#i also wanted to study *clown shoes squeaking*

[cheekblush]

remember when i said i would be productive today?

[narrans]

Do 12 in whoever you see fit

PROMPT

#12 You need to let me go, or else you’re going to break something!

#2 Here, let me help. The last thing we need is for that wound to get infected.

Elizabeth Scator had always loved the ocean. From the fathomless depths to the curious creatures that called sea anemones their home, what was deep below the horizon of waves fascinated her. The first time she had seen the ocean was on her seventh birthday. She woke up to the sight of the sun lining the waves with its golden morning light, and she was hypnotized since.

Every waking moment was spent studying the aquatic world, memorizing every species of fish and habitat under the sea. Her time in college was, naturally, spent studying marine biology. Soon after graduation, she had a internship that was paying for her doctorate studies. It was an intense program, but it was worth every sleepless night – especially with her work being so important.

Elizabeth’s thesis was constructed around ethical treatment of fish, specifically when healing their injuries. She was developing a kind of mildly hydrophobic substance that could seal a wound without interfering with a fish’s movements and allowed the fish to go about its everyday activities. Yes, there were other products like this, but hers was completely organic and focused on natural healing rather than chemically inducing tissue growth.

Based on her research, her product was one and a half times more effective for healing certain injuries. It was astounding and had great promise, receiving copious amounts of praise from her superiors. While she never wanted a creature to injure itself or come in injured, she also needed more test subjects to verify her creation worked.

Then… one day… she had the opportunity of a lifetime…

Raging storms left the aquarium bay flooded and many of her co-workers decided to leave early. Where they parked on the street was possibly going to be flooded, and none of them wanted to deal with evening traffic. Elizabeth, however, decided to stay behind in the lab.

“Come on Liz! You’re going to grow gills if you stay here any more than what you already do,” teased Jon, one of Elizabeth.

“Very funny,” she remarked. “I won’t be much longer. I just need some time in the lab alone. Can’t have you clown fish muddying up the waters, can I?”

“Wwooowww! What a terrible dad joke coming from you Lizzy,” teased Jada, one of her other co-workers. “Fine. We’ll leave you alone. Come on guys! We’re getting out of here before we get washed away.”

“See you tomorrow!” Liz called and, with that, she was left to her own devices in the aquarium. She hurried back to the lab, tennis shoes squeaking along the floor, and spent the next hour or so tiding up her area, making sure her experiments were swimming along, and then set the machines to work on the next batch of her medicinal patch.

Now that she had a minute, she leaned back into her chair and stared at the cameras that were set up all along the tanks of the different enclosures. She liked watching the fish and aquatic life swirl with the waves and sway peacefully in the weightless suspension water offered.

With most of her tasks out of the way and waiting was the name of the game, Liz decided she wanted to get up and stretch her legs properly. It had been a while since she had gone out to see the different exhibits and she wanted to get a view of the storm in the ocean view area. Snagging a few of her belongings like her phone and keys, she set off into the aquarium.

The storm raged on, the crashing thunder rampaging like an avalanche. There was no way she was anywhere near the eye of the storm at this point in time. The waves frothed and foamed as they threw themselves against the rocks, swallowing water as they went back out to sea.

Liz admired the exhibits safely from inside, resting her forearms on the railing so she could get closer to the tanks. The swirling liquid filled with hundreds of jellyfish were illuminating in radiating highlighter pack colors. She paused at every exhibit before stopping to admire the ocean overview scene. It was nearly impossible to see outside, but she could still make out a few of the purple sea urchins which were right by the water’s edge.

The prickly spines had gotten her a couple of times when she accidentally was a bit too enthusiastic. Still, the dark plum purple was quite a scene against the depths of the dark blue ocean and the white froth of the waves.

Liz was about to walk back to the lab when something caught her attention on one of the nearest urchins. It was small, blue, and looked to be entangled in the spines of the urchin. To Liz, it looked like part of a crushed-up water bottle, which instantly set her blood boiling.

How hard was it to throw away your trash or toss it into the recycle bin? She thought angrily as she quickly made her way down the stairs to the lower maintenance deck, keys in hand. Honestly, if people want to take the environment seriously, they need to act like it’s actually a problem. She didn’t have on a raincoat, but she would only be out in the pouring rain for a minute at most. The door practically threw itself open and water pelted her as she managed to get the latch unlocked.

Liz fought her way through the battering of water droplets until she made it back to the edge of the water, which had come crashing up over her shoes and left her socks soaking wet. She spotted the purple sea urchin and the odd blue thing, but when she crouched the pry the object free, she froze.

It wasn’t a bottle wedged in between the spines.

It wasn’t even wedged – he was stabbed.

What looked like a small man with a fish tail, about five or so inches long, was completely immobilized because of the sea urchin. This little merman had pale blue skin and a smattering of blonde-blue hair on his head. Small scales, also a deep indigo and some dark shade of purple Liz remembered to be called aubergine were all over his tail and forearms. His hands, which were slightly webbed, lay splayed out beside him.

What was more alarming than the very existence of this small merman was the fact that three spines were protruding from different parts of his body, one from the tail, one through his arm, and the last through his shoulder.

While Liz didn’t have gloves on and needed to ensure the safety of the marine life in her care, she couldn’t just let him suffer either.

With the utmost delicacy, she risked not having on her protective gloves and pulled the sea urchin free from the edge of the rocks. It was a good thing the little guy was out cold. The subtle movement of her simply picking it up moved the spines that were embedded in him.

Once free from the rocks, she rushed as quickly as she dared back through the aquarium, looking the door behind her, and made her way back to the lab. Her shoes screeched a few times when she almost lost her balance, but she managed to maintain her upright position.

The moment she made it to the lab, she placed the urchin and the small man into a pre-prepped tank she wanted to use for one of her experiments. It wasn’t until she had snipped the ends of the sea urchin as close to the small man’s flesh as she dared and, in a detached and swift motion, pulled him free from the stumps, that it sunk in what he was.

This – he – was a merman. Merfolk existed! But how?

His small body arched, and his mouth opened in a silent, cry, but he simply floated in the water, suspended and unconscious, and Liz’s scientific and curious mind couldn’t help but observe him further. She slipped her fingers into the water and gently touched his arm before hooking her fingers just behind his body and laying against his spine. He looked to be young, possibly in his early to mid-teens if she had to put an age to his features.

Was he dead?

No. Couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have arched and opened his mouth if he were dead.

What an absolutely amazing discovery. This could turn everything we knew about deep ocean life on its head. Does he have any kind of defense mechanism like poison? Spines? I wonder if he understands language. Is it vocally based? Or song based like whales?

Liz dipped her other hand into the water and started to examine his body closer when she realized the blood leaking from his wounds. It wasn’t red, but rather an odd indigo like the scales on his body.

She knew right then that this was the opportunity she was waiting for. She retrieved the special paste and brought it over to the table with the tank. The merman was still floating unconscious.

Perfect.

She needed him to be a little dry in the areas she wanted to apply her patch, so she gently scooped him up into her hand and lifted him out of the water. His body was so small compared to her hands, which appeared monstrously large when they held such a small life in them.

Liz quickly dried the first area along the shoulder, giving it a gentle pinch to stop the flow of blood temporarily, before applying the patch on both the front and the back, smearing the greenish liquid onto the wound. There were a number of other scrapes and bleeding injuries she hadn’t seen before, but she would work on them later. She moved onto the arm next, which proved difficult because of the size of the appendage. Then, finally, the tail.

She had just finished applying the viscous material to his tail and lifted him up ever so slightly to blow it dry when she felt a subtle squirm. When she looked up, two bright sapphire-colored eyes had locked onto her, and they were wide with what she could only describe as shock and terror.

The small merman looked around wildly and thrashed, which nearly knocked him out of her hand. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the creature.

“Woah, careful,” Liz breathed, trying to keep her voice low and calm. If this little guy had any kind of human-like intelligence, she needed to try and communicate. If not, this was how people worked with mammals in keeping them calm.

A series of squeaks, clicks, and chirps emitted from him as he struggled. Then, after a second, his hand raised to his throat and his body began convulsing, shaking as he let out more squeaks and cries. It reminded Liz of how dolphins or whales communicated, and these were sounds of obvious distress.

Then, in a flash of a moment, his desperate eyes looked at her before he looked back yearningly at the water which Liz held him over just a few inches away.

Wait… is he… can merfolk not get out of the water and breathe air?

Liz carefully lowered her hand back into the water. Instantly, the small merman’s body stopped thrashing and his hand lowered from his throat. His body heaved as though he were taking in breath after breath. It was now that Liz could see little slits up and down his sides near where the human kidney would be.

Are those… gills?

Distracted, Liz felt a strong thrash as the miniature merfolk slipped out of her grasp and swam to the bottom of the aquarium tank, staying on the opposite side of where the purple sea urchin was. His webbed fingers, barely the size of a broken off piece of pencil graphite, pressed against the glass of the tank as he continued to clutch his injured side.

Liz knew she had to look like some kind of distorted monster to him. It was beyond clear that this thing possessed human-like intelligence and, at the very least, could feel and express emotions. Sadly, she needed to tend to the other wounds.

How was she going to do this? He probably didn’t want to be held or caught, and a net was probably out of the question.

Still… she needed to show she was, at the very least, friendly.

Taking some of their bandages from the medicine cabinet, specifically gauze, and lowering it into the tank, she continued to make eye-contact with the small merman while smiling.

“Here, let me help. The last thing we need is for that wound to get infected,” she muttered. She heard another blast of squeaks and clicks emanate from beneath the water. What was more important was that she saw him shake his head in a “no” motion as he pressed himself against the glass further.

Then, she had an idea. Dropping the gauze to let it float near the miniscule merman, she took part of a much larger bandage and made sure he was watching when she took it and began wrapping it around her forearm. It felt like she was talking to her little cousins again, using big gestures and facial expressions to convey what she wanted him to do since there was an obvious language barrier between them.

After a minute of him watching her wrap mimic wrapping her arm and then wrapping her torso, he seemed to get the idea as his wounds continued to leak sluggishly. It took some effort, and he was clearly suspicious that this was some kind of netting or capture device as he wrapped it around his torso.

His breathing had calmed, and he kept staring at Liz with his sapphire blue gaze. His keen eyes seemed to be evaluating Liz, almost as much as she was evaluating him. It was like she could see the tide of thoughts coming in and out of his mind based only on his facial expressions. With a sigh, Liz glanced at the clock and saw nearly an hour had passed since she had come into the office with her latest patient.

When she looked back at the tank, Liz felt her heart jump into her throat as she saw the little merman had swum to the surface and his head was poking out just above the water, making his blonde-blue hair lay flat instead of wildly swirling around him.

Liz smiled gently and knelt to be at eye-level with him.

“Hey there,” she said softly. The sound naturally made him wince, but he didn’t retreat back to the bottom of the tank. “Decide to come see me? Do you need another bandage?” She carefully picked up some additional gauze and held it up. After a moment, he shook his head.

Then, lips barely coming out of the water, he let out the faintest set of squeaks and clicks she had ever heard. It was endearing and sweet, and quite possibly the cutest thing she had ever heard. His boldness earlier when he was thrashing had turned into an unexpected thoughtful, introverted personality as he timidly poked his head out of the water again.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly. He swam back a few inches and made a gesture for her to come forward. This made her a little wary, but if this was some sort of attack, it couldn’t be worse than the jellyfish sting she had gotten last week.

Liz inched closer and turned her ear toward the clicks. Maybe he was able to speak English, but just in a very soft voice. She listened hard to the series of clicks and squeaks again until, to her surprise, a jet of water shot out from his mouth and hit her square in the ear.

“Ah!” She recoiled instantly, but there was another jet of water that splashed her right in the mouth. She gagged and stumbled away, coughing and sputtering as she tried to get the water out of her ear and out of her mouth. She turned back to the aquarium to see the little merman had retreated to the corner but was still hear the surface. He looked utterly terrified, but he also looked determined at the same time.  

“Why, you little…” Liz spat in the nearby sink and turned back to the aquarium. She advanced a few steps when, from the surface of the water, she heard the most peculiar sounds. In one ear, she heard the clicking and squeaking of the merman, but in the other she heard a voice – his voice.

“Please! Don’t be angry with me, miss! I… I… I couldn’t think of a better way to convince you to communicate other than getting you to come closer. I apologize. Please, miss, please don’t lash out at me,” he said, raising his hands ever so slightly as if to shield his body from an impending grasp. Liz felt her eyes go wide.

“You… I can… hear you now,” she muttered. Instantly, the handheld merman nodded vigorously, as if to further substantiate his argument.

“Yes, miss; and I can hear you too. Ocean Tongue. It’s a blessing we can give. Please… miss… forgive me. It was an awful thing I did, and when you showed me how to bandage myself… I thought you might be trying to help,” his little frame dipped beneath the water’s surface, and he bowed lowly, wincing as he pinched his side and shoulder that were injured by the sea urchin. Liz felt like her whole world were crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

“Hey, none of that. I’m not angry with you. Don’t bow or anything. I’m not worth that,” she chuckled. “I was just surprised. I thought you were, I don’t know, a bit puckish. You know? Trying to play tricks and pranks and stuff, like you were trying to play with me.”

At this, the miniscule eyes widened and shook his head vigorously as he swam back up to the surface. His head poked out from the water, and he looked back at Liz with a certain severity.  

“Play? Oh no, miss. I… I don’t know how to play. I’m not meant to do such things,” he stated.

“What? No playing? You’re just a kid though, right? I mean… Why? If you don’t mind my asking,” asked Liz.

“A… kid? A fry? I am young and I’ll get bigger one day, but still capable of serving and work. That’s not what I am here for. I’m meant to help, protect, and distract anything from the main family… miss,” he said humbly. It took Liz every bit of two seconds to put it together.

“Wait… you’re a servant? To some kind of larger family? You’re meant to be bait if something bad starts to happen?” asked Liz, feeling her frustration and anger rise up again. This was not the image of merfolk that she had dreamed of as a little girl. The small figure’s eyes widened, and he looked panicked, as though he said too much or spoke out of turn.

“Well… miss… I… that is certainly one way to put it; but, it is a great honor to serve the higher families. Then one day, when I get bigger, I can maybe be part of the guard… but… I’ve… oh no… miss,” he said, his pensive voice ringing clearly across the water. It was clear this was some sort of line that he had been told all his life. “Miss… I… I over spoke about the workings of the families. I shouldn’t have done that. There’s only one punishment for that… Miss… If… if you could make it quick and toss me into one of the larger tanks… I’ll get it done.”

Liz wanted to confront him about it and try to inspire him to live his own life instead of being literal fish food for someone else, but that problem would have to wait for another day. Right now, there were more pressing matters like showing this little guy she wasn’t going to hurt him.

“Hey, I’m not going to do that to you, okay? I’m supposed to help, not hurt – and I choose to help you,” affirmed Liz. “Is that what happened? With the spikes on that urchin?”

“Oh… no miss… that was an accident. The waves caught me and threw me onto the urchin, miss…” he said quietly. “You… want me to… live?”

“Yes, I want you to live. That’s why I patched up those other spots on your shoulder. I didn’t want it to get infected or anything,” stated Liz. He looked at his shoulder, side, and the spot on his tail where she had patched him up with her medicinal substance, touching it lightly with his fingers.

“Oh… I see now, miss. I thought you were trying to eat me before when I was out of the water,” he said quietly, looking rather embarrassed at his confession. Liz felt her insides twist as she replayed the instance in her mind. When he woke up, she had been trying to get the patch to dry faster by blowing on it.

“Oh, gosh… I’m sorry. Is that what you were saying? You tried talking before, but I couldn’t understand. Yeah, that must’ve been terrifying, waking up to all that,” said Liz. Figuring it was only polite, she gave a slight bow like the one he had given her. She heard faint splashing as the little merfolk splashed his tail and waved his hands.

“Oh no, miss, you don’t need to apologize. Please, miss, I don’t deserve it,” he said frantically. Liz smiled and chuckled to herself as she looked back at the little guy. “And no… miss… I panicked and cried out in pain. Your grip tightened too, and I was afraid you might break something. Please… you do not need to apologize to me. I shouldn’t have acted in cowardice.”

“Well, I want to apologize anyway; and you are certainly not cowardly. You’ve been brave this whole time,” said Liz, which made the little merman beam momentarily with pride. “And you don’t have to call me ‘miss.’ That is a bit formal. You can just call me Liz, okay?”

“Yes, miss Liz,” he echoed, obviously committing the name to memory. Liz chuckled and shook her head.

“No, it’s just Liz. What’s your name?” she asked. An odd expression crossed his pale blue features. It was obvious he hadn’t been asked this very often, but he nodded and responded.

“Psi, mis… er… Liz. My name is Psi,” replied Psi, offering the first little smile Liz had seen since their encounter began. With a little squirm, he looked back up at her nervously. “And… um… Liz… what happens next? I mean… how do we proceed? Will you… keep me here?”

“Just for a little while, unless you think you have a handle on your injuries. I don’t want you to think you’re captured here or anything. When you’re ready to leave, I’ll take you where you want to go and that’ll be the end of it,” stated Liz. She felt a pang in her chest at the mention of letting Psi go. She had a million questions about him and what other merfolk were like, but he was a living, sentient being who deserved freedom.

“I’m not… fated here?” he asked curiously. Liz shook her head.

“No. I mean, I have questions and stuff, but you don’t have to answer them if it makes you uncomfortable or if it’ll get you in trouble,” replied Liz.

“Liz? Will… you tell others about me?” Psi asked. Again, Liz shook her head.

“Not if you don’t want me to. I’ll make sure your secret is safe. Sound good to you?” she asked. Psi, seemingly satisfied, nodded and raised out of the water so the tops of his shoulders poked out of the water.

“It is good for me as well. Thank you,” he replied. Liz smiled and lifted her hand carefully toward him, extending a single finger for him to shake. But, obviously not fully understanding this human concept, simply took the tip of her finger into his hands and pressed his forehead to it. Liz had to stifle a giggle at how sweet this little guy was, but managed to refrain for the time being.

For hours, the two of them exchanged answers about their cultures and responded to questions.

Psi explained that merfolk had small reserves of magic which allowed them, only a few times in their life, to appear as humans when captured or needing to walk on land. Such magic was reserved for the leading families, of course, but he had other magic which allowed him to appear like a small fish for a few hours to avoid detection.

Liz explained her profession and why aquariums existed, among other things like what cars and books were. Psi was especially interested in ships and how they propelled through the water by spinning instead of swishing a tail.

They continued to talk until the early hours of the morning and when neither of them could keep their eyes open. Liz prepared a separate aquarium for him so that she could easily transport him home and lifted him into it.

He swam into her cupped palms, a true demonstration of his trust, and let her place him into the new container solely on the promise that he would be set free. It felt so odd having him back in her hands, but there was something endearing in the way he wrapped his arms around her thumb for support.

Over the next week, Psi stayed with Liz in her apartment as he recovered until, finally, he was ready to leave. It was a sad departure, but Psi and Liz both promised to try and make an effort to see one another again in one week. Liz stared out into the ocean as Psi swam out along the surface, the waves obscuring his frame until he was completely out of sight.

Liz wasn’t sure if she would see her little friend again, but one thing she did know – one week could not come soon enough.

[internalsealpanic]

Do It Yourself Hauntings

Summary: You and Terry get extremely bored while on a group date as you walk through a haunted house. Terry has a brilliant idea that’s sure to chase away your boredom. 

masterlist

a/n: Guess who is flagrantly avoiding homework to write a fic? So this is Cat!Reader x Terry McGinnis. Reader is still as gender neutral as I can make them so I went with the name ‘Stray’. A tid bit I could not write in organically is that reader is painfully shy in their civilian identity but has little to no inhibitions when in their night time persona. Another clarification is that this is the outfit I had in mind. It was legit the thing I had my heart set on when my lizard brain said Catwoman character.   

Warnings: Adult language, clowns, clownery, and this maybe a tinsy bit spicy at one point (I tried) (kind of? Look, I just don’t want anyone going all mother superior on me. Just in case. ).

You were incredibly, stupidly, magnificently bored.

You shifted on your heels, letting them click and echo trying to distract yourself from the thrum of excess energy surging through your body.

It-It didn’t work.

The clicking only made you more anxious, plucking at your taut nerves like well-tuned guitar strings.

It probably didn’t help that you just came back from a dazzling night of heists and getting shot at. Adrenaline still flowing through your veins like molten ichor. Heart still floundering in your chest as if- at any moment- the cops would come rushing in and you would have to make your daring, if not dramatic, escape.

Between this and the sorry attempt at jump scares the poor underpaid actors subjected you to, your head started aching and your mood plummeted into something vile. Thankfully, your group was none-the-wiser unless all of them spontaneously decided to master micro-expressions then you were the picture of an apprehensive young adult trekking through a cheap haunted house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Pulse still pounding loudly in your ears and content with letting the others have their fun, you silently fall into the back of the group. There was a higher chance that you would encounter the cringe-inducing scares but you weren’t too concerned. Nope. You were more worried about the very real possibility that you might deck Nelson or Chelsea or Blade or whoever the fuck decided that girls need to play scared to make guys feel cool. Ok, yeah, the last one.

When Chelsea did another ill-timed flinch, scrabbling for Nelson’s arm, and Nelson ate it up, you swore your eyes would roll their way out of their sockets. Whoever popularized this needed to be shot. Twice.

There was always a possibility that they weren’t faking it, that they were genuinely terrified but you highly doubted it considering if anything actually scary happened, Nelson would be the first one to run.

Neck deep in your musings, you hadn’t noticed as Terry slowed to keep pace with you. He leaned down close enough to brush his lips against your skin and blew a light gust into your ear.  You jumped clutching your ear feeling the heat spread through your body. You twitched away. The memory of his lips against your ear making your stomach dance. Your skin prickled with curiosity-

 You glowered at him. You prayed that the embarrassment plain on your body language did not dampen the venom in your eyes.

“Told ya I could be scary,”

He winked.

You sighed.

Of course, he hadn’t let that go.

You rolled your head to the side and shrank into your puffy leather jacket trying to hide the bright flush of your cheeks. From the absolutely smarmy grin he gave you, he was enjoying this. Was this payback? It was probably payback. Payback for all the slag you said over the comms, the flirty little touches, or all the little kisses you dealt him every time you encountered him in the field.

Here’s a novel concept! Maybe don’t dish out what you can’t take.

“Compared to this place? Yeah,”

“Ouch, what’s got you in a mood?”

You leveled him a look. Terry leveled you with his own. You tilted your head ever so slightly to show the bruise blooming on your collar bone. He winced. His jaw clenched.  You instantly regretted showing him when his brows were carved with guilt. Normally, you liked looking at Terry. Easy on the eyes kind of handsome. He only looked punchable in the Batsuit. But you could never stand the guilt and worry on his face, especially when you were the cause. It wasn’t even his fault. You took the blow knowing your armor wasn’t quite as enforced. That was on you.

You sucked in a breath and rolled your shoulders contorting yourself away from the ever-present need to apologize. Instead, you waved your hand vaguely at the cheaply constructed haunted house. “Admit it, this place is-” 

“isn’t that-” He looked around rubbing the back of his neck. “-bad?”

“Terry, the scariest thing about this place is how many credits I wasted,” you deadpanned looking down at your, now, lighter wallet. It wasn’t physically lighter but you were a drama queen and you had a point to make.

Terry chuckled at your antics and rolled his eyes. “It’s got its charms,” You raised your brow and crossed your arms. His shoulders slumped then straightened, a teasing quirk to his lip curling.   “Still better than doing that family studies paper,”

Ok, that you could agree on.

The rest of the walk was marginally bearable with you and Terry providing quiet commentary on each scare. It was hard to hold back laughter. Your body shook, nearly falling into a giggle fit several times. You got dirty looks from the others several times for the transgression of ‘ruining’ the mood.  You were a little impressed that they had managed to make a mood for you to ruin. After all, what’s more romantic than zombie clowns and warehouses?

 Your sides ached. You really wanted to just let out a laugh, a real full belly laugh but you hated your laugh. Terry, you thought, was aware of your broken plate laugh. Why did he keep trying to draw it out?

Your group made it into a large clearing. Your anxiety immediately ratcheted up with the wide-open space but relaxed after scanning the room. There was nowhere to put

Creaking and scraping of old rusty metals resonated in every corner.

Terry nudged you and pointed upward, directing your attention to the silhouette moving around in the rafters.

Your heart stopped momentarily but picked back up again as soon as you saw the graceless way the figure moved around.

A clown covered in gore and shards of metal jumped down from the rafters landing in the middle of your ragtag group. You scattered. You heard a few gasps. You even saw Nelson flinch. You took some petty satisfaction in being right.

You yawned less concerned with the crazy act he was putting on and more with how the hell he hasn’t landed on a single patron. You made your boredom plain. You’ve seen crazy.  Your sides throbbed in protest of the reminder.

You looked down to distract yourself only to be met with the sight of floppy red clown shoes. Genuine, floppy, red clown shoes. You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip. Your body trembled from trying to contain the laughter roiling in your stomach.

The man continued to spout something about keeping you all here for his entertainment. Blah. Blah. You crossed your ankles and leaned ever so  slightly into Terry’s space, cocking your head to the opposite side.  You yawned into your hand muffling the sound as best you could in an attempt to be polite. Terry had other ideas.

Terry leaned down into your ear making an exaggerated snoring sound.  An ugly snort tore its way out of your nostrils loud enough to be heard over the clown’s overly dramatic soliloquy. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the onslaught of snorts rising up from your chest. You narrowed your eyes at Terry who, at the moment, was also fighting his own fit of laughter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you, in solidarity, tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of the wannabe Shakespeare actor.

You kind of felt bad.

Maybe.

Ok, you did. But not nearly enough to actually stop laughing. In your defense, Ace had more acting chops than this guy. But kudos, he was really into the bit.

He lunged at the two of you, fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. Terry grabbed you pressing you to his side and wrapping a protective arm around you. You let out an embarrassing little squeak. You witnessed as he cataloged it into the ‘stuff y/n is never gonna live down’ part of his brain. ‘Cute’ he mouthed silently. You cursed yourself. You turned to cuss at Terry-

The clown lunged at you again, murderous intent plain as day on his face. He snarled as you two dodged him easily with a quick sidestep. In the corner of your eyes, you could see the other actors look on in bewilderment.  One of them shook her head clearly exasperated. Ok, so you unintentionally pissed off one of the actors. Great. Now, what?

The man lunged for you again. Dodging gracefully, you two turned on your heels and bolted leading him away from the group. You could hear the group collectively cheering him on behind you as you made your escape.

Technically, you could just knock him out and maybe go back to the group. One of you was the goddamn Batman while the other was Stray, thief extraordinaire, after all. But between the gasp of laughter and the playful grin stretching across Terry’s face like hell that was happening.

You two ducked into a corner tired and panting. You press yourself against the cool metal of the wall with Terry shielding you from view.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”  You whisper, shrinking into your leather jacket feeling keenly aware of your lack of undershirt as the heat radiating from his skin pressed against yours. He leaned against you, closing the gap between the two of you.  His panting breaths fanning against your skin, lips brushing against the bare skin of your collar.  You bit out a curse as the color on your cheeks darkened. You swallowed a lump, heart floundering again. You felt him smile against your skin.

You like to say it was anger that flared up in you. You really would but the heat suffusing in your body said otherwise. You pushed at him weakly. “We have to get back,”

Terry stepped back giving you space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“You sure you want to? Bozo is still looking for us. That and you’ll probably still be bored,”

You tapped your foot and tilted your head considering it. You looked into his face searching for something. You sigh inwardly. “Yeah, no. I really don’t wanna go back. The scariest thing is still the amount of money we wasted and I have yet to be scared shitless,”

He smiled at you victoriously. “I have an idea,”

You blinked at him.“Ok, great job! Now, I’m pissing myself with fear,” You teased. You weren’t a fan of Terry’s ideas half the time but hell if they weren’t entertaining.

Terry rolled his eyes at you holding out his hand. “You brought your goggles, right?”

“McGinnis, I didn’t exactly have time to go home and-” You stilled, feeling his eyes trail down your chest before darting back up. Normally, when you were in costume, you left the zipper of your jacket open showing tantalizing glimpses of your soft flesh. Terry was absolutely not opposed to your costume choice unless you were in danger which was rare (thank you very much). This was what led to your current blushing predicament not that the other aspects of your costume were any less complementary. You sighed inwardly before stammering out “Yeah, I have my goggles,”  Fishing them out of an inner pocket of your jacket, you waved them around half-heartedly. 

“Schway! Come on follow me,” He said grabbing your wrist before you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

You rounded a couple of corners before stopping at a beam. He looked from left to right brow furrowed. He tapped his foot twice then somehow decided to go left. How the hell Terry managed to find his way around in the dark was a complete mystery to you. Your first guess is echolocation but the second, more logical guess, was that Bruce was a paranoid old man. Like a normal human, you were entirely dependent on the night vision mode of your goggles. 

You stopped when Terry stretched his arm out in front of you. You squinted seeing another group of bored-looking patrons. You turn to Terry who was looking at them and seemingly analyzing the group and it clicked.

“Oh,” you whispered quietly as you understood what he was planning. He threw you a playful smirk knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist this golden opportunity to fuck around.

“I would like to go on record and say this is a terrible idea,”

“And yet you’re going along with it,”

You were about to protest but couldn’t really think of a good defense.

“You know, if you really wanted to scare them you could have just dressed up as old Brucie,” 

You huffed and put your goggles on before crouching low. He followed suit bending low.

“Weeell, sorry. Your gremlin mug was the best I could do on short notice,”

You made a face of mock hurt which made him chuckle. “Am not,”

As it turns out, two vigilantes well-trained in sneaking around are actually pretty good at scaring people. In the last 5 minutes, you’ve scared four different groups of patrons all with varying reactions but all equally hilarious.

“Yanno we could probably scare Nelson,” Terry hummed innocently trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. You answered him with a vicious smile. “You just want payback for the prank he pulled yesterday,”

“And you want to see him  piss himself,”

This was true.

“Ok, fine. What’s the game plan?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Terry chuckled knowing he’s got you hook, line, and sinker. You scoffed but let him lean closer to you to whisper his maniacal scheme.

“If this works I am going to cry-” You crowed ducking behind another row of boxes as you quietly trailed your group.  “-Hand me your jacket,”

Completely avoiding your outstretched hands, he draped his jacket over you like a strange leather veil before giving your head a quick pat. “Hope you brought tissues then,”

“Like slag, this is gonna work,” You said quirking your brow and tilting your head to make the doubt plain on your face. Even with your vision impaired by your new headpiece, you could still admire how nice he looked in his shirt. Not that you let it show. You hoped.

“Just watch and learn nonbeliever,”

“Oh god he thinks he can pull off miracles now,” You sneered climbing on to his broad shoulders.

“Shhhhhhhh”

You pouted down at him crossing your arms. He shrugged his shoulders, the movement drawing a surprised yelp from you in turn making him snicker. You were about to open your mouth when your smoke trap was triggered.

Ok, this was a blatant abuse of your equipment but who was gonna tell you off? Bruce? Probably but the man was allergic to fun so being at a Halloween fair was, likely,  safe.

Thick waterfalls of white smoke cascaded down from the rafters, blanketing the floor with a thick mist of curling smoke. The group stopped almost mystified by how well-timed the eerie effect was. You had to hold back a derisive snort when they all turned to each other confused.

Because, yes, this is what your hours of booby trap training have been leading up to.

Truly, a magnum opus of spite.

You could already see Nelson readying himself to bolt even as Blade and Chelsea hung off his arms. Petty satisfaction bloomed in you.

Ok, you may be a gremlin.

You threw your voice in a shrill cackle letting it echo and bounce in the room over the too slow circus music playing in the background. It was a chilling sound, the kind that rattled in bones and traveled up the spine. One that you’ve only ever used for pranks during long nights at the lab. You even felt Terry freeze up beneath you. His grip on your thighs getting tighter. How on earth you didn’t yelp or squeak or make any other little noise at that was the true miracle.

“Wha- what’s going on?“  Blade squeaked, pressing into the group.

"Didn’t we just pass the last attraction?!”

“Are you sure it was the last?”

“I don’t know man!”

The group shrank in on itself as the conversation grew more panicked. You felt Terry shaking from holding in laughter. You nudge him softly with your heel. He took a breath and nodded to tell you he was fine.

“Oh children, there’s no need to fuss,” You coo sickeningly sweet. You see them swallow taking in your presence heavy as it was.

“The fun’s only just beginning!” You shriek flicking on the orange lights of your goggles. Your shrill, shrieking voice transmuting over the speakers filling the room.

They screamed, scrambled, and scattered. Your nearly 10-foot silhouette hovering over them. They tripped over each other. Some of them pulling at each other. Some stepping over feet in their haste to get away. Pure terror etched themselves on their faces.

You let them all sprint to exit, watching their forms all disappear before bursting out into laughter.

“Did- Did you see their faces?!”

“Please tell me you were recording,“

“wait-” You choked grabbing for your goggles. You made a show of checking and letting your shoulders fall in disappointment.

Terry looked crushed. A vicious grin carved across your face. “Relax, I was,”

Terry’s slumped against the crate as he leaned back. He ran his hand through his black hair and began to laugh again.

You put your goggles back to your jacket pocket. You clutched at his jacket letting your ugly laugh tumble out of your lips. Terry planted a kiss on your nose making your breath hitch. 

"What was that for?!” Your hands flying to your nose. Your fingers traced the small patch of skin he touched.

“You were just too cute,” He laughed ruffling your hair.

How do you respond to that? How could he say things like that so casually? Does he not know how many heart attacks it gives you?

“Jerk”

“PFFFFT”

“Don’t ‘pfffft’ me!” You bit out, throwing his jacket at him.

“Pfffft”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“I-”

“Ahem!”

You both looked up to see a security guard and Bozo glowering down at you. You gave them both what passed for a sheepish, but not exactly, apologetic look.

The burly guard picked you both up by the scruff of your necks and hauled you out of the building. He tossed you out back as Bozo yelled “stay out” from the comfort of the guards back. 

“Kick us out yourself, coward!” Terry yelled, shaking his fist like an old man. You slapped your forehead in an effort not to encourage him. Bozo glowered at him from behind his meat shield. Terry snarled. You grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I knew it was you two,” Max sighed, hand on her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

“Circus music,”

You looked at her uncomprehendingly before remembering your well-documented discomfort with circuses. You slapped your hand against your forehead. Terry, helpful as usual, snickered at you.

 But before you could throw hands, Max spoke cleared her throat.

“You dumbasses are lucky they don’t press charges,” Max aggravated pinching the bridge of her nose. You had the decency to look a little sheepish at the accusation but Terry looked pleased which earned him a chastising look.

“Sorry, ma’am” You both grumbled as she pulled you both up. 

All three of you walked in tandem.  Max let up the responsible act.

“Not the worst group date you’ve been on, right?” Terry nudged.

 “No, guess not,” You scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Stiiiiill not as bad as that time you got us caught by the Joker Gang~”

“That wasn’t even my fault,”

————————————–

Thanks for reading! Also please do not do this in real life. They will get mad at you even if their haunted house does stink.

taglist:  @batarellabatarella (YOU BITCH I GOT ANOTHER BATBOY FOR YOU), @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[shaywalsh]

siobhan “shay” walsh ( they/she ) is a nonbinary, thirty year old video game designer / dispensary employee who has been living in moorbrooke for five years. they were born on july 14th and right now, they are currently residing in maple court. it has been said that they look suspiciously like jodie comer and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose dreams by fleetwood mac.

pinterest ! 

[clown shoes squeaking] hi...it’s salem again 

legal name: siobhan imogen walsh known as: shay  dob / age: july 14th / 30 zodiac: cancer gender / pronouns: cis woman / she/her orientation: lesbian birthplace: galway, ireland current location: moorbrooke, maine occupation: video game designer / dispensary employee 

tw: none i think? wow look at me writing a not completely traumatized character...

from the time they were born, shay lived a mostly uneventful life. their parents were always eccentric, right on the edge of being considered hippies, but shay never minded even when others seemed to find things strange. their parents were nothing but loving and supportive, particularly of their love for art and video games. 

shay had always intended to stay close to home, knowing they would miss their family a great deal if they moved away. however, they ended up finding a game design program at a school in america, and made the at the time terrifying choice to move to london after finishing their studies in ireland. 

the program was everything shay wanted it to be, and over the next couple years shay managed to grow out of their shell a little bit. they also managed to come to terms with their sexual orientation, coming out to their family as a lesbian after a couple years away at school, and their parents were more than supportive.

after school, the unimaginable happened and shay was offered a job opportunity in new york city. moving to london had been one thing, but shay still felt quite apprehensive about the idea of moving to a different country. however, despite their hesitations, their parents encouraged them to take the plunge and accept the job, and so they did, moving to new york at the age of 24.

about a year into the job, shay met a girl online who they quickly fell hard for. in what seemed like the blink of an eye, shay was head over heels and planning to move to a small town in maine that they knew next to nothing about. when they arrived, however, it became apparent that the girl wasn’t as serious about the relationship as shay, leaving them heartbroken and alone in a new city.

it wasn’t all bad, though. working in game design made it easy to work remotely, so they were able to keep their job and pick up a new one at one of maine’s legal recreational dispensaries. at first, they thought they’d never stay in moorbrooke for long after the breakup, but shay has settled into the life here more than they ever expected. 

wanted connections ! 

friends / ex-girlfriends (maybe even the one they moved to moorbrooke for???) / neighbors / dispensary customers / game buddies / potentially fwb? although shay is the queen of catching feelings / literally anything, y’all know i’m bad at these 

[futchloser-moved]

hewwo i turned the inaugural death of mister seven into one big block of text!!! why??? I DONT FUCKING KNOW but i did!!!

below VV

Your name is CROWBAR. You remember the first time you ever got offed like it was yesterday. But then, you tend to remember damn near everything like it was yesterday. And when a fella whets his bill on time travel as much as you, yesterday's when damn near everything literally took place. But that's beside the point. The POINT is, a guy like you's gotta remember things. No room for error when you're in charge of a bunch of maroons like these. Maroon's your favorite color, in case it wasn't obvious by the rugged hue of your jaunty tricorned HAT. But like you say all the time, lugs this dumb give the color a bad name. Yeah, that line never did get a laugh. Not even ONCE. Never did claim comedy was your bag, though. Your bag's a whole 'nother can of worms entirely. And those worms swear on their ugly mothers' graves that you're a hard-nosed, square-shouldered, spare-the-lip and shoot-from-the-hip gang boss. Or third in command, to be precise. But who's counting? The answer, of course is, you are. YOU'RE counting. It's your JOB to count. As number three of the the outfit (i.e. number seven, lest we get confused) it's ALSO your job to do what Number Two says. (He don't got a number in actuality. Cueball-head wouldn't wear a hat in the damn presence of royalty, the cocky bastard.) Number Two naturally gets his orders from Number One, who's a man of few words in your experience. The top dog used to give you lip all the time, which is really saying something for a man whose head is a gruesome, lipless skull. Those were the old days, though. Now Number Two serves as his mouth. And what a mouth it is. The man's got a hell of a trap for a guy sportin' a spherical head with no features whatsoever. Hey, look. You just follow orders, no matter what kind of freak show comprises the particular cabal of superiors barkin' em at ya. They call Number Two the Doc. And the Doc made it clear he wants you to round up the boys for a meeting in his study. In your humble opinion, the hatless wonder's a true man of mystery. And guessin' his designs is about as fruitless as a  plundered gift basket. But if you had to bet, you'd bet dollars to crullers* there's a heist afoot. *Crullers instead of donuts 'cause when it comes to the Doc's schemes, there's ALWAYS a twist. First step along the way is Number Two. No, not by rank, ya clueless boob. By HAT, of course. This guy's infinitely less clever than the Doc. In fact, it ain't out of line to characterize him as a little slow upstairs. AND downstairs. "Infinitely" in this case ain't hyperbolic. [#2 - DOZE. Doze has the ability to slow down time within radius localized to himself, and himself alone.] You don't DO hyperbole. It's on a list of stuff you don't do. The list is literally kept in your breast pocket to show at clowns who don't take you serious now and then. You tell him to come with you, gotta meet Doc in the study. Oh great. He predictably replies with the arduous low-pitched beginning of some long-ass drawn-out remark. You don't have time for this. You leave the room to round up more men. The end of this sentence ain't seein' the light of day anytime soon. Who's next? Ah, excellent. Someone else is approaching. Saves you the trouble of rootin' them out. Aaand yeah, it's you. Just what you needed. TIME SHENANIGANS. Looks like past-you or future-you or whoever is leading Sawbuck somewhere. You know what? Whatever, man. [#7 - CROWBAR. In charge, mostly. Wields a crowbar.] [#10 - SAWBUCK. Don't worry about it. You'll get to him later.] You're not even going to ask. It NEVER pays to indulge in time shenanigans. That's what you say. No one listens, though. Other-you's got a question, though. You say shoot. He's wondering if Doze in there has finished his sentence yet. You say not even close, my friend. He's only just begun lettin' words spill out of his dumb, sluggish maw. He says God fucking dammit. You say you feel his pain, brother. You and he soldier on in your respective directions. You give the the door a firm rap or two with your trusty crowbar and let yourself into the OH GOOD GOD. You avert your eyes and clear your throat. You try to visualize something else. A suit you need to remember to bring by for tailoring. The lukewarm cup of joe you didn't finish this morning, sitting on your desk. And... nope. The damage is done. You can't unsee it. Listen, you ain't no Puritan Pete! [#4 - CLOVER. Is extremely lucky.] What two consenting adult men get up to behind closed doors is their own damn business. You just wish Clover wouldn't do his frisky little dance numbers behind SO MANY of the closed doors in this mansion. Part of you wonders what charm the little guy was soliciting Itchy with. Horseshoes? Balloons? No wait. You don't care. Train of thought cancelled. (They're all wrong for balloons, anyway. Trust you. It wouldn't work out.) You tell the men to quit the ahem, fancy footwork. There's business with the Doc. Sure boss, after you! squeaks the lucky runt. Luck's always on his side, you should mention. Little bastard's as lucky as one gets, and sure seem he's one to get lucky a lot, if you catch your drift. Itchy, as usual, makes it his business to be a rash on your backside. The attitude on this guy. Says he's in no particular hurry. Will be along as soon as he's done with this... What is that? 10,000 pieces? Come on, guy. You say with the giddyup he's got, that puzzle should take him just shy of no time flat, and he KNOWS it. [#1 - ITCHY. Is extremely fast.] He's real fast, see? Itchy says he ain't in a hurryin' mood. Wants to relax, take his sweeeeeet time with it. Is he kidding you? This jabroni's barely even trying. No. It doesn't go there. NO. You say the horse butt goes BEHIND the animal, not like, hovering in front of its face, you stupid piece of shit. The guy keeps at it anyway. You know what. Let the baby have his bottle. You're out of here.You enter the boutique of the gang's in-house tailor. Any mug in the biz you're in knows a good tailor's a must. The name's Stitch, and the man's a miracle worker with a needle and thread. Looks to be patching up a head wound on some dope's recent injury. You say what happened here? No unauthorized shenanigans, you hope. [#9 - STITCH. A damn good tailor.] He asks, are any shenanigans authorized? You say hell no. He gives you a curt nod. Always refreshing to be in the company of men who don't cotton to nonsense. He says don't worry about it, he'll be along once he finishes up here. Good enough for you. You leave without a word. Here's where Die holes up. Seems he ain't into company at the moment. For half a second, you contemplate respecting the guy's privacy. You spend the other half of the second kicking down his door. Just what in the fresh gobsmacking fuck is going on in here, is the out-loud thing you wonder. What's he doing cooped up with all the live poultry? Die doesn't say a word. Deer in headlights with this guy, when you catch him in the act. There's ALWAYS an act to catch him in, and he never don't get caught. Man's like a deer stuck in the high-beams of a parked ass car. You say nevermind, forget you asked. He starts up with his mumblin' suddenly. Oh, now he's got somethin' to say? What's that pal? Can't hear a word you're sayin'. You said speak up. Look, put the chicken down. You said put it down. That's it, you've had it. You're sick of this shit. How 'bout a taste of the mean end of your crowbar. Both ends are the mean end. He pulls his little doll on you. You gasp. You're not much for sarcasm, but yeah, the gasp was sarcastic. Couldn't help it. It's a mighty potent juju he's got there for sure, but functionally it won't mean squat to you if he sticks your pin in there. He'll jump to a different timeline where you're dead. You'll still be here, though. With one less idiot to corral. [#6 - DIE. Plays with dolls.] Still, won't do you to watch him disappear. Doc wants a word with ALL the idiots. You gesture at Clover. Tell him to make Die listen to reason. Atta boy, Clov-HEY! Cut it out. Both feet on the floor, you mean it. Christ almighty. Smutty little munchkin doesn't know when to quit. You hear a ruckus from the game room. Sounds like the moron motherlode's in there. Yep. It's pinhead playdirt. You tip your cap to Fin and Trace. Couple of peas in a pod, those two. Just a pair of blokes sharing in a bout of what is surely the Game of Lords, a rousing and gentlemanly match of TABLE STICKBALL. And back there, another couple playing a game of... Oh now what the fuck. Is that Itchy!? You could have sworn he was deliberately being a punk and takin' forever with the horse puzzle. Itchy says oh, that old thing? Finished with it AGES ago and sauntered over here for a friendly game of cards with his good friend... ...wait, what was your name again? This guy, he says. The huge asshole with the 14 on his dumb-looking hat. [#14 - QUARTERS. Flips a coin. Looks badass while doing it.] Quarters lets out a deep sigh. Itchy keeps running his trap. Try to keep with the times, OLD MAN. Old man, you say? Technically you're younger than he is. They all are, in fact. He says come again? He didn't follow that. He was busy plucking another hapless pigeon. Itchy slides all the chips to his side of the table. Booyeah, motherfuckers. Booyeah. Die mumbles did he say chicken? You say huh? Die mumbles nothin'. He just thought he heard him say somethin' about chickens is all. All you's listen up. There's a meeting in the study. You say everyone come this way or you'll give 'em what for. (Will you quit clickin' those little buckled shoes together for a Midnight City minute? You say you're flattered but this ain't the time or place!) (Besides, you aren't down with moons. That's not how you roll.) Yeah, yeah. Look, you know it's bad form to leave a game of table stickball before the empty sockets have swallowed all the roundcircles, but this here's a red-letter meeting with doctor white-words. They need to follow you, see? That's what you two are best at, following, ain'tcha? [#3 - TRACE. Can follow peoples' past trails.] [#5 - FIN. Can follow peoples' future trails.] Fin, you can see where anyone's headed in the near future, yeah? You're just askin', because you'll eat your stylish three point hat if every lug in this room isn't headed right out the door in the VERY near future. Isn't that right, Fin? In your haste, your freight train of chartreuse goons almost railroads one of the bigger stiffs rounding the corner. The stiff says hey chief. Where's the fire? You tell him you didn't think you were walking that fast, to be honest. He says no, he was literally asking where the fire was. So he can put it out. See? [#11 - MATCHSTICKS. Concerned with fire safety. It's everyone's business.]  Back of the line, you say. We all got an appointment with the Doc. Yeah, you know the guy was aimin' for a chuckle outta you. Like you said. Comedy's not your bag. It's no one's bag, really. When you belong to the Felt, you're either as serious as a heart attack, or as dumb as a brain hemorrhage. Or the medically spectacular situation where those two problems coincide. Son of a!!! You tell Sawbuck he can stay in the front of the line with you. No chance in hell this butterball can squeeze by all these green bozos. [#10 - SAWBUCK. Again, don't worry about it. You'll hit him up later.] Last thing you need is another mansion clog. You take a detour to hit the lounge. If your instincts are right, this is where you'll find you know who. For some reason, you can never bring yourself to say her name. Two simple syllables. You're told the word means a child's plaything in the winter, like some kinda frost puppet. Fitting that the sound of it sends a chill down your spine. The boys hesitate to speak of her, just like they hold their fire whenever she fades from black. She's here, just like you thought. Creatures of habit, dames. Not that you have much experience with dames, mind you. You only ever met the one. [#8 - SNOWMAN. If Snowman is killed, the universe is destroyed.]  So uh, hey. Yeah, uh. You tell the dame there's this meeting you see. You know. With the Doc? And... yeah. You mumble a few other things, but you don't know why you're even troubling yourself. That spooky broad doesn't give a flying god damn about what you got to say. You lead your posse into the clock room. Well, A clock room. There are a lot of clocks in the mansion. A few too many if you ask you. There's a tarp over there in the corner, covering something up. Something BIG. Some of the boys don't remember ever seein' no tarp there before. Strikes you as a funny observation coming from them, seeing as you can't even figure how they remember to dress themselves half the time. You say never your damn mind, a mouth like that could only conceivably serve as a gateway to the utterly worthless. Look at this mess. Do you really even need to tell these mooks why whatever it is they're doing in here is dumb as all getout? Oh well, at least there are only two of them this time. [#13 - BISCUITS. Thinks his oven allows him to time travel.]  Biscuits says the rest of us are in the oven. You say did you ASK what's in the fucking oven? You say the next time you ask for a peek in his damn oven it'll be on the account of your prior instruction to bake a god damn cake. Sawbuck says ooh. Cake. No, you gluttonous fool! [#10 - SAWBUCK. Jumps to a random point in time when injured.] You said don't open that oven! Never gonna see the Doc at this rate. And by this rate, you mean going back in time due to perfectly avoidable reasons. You keep pressing on like the true professional you are. This way, lunkhead. Yes sir, he waddles. Ah, rats. Someone else is approaching. You got a feeling you know who it is. Aaand yeah. It's you again. Just what you needed, and were inexorably bound to receive due to the laws of causality. Looks like past-you or future-you or whoever is rounding up the troops. You know what? Whatever, man. He's not even going to ask. And neither are you, 'cause you didn't before, and ain't really feelin' any chattier this time around. This buffoon is still in the middle of his endless friggin' sentence. Unbelievable, the kind of horseshit this line of work entails. You consider how you might speed up his bird brained response. Not that it matters, since this guy never made a remark in his life which didn't function as a powerful sedative. You think about walloping Sawbuck again, to skip to another time. Maybe one good drub'll do ya. No, too risky. Might shoot back a million years in the past. Need to take matters into your own hands, or better yet, hands belonging to some grunt you get paid to boss around. [#15 - CANS. Has the ability to clock a guy into next week.] Oh yeah. As in, you forgot what a racket this two ton galoot made when he makes an entrance. That's what you meant when you said oh yeah. As in, oh yeah, you just remembered that. Anyway, you tell Cans to give the slowpoke a lift and break a leg this-a-way. He says huh? You say grab Doze and follow me. Muscle. You swear to god. If it isn't tweedle-dipshit and tweedle-dumbass again. Why are you not surprised? The reason you aren't surprised is because you knew they would be here, and you sought them out deliberately. You don't say that out loud though, for the same reason you don't ask them to do your taxes. Eggs and Biscuits ask what you're doing here, boss. Just completing the circle of stupidity, you say. You hide under the tarp and swear these two walking jokes to absolute secrecy while this whole mess plays itself out again. Not a peep outta them, or you'll be making breakfast, see? And you don't mean pouring yourself a bowl of Froot Loops, get your drift? They don't get your drift, but time's up. Other-you and the peanut gallery's gonna waltz in any minute. Any minute later... About damned time. Like pulling teeth, herding these fuckups. How long did that even take? Not counting negative time, you mean. "Nineteen pages, it would seem." What? That many? "Yes." Seems like a lot. "Well, there are nearly that many members to gather." "I'd characterize the final tally as predictable, in hindsight." The Doc sure can be a smartass. You keep that thought to yourself. "Not that the omniscient has much use for hindsight. Not even those of us deemed smartasses by our subordinates." You don't got a clue how he does that. And if you're honest with yourself, and him too, you don't much care. "Please see me in my study at once." You heard the man. Let's mosey. They didn't hear a thing, but they follow you anyway. Welcome, minions. Ages ago, beyond a span of time that is impossible to measure in any empirical sense, our master set in motion a critical chain of events. He summoned you all one by one. And in return, you have vowed to serve him for the rest of his interminable life, just as I have sworn to do for the remainder of mine. Yes, you may resemble a flock of unremarkable, unintelligent cretins. But as the servants of a very important man, you, by extension, are also very important. If all thoughts but one escape the cottony substance wadded up inside your heads, let this one be the one you keep. Your mission, which I am about to describe, is but another link in this critical chain. It is far from the last, and even further from the first. There have been many crucial links over the epochs to which I myself have been privy and complicit. I will describe to you in a plurality of detail. Listen carefully. Cripes. Baldy McSoftBody here sure enjoys the sound of his own voice. You wonder if he'll get to the point soon. "I am a patient man, Mr. Seven. It is a quality that has served me well in preparing for the arrival of our master." You wonder how he DOES that. You ain't even talkin' out loud here. This is just a bit of hard boiled, no-nonsense narrative introspection. You're pretty sure it ain't even real in any meaningful respect. "No-nonsense? You flatter yourself. May I continue?" Yeah, yeah. The Doc dives cueball-first through some mad ramble on a fairytale about some giant space frog. You're on pins and needles as you check your watch. You know it ain't lost on a smart cookie like him that checkin' your watch in a room full of clocks is extra passive-aggressive. Yada yada, then he says there's some planet that grew in its belly called Alternicon or what have you. Run by a race of savages it would seem. Long story short, the Doc here fucked with 'em for about a billion damn years and they all died off as a result. Heh. Classic Scratch. Ah, got it. The town they built is Midnight City. It's just a bomb's lob away from the gang's mansion. GREAT place for crimes. Almost like it was put there just so's a load of goons like you could have your run of the place. In fact, you're pretty sure that's why the boss set up shop on this one-town rock, just outside city limits. You know what they say about location. Well, they don't say nothin' special about it. They just say the word two more times, and that pretty much gets the point across. "Cool story." After a few more minutes and a few more barbs exchanged through a conversational medium you still can't quite wrap your head around, Doc wraps up the history lesson. Cripes. Not to second guess the head honcho, but delegating his orders to this bloviating creep is a helluva test to a faithful third officer's loyalty. He's got a folder and says let's get down to business. Let's get down to business. As you can see, I've got a folder. It contains your mission. You will review it carefully. By which I mean, one of you, this organization's faithful third officer. He will lead a team on this mission. No kidding. You take the folder and check it out. Says you're supposed to... Huh. You're supposed to- You're supposed to retrieve a package from an anonymous recipient. I cannot divulge the identity of this man. If you are able to bring the package to me, I will give you further instructions. You are to pick up the package from a courier in the city. He is to rendezvous with you at the supplied address, at a precise time. You are not to be late, and never open the package. Do you all understand what I have said? You scope the crowd. They're bored out of their melons. And, nope. Nobody understands. Except for you. It's your job to understand. CHOOSE YOUR TEAM, CROWBAR. He tells you to pick a team for the job and be on your way. Seems like this pack of lugs has worn out its welcome in his office. Which is an ironic attitude to have for a guy who makes his bones holding men hostage to hours-long anecdotes, but whatever. The team's an easy call. You'll go with the solid colors today. A pickup is light work. You don't see the need to pack any muscle on this trip. Hard to imagine securing a box from a chess guy could ever get too hot to handle. And in any case, the Doc being omniscient surely would let you know in advance if it was gonna go down like that, right? "Any man with my foresight, who had your best interests in mind, would do exactly as you say. Absolutely." Yeah, see? Gotta love the Doc. But then again, it's like you've always said. For a filthy liar, the Doc sure is good at stickin' to the truth. You remember his genteel assurance like a knife stuck in your mind. Hell, maybe that's roughly akin to the way the guy speaks, since he ain't got a mouth to make sound with. You remember piling into this hot car with your six solids and cruising through the desert like it happened last week. Hell, when you wet your whistle on time travel as much as you, maybe it even did. And the first time you got offed? You remember that like it was yesterday. Less than yesterday, even, because that's what you do. Remember things. You remember the first time you laid eyes on the Midnight City skyline. You remember your first kiss. And you remember that fateful night plain as day. The night you met a man named Spades Slick.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

birdie

[pennywise x reader]

author’s note: watched the film a couple days ago and this idea came from out of nowhere. got to practice my penny characterization and a bit of my horror/dark fantasy writing. all that was new to me. hope you enjoy

word count: 2,156

There’s a bird singing this morning. The sound echoes through the dark and damp tunnels, travels along the surface of grimy water, bounces off bricks and metal grates and despite being far away from the Neibolt house, it resonates through the bottom of the well clear as day, bright and melodious and all together too happy.

Sinister eyes peak through a storm drain and find you walking your bike down the street next to a friend. His joke had made you laugh and the toothy grin is still plastered onto your face. It’s the sort of smile that reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks hurt if you hold it long enough. Pennywise watches until you’re out of sight, and all he can think about is the joy in your voice and the cheeriness in your gaze and how he wants nothing more than to crush that. He’s practically drooling at the idea, his own smile wide and evil and ominous. When’s the next time he’ll come across you, he wonders?

A child he’d eaten had died clutching a stuffed toy bird close to her chest, and it now rests in the ever growing pile of children’s toys in the sewer. It’s soiled and disgusting and it grabs Pennywise’s attention from where it sits at the bottom, next to a yellow raincoat. He picks it up, stares it down like it’s his latest meal and he’s a beast absolutely starving. And then he squeezes it, squeezes so hard his claws dig into his palm, until the small toy bursts and the stuffing leaks out, falling onto the floor. He laughs and laughs and laughs and it’s nothing short of demonic. When he opens his hand and what remains falls to the ground, it’s soundless.

That’s where he gets your nickname from.

You take the same route home from school every day, and every day Pennywise is at the same storm drain. Sometimes you’re with a friend walking down the street, other times you’re alone and on your bike, pace casual as you’re in no rush to do homework the moment you arrive at your house. When you drift along on those days by yourself, breeze rustling your hair and your clothes, it’s like you’re flying. He thinks about that a lot; it plays in his head like a short film. He wants to snatch you out from the sky, feel the way you struggle to escape, squirming and wiggling. And he’ll pretend to be hurt, ask “Doesn’t birdie want to play?” and smile in a sort of fiendish delight because you’re not going anywhere.

They say to never play with your food but the notion of rules doesn’t apply to Pennywise. He doesn’t make himself known to you right away. He’s there in brief flashes—out of the corner of your eye, over your shoulder when you look in the mirror. You ask your friends if they see what you see, what you swear you can see, but they respond no and secretly they’re worrying if you’re not getting enough sleep. They talk to each other in hushed voices even if you’re nowhere to be found, as if nervous you might walk around the corner any second. They speculate about your hallucinations and voice their worries because you’re never like this.

It’s driving you crazy and Pennywise loves it. Carnal excitement runs through his veins and swirls in his eyes and he’s baring his teeth because he’s getting hungrier by the day, but toying with you is just so fun. He’s in your dreams now too. You haven’t gotten a good night’s rest in a long while. Sometimes you wake up screaming and your mother rushes in and you cry and you cry and you cry. And you taste all the sweeter for it. The fear is wafting from you in wave after delicious wave and he hasn’t even formally introduced himself yet. He figures he’ll have to soon. A growling stomach is hard to ignore.

You’re alone when you bike past the Neibolt house one Friday afternoon, and you slow down when you see a red balloon in the middle of the road. You tilt your head as you observe it from a distance. There’s no weight attached to the string yet it stays right where it is, not floating away. You let out a shaky breath, wondering if this is also something you’re imagining. (You say this because your friends and family are convinced it really is just your imagination, so you go along with it since surely they must be right, there’s no way you could actually be seeing these things. But there’s a part of you deep down that knows it’s all real.)

The balloon starts to drift then, slowly, and your heart is beating faster because there’s no breeze that could be carrying it. You remain still, watching it float to the run-down house on the corner. Despite being conscious of the fact that heading after the balloon and venturing into the Neibolt house is the worst idea in the history of ideas, there’s a pull in your chest to go after it. And you want to fight it, you do. You grip the handlebars of your bike so tightly your knuckles turn white. But the red balloon is on the porch waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for you.

Thoughts of how badly this could go flitter through your head a mile a minute as you bike the short distance to the house, as you set your bike down on the dead grass and take hesitant steps up the walkway and the steps of rotting wood. You reach out and gently curl your fingers around the balloon string, and your breath hitches when it’s actually in your grip. You’re not imagining anything.

You bring your other hand up to the doorknob but don’t move for a second, considering just turning around and walking away and pretending none of this happened. But you glance up at the balloon floating above your head, and there’s no turning back. You twist the knob and push the door, and it creaks loudly after years of being unused. The interior is musty and old and gross and your nose scrunches at the smells that assault it. The floor boards squeak beneath your shoes no matter how lightly you try to step and you cringe because you’re thinking about the kinds of creatures you must be waking up with the noise you’re making.

There’s laughter echoing through the house and you freeze, eyes wide as you look around but see no one. Your fingers tighten around the balloon string, like it’s some sorry form of comfort. “H-Hello?” You meant to say this loudly, for the house is large, but it comes out as a half-whisper and your voice cracks. Your breaths are heavy and you feel yourself take one step back, and then another, and then you decide to leave, but the moment you turn, the door slams shut so hard it kicks up a breeze, dust flying, and you cough and swipe at the air and you feel tears pooling in your eyes because what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

You twist back around and you see a clown ducking behind a corner: the same clown you’d been seeing for several miserable weeks. None of this is a dream or a hallucination and you just want to get out but you know if you try opening that door, it won’t budge. You’re stuck, and there’s nowhere else to go but farther in.

As you continue exploring, you still hear laughter, still see the clown popping in and out of your peripherals, playing with you. Your heart is beating so hard it’s difficult to breathe and you don’t know what this thing wants with you. You wonder if it could be reasoned with, but then you promptly disregard that idea. There’s no room for bargaining. The best you can do is beg is hope there’s even a tiny part of it that takes pity on you. Even that’s just wishful thinking.

“Does birdie like the balloon?”

You whip around quickly and see the clown standing on the far side of the room. Even from here you can tell he’s much taller than you are. His clothes are old and his hair is fiery and his grin is menacing and impossible to forget.

“Who are you?” you ask weakly. You feel like a mouse under the predatory gaze of a lion.

“I’m Pennywise the dancing clown!” He does a small dance and sounds jovial as he introduces himself, but it elicits no smile from you. You’re still frightened, he can tell. He repeats his question. “Does birdie like the balloon?”

“U-Um…” you whisper. “Yes. Yes, I like it very much, Pennywise.”

Pennywise’s smile widens, but then it begins to fade when he notices you’re not maintaining eye contact. You’re staring at the floor. “Do you want to leave?”

At his question, you look up. The desperation in your eyes gives you away immediately but you’re contemplating how to answer as if it makes a difference. “No!” you hurry to say before too much time goes by. “I want to stay.” You try to force a smile on your face, thinking that maybe, just maybe, if you play along, you can figure out a way to get out.

There’s a few seconds of silence, then Pennywise snarls, eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re lying.” He rushes towards you and you scream in terror, letting go of the balloon and running out of the room, searching desperately for an escape. But you can’t find any. The windows are sealed shut and the doors leading outside are locked. The sound of Pennywise’s laughter follows you, and at one point it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. You eventually end up in the study, panting and panicking because you know he’s close behind, and you watch in horror as the walls seem to bleed, crimson liquid pouring from them until the wallpaper is red. That… couldn’t be real, could it? But why wouldn’t it be? Everything else up until now had been real.

“There you are!”

Pennywise blocks the doorway and you twist around to look at him. You back up but trip over one of the tomes on the ground and fall. So you crawl backwards instead with every step the clown takes. Then you hit the wall, and there’s the feeling of warm blood sticking to your clothes and your hair but it doesn’t matter. Your eyes are glued to Pennywise as he comes to a stop in front of you and squats down so you’re face to face.

At the sight of your tears, he frowns in mock dejection. “Don’t cry, birdie. I thought you wanted to stay here and play with me.”

You don’t know if it’s exhaustion or fear that’s driving you to give the responses you do, because none of them seem to be the right one. “Please…” You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing. “Please don’t call me that.”

Pennywise laughs and it’s piercing from this close. You flinch at the sound, not entirely sure if he’d reach for you, but he doesn’t. “Do you know why I call you birdie?”

You shake your head, not meeting his eyes. He moves closer and sets a hand on your cheek roughly to get you to look at him. His claws are extended and almost seem to dig into your head and you whimper. You can barely see him through the torrent of tears flooding your eyes. His tongue snakes out to lick at the salty tears on your cheek and you try to back away, but it’s useless because you’re against a wall and his grip is iron. His smile widens.

“The little tweets you make,” he explains matter-of-factly, as if he were talking about the weather. “Especially when you’re scared.”

He opens his mouth and a monstrous set of teeth extend from it and your eyes widen and you cry harder, repeating no no no in a pitiful plea, like your begging might actually do something. You scream when he latches onto your neck, canines piercing the skin and drawing blood. You’re kicking your feet and trying to push him away but he’s much stronger than you are. The last thing you see with hazy vision is a red balloon floating in the doorframe, completely still. (This one is a hallucination. But you’d never know that.)

You’ve stopped moving by the time Pennywise pulls away. Your blood coats his mouth and his claws are sticky but he’s eager to dive back in because this is a meal he’s been waiting a long time for. His little birdie tastes just as good as he’d imagined. Though he’ll admit, he’s going to miss hearing those wonderful chirps of pain.

[narrans]

From the prompt list, number 2!!

PROMPT

#12 You need to let me go, or else you’re going to break something!

#2 Here, let me help. The last thing we need is for that wound to get infected.

Elizabeth Scator had always loved the ocean. From the fathomless depths to the curious creatures that called sea anemones their home, what was deep below the horizon of waves fascinated her. The first time she had seen the ocean was on her seventh birthday. She woke up to the sight of the sun lining the waves with its golden morning light, and she was hypnotized since.

Every waking moment was spent studying the aquatic world, memorizing every species of fish and habitat under the sea. Her time in college was, naturally, spent studying marine biology. Soon after graduation, she had a internship that was paying for her doctorate studies. It was an intense program, but it was worth every sleepless night – especially with her work being so important.

Elizabeth’s thesis was constructed around ethical treatment of fish, specifically when healing their injuries. She was developing a kind of mildly hydrophobic substance that could seal a wound without interfering with a fish’s movements and allowed the fish to go about its everyday activities. Yes, there were other products like this, but hers was completely organic and focused on natural healing rather than chemically inducing tissue growth.

Based on her research, her product was one and a half times more effective for healing certain injuries. It was astounding and had great promise, receiving copious amounts of praise from her superiors. While she never wanted a creature to injure itself or come in injured, she also needed more test subjects to verify her creation worked.

Then… one day… she had the opportunity of a lifetime…

Raging storms left the aquarium bay flooded and many of her co-workers decided to leave early. Where they parked on the street was possibly going to be flooded, and none of them wanted to deal with evening traffic. Elizabeth, however, decided to stay behind in the lab.

“Come on Liz! You’re going to grow gills if you stay here any more than what you already do,” teased Jon, one of Elizabeth.

“Very funny,” she remarked. “I won’t be much longer. I just need some time in the lab alone. Can’t have you clown fish muddying up the waters, can I?”

“Wwooowww! What a terrible dad joke coming from you Lizzy,” teased Jada, one of her other co-workers. “Fine. We’ll leave you alone. Come on guys! We’re getting out of here before we get washed away.”

“See you tomorrow!” Liz called and, with that, she was left to her own devices in the aquarium. She hurried back to the lab, tennis shoes squeaking along the floor, and spent the next hour or so tiding up her area, making sure her experiments were swimming along, and then set the machines to work on the next batch of her medicinal patch.

Now that she had a minute, she leaned back into her chair and stared at the cameras that were set up all along the tanks of the different enclosures. She liked watching the fish and aquatic life swirl with the waves and sway peacefully in the weightless suspension water offered.

With most of her tasks out of the way and waiting was the name of the game, Liz decided she wanted to get up and stretch her legs properly. It had been a while since she had gone out to see the different exhibits and she wanted to get a view of the storm in the ocean view area. Snagging a few of her belongings like her phone and keys, she set off into the aquarium.

The storm raged on, the crashing thunder rampaging like an avalanche. There was no way she was anywhere near the eye of the storm at this point in time. The waves frothed and foamed as they threw themselves against the rocks, swallowing water as they went back out to sea.

Liz admired the exhibits safely from inside, resting her forearms on the railing so she could get closer to the tanks. The swirling liquid filled with hundreds of jellyfish were illuminating in radiating highlighter pack colors. She paused at every exhibit before stopping to admire the ocean overview scene. It was nearly impossible to see outside, but she could still make out a few of the purple sea urchins which were right by the water’s edge.

The prickly spines had gotten her a couple of times when she accidentally was a bit too enthusiastic. Still, the dark plum purple was quite a scene against the depths of the dark blue ocean and the white froth of the waves.

Liz was about to walk back to the lab when something caught her attention on one of the nearest urchins. It was small, blue, and looked to be entangled in the spines of the urchin. To Liz, it looked like part of a crushed-up water bottle, which instantly set her blood boiling.

How hard was it to throw away your trash or toss it into the recycle bin? She thought angrily as she quickly made her way down the stairs to the lower maintenance deck, keys in hand. Honestly, if people want to take the environment seriously, they need to act like it’s actually a problem. She didn’t have on a raincoat, but she would only be out in the pouring rain for a minute at most. The door practically threw itself open and water pelted her as she managed to get the latch unlocked.

Liz fought her way through the battering of water droplets until she made it back to the edge of the water, which had come crashing up over her shoes and left her socks soaking wet. She spotted the purple sea urchin and the odd blue thing, but when she crouched the pry the object free, she froze.

It wasn’t a bottle wedged in between the spines.

It wasn’t even wedged – he was stabbed.

What looked like a small man with a fish tail, about five or so inches long, was completely immobilized because of the sea urchin. This little merman had pale blue skin and a smattering of blonde-blue hair on his head. Small scales, also a deep indigo and some dark shade of purple Liz remembered to be called aubergine were all over his tail and forearms. His hands, which were slightly webbed, lay splayed out beside him.

What was more alarming than the very existence of this small merman was the fact that three spines were protruding from different parts of his body, one from the tail, one through his arm, and the last through his shoulder.

While Liz didn’t have gloves on and needed to ensure the safety of the marine life in her care, she couldn’t just let him suffer either.

With the utmost delicacy, she risked not having on her protective gloves and pulled the sea urchin free from the edge of the rocks. It was a good thing the little guy was out cold. The subtle movement of her simply picking it up moved the spines that were embedded in him.

Once free from the rocks, she rushed as quickly as she dared back through the aquarium, looking the door behind her, and made her way back to the lab. Her shoes screeched a few times when she almost lost her balance, but she managed to maintain her upright position.

The moment she made it to the lab, she placed the urchin and the small man into a pre-prepped tank she wanted to use for one of her experiments. It wasn’t until she had snipped the ends of the sea urchin as close to the small man’s flesh as she dared and, in a detached and swift motion, pulled him free from the stumps, that it sunk in what he was.

This – he – was a merman. Merfolk existed! But how?

His small body arched, and his mouth opened in a silent, cry, but he simply floated in the water, suspended and unconscious, and Liz’s scientific and curious mind couldn’t help but observe him further. She slipped her fingers into the water and gently touched his arm before hooking her fingers just behind his body and laying against his spine. He looked to be young, possibly in his early to mid-teens if she had to put an age to his features.

Was he dead?

No. Couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have arched and opened his mouth if he were dead.

What an absolutely amazing discovery. This could turn everything we knew about deep ocean life on its head. Does he have any kind of defense mechanism like poison? Spines? I wonder if he understands language. Is it vocally based? Or song based like whales?

Liz dipped her other hand into the water and started to examine his body closer when she realized the blood leaking from his wounds. It wasn’t red, but rather an odd indigo like the scales on his body.

She knew right then that this was the opportunity she was waiting for. She retrieved the special paste and brought it over to the table with the tank. The merman was still floating unconscious.

Perfect.

She needed him to be a little dry in the areas she wanted to apply her patch, so she gently scooped him up into her hand and lifted him out of the water. His body was so small compared to her hands, which appeared monstrously large when they held such a small life in them.

Liz quickly dried the first area along the shoulder, giving it a gentle pinch to stop the flow of blood temporarily, before applying the patch on both the front and the back, smearing the greenish liquid onto the wound. There were a number of other scrapes and bleeding injuries she hadn’t seen before, but she would work on them later. She moved onto the arm next, which proved difficult because of the size of the appendage. Then, finally, the tail.

She had just finished applying the viscous material to his tail and lifted him up ever so slightly to blow it dry when she felt a subtle squirm. When she looked up, two bright sapphire-colored eyes had locked onto her, and they were wide with what she could only describe as shock and terror.

The small merman looked around wildly and thrashed, which nearly knocked him out of her hand. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the creature.

“Woah, careful,” Liz breathed, trying to keep her voice low and calm. If this little guy had any kind of human-like intelligence, she needed to try and communicate. If not, this was how people worked with mammals in keeping them calm.

A series of squeaks, clicks, and chirps emitted from him as he struggled. Then, after a second, his hand raised to his throat and his body began convulsing, shaking as he let out more squeaks and cries. It reminded Liz of how dolphins or whales communicated, and these were sounds of obvious distress.

Then, in a flash of a moment, his desperate eyes looked at her before he looked back yearningly at the water which Liz held him over just a few inches away.

Wait… is he… can merfolk not get out of the water and breathe air?

Liz carefully lowered her hand back into the water. Instantly, the small merman’s body stopped thrashing and his hand lowered from his throat. His body heaved as though he were taking in breath after breath. It was now that Liz could see little slits up and down his sides near where the human kidney would be.

Are those… gills?

Distracted, Liz felt a strong thrash as the miniature merfolk slipped out of her grasp and swam to the bottom of the aquarium tank, staying on the opposite side of where the purple sea urchin was. His webbed fingers, barely the size of a broken off piece of pencil graphite, pressed against the glass of the tank as he continued to clutch his injured side.

Liz knew she had to look like some kind of distorted monster to him. It was beyond clear that this thing possessed human-like intelligence and, at the very least, could feel and express emotions. Sadly, she needed to tend to the other wounds.

How was she going to do this? He probably didn’t want to be held or caught, and a net was probably out of the question.

Still… she needed to show she was, at the very least, friendly.

Taking some of their bandages from the medicine cabinet, specifically gauze, and lowering it into the tank, she continued to make eye-contact with the small merman while smiling.

“Here, let me help. The last thing we need is for that wound to get infected,” she muttered. She heard another blast of squeaks and clicks emanate from beneath the water. What was more important was that she saw him shake his head in a “no” motion as he pressed himself against the glass further.

Then, she had an idea. Dropping the gauze to let it float near the miniscule merman, she took part of a much larger bandage and made sure he was watching when she took it and began wrapping it around her forearm. It felt like she was talking to her little cousins again, using big gestures and facial expressions to convey what she wanted him to do since there was an obvious language barrier between them.

After a minute of him watching her wrap mimic wrapping her arm and then wrapping her torso, he seemed to get the idea as his wounds continued to leak sluggishly. It took some effort, and he was clearly suspicious that this was some kind of netting or capture device as he wrapped it around his torso.

His breathing had calmed, and he kept staring at Liz with his sapphire blue gaze. His keen eyes seemed to be evaluating Liz, almost as much as she was evaluating him. It was like she could see the tide of thoughts coming in and out of his mind based only on his facial expressions. With a sigh, Liz glanced at the clock and saw nearly an hour had passed since she had come into the office with her latest patient.

When she looked back at the tank, Liz felt her heart jump into her throat as she saw the little merman had swum to the surface and his head was poking out just above the water, making his blonde-blue hair lay flat instead of wildly swirling around him.

Liz smiled gently and knelt to be at eye-level with him.

“Hey there,” she said softly. The sound naturally made him wince, but he didn’t retreat back to the bottom of the tank. “Decide to come see me? Do you need another bandage?” She carefully picked up some additional gauze and held it up. After a moment, he shook his head.

Then, lips barely coming out of the water, he let out the faintest set of squeaks and clicks she had ever heard. It was endearing and sweet, and quite possibly the cutest thing she had ever heard. His boldness earlier when he was thrashing had turned into an unexpected thoughtful, introverted personality as he timidly poked his head out of the water again.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly. He swam back a few inches and made a gesture for her to come forward. This made her a little wary, but if this was some sort of attack, it couldn’t be worse than the jellyfish sting she had gotten last week.

Liz inched closer and turned her ear toward the clicks. Maybe he was able to speak English, but just in a very soft voice. She listened hard to the series of clicks and squeaks again until, to her surprise, a jet of water shot out from his mouth and hit her square in the ear.

“Ah!” She recoiled instantly, but there was another jet of water that splashed her right in the mouth. She gagged and stumbled away, coughing and sputtering as she tried to get the water out of her ear and out of her mouth. She turned back to the aquarium to see the little merman had retreated to the corner but was still hear the surface. He looked utterly terrified, but he also looked determined at the same time.  

“Why, you little…” Liz spat in the nearby sink and turned back to the aquarium. She advanced a few steps when, from the surface of the water, she heard the most peculiar sounds. In one ear, she heard the clicking and squeaking of the merman, but in the other she heard a voice – his voice.

“Please! Don’t be angry with me, miss! I… I… I couldn’t think of a better way to convince you to communicate other than getting you to come closer. I apologize. Please, miss, please don’t lash out at me,” he said, raising his hands ever so slightly as if to shield his body from an impending grasp. Liz felt her eyes go wide.

“You… I can… hear you now,” she muttered. Instantly, the handheld merman nodded vigorously, as if to further substantiate his argument.

“Yes, miss; and I can hear you too. Ocean Tongue. It’s a blessing we can give. Please… miss… forgive me. It was an awful thing I did, and when you showed me how to bandage myself… I thought you might be trying to help,” his little frame dipped beneath the water’s surface, and he bowed lowly, wincing as he pinched his side and shoulder that were injured by the sea urchin. Liz felt like her whole world were crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

“Hey, none of that. I’m not angry with you. Don’t bow or anything. I’m not worth that,” she chuckled. “I was just surprised. I thought you were, I don’t know, a bit puckish. You know? Trying to play tricks and pranks and stuff, like you were trying to play with me.”

At this, the miniscule eyes widened and shook his head vigorously as he swam back up to the surface. His head poked out from the water, and he looked back at Liz with a certain severity.  

“Play? Oh no, miss. I… I don’t know how to play. I’m not meant to do such things,” he stated.

“What? No playing? You’re just a kid though, right? I mean… Why? If you don’t mind my asking,” asked Liz.

“A… kid? A fry? I am young and I’ll get bigger one day, but still capable of serving and work. That’s not what I am here for. I’m meant to help, protect, and distract anything from the main family… miss,” he said humbly. It took Liz every bit of two seconds to put it together.

“Wait… you’re a servant? To some kind of larger family? You’re meant to be bait if something bad starts to happen?” asked Liz, feeling her frustration and anger rise up again. This was not the image of merfolk that she had dreamed of as a little girl. The small figure’s eyes widened, and he looked panicked, as though he said too much or spoke out of turn.

“Well… miss… I… that is certainly one way to put it; but, it is a great honor to serve the higher families. Then one day, when I get bigger, I can maybe be part of the guard… but… I’ve… oh no… miss,” he said, his pensive voice ringing clearly across the water. It was clear this was some sort of line that he had been told all his life. “Miss… I… I over spoke about the workings of the families. I shouldn’t have done that. There’s only one punishment for that… Miss… If… if you could make it quick and toss me into one of the larger tanks… I’ll get it done.”

Liz wanted to confront him about it and try to inspire him to live his own life instead of being literal fish food for someone else, but that problem would have to wait for another day. Right now, there were more pressing matters like showing this little guy she wasn’t going to hurt him.

“Hey, I’m not going to do that to you, okay? I’m supposed to help, not hurt – and I choose to help you,” affirmed Liz. “Is that what happened? With the spikes on that urchin?”

“Oh… no miss… that was an accident. The waves caught me and threw me onto the urchin, miss…” he said quietly. “You… want me to… live?”

“Yes, I want you to live. That’s why I patched up those other spots on your shoulder. I didn’t want it to get infected or anything,” stated Liz. He looked at his shoulder, side, and the spot on his tail where she had patched him up with her medicinal substance, touching it lightly with his fingers.

“Oh… I see now, miss. I thought you were trying to eat me before when I was out of the water,” he said quietly, looking rather embarrassed at his confession. Liz felt her insides twist as she replayed the instance in her mind. When he woke up, she had been trying to get the patch to dry faster by blowing on it.

“Oh, gosh… I’m sorry. Is that what you were saying? You tried talking before, but I couldn’t understand. Yeah, that must’ve been terrifying, waking up to all that,” said Liz. Figuring it was only polite, she gave a slight bow like the one he had given her. She heard faint splashing as the little merfolk splashed his tail and waved his hands.

“Oh no, miss, you don’t need to apologize. Please, miss, I don’t deserve it,” he said frantically. Liz smiled and chuckled to herself as she looked back at the little guy. “And no… miss… I panicked and cried out in pain. Your grip tightened too, and I was afraid you might break something. Please… you do not need to apologize to me. I shouldn’t have acted in cowardice.”

“Well, I want to apologize anyway; and you are certainly not cowardly. You’ve been brave this whole time,” said Liz, which made the little merman beam momentarily with pride. “And you don’t have to call me ‘miss.’ That is a bit formal. You can just call me Liz, okay?”

“Yes, miss Liz,” he echoed, obviously committing the name to memory. Liz chuckled and shook her head.

“No, it’s just Liz. What’s your name?” she asked. An odd expression crossed his pale blue features. It was obvious he hadn’t been asked this very often, but he nodded and responded.

“Psi, mis… er… Liz. My name is Psi,” replied Psi, offering the first little smile Liz had seen since their encounter began. With a little squirm, he looked back up at her nervously. “And… um… Liz… what happens next? I mean… how do we proceed? Will you… keep me here?”

“Just for a little while, unless you think you have a handle on your injuries. I don’t want you to think you’re captured here or anything. When you’re ready to leave, I’ll take you where you want to go and that’ll be the end of it,” stated Liz. She felt a pang in her chest at the mention of letting Psi go. She had a million questions about him and what other merfolk were like, but he was a living, sentient being who deserved freedom.

“I’m not… fated here?” he asked curiously. Liz shook her head.

“No. I mean, I have questions and stuff, but you don’t have to answer them if it makes you uncomfortable or if it’ll get you in trouble,” replied Liz.

“Liz? Will… you tell others about me?” Psi asked. Again, Liz shook her head.

“Not if you don’t want me to. I’ll make sure your secret is safe. Sound good to you?” she asked. Psi, seemingly satisfied, nodded and raised out of the water so the tops of his shoulders poked out of the water.

“It is good for me as well. Thank you,” he replied. Liz smiled and lifted her hand carefully toward him, extending a single finger for him to shake. But, obviously not fully understanding this human concept, simply took the tip of her finger into his hands and pressed his forehead to it. Liz had to stifle a giggle at how sweet this little guy was, but managed to refrain for the time being.

For hours, the two of them exchanged answers about their cultures and responded to questions.

Psi explained that merfolk had small reserves of magic which allowed them, only a few times in their life, to appear as humans when captured or needing to walk on land. Such magic was reserved for the leading families, of course, but he had other magic which allowed him to appear like a small fish for a few hours to avoid detection.

Liz explained her profession and why aquariums existed, among other things like what cars and books were. Psi was especially interested in ships and how they propelled through the water by spinning instead of swishing a tail.

They continued to talk until the early hours of the morning and when neither of them could keep their eyes open. Liz prepared a separate aquarium for him so that she could easily transport him home and lifted him into it.

He swam into her cupped palms, a true demonstration of his trust, and let her place him into the new container solely on the promise that he would be set free. It felt so odd having him back in her hands, but there was something endearing in the way he wrapped his arms around her thumb for support.

Over the next week, Psi stayed with Liz in her apartment as he recovered until, finally, he was ready to leave. It was a sad departure, but Psi and Liz both promised to try and make an effort to see one another again in one week. Liz stared out into the ocean as Psi swam out along the surface, the waves obscuring his frame until he was completely out of sight.

Liz wasn’t sure if she would see her little friend again, but one thing she did know – one week could not come soon enough.