight’s shenaniganry: with a stroll through the Cove Port Inlets, just to review the facts—there never seemed to be enough—and get the juices flowing.

Granted, those other cases hadn’t involved him getting pulled into an alleyway so a few scumbags could practice for a chiropractic degree. 

Those other cases hadn’t involved him blacking out and eventually coming to with way more rope tightly coiled wrapped around his chest and arms than he remembered.

Those other cases hadn’t involved him being on the receiving end of an amateur stakeout.

Those other cases hadn’t involved near as much of a cacophony—screams that eventually bled into unintelligible whimpers and gurgles. 

Bones snapping under pressure, flesh practically sighing as metal was dragged through it.

Red either oozing down in ribbons to create viscous puddles, or droplets soaring through the air to splatter against the walls or, or, or…

It was almost made worse by the fact that he recognized the figures who were now pacing around the room, just a few feet from the corner he’d been bound to.

Well, the recognizing was sort of technical. 

This wasn’t the first close encounter he’d had with them (and his instincts demanded that he believe it wouldn’t be the last, either), but all the tricks, all the chases, all the near-misses just made things…strange. 

“Oh my God,” Azalea Crawford announced, stepping away from the mess to kneel down beside him, her big chestnut eyes glinting. “Is—is that a half-respirator?”

She reached out to carefully turn the small gas mask that rested on Casey’s collar from a strap stretched across the back of his neck. 

Casey took a subtle deep breath. The shivers cranked themselves up to eleven, so he had to try even harder than before to keep them trapped in his chest. 

She may have been petite—truly, she was one of the shortest adults he’d seen in his life—especially compared to him, but he knew better than to underestimate her. He’d heard of her reputation.

He’d watched her smile so casually when one of his kidnappers fell to the floor as though all his bones had just melted, wailing in agony and clawing at the same dart that had been shot from a small gun she’d pulled from her carob-colored vest 

“Hey, you left quite an impression that one time,” Casey finally answered, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Azalea replied, fidgeting with the cherry-red headband that decorated her gently-curling locks. The venom-laced sugar in her voice made it clear that she remembered just as well as he did. 

“Ooh,” another voice called out from a bit further away, set in a Midwestern accent, a bit jagged around the edges yet somehow still managing to be silvery. “Trauma-incuded mementos are a classic!”

Caliban Crawford wandered closer, his mouth—well, pretty much everything below his eyes, to be honest—still dripping with gore. As he bared his red-drenched teeth in a shiny grin, his silver canine-cap almost seemed to be letting off sparks thanks to the flickering lights.  

“Guess that means I’ve gotta up my own ante, huh?” He asked as he stood beside his sister, appraising toward her and sinister toward the captive audience.

Casey grimaced, quickly shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

“I just feel like I’ve been challenged!” Caliban held up his hands, his shoulders popping up in a snide shrug. “Y’know, to see if I can make you get another protective trinket.”

“The human body’s already horrifying enough on its own!” Casey protested. He would’ve made a furious weeping gesture toward the fresh carnage across the room, but his hands were literally tied, so the most he could do was nod at it. “Look at that! How did you even do that?!”

Caliban paused, glancing over his shoulder to fix the viscera another hungry look.

“I mean, you were kinda watching all of us when it happened,” Azalea mentioned.

“Yeah, well I was TRYING not to!” Casey retorted. 

“A dollop of fairy dust,” Caliban finally proclaimed, folding his arms across his chest as his focus returned to the investigator.

Casey blinked, and if it weren’t for his restrained position, he would’ve felt his jaw hitting the floor. “...That’s nOT FUNNY!” 

“Yeah? Then why was I laughing so much?” Caliban’s eyes grew wider, his grin even sharper than before. 

“BECAUSE YOU’RE SICK!” 

“Oh, c’mon. He’s just having some fun with his job,” Azalea reached up to pat her brother on the shoulder. “What’s wrong with that?”

Casey was about to go on a whole tirade about how a-frickin-LOT of things were wrong with being so damn happy about a career in contract-killing and the Black Market, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“Hey, listen,” yet another voice piped up from just around the corner, steeped in velvetine oil. “I deserve some credit for all this too.”

Murdock Mallory came strolling into the room, a few tiny red spots still clinging to his black-tinted lenses. Really, it was a miracle how no blood seemed to have gotten in the raven hair that just about tickled his shoulders.

“I ripped the tag off a mattress this morning,” he continued, idly twisting the thin chain around his neck between his forefinger and thumb, causing its brass pendant to spin. “Pretty sure that set off some kind of Butterfly Effect.”

Casey wanted to shout, to sputter, to do something more to showcase how angry he was because that just felt like the only thing he had left right now…but he couldn’t. 

Instead, he just heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, wow. And here I thought anatomy was the only science you guys were interested in.” 

“Uh, excuse you. I’m all about chaos theory,” Caliban huffed before turning away and beginning to scrape up the horrific remains that he was insane enough to deem as leftovers into what looking like a body bag. 

“You don’t need to have such an attitude about this,” Murdock chided, taking a few steps closer and tilting his head to the side. “Think: some sleazeball competitors of ours took you hostage to try and bait us. We could’ve just let them get rid of you, but no! We got rid of them instead! So, when you think about it, we’ve actually done you a pretty nice favor here.”

“Yeah,” Azalea agreed. Her voice was suddenly much closer, and Casey realized too late that he couldn’t see her anymore. “We could just leave you here for the cleanup crew to deal with, but we’re not doing that, either! Just think about that when you wake up, huh?” 

The question was punctuated by the distinct pinching sensation of a needle sinking into the small of Casey’s neck…

___

Of course, Casey wasn’t in the rightest mind to think about some things immediately after that. 

When he woke up on a park bench just as the sun began climbing its way into the sky, however, he had to admit: he had plenty to think about. 

…Mainly the fact that he had to have some begrudging gratitude about no chloroform being used. That stuff was way nastier than the movies ever let on.

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @lampsforsocks @b-is-in-the-closet

[chromacryptid]

Undeveloped steampunk au because i cant think of ego shit to draw until iswm comes out :[ lots of doc ock still left in my brain tho

.

Dark:

-would have a long silly name for sure

-a doctor or apothecary

-rumored to be a vampire but he’s actually just sad and sick all the time lmao

-bad relationship with family because he got the inheritance

William:

-mostly know as Warfstache

-total scam artist and will convince you to buy useless junk

-goes on endless tangents about “the good ol days” when he supposedly owned an airship

-slippery as hell, disappears as soon as he’s in trouble, in dramatic hammy fashion ofc

Google:

-let me first clarify he is awful

-will break your shit and judge you snootily and is just very unsettling

-meant to be a cute little novelty butler-esque robot to give advice and dust n shit

-was quickly put out of production and is now found in odds n ends shops to haunt you

[rebar2042]

+Celine and Young Yancy

family photo (messed up family au)

There's an au where yancy and murdock are actor/celine's sons

I liked that too much

So this happened thank you

Previous drawings below

[aslitheryprinx]

Masterpost

NSFW do not interact. T-cest do not interact.

As of right now, I do not write or draw any requested shipping/romantic content. Other than that, feel free to ask me about anything on this blog! I also take prompts + requests, but no guarantee I'll get to them quickly or at all.

My ao3 is aslitheryprinx || my archive blog is @prinx-archive

any other blogs claiming to be me (I don't think there are any lol) are not me!

Pronouns: xe/xem/xir, they/them, zey/zem/zir

AUs below the cut:

ROTTMNT

Ao3

the family we choose

Tumblr Aus

the family we choose au || reincarnation au || thicker than blood au

Misc Tags

my rise art || rottmnt aus

ISWM

Everything Ends

Hermitcraft

Goodnight Moon

MCYT

key: * <- g/t (giant/tiny) au; ** <- au containing platonic vore (you can block #tw vore or #mcyt g/t if either of these tropes make you uncomfortable)

Ao3

5 + 1 Phil story || A Gift for Michael* || all that time has worn away || Angelduo Week || Bond of Blood and Stone* || Earthbound Spirits* || Once Upon a December* || SBI week 2022 || short stories from tumblr* || The Lark Ascending || with your glass ceiling, walls and floor*

Gifts & Challenges

Camping Trip* || Fire and Ice** || Loney Nights* || Morning Hunt*

Tumblr Aus

adrift au* || alliumspider au** || bedrock borrowers au* || birds of a feather au* || celestials au* || coral reefs au* || curiosity au* || cyborg borrowers au* || drider au** || earthbound spirits au* || endergiant au* || face of peace au** || glass ceiling au* || g/t revivebur au* || humans are weird au || httyd au* || itsy bitsy drider au* || lil gremlin au* || mad scientist au* || nom therapy au** || once bitten twice shy au* || once upon a december au* || phil and the beanstalk au* || ragdoll au* || rantooz au* || shipwrecked au** || shooting stars au* || smolbois inc au* || soul contact au* || starstruck au* || tomyo au* || trust au* || stitched au* || vigilant au** || will of the wisp au*

Other Oneshots

By Your Side** || Damp and Dark** || Hide n Sleep* || Potion Seller* || Scale* || The Sleepwalker** || You Trust Me?**

Misc Tags**

prinx fake title game || three word prompts || mcyt art || aslitheryanswers || aslitherysubmissions