PFP: mayorundertheplumtree ||A BIG NATEMARE & PHANTOM FICTIONKIN || LEVEL 17 || Autism + ADHD || Emo & a Babybat || This is mainly an art blog but I also love writing stories and making youtuber egos!! || I LOVE DAWKO AND FNAF SM || Free Palestineđľđ¸
You can call me Evan, Nate or Elvira and I'm genderfluid and apart of the aroace spectrum :) You can refer to me as whatever, my preference changes but it's usually He/They/She in that order!
My other accounts: @natemares-weird-ask-blog @manic-n-panic-rp
About me~ I am autistic and I love drawing and writing about my comfort characters/YT content creators. I've loved Fnaf since 2017 and my favorite canon characters would have to be Bonnie & Ness. My favorite youtubers in order are Dawko, Matpat, Ethan, Markiplier & FusionZgamer! I also listen to 80s music and I love creating youtuber egos :) NWTB is my go-to artist when it comes to my favorite songs!! When I'm excited or anxious I tend to ramble so please don't mind that :)
Boundaries~ Dming me is fine and encouraged because I enjoy talking about my sillies & my fav fandoms<3 Reminder: I AM 17, I'm not talking about my personal life, sharing personal information or discussing nsfw topics with you. This is common sense I fear. If I'm uncomfortable I will either let you know or block you. If I make you uncomfortable, please do the same.
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Something I drew recently! I wanted to draw this outfit of Zack cuz the outfit was so cute!! đđЎ
This photo was from https://www.instagram.com/p/CuR4-M5L0wE/?img_index=1&igsh=ODhkcm4zZXA0MjBx for a short film called âin your bloodâ which that Iâm really excited for! ^^
Genuinely, how? Are people not allowed to show off things? Yeah, not everyone can afford trips to Japan but that doesn't mean they think they're better than others, or whatever you're implying.
People are allowed to have nice things. That's like telling a random stranger "Oh, you're flaunting your wealth!" For going on a trip??? And sharing a bit of their life?? People are allowed to have fun.
From the looks of Anna and Cam's post nowhere do they say or even implicate that they think that "I'm rich and proud!!"
And even if they thought that, it's not bad to be proud at what you've accomplished. It's hard work. And they aren't being rude about anything. It's just a post that you're overanalyzing and being extremely parasocial over.
I was originally going to answer your reblog, but then I clicked on your blog because you're a Matpat fan and I was curious (and because I wanted to check if you were an adult before I answered you, because I don't like responding to minors). And now I have multiple questions and none of them are about what you said
I know people have their preferences but this is weirding me out, I'm going to say this in the nicest way I can
Why does your blog have posts of shipping real people? Characters made by people (like Paultin because he's a DND character) I don't care about because that's fantasy and fictional, that is completely fine. And I saw a Phantom and Natemare post you reposted (I have mixed feelings because I grew up with the horrors of Sans-cest and idk how I feel about that)
But why in the ever loving fuck are you shipping Nate with his friends? That's a grown ass man. There are other things you can ship
I'm not? What gave you the impression I was shipping real people? I'm shipping the characters that Nate and others have created like PhanZach, Phantom and the magician in the Phantom Music Video. For more views I tag Zach Callison, one of the actors in the video, so they know what character I'm talking about because it's not a known ship. I like to call the character Oliver anyway.
I'm not shipping Nate with anyone unless it's his wife or it's his CHARACTERS that he has MADE and other characters that other Creator's have made. Plus, you're going off topic and ignoring what the topic was originally about. This conversation isn't about me, it's about Anna and Cam, which is who I was trying to talk about.
In lieu of an actual Pride-themed story (that might change, but for now I'm more focused on other projects), I'm celebrating with memes!
And of course, said memes are being focused on The Pentas Family! Not only because my hiatus has kept me away from them for so long, but...well, our community is already called The Alphabet Mafia, isn't it?
I know this is probably me overthinking things for the millionth time, but please don't come at me about demonizing queer people. This is FICTION. Yes, these characters are based on real people, but I've always made a point to never direct stuff like this at the actual people. These are harmless headcanons that aren't even set in stone. Whatever I imply here is just a small idea, and I want to be flexible with reader-interpretation for certain subjects. My ask-box is always open for discussion.
(Disclaimer: three of the characters here do not belong to me; they belong to three of my extremely talented friends. Casey Clowes belongs to @insane4fandoms . Sam Ryder belongs to @sammys-magical-au . And Nic Loughty belongs to @the-matpat-ever .)
(As for the characters who DO belong to me: for more information on The Newcomerâor on the mob in generalâgo here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if youâd like to see my personal headcanons for him, go here. For more information on Parker, 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 Garret, go here. For more information on Val, go here. For more information on Miles and Howie, go here. For more information on Phoenix, go here. For more information on Mercury, go here. Two-Toes Johnny is technically kinda in the same boat as Murdock, but if youâd like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here.)
___
Mercury: Fuck coming out, just keep acting gay until someone has the guts to call you out about it
___
The Newcomer: Iâm genderless. Iâm full of gender. Iâm a malewife. Iâm a biblically accurate angel. Iâm a pop idol. Iâm the fourth incarnation of God. Iâm a convicted criminal. Iâm never gonna dieâ
___
[Casey is having yet another run-in with Caliban and Murdock. Itâs right in the middle of an investigation for him, and right in the middle of a hit-job for them. As usual, snark infests the scene.]
Casey: Nope, Iâve already looked the other way enough!
Caliban: Whatâs one more time? Câmon, we have standards! We respect boundaries!
Casey: Oh really?! You couldâve fooled me! Name one line you guys wonât cross!
Murdock: Well, we don't accept jobs that involve taking the target on dates or advancing up the bases until itâs killing-time. Thatâs fucking gross!
Casey: âŚAlright, fine, thatâs pretty valid.Â
Murdock: Damn right it is. And even if we didnât have those standards, Iâd still hate it. You have any idea how hard it is to come up with pick-up lines that are actually good without making things weird?Â
Casey: I mean, to that end, it sounds like you just donât try hard enough.
Murdock: Oh yeah? You go ahead and come up with a clever, non-committal pick-up line right nowâ
Casey: âHey, are you a firework? Because youâre breathtakingly beautiful, but I still donât want you anywhere near my crotch.â
Caliban: âŚÂ
Murdock: âŚHoly SHIT.Â
Caliban: *falls to the floor, cackling so hard heâs struggling to breathe*
___
[A typical day at Ear Caffeine]Â
Nic: *showing his boyfriend around the studio before he clocks out*Â
Parker: *notices this while working on the recording equipment* My fucking God, these bitches GAY.Â
Parker: âŚGood for them. Good for them.Â
___
Murdock: Some idiot wrote a fucking article about how men might be absorbing estrogen through their dicks whenever they have sex with their girlfriends.Â
Garret: *sarcastic but also dumbfounded* âFellas, is it GAY to have sex with a WOMAN?â
Mercury: Absolutely. Feel free to come over to my place and get an extra dose of testosterone.
Two-Toes Johnny: *taking a swig of whiskey and not looking up from his book* The ancient Greeks be likeâ
___
âI think Iâm falling for you.â
Azalea: âŚLook, thatâs nice, but you can go ahead and get up.
___
K.O.: The fact that straight people have convinced themselves that wrestling isnât gay erotic foreplay is truly one of the greatest mysteries known to mankind.Â
Mercury: And show wrestling is basically just theater. So itâs even GAYER!
___
Val: My pronouns of choice are they/them.Â
Howie: *jokingly* But youâre only one person.
Murdock: Lmao at the person who doesnât know that nonbinary people are just swarms of bees in disguise.Â
Caliban: RELEASE THE NONBEENARIES.Â
___
Phoenix: My very religious but supportive elderly neighbor asked me what Iâm giving up for Pride, because I think she thinks itâs like Lent and Pride parades are like Mardi Gras?
Val: *nodding along* âŚ
Phoenix: Anyway, I panicked and said âoatmeal.â
___
K.O.: Shout-out to the twink at this yearâs Pride festival who brought his own megaphone to counteract the evangelical protestors by shouting out the entirety of a recipe for mac-n-cheese
___
Val: Asking for straight Pride is like asking for able-bodied parking spaces
Mercury: Thatâs a really good comparison, because there are about seventy able-bodied parking spaces to one disabled parking space, and able-bodied people still insist on using the ones that arenât theirs. Â
Phoenix: This is seriously a great allegory.Â
Murdock: âCemeteries for LIVING peopleâÂ
___
Val: One of my favorite things about Pride month is celebrating the many achievements of the LGBTQIA+ community, like when we collectively stole the rainbow from God
___
Mercury: If thereâs a sassy gay friend, then thereâs gotta be some sarcastic ace-spectrum and aro-spectrum friends
Caliban: *finger-gunning*
Azalea: *applauding*
Murdock: *politely nodding*
Parker: *raises his hand* Brutally honest bisexual friendÂ
Sam: *raises their hand* Pissed off pansexual friendÂ
___
Two-Toes Johnny: *tipsy but genuine* Reblog if you ARE queer, or if you SUPPORT queer people, or if you like to BREAK peopleâs WINDOWS in the middle of the NIGHT and toss DOZENS of GEESE in their BEDROOMSâ
___
The Newcomer: I pirated my gender online
___
Caliban: So, you identify as bisexual?Â
Parker: I think so.
Caliban: And that means you could have a male partnerâŚ
Parker: Yep.
Caliban: Or a female partnerâŚÂ
Parker: *Not sure where this is going, since Caliban is married and Caliban knows he isnât Parkerâs type* Yeah?
Caliban: So, if you donât have any partner at all, does that mean youâre on standbi?
Parker: âŚ
Caliban: ⌠*grinning in SUCH A SMUG WAY*
Parker: *internally screaming and furiously trying not to smile under his face-mask*
___
Val: So, Iâm nonbinary, but Iâm technically a woman
Murdock: OkayâI mean, I already knew that, but you still have a manâs body
Val: Oh damn, youâre right, we should probably bury this target instead of talking about gender
Murdock: Yeah, Iâll get the shovels
___
Miles: Last night, I had a dream where gay people could only walk backwards
Garret: By extension, straight people can only walk forward. Bisexuals can go forwards and backwards, and pansexuals can go any direction.Â
Murdock: Asexuals and aromantics just stand there. WATCHING.Â
Caliban: SoâŚwith demisexuals or demiromantics, Iâm guessing they just stand there like asexuals until someone pulls them along. Sounds about right.Â
Azalea: Aha, demi-inclusive stuff!
K.O.: And polysexuals can walk in some directions, but not all of âem. Will vary from poly to poly
Casey: âŚI mean, this is a really good explanation and all, but when did the queer community become a game of Chess?Â
___
Howie: Those moments where straight people assume a queer person is one of them, and the queer person gets to feel like a queer secret agent.Â
Mercury: Secret gaygent or lesbionageÂ
Parker: Bi-spy
Sam: Pan with a planÂ
The Newcomer: Queer with gearÂ
___
Val: The F on my birth certificate was the doctor paying respect when I was born
___
Garret: Hey everyone, I think I might be omni
Murdock: Yeah, no shit
Miles: Easy, Murdock. Thanks for telling us, Garret. Weâre proud of you.Â
Howie: I just hit someone with one of my carsâ
___
K.O.: I've only been able to see so many of Penelope's drag races...but I gotta say, the absolute best had one of the queens introduce the show with, âLadies, gentlemen, and those of us who know better...âÂ
Genuinely, how? Are people not allowed to show off things? Yeah, not everyone can afford trips to Japan but that doesn't mean they think they're better than others, or whatever you're implying.
People are allowed to have nice things. That's like telling a random stranger "Oh, you're flaunting your wealth!" For going on a trip??? And sharing a bit of their life?? People are allowed to have fun.
From the looks of Anna and Cam's post nowhere do they say or even implicate that they think that "I'm rich and proud!!"
And even if they thought that, it's not bad to be proud at what you've accomplished. It's hard work. And they aren't being rude about anything. It's just a post that you're overanalyzing and being extremely parasocial over.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Being the way I am, I decided to give my customization project a little last-minute touch along with everything I'd already had planned:
Meet Lotte, my second-ever customized Labubu! Yeah, the colors over her actual eyes are harsh and juvenile, but isn't that a huge part of TADC's entire aesthetic?
The eyes on the stomach and back were all part of my original plan, and I'm honestly really happy with how they turned out! (Even so, Lotte's face still looked a bit plain compared to her new traits, so I decided to take a chance and bring the felt back out.) The arrangement might look a bit wobbly/irregular, but hey, Abstraction canonically leaves your mind wobbly/irregular, doesn't it?
On top of this, I've got one more finished product to share:
Okay, not all that different from my first progress-pic, but whatever!
Funny story: right after I placed my order for the eye-charms, I immediately started looking for a tooth-charm to go with them (because you can't honor Caine without teeth), but none of the options I found would've flowed very well with this design. So, imagine my surprise when I found the perfect pendant sent as an extra little gift in the package with the eyes! Like the actual chain, the ring around the tooth and the little bar behind it were recycled from other stuff in my jewelry box.
Despite what I said in my last post, I won't be able to post my theater outfit until a while later (long story not worth telling). I'll still try to share before the night is done, if anyone is still interested, lol.
(Disclaimer: one of the characters in this story does not belong to me. Nic Loughty is the OC of my good friend @the-matpat-ever . Please check out his blog and support his art.)
(Since itâs MerMay, most of my fanegos have gotten a special little shift for the occasion! Iâve organized a new, temporary list of headcanons for The Pentas Familyâeach memberâs species, vague lore-bits, etc.âwhich can be found here for context.)
(As for the fanego who does belong to me: for more information on Parker, go here. For more information on the mob he works for, go here. )
(Trigger Warnings: body horror, the ocean, descriptions of illegal business, mentions of death/murder, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)Â
When selkies were newborn pups, it was very common for their developing pelts to be white and fluffy and snow, darkening and smoothing out as they grew, as they got the hang of switching back and forth between forms. Only a few species kept that pale hue, but darker patches would always form around their backs and muzzles.
Nic had seen plenty other selkies with pelts that were gray, sometimes adorned with a spray of irregular spots. Heâd seen other pelts that were nearly pure black, either set off by streaks of white, or eventually revealed to be a deep, dark shade of brown when the sunlight hit them just right.Â
Nicâs pelt happened to be brown, for the most part. There was a pattern of somewhat lighter rings that peppered their way through the fur almost like freckles on skin. Even so, he felt like his could almost pass that aforementioned darkness testâŚas long as you only saw his back. His peltâs underbelly, on the other hand, was a cloudy shade of silver. Even he had to admit that the contrast was quite pretty, but it didnât make the best camouflage.Â
But that didnât quite matter right now, because he wasnât in his other form, wasnât in the water. His pelt was, as usual on days or nights like this, wrapped around him like a very elaborate mixture of scarf and poncho. The front flippers wound around his forearms while the back flippers hung near his legs. The entire midsection was flush to his back a few minutes agoâŚbut by now, heâd absentmindedly let it drape lower, the sealâs hollow head hanging against its back as though itâd had its neck snapped in the most violent way.
All selkies had large, dark eyesâso dark that, from a distance, their pupils appeared to have just completely swallowed up their irises and sclerasâno matter what form they were using and Nic was no exception. His knew that his eyes were dark enough to help him out right now, here in the shadows of the storage closet.Â
Itâd been a random choice of hiding spot; heâd been more zoned out than heâd care to admit when his keen hearing had picked up on the sound some something smooth and sinuous sliding over the grass outside, and heâd had to rush to stow away just as the familiar pattern of awkward thumps and under-the-breath swearing reached the room.Â
Still, he supposed it was working well enough. The computer was up and running, throwing its violently bright glow throughout the room. But the desk it was mounted on was positioned in away that left the closet and its ever-so-slightly-cracked door shielded.Â
He had plenty of cover. He could watch and wonder as much as he damn-well pleased.
Just so long as he didnât make any sudden movesâŚÂ  Â
There were many benefits to including a basement in a music studioâs layout. The mass of soil and concrete around the walls was perfect for blocking low-frequencies, and so sound-isolation was made much easier, whether it was for voices or instruments.Â
Although, just like everything else, there was a set of cons to go with the pros of such a setup.
However, those cons usually involved things like excessive humidity damaging foster molds and audio equipment, or sounds still finding ways to bleed up through the ceiling.
Of all the routines Nic had learned for the sake of this part of the studio, heâd never thought a midnight intruder in the form of a naga could be on the list of things to look out for.
(Then again, none of his co-workersâa rag-tag group of humans and a few harpiesâknew about said intruder. Because he hadnât told them. Because despite how scared heâd been the very first time, the naga hadnât spotted him, and the naga hadnât actually done anything to harm the studio or any of the stuff inside it, and heâd maintained that behavior for all the subsequent times heâd snuck in, so Nic personally didnât see any problems.)
Normal snakes tended to go about home-invasion via cracks in foundation, crawl-spaces, vents, and sometimes even pipes connected to sinks or toilets (Nic wished that last option was as much of a lazy urban legend as it sounded, but one freak-accident in a shady motel years ago was more than enough).Â
Even if nagas had the autonomy and societal presence to enter places just with a knock on the door, they still had the potential to be moreâŚcreative about it.Â
You couldnât have a basement without a window-well. And nowadays, you just couldnât have a window-well without a grate on top of it.Â
And yet, despite the paranoia said grates were associated with, Nic had only see a few that came with actual locks. The one that sat atop Ear Caffeineâs window-well certainly didnât.Â
The fact that the frame around the windowâs outer screen had corroded enough for it to fall away easily didnât help.
The windowâs actual lock wasnât broken, didnât have any deformities that kept it from latching properly, but as Nic had seen, that didnât really matter.Â
Rain had been pelting the roof for almost half an hour, and if the sound of deep, distant rumbling even further above was anything to go by, the storm was only just getting started for the night.
But for now, it wasnât enough to start making the window well before more like a traditional well, to make it look like a very unconventional fish tank until it gradually soaked into the dirt beneath the rocks that lined the bottom.Â
A low, metallic creeEEAak filtered into Nicâs ears, and he watched as a strange silhouette descended down the wellâs wall, pausing just outside the window.Â
A muffled chorus of little clicks and crinks bled through the glassâŚand then it was being pushed aside, momentarily letting in a cool, humid draft.
The entering figure lingered on the windowsill, then carefully maneuvered himself into a partial handstand on the floor, moving forward bit-by-bit as the rest of it followed along.Â
Like most other nagas, his upper-half looked humanoid enough. Sure, it was covered in a thin layer of grayish-white scales, along with bands of black that wove along his arms and curved around his cheekbones and jaw in a way that nearly resembled the imprint of a face-mask, but he still managed to stay a good distance from the Uncanny Valley. (That wasnât even mentioning his eyes; they were just as dark as Nicâs.)Â
And then, just about where a humanâs hips wouldâve gone, his waist funneled into a sinuous tail that stretched about seven feet in total length. Those inky stripes kept going from there, growing wider and wrapping about the white in near-perfect circles.Â
His scales glistened in the light, as did the short, dark thatch on the top of his head (because, just like merfolk, nagas had even evolved so far as to grow perfectly good hair while still being cold-blooded non-mammals! How the hell did that even work?!)Â
Droplets were sliding down all over him, courtesy of the storm outside, leaving thin rivers to trickle down the water and form small puddles on the floor. More of it trailed below the nagaâs tail, as he turned to haul the window shut.Â
He didnât seem to mind, though. Not at all.Â
Despite the lack of gills growing along his chest, he was clearly meant for watery environments; the end of his tail was vertically compressed into a paddle-shaped tip that boasted some vague resemblance to a fin.
Hell, Nic had even seen it in action once or twice, apart from these midnight rendezvous.Â
Back when heâd first moved to the Cove Port Inlets, heâd gone out of his way to find a rental as close to the local beach as possible. Yes, the bungalows and condos that had been built on on certain parts of that beach wouldâve been even better, but they also couldnât even be rented without either selling a few of your organs, or coming from a rich family with the purpose of being handed a swanky paid internship and still potentially winding up selling someone elseâs organs.)Â
From there, heâd long-since made a habit to visit the beach a couple times per week, using some of his free time to shift and dive and swim, all the things his pelt was meant for.Â
Nic usually kept to himself on such swims, but it wasnât at all uncommon for him to become a random onlooker to local merfolk and the like. And that, in turn, had paved the way for him to occasionally catch a long, spiral-striped tail gliding through the waterâs haze, usually by the cluster of sea-caves that sat near the cove.
That same naga, he was sure of it, his coils winding through the water in a way that made his stripes seem to be spiraling around him. Nic had never approached him there, and he didnât plan to in the future. Whatever errands heâd been running, wherever he was swimming to or from, he always moved so fastâŚ
The visitor pulled away from the window, hefting himself up, finding the right balance to keep his torso upright. Metal glinted in one of his handsâa pair of long, silvery objects that ended in odd, thin hooks. He reached over to the small, dark green backpack slung around his shoulder, coaxing it open to deposit the lock-picks (thatâs what they had to be, right?).Â
He glanced all around the room, at the equipment set up both behind and outside the viewing glass that took up the far wall.
His eyes passed by the storage closet, lingering just long enough for Nic to hold his breath and bite his tongue so hard that it was a wonder he didnât draw blood.
The naga then slithered over to the computer, pushing the swivel chair aside and dropping his cargo next to one of the speakers. With that, he loomed in from of the monitor; despite the webbing between his fingers and the short, sharp claws in place of nails, he was pretty damn dexterous on the keyboard.Â
He reached into his bag again, this time fishing out a USB flash drive, as well as a thin binder. He carefully plugged the former into one of the many slots offered by the computer.Â
The next few minutes felt like hours as the screen flickered, as he clicked and clacked.Â
Like the many other times heâd dropped in, his expression was difficult to read. He seemed so engrossed in his thoughts. He didnât blink once this entire process (though, for a humanoid snake, that was probably natural), his brow furrowed with concentration.
If Nic was completely honest, this naga had one of the most severe cases of Resting Bitch-Face heâd ever seen. But his movements were usually calm, calculated, apart from the frequent pauses and glances all around the darkened studio. Or how the paddle-tip of his tail habitually swayed back and forth with an unmistakable similarity to someone bouncing their knee or tapping their foot.Â
Eventually, he leaned back from the monitor, folding his arms across his chest, raising a hand to rest his chin on his palm, claws thoughtfully drumming against his cheek.Â
He nodded to himself, a forked tongue darting in and out of his mouth like a party favor. The corners of his lips twitched, and a tiny smile crept onto his features. It wasnât long for this world, though.Â
Getting back to business, the naga ejected his USB, then searched through the binder, unclipping a few papersâsheet music, Nic knew without a doubtâthat he delicately stacked on top of the audio interface. After that, he packed up his things, gave the room one last anxious glance, and crawled back over to the window.Â
Nic kept watching, just as he had been this whole time. He didnât mind having to stay so still for so long, but now that heâd seen what was dropped off, his muscles were suddenly screaming at him to go over and examine it.Â
He knew his co-workers would find out tomorrow (not from him; they were perfectly capable of discovering the new music themselves), knew that theyâd probably tell him things as well as ask him things, knew that theyâd make announcements to their other clients and local listeners about the latest mystery-prize of songs and notes, courtesy of their very own urban legend. (Not just an urban legend, but an urban legend who just had such. A damn. Way with words. The songs he left behind never failed to be emotional and well-tuned.)Â
But he just couldnât resist the adrenaline of getting to take the very first peek.Â
There was just something soâŚthrilling about having a ghost-singer/lyricist choose the studio you worked at to sneak their craft into the world.Â
Of course, this begged the question: why did this naga feel the need to sneak around with his music when he could always just apply to the studio in broad daylight like a normal person?Â
Well, for one thing, normal and music did not mix. Never had, never would, no matter how much the pearl-clutchers bitched and moaned.Â
And for another thing, plenty non-human folks around here were content with living semi-feral. Sure, they were adept with human languages and could be seen interacting with humans, but that didnât mean they had to live like humans. They could consume certain luxuries, chat about pop culture, inform themselves on current politics, do all that good, modern stuff for one half of the day, and then spend the next half swimming or flying to catch their dinner, or make some adjustments to whatever nest or grotto they called home.
It made some things inconsistent, yeah, but it wasnât hurting anyone.
And Nic couldnât blame non-human creatures for doing that.Â
Not needing a job because you could hunt for your food and make your own dwelling out in the wild, along the beach, under the waterâŚit sounded a lot like freedom, even if it took hard work.Â
The only reason Nic wasnât living like that was because heâd been raised around nothing but humans and their jobs and buildings and clothes and culture. His parents had made sure to show him how to be a selkie, to accommodate his needs as much as they could, but there had just been so much going on back then. And there was only more going on now.Â
___
Grass dragged against scales as Parker slithered further and further away from Ear Caffeine. Dirt smeared around his coils as he ducked past nearby trees and bushes, but the rain was rinsing him off. On top of that, it was singing with its famously soothing rhythm, and there were so few rhythms you could actively move around in, be surrounded by.
Besides, heâd get a more thorough cleaning soon enough.
The rain bounced off his backpack, some stubborn droplets clinging on as though they were angry about not soaking into the fabric. Waterproof stuff was an obvious requirement for people like him, and this thing had been worth every damn penny.
(Well. It probably was to its previous owner, whoever had been fishing on one of the public piers that Parker had drifted directly beneath as to snatch this very backpack without being noticed. But if they could afford something so durable in the first place, then theyâd have no problem getting a replacement.)
It didnât take long for Parkerâs eyes to readjust. They were built for darkness. Heâd been lurking around the shadowy corners of reefs since his hatching-day. Heâd swam through all sorts of depth, something letting his tail drift over the stretches of underwater sand, long after sunset.Â
He glanced over his shoulder a few more times than heâd care to admit; this little hobby of his had already been risky enough, and that selkie-kid hiding out in that closet only added to said risk.
âŚBut then again, heâd caught said selkie-kid watching his trips multiple times before now. He hadnât called it out then, because that definitely wouldâve led to more trouble than he wanted to deal with. And due to the lack of any cops patrolling the cove and marina and sea-caves with a sketch of his face on-deck, the selkie still had yet to say anything about his song-planting habit.Â
So, he figured he just had a weird little silent agreement. From what heâd gathered through careful glances around the studio after hours, the selkie was pretty much harmless. In fact, he honestly seemed pretty chill. Nice, even. And Parker was the type who could usually just tolerate anyone and everyone outside of his personal circle. (
Hell, he found himself having to tolerate the people in that very circle, even if they had his trust and he had theirs.) So, that assessment was considerable, coming from a guy with an attitude like his.Â
(Good thing, too. Even with the mobâs special policy on selkiesâŚwell, Parker wouldnât feel quite right if the one in Ear Caffeine wound up getting into trouble with his peers. Even if he didnât know him, he was still pretty young. And heâd already proved capable of keeping secrets.) Â
He flicked his tongue a few times, taking in the fresh, earthy smell all around him. He hadnât veered offâhe was still on the route heâd taken on his way to the music studio.Â
Sooner or later, the trees opened up, leaving a decent amount of space for a creek to yawn out of the ground.Â
The water rippled and gurgled as the raindrops met its surface, but the storm wasnât violent enoughâyetâfor the bottom to be completely obscured.Â
Parker crawled over to the edge and peered down.Â
It took a moment of scanning, but he eventually found them: a pair of glassy eyes, frozen in a moment of pain and terror, that stared up at nothing through the surface, but more and more silt was actively forming a dark, viscous shroud all around him.
It was kind of ironic; this target had met his sorry end in the ocean, near the sea-caves Parker had claimed a long time agoâŚand yet, heâd still found himself dragging the body out and dumping it in a creek.Â
Sure, he couldâve just left the corpse floating. He couldâve sought out Caliban or Murdock or any of his other peers to deflate the lungs and force it to sink, but there was still a chance that it could wash up somewhere on the beach after a while. And even if, thanks to his scales, he didnât have much to worry about in the way of fingerprints, The Pentas Shoal was all about being thorough with the jobs they took.Â
They could only ever leave evidence behind when they needed to, when it was part of the game-plan.Â
Besides, a good amount of time would pass before anyone would have a chance to discover this guy. The raindrops were coming down harder, faster, starting to form a strange curtain to distort the air almost like an enormous school of fish. The storm was churning the creek, stirring up the mud in thick, murky clouds below the surface.
The body was already half-buried. It would take a few weeks, but heâd decay down there. There was a slight chance heâd melt into the creek floor before anyone even found him in the first place.Â
 People got drunk or high and wandered around the city at odd hours all the time, and peopleâeven when they were completely sober and alertâfell into canals or rivers or lakes and drowned every single year, in multiple cities across the States.Â
Sure, a set-up like this might look suspicious at first, but someone would inevitably bring up those variables. It wasnât at all inconceivable for this to be chalked up to a tragic accident and nothing more.Â
Satisfied, Parker slithered around the creek, listening to the sound of waves in the distance. The smell of salt was steadily growing strongerâheâd be back on the beach soon, back in the water soon.
Heâd have to report to The Boss before he could officially go off-duty tonight, but it would be wise to avoid his actual home for a little while longer anyway.
(Since itâs MerMay, most of my fanegos have gotten a special little shift for the occasion! Iâve organized a new, temporary list of headcanons for The Pentas Familyâeach memberâs species, vague lore-bits, etc.âwhich can be found here for context.)
(Disclaimer: most of the characters in this story are fanegos created by me. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if youâd like to see my personal headcanons for him, go here. For more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on The Newcomerâor on the mob they work for in generalâgo here.)
(Trigger Warnings: body horror, the ocean, implied blood/gore, descriptions of illegal business, slight mentions of death/murder, implied mutilation, implied teeth-pulling, mentions of eating/drinking, technical cannibalism, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)Â
Stereotyping was never the mature or correct thing to do, and thousands of mersharks out thereâregardless of exact speciesâhad gone above and beyond to prove just how articulate and complex they truly were. (Although there was most definitely an underlying point to making their detractors look stupid, because really, who could resist that?)
Despite the conflict of ignorance, much like their more primitive counterparts, the vast majority of attacks by mersharks were out of self-defense or severe misunderstanding. Likewise, the concept of a mershark actively developing a taste for human flesh and blood was practically unheard of.Â
Practically.Â
âRookie!â A deep, smooth baritone rang out through the halls. âGet over hereâweâve got some company!â
The Newcomerâs fingers froze over the keyboard, swiveling their focus away from their laptopâs screen. Â
They recognized the voice, of course; theyâd listened to and talked with Murdock just about every day for years now. Theyâd had more than enough time to learn his mannerisms when it came to speaking.
The tone heâd just used was outwardly light, casual, as though heâd found a very confused lizard crawling by his nest and now wanted someone else to help him corral it toward Valâs nest for some shits and giggles.Â
But that was just on the surface of his words.Â
Heâd put some extra emphasis on the end of his call, lowered his pitch ever-so-slightly. His voice had always been laced with a type of natural velvetâŚbut then he went out on jobs and his attitude grew shadowy, his smiles grew sharper. At that point, aforementioned velvet became less like a luxury jacket and more like something that would encase you in a coffin. Still towing some very questionable charm, but wracked with rot and secrets and the worst kind of patience.
The tone heâd just used was a bit like the one he used for active jobs. Only a bit, since while it was laced with sadism, it lacked adrenaline.Â
It was calm for the most part.Â
It was the tone he used when he was playing mind-games, when negotiations were getting out of hand and he planned to watch the chaos like a vulture before swooping into it himself.Â
âŚThe fact that a chorus of less-familiar screaming and babbling was overlapping his voice also offered a couple clues.Â
âComing!â The Newcomer called back, signing out and hiding their laptop between the mattress and box-spring theyâd set up in one corner.Â
What had once served as a gift shop for Codfatherâs was now serving as The Newcomerâs bedroom, and honestly, it hadnât been that difficult of a transition. (The bright turquoise paint covering every surface wasnât always easy on the eyes, but The Newcomer usually handled post-job hazes via pacing around the rest of the building, so it worked out).
Shelves were built into every wall, giving ample space for the books and trinkets theyâd collected over time. Old display racks were natural for hanging up their clothes, and the former register-stand included a nifty little internal safe that helped them hide a plethora of weapons, payments, and gruesome bargaining chips theyâd been entrusted with until the time came to bring them out.
The Newcomer strode out and down the hall.Â
As they walked, they continued hearing Murdockâs voice, though they could tell it wasnât directed at them this time. Another voiceâthe one that had been screaming a few minutes agoâwas also bouncing along the floors and walls, a little wobbly around the edges.Â
âIâm just sayingâow!âI shouldnât have to keep up with this part of the contract.â The voice was a bit muffled, but the speaker either didnât know how to adjust his volume or just didnât think he needed to because everyone might as well listen to him, since they apparently had nothing better to do.Â
âOh? I donât remember Phoenix setting up any contract for you,â Murdock responded, emphasizing the words in a way that made it clear he was very apathetic to the opinion. âSo, what makes you think that?âÂ
Much like the flooded half, this dryer half boasted a plethora of large exhibits. Just behind the old desk at the main entrance, hollow spaces had been bored out of walls to set up habitats behind glass. The majority of that glass had broken, shards having been cleaned up and pried from the edges to make extra room for equipment or âguests.â
From there, another hallway opened up into an aviary that essentially took up the rest of the building.Â
Most of the flooring here had been knocked out, leaving just a wide ramp that spiraled nearly all the way to the ceiling, a waist-high wall on either side. Nearly, because there was still plenty of space between the top of the ramp and the enormous skylight that adorned the ceiling, put there with the purpose of bathing everything below it in healthy, natural light. It was still doing its job in that sense.Â
Hell, it had even come with an mounted hatch installed on the far side; it opened wide enough for entering harpies to not have to scrunch up their wings, and its hinges werenât nearly as rusted as the frames around the main doors. (Which had been locked up tight and shuttered ever since Codfatherâs closure, and as far as The Newcomer knew, theyâd be staying that way.)
âYou and the others know me! Weâve worked together before!â The other voice contended, now dripping with indignation. âI still donât understand why you havenât made me an ally yet!â
âThereâs a lot of things you donât understand,â Murdockâs voice countered pleasantly. âThe allies we choose need to have substance and awareness at the very least. Trusting other people already isnât The Bossâ favorite hobby, so she expects hard work before making allowances.â
âOw! Well, I think Iâve shown plenty of substance; Iâve respected our bargains and followed instructions.â
Murdock snorted. âFine, youâve got me thereâŚeven if you have a very loose definition of âfollow.ââ
Huge sheets of metallic mesh had once been installed around that ramp, with the excess material being used to make walls between the screen-cages without breaking up the supposed harmony. That mesh had been torn away, of course, though some of the things discovered behind it had been spared.Â
Primarily a small forest of real, sturdy trees and vibrant flowers. Theyâd been planted to give the former specimens on display a sense of enrichment, and despite years of abandonment, the soil they grew from had remained shockingly fertile when The Pentas Shoal took control of Codfatherâs.Â
Tables and cabinets, among other things, had been set up here and there around the foliage. Murdock and the other harpies had built their nests along the strongest branches they could find. (Miles was only partially in that camp, since his roosting always saw him hanging upside down, although he did weave soft materials around his preferred limb, just to be a bit easier on his talons.) The Newcomer always thought said nests resembled hammocks in a way, compiled of stolen pillows and scraps of fabric that were usually torn from the clothes of certain targets.
The Newcomer found their mentor just as he was strolling to the bottom of the ramp, and he wasnât alone.Â
The human at his side, like many targets or un-allied outsiders before him, had his head obscured by burlap bag adorned with strips of duct tape that formed a frowny face with Xs for eyes. Everything below the mask, however, was veryâŚnoticeable. Heâd topped off his fluorescent red shorts with a floral patterned shirt full of greens and yellows and pinks that The Newcomer couldnât help but mentally compare to the technicolor mulch of freshly-vomitted Trix cereal.Â
They couldnât help but give pause, staring as slight recognition weaved through the back of their mind.Â
Axel Rentnik; theyâd seen him and heard a few times before, but that had always been in the background, always before they were called elsewhere for a job or an update.Â
Murdock was leading him, keeping his wings half-spread behind the two of them just in case he sensed any funny business. He planted one hand on top Axelâs shrouded head rather than either of his shoulders. Much like his feet, he had a clutch of gleaming talons jutting out from the base of each knuckle. He couldâve easily scalped this visitor through the burlap if he wanted, but for now, he was content to deliver periodic taps to the forehead and temples.Â
Murdock glanced away from his cargo, squinting in The Newcomerâs direction.Â
His free hand reached down to a pair of bulky goggles that rested around his neck. He tugged them up and onto his face, forcing his eyes to let him properly focus on anything that wasnât five miles away. The Newcomer only had about two seconds to peer at his dark brown irises, which seemed a smidge too flat, and pupils, which seemed just a smidge too small. Then, they were hidden behind lenses tinted just as black as the hair on his head and the feathers shrouding his wings.
âAh, there you are,â he greeted, tilting his head to the side in a manner that was quick and very bird-like.
âHere I am,â The Newcomer replied. âWhatâs going on?â
âNothing too special; just a minor business proposal.â Murdock smirked at the offended scoff emanating from under Axelâs hood. âBut I thought you might be interested. Maybe youâll have some ideas about the bargain?âÂ
The Newcomer hummed. âI might. But that depends: whatâs this bargain about?âÂ
Murdock chuckled, the sound oily and cold as it seeped into the air. âI guess youâll just have to find outâŚâÂ
The Newcomer offered a fond roll of their eyes, then approached as Murdock shuffled one wing to beckon them closer. They stood on the opposite side of their mentor, clamping a firm hand on the guestâs shoulder.Â
Axel flinched, then huffed as the three of them started walking, back-tracking the route The Newcomer had just taken.Â
âI donât get it. Theyâre human, just like me, and they can walk around here like itâs nothing,â Axel muttered, apparently having recognized The Newcomerâs voice as they had his.
âItâs not that theyâre human,â Murdock mused. âItâs more that theyâve given us a reason to actually like their company.âÂ
The Newcomer ducked their head, smiling to themself.Â
That smile, unfortunately, died a quick, brutal death.Â
âWhat reason? Whenever Iâve seen them, theyâre always doing the small stuff,â Axel challenged, speaking as though they werenât right beside him. âJust fetching things or dog-paddling around the cove. You donât even know how much space their boat takes up by the boardwalk. I bet they havenât even killed anyone for you yetââ
His critiques devolved into a guttural yelp as The Newcomer halted, slamming the heel of their boot onto one of his tennis shoes to keep him in place as they drove their knuckles into his sternum.Â
âYou donât know anything about me!â The Newcomer snapped as Axel doubled over in a coughing fit. âYouâve only seen a tenth of all the things I do in this family! Iâm always âfetching thingsâ because I donât drag my damn feet everywhere I go.â
They leaned closer to him. âAnd donât act like youâve got any room to talk about killing. The only thing you could kill is a freakinâ tuna roll, because youâre the type to microwave sushi. With ketchup.â
They straightened back up and resumed walking, tugging Axel along. Murdock kept pace, giving his mentee an appraising look. While they appreciated it, they chewed their lip, trying to bring neutrality back to their features.Â
Confidence was key in an industry like this; they knew they had to stand up for themself, to not let any insult or backhanded gesture fly with impunity.Â
But Axel was the type to be desperate for attention. Any type of attention, really. And the fact theyâd technically fed into that soured what shouldâve been a satisfying Take No Shit moment.Â
Axel didnât have the biggest reputation in the underground circles. He knew how to navigate the Black Market, but he was in no way a professional criminal; he was just a dude whoâd gone through a very bad, very embarrassing stint in local speed-boating events.Â
The Newcomer hadnât gotten the full story, but they did know that Axel, after being discharged from his posse due to mistakes involving jet-skis and exotic parrots, had spiraled down a path of things that werenât much better. He clearly had a whole bag of egregiously greasy chips on his shoulder, and those chips just couldnât stop spilling into his hands.Â
Heâd made a few macabre sales here and thereânothing on the same level as the organs Caliban semi-regularly harvested from targets, though.Â
(Except for that one time when Two-Fins Johnny had decided to throw him a freshly-dispatched target just to see what would happen. Short answer: nothing good, since Johnny had also offhandedly mentioned a dead porpoise washing up nearby. Fiji mermaids had been already been obvious failures way back in the 1800s. And that was when theyâd just been mummified monkeys. The following week had been ugly, as Axel had no talent for hiding any type of body, and since he was the whiny type, The Pentas Shoal technically couldnât let him be arrested without a sudden, violent case of speech impairment. And even after everything had finally more or less settled down, Caliban still gave Johnny a few stress-bites and verbal jabs for wasting a perfectly good corpse.)Â
So far, Axel had to contend with smaller bits, like shed scales or dead jellyfish or salt-encrusted bones that the waves occasionally pushed onto the sand.
Through much wheedling, heâd even been able to collect feathers from Murdock, Val, Phoenix and Howie after their respective molting periods. Heâd tried to sweet-talk his way into a similar arrangement with Mercury and his downy pelt, only to wind up stumbling away with a fractured wrist and a thousand-yard stare.Â
Whatever proposal had brought him here tonight, it was bound to be as half-baked as it was grandiose.
In no time at all, the three of them reached the main floor connecting Codfatherâs flooded half to its dryer half. Murdock paused, giving a quick, short leap that left his lower talons clutching at the guardrail at the top of the double-staircase. The Newcomer leaned close to the rail as well, gazing down and spotting a familiar figure circling about the water down below.
His skin was a mix of deep blue and pale gray; it was also littered with scars, some bigger than others, some fresher than others. A particularly nasty one stretched around the base of the slightly-curved, triangular fin that protruded from his back. Despite the damage, his form boasted a sheen that honestly could have left you wondering if there was any liquefied silver in his blood.Â
This was only amplified by the pattern of stripes that branched and curved almost like marble as they adorned his face, torso, and tail. Whether he was speaking in Thalassic or simply adjusting to the environment, they glowed with a light like pearls coated in a thin layer of ashes.
Those stripes had been a bit dim at first, but they started flickering brighter as he glanced up and noticed them. He tilted his head, smiling and raising one arm out of the water to wave.
The Newcomer waved back, smiled back as they used their free hand to point at the hooded figure at their side.Â
Caliban squinted at the gesture, his expression growing sharper as realization washed over his face.Â
Murdock stretched one wing to gently tap The Newcomer on the back, and they were promptly marching Axel down the staircase on the right side, all the way to the submerged steps at the very bottom. A muffled, indignant yelp broke the relative silence as he continued to be led further along, only allowed to stop once the water was up to his waist.Â
(The same went for The Newcomer, obviously, but unlike the guest, they were wearing a wetsuit, so they didnât have to worry about sudden pinches and clinging in uncomfortable areas.)Â
Caliban watched this, then slithered over to tread water right in front of him as The Newcomer pulled the burlap mask away, revealing Axelâs head of stringy brown hair, as well as the wire-rimmed glasses perched before a pair of moss-colored eyes.Â
Axel took a few seconds to gain his bearings, still visibly shuddering at the cool water that was now soaking his shoes and socks, but he froze in place soon enough, his eyes widening and his already fair skin turning pale.Â
Calibanâs features stretched into a dark, knowing grin, revealing a set of triangular, serrated teeth. They, along with the extra rows crowded just behind them, all glinted in the dim light. âHey there.â
â...Caliban?â Axel mumbled in a wavering voice, glancing all around as though desperately wishing his analysis was somehow wrong, that someone else with fewer teeth would materialize in the room.Â
The mako raised a brow, not dropping his smile. âWhoâd you expectâIvan Sharkovski?â He barked a sarcastic laugh.
His eyes, yellow-tinged with pitch-black pupils that were just a bit too wide for comfort, eventually settled back on The Newcomer; his grin softened somewhat, and he gave them a small nod.Â
Getting the signal, The Newcomer nodded in turn and waded back, taking a seat on the display-dais between the staircases and bracing their hands against the edge.
The unmistakable sound of fluttering feathers caught their ear as Murdock swept down from the guardrail to perch a little ways beside them. He stood for a few seconds, hands adjusting his goggles yet again, then dropped to all fours, adapting a pose usually reserved for gargoyles.
Apparently satisfied with his audience, Caliban ever-so-slightly ducked forward, craning his neck above the surface as he began swimming in lazy circles around his potential prey.Â
âA medium-sized birdie told me you just came up with a new scheme,â he commented. He aimed a cheeky smirk at Murdock, who stuck his tongue out in response. But then Calibanâs focus returned to Axel, and the casual tone of his voice did not meet his eyes. Not even close.Â
Axel shifted in place, visibly shivering from both the cool water and something deeper. â...Yes, thatâs right.âÂ
Caliban gave a theatrical hum topped off with an over-exaggerated nod. âAnd it sounds like you need my help for it?â
âYes,â Axel repeated, seemingly having to force the word out.Â
âWell, lucky for you, my latest client had to cancel; apparently, the target wound up having a little accident with their hair and a boat propellerâŚâ Caliban trailed off, trying to feign a frown but not succeeding very well thanks to the nausea worming over Axelâs face.
(To be completely fair, The Newcomerâs stomach lurched at the sound of such news, even if that target had it coming.)
âToo bad, but sheâs considerate enough to try dropping off a sample for me later tonight.â The mershark shook his head and rolled his shoulders. âBut hey, I guess Iâm free for more work now. So, lay it on me! Whatâs cookinâ?â
Axel hesitated, glancing over his shoulder, his now pleading, bloodshot eyes locking with The Newcomerâs (relatively) calm gray ones.Â
In response, they furrowed their brow, shoulders popping up in an incredulous shrug.
Did he really expect them to vouch for him? Had he forgotten how heâd insulted them, to their face, just a few minutes ago?Â
Even if he hadnât, this was still out of their hands. Whatever this venture was, heâd come up with it, and that meant he couldnât just go around blaming others for his lack of foresight.Â
Caliban glanced between the two of them as he completed another lap. He tossed a wink in The Newcomerâs direction, then lashed his tail forward, sending a small wave directly into Axelâs face.Â
Axel sputtered at the sea water, fingers pushing behind his glasses to rub at his eyes.Â
âYoo-hoo,â Caliban called as he passed by again. âCâmon, the suspense is killing me here!â
Axel folded his arms across his chest, scowling as cool droplets continued sliding down his face.Â
âCould you stop with the circling?â He blurted as he kept turning around, trying to keep an eye on the mako at all times. Trying to square his jaw and put on a cold expression, like he was judging rather than worrying. âYouâre making me dizzy.âÂ
âAnd youâre making me hungry, but you donât see me complaining,â Caliban replied, taking the time to look Axel up and down, obviously relishing how he grew even more tense. âBesides, with the week Iâve had, Iâm not gonna waste any of my still-time on some last-minute deal that you still havenât spit out yet.â
The Newcomer felt something brush against their calf. They froze, trying to remember the specific creatures theyâd seen the last time theyâd swam through the deeper sections of Codfatherâs. Itâd always been relatively safe for anyone who wasnât a target, but there wasnât really anything to stop feral fish from wandering in.
Since, yâknow, that wouldâve kept the merfolk members of this whole operation out, and that wouldâve defeated the purpose of using this place as the mobâs main base.Â
They glanced down; the creature now circling their legs was about as long as a laptop, with a cigar-shaped body that ended in a vertical crescent tail just like Calibanâs.Â
It briefly poked its head above the surface, showing off a mouth that was open in a near-perfect circle, revealing the halves of a fleshy suction-cup attached to its face. (Or lips, if youâd prefer. But really, batfish and blobbies were the only sea creatures who had any business having lips.)Â
And just behind those lipsâteeth. The lower ones were much broader than the upper ones, interlocked to form a cutting-edge like that of a saw. Despite their size, they were obviously sharper than the kitchen knives back home.Â
But The Newcomer relaxed, their panic evaporating as quickly as itâd appeared. They recognized this cookiecutter shark, mainly thanks to his pale coloration: not quite enough to be compared to snow, but still a huge departure from the vast majority of his species with light brown skin and a darker shade forming a collar around the gills.
Snare bumped his pointed nose into their calf again, prompting them to reach down and brush their fingers against his dorsal fin.
It wasnât at all uncommon for merfolk to keep more primitive sea creatures as pets (no matter all the awkward looks humans gave them about this practice, sinceâŚwell, didnât said sea creatures technically count as less-developed cousins?), and Caliban had hopped on that bandwagon quite a while ago.Â
With Azaleaâs help during a fateful job, heâd found Snare on a boat full of animals with similar mutations or deformities. Unsurprisingly, that boat had been en-route to some type of research compound in a territory where the cruelty laws were a lot more lax.
Also unsurprisingly, the people whoâd been piloting that boat never made it to their destination, leaving one more job completed and one mershark a bit less hungry (though heâd made sure to share some pieces with his new buddy).
Since then, Snare could pretty much always be seen swimming with Caliban, wherever he went. Sometimes heâd drift around his head to share snacks, other times heâd steadily glide just below his torso, not unlike a whale calf with its parent.
And in scenarios like this, heâd dart back and forth between his owner and whoever his owner deemed a friend (as long as they also happened to be in the water), demanding attention or playfully snapping his little jaws because he sometimes seemed to forget just how his species had gotten its name. (Another valid reason for The Newcomer to wear their protective wetsuits most of the time.)Â
Now that they knew he was here, The Newcomer could more easily see Snareâs pale shape as he ducked below the surface and glided back over to Caliban for a few minutes. Caliban held one hand still on the water, his smile turning genuine as Snare pushed at it for a pet.Â
Even so, the menace rushed back to his expression as he kept circling, briefly lurking closer to Axel.Â
Axel took a deep breath. âI wanted toâto get some of your teeth. For the market.â
âSome of my teeth,â Caliban echoed, his smile twitching at the edges. He raised a hand, webbed, clawed fingers fidgeting with the necklace he wouldnât be caught dead without.
It draped in layers, almost enough to be mistaken for a thin lei from a distance. The string hidden beneath was so long that heâd wrapped it over his head and around his neck at least three times, and it still wasnât flush to his skin. There was still room to spareâŚin both aspects.
The charms lined up on it were small and shiny, eager to glint with whatever light was around them. It wouldâve been easy to assume that they were just pearls. Each came in a slightly different shape; plenty pearls out there formed with irregularity rather than being perfectly symmetrical.Â
But then you got closer. Close enough to see how some of those charms were off-white, if not stained an odd yellow. How a few here and there were adorned with strange, dark pits in the center. How some of them boasted a thin, chisel-like edge, while others were broader with a more square, ridged surface, but they all had a somewhat conical shape around the middle. How the end of each one tapered into a short, awkward, vaguely root-esque shapeâŚ
âI mean the ones in your mouth!â Axel snapped, though he shrank back for the fourth consecutive time as Caliban glanced at him again.Â
âI know that,â Caliban huffed. He dropped his hand back into the water, seeming to mull this over for the next moment as he swam.
The Newcomer couldnât help but fidget in place, feeling their eyes widen.Â
The teeth of regular sharks were a dime-a-dozen, both literally and figuratively. But the teeth of mersharks, on the other handâŚthey could fetch quite a pretty penny in even the more legal scenes.Â
âWell, how many of my teeth were you thinking about?â Caliban wondered aloud.Â
âUhâmaybe about six or so?â Axel replied.Â
ââOr so?ââ
âI mean, IâŚI kinda already have someone lined up, and theyâŚthey said theyâd prefer a minimum of six, soâŚâ He trailed off, eyes dropping to the water in an attempt to ignore the scrutiny being aimed at him.Â
â...Alright, then.â Caliban slithered closer, hovering for a bit. âWell, we might be able to make that happenâ
Axel raised his head, a wave of shock and hope crashing over his face.Â
ââbut that really depends on what youâre gonna give me in exchange.â
Axelâs jaw dropped, his mouth now gaping like a goldfish.Â
Caliban clicked his tongue at this. âWhat? I canât just give any teeth to you, can I? Not in this economy. You think Iâm just MADE of teeth?â
Axelâs face twisted as he had an internal debate on whether or not to answer that.Â
The Newcomer, having known Caliban for quite a while, knew he used lines that like specifically as traps.Â
Sooner or later, Axel realized how pregnant the pause was getting, so he sputtered. âYou guys lose at least one tooth per week! You can grow more teeth every single day! How could you ever miss them?â
âDonât talk about what I may or may not miss,â Caliban snarked. âAnd even if I didnât miss them, they still wouldnât be free. Youâre lucky I donât need money, âcause otherwise theyâd be at least twenty bucks apiece.âÂ
âHow the hell would that be fair?!â
âItâd be EXTREMELY fair. You humans get charged at leastââ Caliban cut himself off, the calculation in his eyes momentarily becoming more curious than menacing. He swam a bit closer to the dais. âHey, New Stuff! You can help with this; how much does the average dentist visit cost?âÂ
The Newcomer tilted their head to the side. âI guess it depends, but usually about three-hundred dollars without insurance. And thatâs just for routine check-ups and cleanings; major surgeries and fillings are waaaaaay worse.âÂ
A briefly cringe wormed its way around Calibanâs face, but he was smiling again in not time, giving them a nod. âThanks.â
The Newcomer smirked. âNo problem.â
Caliban turned back to Axel. âSee? Thatâs how much youâd have to cough up just to care for your own little nub-teeth.â He shook his head with a mirthless chuckle. âDamn, hereâs a human trying to talk about the benefits of currencyâŚâ
He paused, ducked below under until he was fully submerged, then re-surfaced to drift right behind Axel. âSo, whatever price Iâm willing to negotiate has to be better than that.âÂ
âWell, I already had an offer in mind. Obviously,â Axel snipped in an attempt to cover up a violent flinch.Â
âThen why didnât you lead with it?â Murdock called, eliciting a snicker from Caliban and a scowl from his half-client-half-potential-victim.Â
âTribute,â Axel declared. âIâve been working part-time as a helmsman down at the boardwalk, and Iâve seen the anglers bringing in a lot of prize-fish lately. Mahi-mahi, snooks, pompanosâthere was even one swordfish!â He fidgeted with his glasses, licking his lips. âIâve been watching them; I know when they call off for the day and when they come back in the morning. I could smuggle those hauls over here to you forâŚletâs say five weeks straight.âÂ
For the first time all night, the smile faded from Calibanâs features. His pearly-white razors were still exposed, but now they were set in a light snarl. He snaked around Axel again. âYouâre gonna need a bigger quote.âÂ
Axelâs arms fell to his sides. He looked genuinely confused. âWhat? But I said five weeks! You heard that part, right? You wouldnât have to hunt for a little over a whole month! Thatâs more than a hundred pounds ofâ!âÂ
With only so much space between them, Caliban easily cut him off with a thwack to the face with his tail-fin. âFor one thing, I like hunting. And for another thing, Iâve been eating plenty of different fish all week. I even caught a squid for breakfast this morning.âÂ
âWell, what do you want me to do about that?â Axel demanded, clutching his face to try and dull out the aches that were no doubt streaming along his jaw by now.
And just like that, the smile was twisting along Calibanâs face yet again, even darker this time. His mouth didnât seem to be stretching wider; the grin appeared to be deeper. His teeth seemed to be actively lengthening alongside that deepness as the seconds ticked by.
âIâm just fine with getting paid in food,â he hissed. âBut I want it to beâŚunique. Something different from fish or turtles or seagulls.â
His eyes roamed over Axel again, pupils growing even wider than they already were. Like theyâd been actual, hollow pits drilled into his head, and now they were sinking, as though they might drag both of his eyes down, down, down.Â
Axelâs eyes, meanwhile, bulged from their sockets. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out. His shudders turned much more visible, much more violent. The air of false authority heâd been tugging on, the aloof energy that heâd been using as a cover-upâŚit all went crashing right out the window.Â
This only made Calibanâs smile even deeper; the extra rows of teeth behind his current front row seemed to be jostling in place, as though they wanted to peer out of his mouth to leer at the humanâs face, too.
âIâd settle for a small shank,â Caliban continued, reaching over to prod at Axelâs forearm, claws just barely held back from pressing hard enough to draw blood. âOh, and maybe you could give Snare a little bite from your calf; heâs been deserving a special treat lately.â
Axel flinched back badly, a short cry tearing through the air as he vigorously shook his head. âYouâyou canât do that!â
âWhy not?â Caliban tilted his head with a chuckle that sounded so jagged, like itâd been solid enough to get caught on his teeth on the way out. âYour skin would repair itself after a while. Youâll never even miss whatever pieces I takeâŚâÂ
âHow do you know?!â Axel shouted. âIf you cut too far downâthe infection I cold get just from being in hereâ!â
He turned on his heel, trying to wade over to the stairs. Whether the waves had grown a bit more heavy over time or his legs were just too shaky underneath, he didnât make it far.Â
Caliban darted past, now swimming so fast that his tail was stirring up foam on the water.Â
He turned just in time to halfway-lunge at Axel, his teeth snapping on empty air.
Axel cried out again, immediately back-pedaling.
âOh, please! We both know you could clean out your wound in no time,â Caliban jeered.Â
Axel tried to protest, but Caliban interjected with a melodramatic sigh.Â
âWhat were you expecting? You laid out your terms, and if you really wanna make a deal with me, then youâre gonna have to listen to mine.âÂ
Calibanâs tail lashed back and forth. The scars all across his form seemed to be rippling in-time with the water. âBut fine. FINE. If you really canât give up any cutsâŚIâd be happy with one of your teeth instead.â
He fidgeted with the oral gems strung around his neck, and with the mania boiling in his eyes, he seemed even more excited about that prospect than getting a fresh, bloody snack. Â
Axel kept shaking his head, kept babbling.
The mako kept swimming, but he moved in a straight line this time, effectively herding the human further and further back until the water got deep enough to lift his feet off the floor. He floundered there, desperate to keep his head above waterâby the time he finally glanced over his shoulder, heâd been backed all the way to the far side of the room, where the threshold to a downward-sloping hallway now resembled a half-full glass.Â
There was nowhere left to go but down, where water would soon waste no time reaching the ceilings of the old aquarium.Â
Axel was forced to tread water, to just hover as Caliban swam in close, tight circles around him.Â
âIâm being generous right now, Rentnik,â Caliban growled, the gills that arched along his chest and under his arms flaring. âREAL damn generous. Think about it: Iâm willing to bet that you didnât tell anyone where you were going tonight. So no-one would bat an eye if you didnât come back to wherever youâve been hiding so far.â
Axel was in a panic now, his breath coming in and out in shallow, hitching gasps. And yet, he still flinched at the statement, more or less confirming it.Â
âThereâs NOTHING to stop me from just dragging you under, eating my damn fill, and then just taking all your damn teeth as a bonus prize. But Iâm willing to avoid all that. Really, I am!â Caliban clicked his teeth together, the stripes on his tail flashing with their pale light. âItâll just cost you one little thing. And then, Iâll fulfill my part of this whole side-act. Tell you what, Iâll even throw in an extra tooth on top of the six youâre trying to pinch.â
He loomed ever closer, no doubt pouring the smell of salt and old blood into his victimâs face. âThatâs the best deal youâre gonna get now. So I suggest you shut up and take it.â
Murdock leaned forward, tapping his talons against the dais in a thoughtful manner, obviously fighting the urge to swoop over there for a better vantage point. The Newcomer shuffled in place, feeling a strange chill race along their spine, a hearty mix of fear and anticipation.Â
In the grand scheme of things, though, they werenât surprised. Calibanâs tenacity had always rivaled his gruesome cravings.Â
Makos had a reputation for being insanely clever, often using cunning to get what they wanted or needed. But just like many other creaturesâdogs, crows, scorned lovers, social media moderatorsâthey could be pretty damn vicious if you gave them a reason.Â
After what felt like an hour, Axel finally lowered his in head in a small, weak nod.Â
âOkay, okay,â he blubbered. âJust let me go, and Iâll set something up with at the dental officeââ
âNope.â Caliban let out a laugh that was equal parts harsh and genuinely amused. âYou think Iâm stupid enough to just let you run off and out of town, if not send any cops down here? No, youâre giving me that tooth tonight. Right here, right now.âÂ
Tears slipped down Axelâs face; he clenched his jaw in an effort to keep any sobs trapped in his chest. But he didnât protest. He peered over at The Newcomer again.Â
The Newcomer chewed their lip and gave him another shrug.Â
âWe can make it quick,â Murdock mused. âIâll go clean off some of Howieâs tools. Heâs got way too many pliers anyway.â He tapped The Newcomerâs shoulder with his wing. âAnd youâve still got that first-aid kit in your diving bag, right?âÂ
The Newcomer nodded. âI havenât needed it for a while. Thereâs still plenty of gauze and cotton balls and gloves in there.âÂ
âGreat! Iâll grab that, too.â The words had barely left Murdockâs mouth before he was in the air, a shadowy blur as he soared up and out of sight through the hallway upstairs.Â
Caliban swam over to the dais. He hovered before The Newcomer, close enough for them to see the small, gold ring that had been pierced into his right pectoral fin.
He opened wide, raising his hands to his mouth. He curled one around his lower jaw, using his index finger as an anchor to hold it steady.Â
With that, his free hand zeroed in on his first row of upper-teeth. Two claws hooked around one in the spot where a humanâs canine would beâŚand plucked it out. It took a tug at first, but then it slipped from the gums with a soft, fleshy sigh.
Caliban tucked the tooth into his palm, then repeated the process six more times, taking two more of those gleaming blades from the top of his mouth, then sourced the rest from the bottom.Â
The entire process only took about two minutes.Â
Once he was done, he pushed his macabre poker chips toward The Newcomer.Â
The Newcomer cupped their own hands in front of them, accepting the deposit. The seven freshly-excavated teeth tumbled against their gloves. They didnât look damaged. They werenât even streaked with blood; if anything, they almost appeared polished.Â
The same went for Calibanâs gums. They werenât dripping, werenât swelling, werenât showing any signs of distress. Caliban leaned back, gently gnawing the air as he awkwardly flexed his jaws.
The Newcomer couldnât help but stare as some of the teeth in his second row slid into place, shuffling into the spots that had just been emptied. The slick, scratching noises that followed nearly drowned out the crashing water all throughout the room.
Caliban gave a few small, experimental snaps, then aimed a wide smile at The Newcomer, his eyes expectant and curious.Â
The Newcomer blinked, then gave him a thumbs-up. The change had gone so quickly, so smoothly. His grin was full again, just like it was at the start of all this, not looking like heâd removed any teeth in the first place.Â
And even if they couldnât see it, they knew that yet another row was already forming further inside their peerâs maw, as well as a still-developing row after that.
All patiently waiting for the day they were needed.
Axel dragged himself over as well, the waves pushing him forward more than anything. He peered at Caliban and The Newcomer with haunted, astounded eyes.Â
Caliban pushed him up and onto the dais, where he promptly smacked one side of his face into the display case, leaving a smear on the glass.Â
Thinking fast, The Newcomer stood, placing the coveted teeth on top of the case. Theyâd stay there until all was said and done.Â
They felt Axel still staring after them. They turned, kneeling down to push him flat on his back and hold him steady. Murdock would be back any minuteâtheyâd have to cover up his shirt, just to avoid letting him leave with any suspicious stains. (Then again, the Trix-vomit pattern heâd chosen to wear might just solve that problem for them.)
They looked directly into his bloodshot, red-tinged, desperate eyes...and merely raised their brows.Â
You couldnât be given anything without having something taken from you first. That was how it worked everywhere, not just in this industry. Even when it really shouldnât have been like thatâŚ
Caliban, meanwhile, was drifting back and forth between the staircases, gnashing his teeth, never taking his eyes off his new âclient.âÂ
He wasnât just swimming out of instinct. Now, he was acting with excitement.
Anticipation for the loud, sickening pop that would soon tear through the salty air, for the sopping-wet screams that would follow it.
For the inevitability of blood pouring out of a fresh wound, for the infamous metallic smell to seep out. For that smell to be amplified when at least a few crimson droplets plopped down into the water, leaving dark, misty trails.
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(Disclaimer: one of the characters in this story does not belong to me. Casey Clowes was created by my extremely talented friend, @insane4fandoms . Please go follow their blog and support their work.)
(Since itâs MerMay, my fanegos have gotten a special little shift for the occasion! Iâve organized a new, temporary list of headcanons for The Pentas Familyâeach memberâs species, vague lore-bits, etc.âwhich can be found here for context.)
(As for the characters who do belong to me: For more information on The Bossâor on the mob in generalâgo here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if youâd like to see my personal headcanons for him, go here. For more information on Val, go here. )
One more thing: the beginning sequence of this story takes heavy inspiration from SILT, a deep-sea horror game that came out a few years ago. I highly recommend playing it or checking out Letâs Plays of it, because it has an amazing art style and very intriguing lore.)
(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of the ocean, blood/gore, body horror, teeth horror, eye horror, physical violence, slight mentions of illegal business, mentions of eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)Â
Windows glinted, telephone poles and street-lamps cast long, thin shadows.
The sun was just starting to set, but its light still reached over and around the city. Its rays were in layers that shifted slowly and smoothly as they trickled down. The heat attached to them didnât reach quite so far, but that was better than the dark chill that would shroud anything and everything in a few more hours.Â
Casey tried to remember all the times heâd watched the sun sinking into the horizon, how it always looked like that enormous star was really justâŚright there, rather than hundreds of millions of miles away.
Back when he was still a kid, that idea never failed to be exciting: the sun itself was being actively swallowed up by the ocean, signalling the stars to spill up and out themselves, and then going on some kind of journey below the surface until the next morning, when it was ready to be birthed into the sky again.
He tried to think about the waves that foamed and crashed all around the sun, like they were alive and celebrating the fact that they got to be so close to it.
He tried to think about how sunsets always made the sky look like an abstract oil painting, and how all those beautiful shades of orange and red and pink and yellow reflected onto the water, bobbing in time with the current like they were melting into it.Â
But that didnât help.Â
This wasnât the first time Casey had attempted to distract himself with those nicer images, and it wouldnât be the last, either.Â
But it never kept the shivers from racing down his spine and then dripping through his ribcage.
His whiskers twitched, sending soft vibrations into his skull, helping him feel a current before he even got close to it. He followed those shudders through the water, and then he was riding aforementioned current, shifting his tail to stay balanced as he was carried, just like his parents had taught him way back when. (Heâd always be a strong swimmer, but he wasnât enough of an idiot to turn down some extra assistance.)Â Â
His heart ached as he drifted through what used to be downtown. There were only a few swathes of shingles on the roofs anymore; it wouldnât be long before they eroded enough to be swept away and left huge holes behind, just like those before them. Old traffic lights lay down in the sand, half-buried just like the crosswalks themselves, having snapped loose from their cables, which drifted limply to and fro above them.
The cityâs ruins had formed a veritable undersea island.Â
It wouldâve felt so miraculous if no-one had gotten hurt for that to happen.
If no-one had drowned, had been flung into walls or impaled on public machinery by the sheer force of the tsunami, had been driven into their homes only to be trapped as the water kept rising and rising and rising untilâŚ
Casey shook his head, clicking and whistling to himself out of frustration.
He couldnât afford to dwell right now; he had a job to do. It didnât matter that heâd been doing said job for days now with very little to show for it.Â
There could still be some air-pockets here and there around the cityâs bones.Â
Some of those people could still be aliveâalive and stranded, unable to find their way up to the surface, to the ships piloted by other survivors, unless someone more aquatically-inclined found them and helped them.Â
And if they were, then they only had so much time left to wait. A few days at best, a few hours at worst.
So, the selkie kept going.Â
Casey swam from building to building, slipping through jagged glass to check around whatever flooded rooms he found. Heâd use his claws or teeth to pry doors open, fighting the urge to scream whenever they were revealed to already be full of water and devoid of people.
(Well. In reality, it was much better to find a long-since-flooded room without any occupants, because the alternative meant having to find cloudy eyes and gray skin that sagged and bloated at the same time. And that was only the case when swarms of crabs hadnât discovered it earlierâŚ)
Time dragged by.Â
Up on the surface, the sun sank lower and lower.Â
Light began fading, slowly but surely.Â
That didnât do Caseyâs mood any favors.Â
He hated seeing these ruins at any time of day, but darkness made it so much worse.Â
It made everything look even more bleached and rotten than it already was. Horrifically ironic, considering those photos of decaying reefs that used to pop up alongside warnings and pleading campaigns every year.
That was one of the worst parts of all this: there wasnât even any growth around the ruins. There was moss and mold, but no swaying polyps or glowing colors. As though the ocean itself didnât want to reclaim anything, despite having dragged it down here in the first place.Â
Without that growth, without any semblance of natural recycling, the cityâs remains were gloomy and frightening, covered in mottled browns and grays that could only ever be seen in death.Â
As if to really drive the point home, all those dark shades kept Casey from noticing the looming shape that slithered below himâŚuntil it was too late.Â
Huge, dense weight slammed into his side, sending him spiraling through the water.Â
Bright spots danced in his eyes as the shock thrummed along his bones, burning and stinging as though heâd been stabbed.Â
The selkie shook his head, catching his balance just in time to dart away as the shape lunged for him again.Â
On instinct, he circled it at a distance. The thing stared after him, still swimming, trying to stay behind him, to stay in his blindspot.
This wasnât territorial behavior.
This was hunting behavior.Â
Whatever this thing was, it clearly wasnât going to just leave Casey alone if he swam far enough away. He had to get a brief understanding of it, had to make guesses for its weak-spots.
The monster was massive, its form both bulky and elongated. As though some insane, godforsaken scientist had combined the attributes of a hippo and an anaconda and combined them into an abomination that shouldâve only existed in the deepest, darkest, most crushing layer of the oceanâs bowels.Â
There were reasons humanity had never been able to safely navigate those waters, why the creatures evolved to live in them always had to look so soulless; the floor down there was probably just a thin veil between the living world and the mouth of Hell.Â
Its head was broad and flat, topped with a pair of beady eyes that rolled in their sockets like oil-coated marbles. Not too far from those eyes, long, sinuous barbels writhed through the water. Eight of them, four on each side of its face. They acted almost like curtains, helping to unveil rows of short, interlocking teeth that looked far too similar to those of a human whenever its maw gaped open.
Two dorsal spines ran the length of its back, flaring in a way that made them resemble fleshy triggers. Just like its pectoral fins, they jutted out from a coat of stout, rough scales.
It lunged at him again, shockingly fast for how heavy it was.Â
Casey darted beneath the monsterâits underbelly was just as armored as its back, but he hurled his full weight against it. While this didnât exactly send it flying through the water, it still seemed to momentarily stun it. Casey kept swimming, moving in fast, tight circles around his opponent, using his tail to knock it upside the head.Â
Unfortunately, this put him in the crosshairs of its whiskers. Two of them whipped at his head while the other lashed near his back-flippers, eliciting a yelp of pain among two muffled CRACKs!Â
Casey felt skin breakingâthanks to his peltâs blubber, the fresh lacerations were nowhere near deep enough to draw blood.Â
But if the monster managed to catch the seam running along his chestâŚ
NO. That was NOT going to happen.Â
Casey surged over the monsterâs head, snapping at its spines before ripping into the fin at the end of its tail. The membrane tore somewhat easily, and little streams of blood seeped out.Â
Tails were crucial to swimming, the same way they were to birds for flying. If Casey could concentrate on the tail, then he could destroy the monsterâs sense of balance, could keep it from swimming, could force it to sink down, down, down.
But the monster was already twisting to snap at him again, and he was forced to flee. He found himself hovering by its side
Thereâa row of long, raking slits, positioned just after its jaw and just before its pectoral fin. They flared in and out, sending small ripples through the beastâs neck. A bony-looking arch bordered them, but Casey knew he was close enough to avoid wasting any time on it.
So, without hesitation, he lunged forward.Â
Some of his teeth scraped against scales, but other found themselves sinking into cold, slippery skin. He maneuvered his head along the length of the gills, allowed his teeth to catch the edge and rip a wider hole open.
(Casey had never been a stranger to eating raw fish, but the metallic taste that greeted him with this one was just rancid. Like itâd been rotting from the inside.)
The monster thrashed and bucked, its whiskers lashing through the water like snakes on fire. One of them managed to strike at Casey again, but he held firm. In response, he raised one of his front flippers and reached over to rake it against the monsterâs face. Sure, selkie claws were infamous for being blunt, but he was putting plenty of force behind his right now.Â
He felt his claws slide onto the base of those tendrils on this side. First he gave it a vicious scratching, and then he gripped at it. It took a few harsh tugs, but soon enough, a deep, fleshy pop gurgled through the water.Â
The monster let out a murky wail, then surged to the side. Caseyâs back met jagged rock, and he finally had to let go, just barely managing to swim up and over before the monster could bite him.Â
Blood was bubbling all around the two of them, creating dark, misty clouds that were thick enough to almost hide the monster in the haze.Â
And yet, as Casey darted back, he spotted something through those clouds: a long strand of skin that was sinking, its own gore forming a thin trail both behind and above as it touched down on the sand, limp and continuing to leak.Â
The fresh, gory chasm now marring one side of he monsterâs face gave him all the confirmation he needed.Â
But then, heâd only ripped out one of those barbelsâthe monster still had seven left, and he was already having to dodge them again. The damage heâd wrought on one gill-set was effective; the monster was always floundering, its movements clumsier than before. But that wasnât enough to kill it. It was losing blood, yes, but not enough to force it to retreat.Â
It could still keep chasing him after this.Â
It could still find ways to crash into him, to pin him down, and it would only have to do so much before his ribs cracked or his skull fractured.Â
It could force him to keep swimming until he had to go up to the surface for airâand then it could grab onto him and drag him all the way back down before he even got that breath in.
Caseyâs mind raced as he turned tail and swam, shooting around the corner of the cityâs old church.Â
Sure enough, the monster came surging after him, just past the tall cross that adorned the buildingâs roofâits tail thumped against it, snapping it like a twig, sending it sinking and kicking up clouds of sand. And yet, that barely put a dent in its stride.Â
The longer Casey took to kill it, the worse his chances would get. But he just didnât have the time or preparation to keep fighting, to just wear it down bit-by-bit.Â
He put on more speed, barely noticing the new pain that was spreading over his jaw and around his lungs.Â
The monster remained in his peripheral vision. It wasnât getting too much closer yet, but that distance wouldnât last.Â
Just then, Casey spotted something particular up ahead: a part of the ruins that heâd once known as a popular restaurant. Ironically enough, itâd originally been built close to the waterâs edge, with long, hardy support beams holding it halfway over. Now it was almost comically tilted to one side, sloping against its new, rocky bed. Its main building was broken and crumbling just like so many others.Â
What was once its outdoor seating section was half-buried in silt and algae, wooden chairs overturned and broken. Large umbrellas had torn away from their posts, now moldering and resembling shrouds as they clung to jagged edges of the chaos around them.Â
Something sparked in the back of Caseyâs head, and he was suddenly diving down. As he did, he forced himself to slow down, despite his heart threatening to explode out of his chest any second now.Â
Make it think youâre getting tired. Make it think itâs winning.Â
After few seconds, he was just above the restaurantâs carcass.
He felt all the new currents the monster was producing as its fins and tail beat the water.
He swept past the chairs, his flippers brushing the sand with such speed that it stung.
He could practically hear the monsterâs gills flaring and rippling as it got closer.Â
He raced for one corner of the building, where one of those umbrellas was spread at its full width, almost like itâd been planted that way.Â
Then, at the very last second, he ducked underneath the ruined cloth.Â
He heard the fabric ripping apart as the monster hurtled right on after himâand then, the nauseating, unmistakable squelch of flesh as those unnatural currents slowed, and then went still.Â
Casey wove around one side of one of those old support beams, watching as the opposite end of it was driven right through the monsterâs gaping mouth.Â
A horrible twitch went through the monsterâs body. And then another.Â
And then, before Casey could even think about blinking, the jagged, splintery remains of the beam were stabbing through the top of the monsterâs head, visible in the water once again. More clouds of blood spilled out, weaving around it almost like a garland.Â
The monsterâs eyes bulged from heir sockets one final time, then rolled back as its body slumped forward.Â
Casey stared, warily hovered in placeâso many creatures could still move after death. Half a second was still more than enough time for jaws to clamp down if the head was touched too soon.Â
Once he was sure it was truly dead, he made to surge for the surface. Heâd been careful with his breath earlierâby his calculations, he probably had at least fifteen minutes' worth of air left in his lungs. But his chest was screaming to be allowed to heave in and out, and cold, sharp aches were drumming at his skull and ribs and tail. Even if he wasnât done with his search, he just needed a moment to process this..interruption.Â
(Plus, it certainly wouldnât hurt to try a different route around the city. Just in case similar creatures were lurking around, attracted to all the noise the monster had made in its fight with him. And that wasnât even mentioning the scavengers that were probably already on their way to this very spot.)
But just as he began to drift upwardâŚsomething new caught his attention.Â
The monsterâs eyesâneither of them were moving, but something was happening to them.Â
Casey couldnât help but keep hovering, slowly circling around the monsterâs head.Â
As he watched, the veins stretching across those eyes almost seemed to be shriveling and shrinking.Â
As the seconds ticked by, however, Casey realized that light was flickering around the edges of that flesh.Â
A bright, warm, pale glow that flooded throughout each of the monsterâs eyes until they were were glimmering in earnest, as though twin moons had fallen down to wind up trapped in its skull.Â
And from there, that light kept growing. But it didnât reach through the rest of the monsterâs boy; instead, it justâŚit just reached out of the eyes. Thin, graceful wisps of that light seeped into the water like columns of smoke, allowing that glow to spread.
They moved in a swaying, gentle rhythm.
That rhythm was too specific; for the most part, it managed to stay in one place, not dissolving in the water like those trails of blood. Â
The light was beckoning for Casey.Â
And Casey, despite his instincts, couldnât tear his own eyes away.Â
He didnât even realize how he was drifting closer and closer untilâŚ
___
A small shout caught in Caseyâs throat as he jolted awake; something in his head told him to expect water to rush into his mouth, into his lungs.Â
But as he lunched upward, he felt the blankets, felt his pillow, slowly recognized the walls around him. His corkboard and its strings, the photographs and sketches heâd compiled for workâŚÂ
Casey sighed through gritted teeth, raising one hand to run through his blackhair, to clutch at his head before a migraine could set it.Â
Even after all these years, he still didnât like the fact that he had to peer into the mirror across his room, to thoroughly stare at his dark skin just to confirm the suspicious in his gut.Â
His human skin.Â
The same form heâd been stuck in ever since the incident, with burn-scars marring specific spots on his chest where the seam was supposed to layâŚ
It seemed completely unfair and extremely sadistic for nightmares to feel so real. To make his pelt feel to real; to make him think, if only for a few minutes, that he still had that pelt.Â
âŚStill, he supposed this disappointing, peltless reality was better than having the entirety of the Cove Port Inlets swamped beneath the water in an end-of-days style.Â
Thinking of which, his skin felt too dry. Felt too cold (yes, the water was always cold, but that still felt better than the dryness, and even without his pelt, he was still built for water, so shut up).
He trudged out of his bedroom, making his way through the bungalow heâd been able to have custom-built a few years ago.
He froze in his tracks, however, when he caught a shadow through the kitchen window, just out the corner of his eye. He slowly turned hishead to geta more thorough lookâŚthen furrowed his brow as he recognized a pair of huge black wings, a pair of black-tinted goggles.Â
No rest for the wicked, huh?Â
The figure outside obviously saw this realization, because his wings immediately snapped open as he ducked away from the window. Then, as if on-cue, Casey head a series of light-yet-solid thumps from elsewhere on the roof.Â
Casey charged through the living room, throwing the front door open just in time to hear a chorus of violent fluttering laced with some colorful language that bounced all around the sea-caveâs walls and floor.Â
Two harpies came swooping around his house in a mad-dash for the caveâs entrance. Though theirspeed made them blurry, Casey still regonized the black feathers of one, and the silvery-brown feathers of the other.Â
âYeah, thatâs right!â He shouted after them, trekking down the steps of his porch. âFly on back to your hideout! Youâre not catching me off-guard windows today!â
Once his feet touched the water, once both of his unwanted guests were well and truly gone, he gave pause.Â
Theyâd obviously outnumbers himâsure, he could fight and swim and hold his own, even without his pelt, but heâd still be little match for one harpyâs talons, let alone two of them. Not onl that, but thos specific harpiesâas well as their many peers heâd had plenty of encounters with in the pastâwere usually quite content to try and screw around with him, both in and out of work.Â
Why did they leave in such a hurry?Â
Before Casey could start panicking over the idea that something bad had been planted out here, another figure caught his eye:
A seal was draped along the rocks, halfway submerged in the water that trickled in through the caveâs mouth to form a small, churning pool around his home.Â
Another selkie, Casey knew without a single doubt. He didnât even need to see the seam on its chest; his instincts just told him, plain and simple.Â
Besides, the way this selkie stared at himâŚits dark eyes shone much differently than those of a normal seal. They offered an advanced intelligence and understanding.Â
Deep, bitter envy wasted no time snarling its greedy fingers around Caseyâs brain as he stared.Â
This selkieâs pelt looked much different from hisâwhere his had been silver and adorned by dozens of darker spots, this one was almost completely black. Almost, because a set of thin, pale stripes wrapped around its neck, its sides, its tail, almost like waterproof body-paint.Â
The other selkie stared right back, tilting itsâor, her head (Casey knew that was presumptuous, but this one just seemed like a her, and that felt a bit less rude that being called an it) in an inquisitive manner. She seemed to be analyzed him, looking him up and down.Â
And the longer she watched himâŚthe more it felt like she was recognizing him. Knowing him.Â
Which was very disconcerting, as he was certain heâd never seen a selkie that looked like her in his life.Â
After a while, he blinked without meaning to, and then the selkie was gone, having slipped under the water.Â
He waited for a moment to see if she would come back up.Â
When she didnât, he found himself walking forward again, not entirely sure why.Â
But before he could make much progress, his nose caught a familiar scent, and he halted yet again.
A few dead fish had been strewn about a clutch of stalagmites near one wall, well out of the waterâs reach. As fresh as a dead fish could be.Â
Walking closer, Casey soon recognized the whiskers that hung limply from around each oneâs mouth.Â
Catfishâand judging by the size of them, they hadnât come from the ocean right outside his home. No, theyâd likely been sourced from the public butcher market that congregated on the boardwalk every SaturdayâŚÂ
Casey tossed another glance at the sea-caveâs mouth.Â
The other selkie still failed to materializeâshe had to be long-gone by now.Â
Casey was hungry, and as far as he could tell, nothing had been done to these fish. But he hadnât survived in his investigative career this long by being gullible. So, he took only one of them into his hands and turned back, intending to thoroughly gut it once he got back to the kitchen.Â
YOURE INSPIRING ME TO MAKE A MER VERSION OF NIC...SINCE ITS ONLY MAKES SENSE FOR HIM TO HAVE A VERSION OF HIM FOR THIS VERSION OF YOUR PENTAS FAMILY AU... (I will ofc tag you in the drawing once I draw him hehe)
AND ALSO CASEY!!! ITS SO DEVASTATING THAT HE LOST HIS PELT
I FEEL SO BAD FOR HIM:((
YOU DID AN AMAZING JOB AT WRITING AS USUAL!!! THE IMAGERY AND FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN THIS MADE ME SO GEEKED :D