Just a bit Absythne Mind(ed)

Chapter 7: beam me up, biscotti

Your eyelids are slightly sticky with salt as you open them again. It's warm in your little nest, and you decide to close your eyes again. You wriggle in the sand to get comfortable again, until your back hits against a very solid wall. You pause, taking in the temperature change, and realize that the wall is, in fact, breathing.

Your eyes shoot open, and you crane your head backwards to see that Vulkan has partially entered into your nest. You're curled up against his chest in the sand. He's not looking at you, instead he's watching your surroundings, and relief washes over you. Along with a rising blush, because why are you tucked against his chest.

He finally looks down, and in a tone you can only describe as tender, he quietly asks, "How did you sleep?"

Rubbing your eyes, you move to sit up a little. You feel incredibly well rested, despite the fact that you just took a nap in a sandy hole.

"I slept well, thank you," you say, before your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, "Not that I'm complaining, but how did you end up in here?"

Vulkan's eye membrane blinks, and he responds, "You were shivering. I promised to watch over you, and that includes being cold. It seemed the most efficient method."

Oh! Well that is…very kind. Your brain is currently blue screening while you process that information. Obviously, you decide, Vulkan doesn't understand the implications of you waking up against him. It was a lovely feeling though— you felt very cared for.

You dip your head, and smile, "Well, thank you. I feel a little better now."

Vulkan smiles, and his tail swishes in the water. You stare at the sky, and realize that you've been sleeping for a much longer time than you'd thought. Then your hear the distinct sound of a truck pulling in at the top of the cove. Vulkan's head moves quickly to scan around as you scramble up, sending sand fly.

You whip around and hurriedly explain, "I think my friend Mercedes is looking for me. I'm going to go before she spots you— thank you again, I'll come back tomorrow!"

Your mer-friend nods, and you begin brushing the debris off your clothes as you walk away from the shoreline. Mercedes' red hair is easily spotted as she rounds the edge of the trail and sees you. Her ponytail bounces as she strides down to meet you. You suppose, given the lack of reaction, that Vulkan has hidden. You wave at her, and she smiles back.

"Hey," you greet, "You good?"

She looks you up and down, then snorts, "Apparently not as good as you— what did you do, roll around on the beach?"

You shrug, "Yeah, pretty much."

Her eyes soften, "You feeling better? I saw you left your phone back at the house and I wanted to come check on you."

You hum, then respond, "Yeah— loads. I got a good nap in."

Mercedes reaches over to tug at a lock of your hair, which causes sand to dump all over your shirt. Snickering, she says, "I can see that— I think you're more sand than person right now."

"I feel more sand than person," you retort.

She slings an arm over your shoulder, "Alright then Sandman, what do you say to showering and then we go out to eat? A regular night out on the town."

"Hell yeah," you shoot back, returning her gesture by slinging a sandy arm over her as well, "Where are you thinking?"

She sighs at the dirt on her clothes, "I was thinking that new place on the boardwalk— Captain Clark's?"

You raise an eyebrow, "The burger joint?"

"Yeah! Supposedly they have some killer seafood too— those fried oysters are calling my name."

The two of you make it back up to the top of the path, and you glance back. All you see is a familiar fin going in lazy circles in the water. Smiling, you face forward and climb into your friend's truck as the two of you discuss your evening plans.

You shower, and laugh to yourself about the amount of sand that comes out of your clothes and undergarments and gets on the floor. You'll have to vaccum that up later. You scrub your skin clean, and feel light as your step out of your steam-filled shower. It's like the weight that was on you had drained away with the water. You pick an outfit that's a little nicer than what you might normally wear. Not date nice, but better than a tshirt. It's a cute sundress with seashell print on it. You don shell jewelry just to stick with the theme.

Mercedes finds your ensemble incredibly funny as you emerge from your room. She attempts to hide it by covering her face, but you can see her shoulders bouncing.

"What?" you ask, looking for something on your outfit.

"I thought you were leaving the mermaid getup at your job?" She comments.

You toss your hair and wink, "Being a mermaid is a full time gig. I could never leave it behind."

The drive to the restaurant is uneventful, the two of you sitting in casual silence as the radio plays a local station. Captain Clark's restaurant winds up being a busier place than you'd expected. There's so many people milling about in there that you shoot a longing glance towards the mostly empty pier before Mercedes drags you inside.

Inside, it's a lovely affair. There's big windows to one side that show off the ocean, while the massive bar that has bottles that glisten in the low lighting. Somehow they've managed to balance upscale and casual, and you can't help but stare at the coral themed chandelier that hangs directly in the center of the main dining room. Whoever opened this place must have some money to back it, because as you're seated you see custom carved chairs and dinnerware.

The menu is extensive, but not (as you'd previously assumed) expensive. The two of you get drinks. Mercedes goes with a cocktail, while you wind up with a mystery mocktail that tastes slightly fruity with a bubbly texture. You play with the umbrella that came in it while looking around the room. The wallpaper is gorgeous, but your eyes land on the massive aquarium on the far wall.

All the fish in it are staring at you.

You stare back, face wrinkling in confusion. Mercedes stops mid sip, and turns around to see what you're looking at.

"Uh," she starts, "Do fish normally do that?"

You blink, "No. Not that I'm aware of."

"Are they… looking this way?"

Fiddling with the umbrella, you mutter, "Yeah, I think so."

The two of you quit looking when your server arrives, and you place your entree order.

Sliding your chair a bit, you go to stand, saying, "I'm going to investigate."

Your friend shakes her head and you pause.

"What?" you ask.

She sighs, and stirs her drink idly, "Have you ever noticed that you have a bad habit of checking out weird stuff?"

"I wouldn't call a fish tank weird," you sniff, still halfway between standing and sitting, "And I don't do that!"

Mercedes fixes you with a hard, unimpressed stare, "Yes you do."

You start, "Name one time-"

Apparently it's been on her mind, as Mercedes cuts you off and begins counting on her fingers as she rattles off events, "The sandpiper, the sharks, the netting with dragged up. The fishtank. And that's just the recent stuff— not to mention the entire vibe of that cove you go to. It's so weird."

Well, maybe she has a point. Unfortunately for everyone involved in this conversation, you're in the business of doubling down.

"It's not weird," you snap, half because the cove is your space, and half because you feel the need to speak up on Vulkan's behalf.

Her eyebrows lift, "Dude. You cannot tell me that place isn't creepy. It gives me the heeby jeebies every time I go down there. I have no idea how you slept there today."

"It's not-"

"I feel like something is watching me whenever I go there," she hisses.

Squaring your jaw, and becoming uncharacteristically serious, you state, "Mercedes, if there's something you'd like to say, I would prefer you just say it, instead of me having to guess."

Her eyes narrow, and she leans forwards, fingers lacing together as she props on the table.

"Alright," she deadpans. Then Mercedes drops a metaphorical grenade right in front of you.

"I know you almost drowned two weeks ago."

What. What. What.

You stare at her, mouth agape like the fish in the aquarium. Actually, you'd been so focused on the merman aspect of that day that you'd completely missed that part of your story. You have a rapidfire flasho f thoughts that range from telling the entire truth to trying to gaslight her.

What does come out of your mouth is a strangled "…How?"

You sit all the way down in the chair as she pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, before looking back at you.

"I was a lifeguard, remember? I've seen what people look like when they almost drown."

Ah, shit. How'd you miss that? You're gripping your chair arms so tightly that they might crumble.

You try to speak, but it fades as the words get stuck in your throat, "I don't…"

Mercedes grimaces, then says, "Listen, I haven't brought it up because you'd been going through a lot recently and I don't want to make things worse and pry. But I'm concerned. Sorry that the timing is bad, but I need you to know that."

You perk up a little, and finally seize an opportunity to add to the conversation, "You're right to be concerned, but you don't need to be. The ocean and I are friends."

Also the giant merman that you're friends with, but she doesn't need to know that part.

She looks at you, eyes sad, and says your name softly, "I've almost lost you twice to the ocean— I'm worried you won't be so lucky a third time."

You reach out a hand a touch hers, meeting her gaze again, "I understand. You know I won't stop going though, right?"

"I know," she says, giving your hands a squeeze back, "Just be safe, okay? You've got people rooting for you on land."

You nod, and the two of you sit in silence for a few moments. Then she retracts her hand and makes a shooing motion.

"Alright, I'm done being serious. Go look at your fish now," she grumbles, looking faintly embarrassed.

Flashing her a grin, you stand and head over. The fish are waiting for you as you get there, and you wiggle your fingers and coo at them. You step to the side to allow a little girl to come up and see, and the fish follow your movement in a swarm.

The girl looks at you with big brown eyes and frowns. You move again to the side, and they follow again.

Pointing a finger at them, you sternly say, "Let her see you too!"

She beams as they part into two groups, allowing her to investigate.

You lean over when she whispers to you, "Can you talk to fish?"

The image of Vulkan leaning on the sand flashes through your mind, and you have to tamp down your amusement as you whisper back, "Yes."

Her eyes practically sparkle as she asks, "Are you a mermaid?"

One of your favorite questions, especially from kids. You wink, "Of course! I come on land to visit my friends from time to time. It's not always fair for them to come to me, is it?"

The little girl vibrates with excitement, then runs off to who you assume are her guardians. She points in your direction, and the adults with her look at you. You wave, at they return the gesture.

You go back to your table and wait somewhat awkwardly with Mercedes. Your food is fantastic, and Mercedes shares her oysters with you. You trade part of your meal, and create a surf and turf experience. You know that the conversation you had will probably come up again, but she seems willing to let it slide, so you do as well.

The fish follow your movement as you go to leave, so you give them a wave and disappear around the corner. You and Mercedes decide to hit the ice cream parlor a little further down. You like it because they give out massive scoops of ice cream. It's a little tourist trap-y but it's so worth it.

You get three massive scoops of your favorite flavor in a cup and head outside to eat it. Mercedes gets through hers first, and goes into a crystal store that inhabits part of the boardwalk.

The pier calls for you though, so you separate from her to enjoy your sweet treat at the end of it. You hum as you lean on the banister, listening to the soothing sounds of the waves below you. There's a few other people dotted around, a few fishing off the side of the pier. It's peaceful.

It begins to drizzle a bit, but nobody pays too much mind to the weather change. You don't either— resolving to finish your dessert and head inside to meet with Mercedes. You've just about eaten it all, and are casually sipping from a water you'd gotten from the same shop when someone comes up beside you. You glance in their direction, but don't take in too much detail until they clear their throat and begin to speak to you.

"Hello there," a very, very familiar voice says.

You whip around to see the white haired man standing beside you. You stumble backwards, and in a panic you throw the water bottle at him. He catches it with ease, and doesn't seem to care that it spills all down his shirt.

He flashes sharp teeth at you, "Nice try, but-"

The speech is cut off by the abrupt entrance of your ice cream cup hitting him directly in the face. Now that you've had time to process, and you know that Vulkan has your back, you're pissed.

"What the hell are you doing here, you son of a bitch?" you hiss, the muscles in your jaw clenching.

That gets a reaction, and the man looks less than pleased as he wipes melted ice cream off his chin.

"That was unnecessary," he snarls, and gooseflesh ripples up your arms.

There's still a confidence you have though, with people around you. You snap, "You scared the shit out of me the other day— I don't know who you think you are with that seashell and your stupid spiel, but you should learn how to mind your own business."

Not that you know precisely what his business is, but the point remains.

He clicks his tongue, and sighs dramatically, "I was unaware that you were…acquainted with my brother, so to speak. It isn't often that one finds humans that have merfolk magic on them. My mistake."

You blink, then scowl, "I see. Why are you here then?"

He grumbles, "I was told I 'needed to apologize'."

You snicker a little at what you assume to be his Vulkan impression. His voice doesn't have the necessary baritone in it to create the proper effect.

"So," he continues, "I apologize."

That appears to be the best you're going to get, given that it looks like someone could be pulling his teeth out. You're not sure you want to accept it.

"Now I have apologized," the man says, holding out a hand with long, almost claw like nails, "Nice to meet you, human. My name is Fulgrim."

You stare at his hand like it might turn into a snake and bite you.

Fulgrim sniffs, then snidely remarks, "It's rude not to introduce yourself, you know."

You raise an eyebrow, "I think you know who I am."

Teeth flash at you again, then the nails dig slightly into your arm as he forces a handshake. His pupils shrink to slits that remind you that he isn't fully human.

"Don't piss me off," he scolds, although he seems very calm, "I'm not gentle like my brother."

Your lip curls, "I can see that."

His eyes narrow, and you roll yours. You say your name, and he lets go of you.

Fulgrim repeats your name, and then shakes his head, "I would have thought my brother would have picked a more impressive human, but alas."

He leaves absolutely no room for you to respond to that statement, striding away. You chase him all the way down to the end of the pier before you lose him. Damn him and his long as legs. Mercedes is waiting for you, having seen you try and run down the guy. You come over, grumbling about the situation. You'd like to rip out some of his hair. The nerve to comment like that!

Your friend looks at you, flabbergasted, "Who was that?"

You groan, "Some guy— his name's Fulgrim."

She whistles, "He's hot."

Sputtering, you reply, "That's the man from the other day."

Her face immediately scrunches in disgust, and she spits out, "Now why didn't you lead with that? I rescind my statement, he is not hot. In fact, he's downright atrocious to look at. Like a house on fire personified."

You jostle her shoulder and laugh at her reaction, "Mer, it's okay. He apologized for scaring me. I think."

Mercedes doesn't look thrilled, "Eugh, I guess.""

Deciding to change topics, you ask how her store was. She launches into an explanation on what she got as you head towards the parking lot. You're extremely tired by the end of the evening, and take a quick shower and go to bed. You stare at the curtained window, mind drifting towards Vulkan. Your eyes slide shut, but you can picture him still guarding you while you fall asleep.

Your dreams are peaceful.

A/N: Hi guys!! Sorry it's been a minute, my job's being wacky right now, and then I went on a camping trip with no service for a few days. On the bright side, I have most of chapter 8 done and a bit of lore and outlining done!! Most of this chapter was written with a pen and paper. Thank you to all the sweet comments, love you guys <3 stay hydrated

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

The sound of the Gloriana class plasma engines roaring back to life and the almost musical thrum of the reflex shields coating the ship told Corvus the jump had been a success.

And yet.

"We are in real space, yes?" The primarch asked.

A crewman tapped his auger and turned, bowing.

"Indeed, my lord."

Corvus nodded slowly, glancing around before looking back at the man, still bent double.

"Then tell me, where are the lights?"

The man frowned and straightened up.

"They're...on, my lord?" He said confused.

Corax shook his head.

"Check again"

The command deck came to a standstill as people looked up at the ceiling.

A single, bright emergency light beamed down, illuminating maps and cogitators. The main lights however, remained woefully unlit.

As if on cue, a marine stomped through the main doors, a scowl creasing his otherwise handsome face.

"Report, Alvarex?"

"The entire ship is out, my lord" Alvarex Maun huffed, swiping a pale hand down his face and sighing.

"The Mechanicum reports no damage, but it could be at least an hour before we have any lighting in the shadow"

The marine cast a eye over the baseline staff hurrying around him.

"Your raven guard will have no issues of course, but..." He gestured around the crew.

Corvus nodded.

"Slow the engines for now. We can't risk moving at speed until everyone can see. If we run into trouble, I need all eyes working"

The raven guard captain lent closer.

"There is one other matter. Lord"

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Corvus swept through the dark halls of the ship, the shadows that usually cowered in the crevices now stretching across the metal as the lights remained inactive.

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"What do you mean missing?"

Captain Alvarex shook his head

"We checked your chambers, lord. Gone."

"They can't just be gone. Your in command here, I will look myself."

"my lord you can't"

Maun stared blankly at the spot his genesire had been moments ago and sighed, turning to the crew still milling around

"YOU HEARD HIM, SLOW ENGINES" he roared

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Corax hurried on, melting into the darkness with each long stride. He ghosted past panicked tech priests and fumbling servitors, tracing your familiar routes through the ship; his room, your room, the remembrancers hall, training arena. Each filled with the noise of confused chapter serfs and irritated poets. But not you.

Corvus felt acid rise in his throat, his swallowed and inhaled deeply, calming the hammering of his two hearts.

One more place.

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"You can have a larger space" corvus sighed, combing his fingers through his mop of black hair.

"This is hardly fitting"

You shook your head and beamed up at him.

"No it's perfect, look"

You stepped forward, gesturing ar two of the walls.

"Windows"

Corvus frowned

"I see. You know you cannot open them"

You rolled you're eyes and grabbed his hand, tugging him forward.

"Just wait"

The primarch stood silently, enjoying the warmth of your hand in his and the smell of your hair as he allowed himself a moment to forget what awaited him beyond the walls of this room. He watched the planet they orbited turn slowly, blues and greens stretching across its surface in an unbroken canvas.

Suddenly, a light.

Faint at first, the rays of a young sun began to filter in through the armourglass. Weak at first, it wasn't long before the room was flooded in warmth. The cold metal walls painted a soft bronze in the early morning hue.

"When we left Lycaeus, left those mines..." You paused, stumbling at the memory. Corvus released your hand and placed a heavy palm on your shoulder, you softened and lent into him with a sigh.

"Once we were free I swore I would never be stuck in the dark again"

"I understand"

You looked up at the raven lord, eyes soft, smile even softer.

"I know you do"

He watched as you slipped free from his grip and bathed yourself in the warm sunlight. A pink hue flushed over your cheeks and you closed your eyes and spun, laughing as you basked.

"Isn't it beautiful Corvus?"

Corvus stared, his own lips twitching upwards for a moment.

"Yes, beautiful"

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Corax slammed through the iron door with an echoing rattle that rang in his ears. Your room, once filled with light and laughter was now as dark as the rest of the ship, the gloom condensing where once there had been laughter and warmth.

Your chair was empty, it's pillows still indented from where you liked to sit with your knees pulled to your chest.

He rushed forward, reaching out and picking your personal Comms until from the chairs arm.

You never went far without it.

"Corvus?"

He turned, sighing in relief.

Your head peered out from under your desk, small fingers pulling back a heavy, downy blanket you had used to shelter yourself. Your eyes went wide as you saw him, then began to water.

"Corvus" you said again, voice now breaking.

The raven lord fell to his knees, reaching out as you scrambled free from your hiding spot and clawed towards him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he whispered, stroking your head as you fell into his chest with a sob.

"I was so scared" your voice was muffled and broken, face still pressed into him.

"I know. I'm here now, I'm here."

He sat, clutching you in his arms until your trembling finally subsided. He felt you pull away and reluctantly slackened his hold.

"Corvus" you sniffed, leaning back to reach up and cup his face. "My corvus"

He closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against your palm.

"My sweet raven"

There was a loud thump, followed by an electrical hum and finally a loud click. Corvus opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiling to see the lights flickering back to life.

He looked back down and found you staring up at him, lashes still spiked with tears and cheeks red.

"There you are" your face cracking into a lopsided grin.

"There's my sun"

She looked up at Lady Amelia between shaking thighs and with gasping breaths but the noble custodian woman looking down at her looked at her with a cold calculation that which many might take offense at the seemingly bored look upon the guardian's face. But the way she twisted her fingers inside of her... making her wail in delight... she could see the ghost of a smile upon that noble face. The buzz of the toy that the custodian ground against faded into the background noise of the creak of the bed... oh her poor bed taking this abuse from Lady Amelia.

But she wasn't really in any place to think about anything else then the way Lady Amelia's fingers were inside of her weeping cunt. How her middle finger danced on her clit... gently pressing... swirling around it... oh it was with the same terrifying precision that the Custodian did Everything with.

"Do you hold back your cute little wails to try and curry favor with me? To try and show how strong you can be dearest dove?" Lady Amelia coos down at you with that melting warmth. The musical chuckle that comes from her as you ashamedly look away, "Oh yes how strong you are. But I come here to listen to you sing."

Oh how you moan and cry out as she pinches and plays with one of your nipples causing you to buck into her fingers more. You do not last long underneath her torment.

"Oh there you go singing all pretty for me." She says feeling the way your walls squeeze her fingers as you grind out your orgasm against them.

Getting up to go to work is much harder when your muscles are trying to take you out. You grimace as you stagger out of bed, legs screaming at you as you shuffle to the bathroom. Apparently trying to keep up with Vulkan did more damage than you originally thought.

Getting into your clothes ought to be classified as another Herculean challenge, but you manage. Mercedes is still asleep and you once again envy her as you make your way to your car at the ass-crack of dawn. Piper's in the front yard, and you greet him as you go by— albeit with less enthusiasm than usual. You ponder about going and buying bugs for him as you head to the aquarium, but he looks pretty fat so you probably won't bother.

You get into the pool area easily enough. Michael stops you to ask about some of the sharks that you'd been diving with, leading to some idle chatter for a few minutes before you excuse yourself.

The hum of the machinery around you is in your ears as you start your warmups. Today you've brought your yoga mat, and you're wincing as you begin to stretch out sore muscles. Note to self: when swimming with a merman, don't try so hard. You hiss through your teeth as you go into a lunge, feeling the ligaments in your legs move.

You're counting down from ten when you hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Eyes popping open, you spot Brandy walking towards you. Much to your surprise, Oliver is close behind her. The younger girl's face is neutral, but her eyebrows are drawn together as she enters the pool area. She gives you a wave and goes into the locker room, disappearing around the corner.

You frown, eyes following her movement before Oliver moves into your field of vision to block your view.

"Hello," he says, beaming down at you.

Coming out of the lunge is only slightly less painful, and you let out a deep breath as you lessen the pressure on your muscles. Standing completely up, you respond with a hello back.

Oliver tilts his head, "I didn't think you would be here so early. What're you doing?"

You put your arm across your chest and begin to gently pull on your shoulder muscles. You reply, "I always get here pretty early when it's time for mermaid performances— I like to have the pool to myself for a bit." You tilt your head, "Well, minus Brandy, but she's here to make sure I don't drown."

Not that you can drown currently, but he doesn't need to know that.

He nods, "What stretches do you normally do? I've been looking to add some to my workout routine— I've been working on my swim skills recently and my legs are killing me."

It's not the first time someone has asked you about this particular routine, so you acquiesce and begin explaining your stretching methods. Swimming uses more muscles than most people would think, which leads to beginners often having to learn the hard way that their form is wrong. Oliver nods, and dutifully takes notes on his phone.

In the spirit of properly showing someone how they should be stretching (a lesson learned from your summers of coaching teens during swim lessons), you offer to guide him through a few poses. You tend to combine some yoga poses along with the regular warm ups just to make sure you're getting as many muscle groups as possible.

Oliver accepts, and seems to realize his mistake about two minutes in when he makes a face while holding most of his body off the ground.

"You can relax now," you say casually, putting your own limbs back on the ground.

His face is red from the exertion, and he flops down onto the cold floor. He groans, then states, "How do you do that? You make it look so easy."

You shrug, then get up off the floor to go fetch your water bottle, "It gets easier with time, and it helps that I wear a tail half the time while swimming."

Oliver rises off the floor as well, "I see—you're stronger than you look."

Scowling, you ask, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sputters in response, trying to make a recovery.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you ask, "Do you not have somewhere you need to be?"

He blinks, and you watch as his ears turn a bright red, "Well, yes, but I-"

You realize that your statement might have came off as rude and you rush to correct yourself, "Not that I mind you being here, it just seems odd that you're here during our warm up time?"

Oliver relaxes a bit at that and says, "I just wanted to see what it looks like when you guys are back here— I usually only see it before we do cleaning dives." He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, "I'll uh, get out of your hair though. Good luck down there."

You wish him well, and he leaves, gently closing the door behind himself. After a few moments, Brandy pokes her head out from the locker room and sighs upon seeing that Oliver was gone. She exits and pads over to the lifeguard station. Your eyebrow bob up in surprise.

"Everything good?" you ask, walking over to lean on the stand.

She grimaces, before she mumbles, "I don't know." Louder, she says, "Oliver just wanted to talk to me. It's not that I don't like him, it's just that I think his vibe is a little weird, you know?"

The interaction you'd just had was odd, to be sure, but it wasn't terribly weird. Although perhaps your definition of 'weird' is a bit skewed from what most people might think.

You frown, "Do I need to beat him up?"

That gets a chuckle out of her, and she shakes her head, "No. I mean, he hasn't done or said anything creepy. It's just… I dunno… a feeling?" She waves a hand dismissively, "Ugh, I'm probably just overreacting. You ready for warmup?"

Placing a hand on her shoulder, you gently say, "Listen, if you need to talk or have someone help you, I'm with you one hundred percent— if something happens, let me know."

She gives a wobbly smile to you, "Thanks, I appreciate it."

You nod, before flexing your arm muscles, "I'll beat his ass for free— I can jump him in the parking lot."

That one gets a bark of laughter (more genuine this time), and Brandy climbs to her position while you slide into the pool. You're properly warmed up now so it's no trouble at all to go into your routine, passing back and forth along the surface. By the time you're practicing breath holds, Rob and Diana join you at the bottom of the shallows.

Your hair feels odd as you sit under the water, creating an odd tingling sensation to your scalp. You idly scratch your head, but don't think too much of it. Then it occurs to you that that might be the signal that you can breath underwater and you wonder how exactly you're going to pass this off to other people.

…maybe you're just really, really good at breath holds. The record is what, ten minutes? You make a face and surface, mind swirling with thoughts.

Other than that though, your performance goes smoothly as always. Your shark friend is still hanging around, and you find yourself wondering about timing of going to take breaths. Has it been too long? Not long enough? You wind up compromising by swimming up to the hose, but not actually breathing from it.

You're still mega sore by the time you make it home, so you stumble into the shower and barely manage to make it to bed before you pass out into sleep. No one said being a mermaid was easy work.

After a couple days, your soreness has worn off. You're absolutely itching to get back into the water. You want to be able to explore underwater now that you're getting used to the whole…breathing thing. It's a Thursday, so not your typical day to get back to the cove, but you can't help the excitement that grows as you close in on the area.

This time you've remembered to bring your fins, and the shell bag is slung across your body, with the knife situated on your waist. The weight of it is familiar, soothing, and you can't help but run your fingers over the handle as you stride into the ocean waves.

You laugh as your fan-club take turns bumping into you, little noses bouncing off your skin. This time you've forgone the rash-guard and are in a two piece bathing suit that has no ties on it. Booties and fins on your feet, you sink in, and begin to belly crawl across the sand like a shark. The tingling begins and you suck in a breath.

Ugh, this is so cool. If only you didn't have to almost die to get the ability. You continue along the bottom, checking on plants and noting the fish that are darting around. There's a group of chubs that seem uninterested in you, but you swim up to see what they're looking at anyways, and find a crab staring at you. How delightful!

You're busy checking out the rocky enclave that lines the cove, hoping to spot some puffer fish, when you feel the current direction shift. You turn to see Vulkan a little ways away, tail moving side to side as he cuts through the water in your direction.

You wave at him, and gesture for him to come look with you. With two of you searching, it's not long before you find a puffer. It's hanging back in a rocky crevice, but comes out to see what the two of you are up to. It seemingly decides that neither of you are worth the time, and goes back into the hiding hole it was in.

Vulkan points toward the surface, and you nod, making your way upwards. The merman is waiting for you at the top, and you flip wet hair out of your face.

"Hello!" you greet, beaming at him, "Beautiful weather we're having, isn't it?"

He looks up at the sky, which is dotted with fluffy clouds, before looking back at you. "Indeed."

"How'd you know I was out here?" you ask, spinning in a small circle.

Vulkan hums, "The fish told me."

You eye him, "Can you actually talk to the fish or are you messing with me?"

He shrugs, "I can speak with them. Their language is more limited than say, you and I's."

This peaks your interest, "What about what you said when we met the other day? The sounds underwater, I mean."

"That would be a merfolk specific language. The overall impact of a folk's kiss is… largely undocumented. I was unsure if you would be able to understand."

An entire underwater language! Of course they'd have something— words with the vocal chords couldn't register properly through liquid.

Your eyes practically sparkle as you get closer, "Could you teach me a few?"

Vulkan thinks about it, a webbed hand reaching up to scratch his face, "I can try— I am unsure of which words you may be able to form."

Nodding enthusiastically, you agree, "That's fine! I'll learn whatever you're wiling to teach me."

The two of you spend the next while bobbing in and out of the water while you learn the pronunciations for a few words. Phrases are out of the question, but 'hello' and 'up' are what you manage to figure out. Vulkan chuckles at your pronunciations, and the words stick in your throat a few times, because for the most part the sounds are supposed to come from your chest.

You're 95% sure that you're not doing well with it, but Vulkan assures you that it's very good for a beginner, and to just give it time and practice.

The two of you hit the ocean floor after that, looking around to see what you can find. There's a large funnel of fish swimming around, and you laugh as you swim through it and they simply scatter to form an even larger funnel. Vulkan lurks on the outside edge of it, chuckling at your antics.

You notice that he swims slower than what you assume is his normal pace to let you keep up. The fins help a good bit, but your propulsion simply can't match his speed.

"How fast can you swim?" you wind up asking him once you've gotten to the top of the water.

Vulkan's ears twitch as he thinks, before he shrugs, "I can't say I've ever measured. Would you like to see?"

Boy would you!! You nod, and he allows you to cling onto his neck. It's a little difficult, given the size difference, but you manage to climb on. He's very solid underneath you, and while your initial concern had been bumping his dorsal fin, that winds up not being an issue at all. Your feet don't reach that far.

"You ready?" Vulkan asks, and you give a confirming pat on his shoulder while verbally agreeing.

Going underwater is much smoother than you anticipated— although in hindsight it made sense, given that he was built for the oceans. You can feel his muscles tense, and then suddenly you're shooting through the water.

It's like the wind on your face when you quickly ride your bike, only you can make out the blur of everything around you. The beach comes into view way faster than you expect, and Vulkan slows down. When he breaches the surface you laugh giddily.

"That was so cool! I had no idea anyone could swim that fast."

He grins at you, all teeth, "I can. Few can match my speed."

You smile right back at him, "I would pay to see that race."

Vulkan gives a long, deep laugh, and says, "Maybe one day."

Wobbling back to dry land, you thank your friend and bid him goodbye. It's the same routine as last time, where you glance back and wave as you depart. He returns it.

~~~

Your weekend brings much of the same. The pair of you find many shells around, and you leave some of the larger ones while your bag gets full from all the little ones. You'll package them up for some of the beach cabanas later— it's a lucrative living to be selling seashells, but some of them accept shells as payment in a pinch. Usually for a Gatorade and chips, but it was better than nothing!

Apparently, your newfound merman friend has an astonishing knowledge of human games. This includes chess, which you'd brought up while telling a story about a club you'd been in while in college. When you'd gotten to explaining the game, Vulkan had waved a hand.

"I know about chess," he had said.

You had blinked in surprise, before responding, "Really? Where did you learn about it?"

The merman's eye membrane had blinked, and he mused, "I am much older than you. I have learned many games."

"Can you play?" you asked.

"I am very good at chess," Vulkan had told you, "I believe I could beat you."

Offended, you told him to just wait until you got your hands on a board, so you two could see who the real champion was.

Which lead you to your current destination— the paddle board shop on the boardwalk. You'd found a magnetized version of chess, but needed something flat to work as a table to play the game. You're staring at the entrance of the store when the clouds open up and begin to dump rain on your head. You sprint inside, and stand at the door while wringing out your hair. For such a short amount of time, the storm sure could soak you to the skin.

Good thing you'd had your suit on under your clothes, but you still weren't a fan of getting cold rainwater on you. Or the feeling of being damp while in the air conditioned store. As luck would have it though, their floors are wooden and made to withstand the wet footsteps of customers coming through.

You move forwards, ogling at the surf memorabilia that lines the walls, along with the many different kinds of boards available. The bell to the shop rings and you pay it no mind. Until you turn slightly, and have to do a double take at the man that now stands at the register.

He has to be a model, and the fact that his shirt is unbuttoned all the way is not helping matters. Hair so blonde it's practically white is pulled back into a ponytail, and you try very, very hard not to stare at the abs that the shirt reveals when it pulls back as he leans on the counter. You need to focus on your task.

So you go back to browsing the paddle boards, and try really, really hard not to stare at the handsome stranger.

It's going really well until you hear, an "excuse me," from behind you. You hope and pray that it's not who you think it is. You turn around and it's the man from the counter. Your ears burn as you fight not to stare directly at the pecs that are in your face.

"Are you looking to buy or to rent?" he asks.

"I- what?" you say, a little confused.

Patiently, he responds with, "Each board is special in its own way. Some are more solid, and some will sink while you're in the water." He pushes past you, and points out an inflatable board that's decorated with a shark. "I think this one would suit you well."

You'd already looked at that one, mostly for the irony of owning a shark board while playing a game with one. Vulkan would find it amusing, you think.

"Uh… thanks," you respond, gingerly taking the board from the wall it's neatly stacked into. You make a mental note of the gear you'll need to grab to help fill out your kit— it's been a while since you've owned one of these, but you remember the gist of it all.

He begins to walk away, before he stops and turns back to you. "By the way," he confides, "I like to give these to all the pretty people I see."

He takes something out of his pocket and you're almost scared until he unfurls his hand and oh! It's a lovely seashell. It's an almost perfect spiral with a pearly white exterior. The only flaw is a small chip off the underside that you can see. Your hand reaches out to take it before your eyes flick back up to look at that man and you swear it looks like he has fangs. Vulkan's teeth flit through your mind and you go to pull your hand back, only for the man to press the shell into your palm and curl your fingers around it. His hands are strangely clammy in comparison to Vulkan's, and his smile stretches a touch wider than it should.

"Keep it."

And with that, he strides out into the rain, leaving you standing in the middle of the shop with a (maybe) magical seashell in your hand, and a paddle board in the other.

Shaken, but not deterred, you pay for your things and leave. Your head is on a swivel when you walk out the door, but the man that spoke to you is nowhere around. You keep glancing behind you though, even as you get into your car and drive home.

You scowl into the rearview mirror as you go. You hate that someone is making you feel this way. This sort of dread hasn't settled in your belly since the final days of your relationship with Dawson. The feeling of looking over your shoulder constantly wasn't a new sensation, but it was an unwelcome one.

You sit in the house a lot longer than intended, irritated. You pace around, debating on going down to the water. The shell weighs like a rock in your pocket. You'd fully intended upon it earlier, but now? Vulkan had told you there were other merpeople, but he hadn't mentioned they could go on land. Could they? Could he?

Mercedes isn't home, so you have no one to vent to other than yourself as you walk around. Eventually though, you decide that maybe getting some answers will help calm you down. Locking the door and shooting a text to Mercedes along with leaving a paper note, you shoot off to the cove.

You put your feet into the water and wait. Soon enough, Vulkan's head pops up out of the waves, and he smiles at you. The tension in your chest worsens when you see his sharp teeth, and it takes a moment to realize that you're shaking.

He appears to notice as he gets closer, and he questions, "Are you alright?"

Gritting your jaw, you spit out, "Why are you fucking with me?"

Red pupils dart to the side, then back to you, "What?"

You snarl, "Why are you fucking with me? I thought we were friends, but then this-" you fumble for words, "this man follows me to a store I'm in and he's got teeth like yours and he gives me a- a shell? With some kind of creepy message I think and I just-"

You take a deep, stuttering breath and step out of the water, sand digging into your toes. Tears sting at the edges of your eyes, but you try to fight them off.

"I don't like to be played with," you end up snapping.

Vulkan can only go so far to reach you without beaching himself, but his eyebrows have drawn together and he says your name very softly in concern. It's the same kind of tone that one might use to call to a scared cat, and it stings something deep in your soul.

You yank the shell out of your pocket and hold it out in front of you like it's a dead mouse, and not a seashell.

"Then what is this?" You hiss, "I know something's wrong with it."

Vulkan's eyes flick down to your hand, then back to your face. He's obviously concentrating on you, but as his gaze goes back to the shell, his pupils shrink to slits, and he growls.

This takes you aback, and you take a step away from him. He seems to realize that you're scared of the sound, and takes a deep breath, before holding out his clawed hand.

"May I take a closer look?"

There's silence between the two of you as your brain battles between retreat, and getting closer to the merman that hasn't shown you any cause for harm so far. (But just because someone's nice now doesn't mean they will be down the road, does it? A voice whispers in your head.) Vulkan's arm droops slightly, and he looks about ready to disappear back into the sea, when you inch forwards a bit, dropping the shell into his palm.

He smiles at you, taking great pains not to show his teeth, and says, "Thank you."

Vulkan lifts the object, and it strikes you just how small it is in comparison to him. He scowls at it, and crushes it in a quick motion.

"It's a shell one of my brothers left with you," he quietly states, staring at the sand, "Harmless. If I had to guess, it's to leave a message for me."

You sniff, "What kind of message?"

"The kind that they can reach you," he laments, running a hand down his face. It's a very human gesture, and you relax just a bit.

"So you… didn't send someone after me?"

Vulkan delicately responds with, "No, I did not." He straightens up, and splays out his webbed fingers over where his heart should be, "I swear on my life that I did not send someone to follow you. But I will find out who it was and give them a piece of my mind."

You lick your lips to try and stave off the dryness of your mouth, "You will?"

He nods, and you take another cautious step forwards. He adds, "You will not come to harm in my waters, I promise."

The earnestness of his words seem to finally shatter whatever was holding back the dam of tears, and they finally begin to stream down your face.

You try to choke down a wail that tries to surge out your throat, but it comes out as a pitiful whimper instead. Vulkan's still stuck in the shallows, but he looks genuinely distressed to watch you sob on the beach.

"I'm sorry," you blubber, "You know, I usually don't cry this fast."

His hands twitch, and he asks gently, "Is there anything I can do?"

What you need is reassurance, and you voice as much to him. He pauses and thinks, before asking, "Would a hug work?"

You think about it for a second, before you stagger forwards, falling into his arms. The warmth of Vulkan's skin seeps into your still damp clothes, and it's like hugging a solid wall of muscle. It takes a few minutes of you crying before you're able to tear yourself away.

"God, I'm sorry," you say, wiping your nose on your shirt. "I got snot all over your chest."

Vulkan pats your shoulder, "It will wash off."

You give a watery chuckle, but the concern is still clear in his eyes.

There's a long pause, then he very carefully asks, "Are you often followed? Not that… this situation isn't upsetting, I simply wish to get a clearer view."

Your muscles stiffen when he asks, and Vulkan immediately backpedals, "You don't have to tell me-"

You interrupt, "No, no it's fine. It's just hard to put into words." You clear your throat, before glancing up at him, "I don't have to talk about it?"

His eyebrows knit together, before he responds, "I would… prefer to know, yes— if only to prevent any other situations of this nature. However, you are entitled to your history and should not feel like you have to share it with me. I have things from my past I have not shared— I would not expect the same from you."

It's a well balanced and easy answer, and it soothes your anxiety. Talking about your previous relationship was never an easy thing for you to do.

You sigh, "I think… I think I won't say anything for now. But maybe in the future?"

Vulkan's ears twitch, and he nods, "Whatever you would like."

The two of you spend a long time on the beach, watching the sun set.

~~~

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

When you come outside the next morning, armed with bathing suits, snacks and a new knife, your sandpiper friend has returned. He cocks his head, and you remark to him that you're going to the cove now. He takes off into the sky, heading that direction.

"You know, if he's going to be sticking around, maybe you should name him," your friend says, slinging her supplies into the cabin of the truck.

You nod, and think about it, "What if we just go with Piper?"

"You don't have anything better than that?"

"But he's so cute! And sandpiper. It's easy to remember."

The redhead shoots you a disbelieving look before climbing into her truck. The ride to the cove is smooth sailing despite the roots— you ride your bike as you follow the vehicle, watching the spanish moss sway in the breeze as you go. The two of you pull up and head down the trail. There's a few sticks you toss out of the way as you go. When you get to the bottom, you see a familiar bird standing on the shore, pecking in the sand.

"Hey Piper," you greet, walking up, "What is it that you've been wanting to show me?"

Piper shows no indication of caring about you anymore, and hops away to go search for bugs. Your feelings are slightly hurt, but you turn and look towards the ocean. It's different than it was the last time you were here— you shiver despite the warm temperature.

But the two of you are on a mission, and start searching for the net. You find it, not too far from the shore. The water is up to your waist. You turn around and call out to Mercedes: "Found it!"

She sloshes towards you, and you squat to start digging the net out of the sand. The saltwater licks at your face, the spray of it getting into your mouth. You spit it out and keep working. Your friend comes to join you, and soon the two of you are wheezing as you begin hauling the ropes in.

After about thirty minutes of struggling, your efforts have made it so the net is in the shallows. It's not going anywhere, so a water break is in order. You're sipping water as you inspect the net while sitting in the water. There's all sorts of things tangled in the net, but what catches your eye are the places with shells that have been caught up on the rope. Some spots have dozens of them hanging, and some look like a knife has cut off the shell, leaving a bald patch in the middle. Your fingers touch the rope, the scratchy fibers dragging across the skin.

"I think there's a shark out there," Mercedes' voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn to look out in the distance.

Sure enough, there's a fin out in the waves, poking up above the water.

You eye it, then turn back to her, "We're pretty shallow, I don't think it'll come much closer."

After the two of you are done with your rest time, the net is finally, finally hauled from the water, and you begin the much worse task of getting it into the truck. You brought another knife with you— a much sharper one— and you relish in the second attempt at getting to hack away at the thing that almost killed you. It brings a smile to your face, which is a little disconcerting given the large knife in your hand.

"You look like a psycho," Mercedes mumbles as she moves to portion out another bit of net from her section. She also wields a blade.

"Just letting off a little steam," you retort.

"Maybe steam a little less crazily then, please. You're freaking me out."

You snicker, but quit smiling. The joy is still in your chest though, until the two of you are faced with the cut ropes, and get to the job of actually hauling all the netting up the hill. It's not as hard of work now, given that you lightened the load, but it does make for many more trips up and down the hill, and by the end of everything your legs are killing you.

The sand digs into your toes as you kick off your shoes and drop onto your towel, huffing and puffing. Mercedes flops down close by, hands pawing for her water bottle. The two of you sit and catch your breath, and you see that the fin is still out in the distance, moving back and forth.

"I may go for a swim," you remark.

Mercedes raises an eyebrow, "Isn't the shark a problem?"

You shrug, "I mean, I'll keep an eye on it. Besides, if you're here you can give me a heads up."

There was a certain amount of confidence you now had with sharks, given the whole aquarium situation. Even if it got too close, between the two of you the risk would be minimal. You'd stick to the shallows.

Mercedes gives you a thumbs up and pulls out a book to read. You slip out of your cover clothes that you'd put on once you'd starting working on dragging the net up the hill. You wade into the shallows and turn on your back to float, taking extra care to look out for the fin out in the distance.

You stare up at the overhang, and the rocking of the ocean calms you. The water cradles you, and you hum and close your eyes, content. The ocean was always soothing, and you were glad that your previous experience hadn't truly tainted your love for the saltwater.

Something brushes by you, and you crack open one eye, but don't see anything, and the fin is at the end of the cove still. You settle back into your practically meditative state, only to feel the sensation again. What the hell?

You finally put your legs down and stand up in the shallow water, only to realize that there's a small school of blacktip shark babies hovering around your legs. Most people probably would've been a little scared, but they're so tiny that you can't help but coo at them. They're so cute!

Waving at Mercedes, you call out: "There's baby sharks over here!"

She pulls up her sunglasses and calls back, "What?"

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell with all your might, "THERE ARE BABY SHARKS OVER HERE!!"

Your friend snaps her book shut, and wanders over to where you're currently petting said sharks. Their skin is smooth and rubbery, and you laugh as they circle around your legs like cats wanting to be fed.

"Well I'll be," Mercedes says as she splashes closer, "There are baby sharks."

Snorting, you respond, "Don't ever doubt me again."

You instruct her on how to properly touch one. These guys are surprisingly docile for a wild species, taking their fanbase in stride. You spend the next half hour meandering around the shallows in the cove with a small shiver of babies following you. They don't do much other than frighten away the smaller fish that hang out towards the beach. When you go back to floating they disperse, hiding in the shadow your body casts on the ocean floor.

Mercedes has gone back to hanging out on the beach, and you check to see where the adult shark is. It's gone. Weird, you'd assumed that with the amount of babies that the parent might have shown up.

After a while you splash out of the waves and onto the shore, showering the sand with a spray of water that comes out of your bathing suit. Mercedes lifts up her book in mock disgust as it happens.

"Could you drip dry somewhere else?" She huffs, although her words contain no bite.

You decide to wring out your hair just outside of the edge of her towel. She lightly hits you with the novel that she's reading before standing up and stretching.

"You ready to head out? It's getting about dinnertime I think," you ask, staring out at the sun.

"I think so— I've finally gotten through the juicy part of my book."

You ask what it's about, and she explains the plot of her romance novel as the two of you pack up to go back to the house. As you reach the top of the trail, you turn to look back.

The shark fin has returned, slowly circling in the water.

Shaking off the odd feeling that creeps into your chest, you head back home. Dinner is spaghetti and garlic bread, and you go to sleep exhausted.

The next day you spend time taking the rope off to a local facility, and then go about the town to run various errands. Mercedes accompanies you, and the two of you terrorize only a few shops that are on the boardwalk. You smile while watching the seagulls fly around, and are delighted to see a familiar little sandpiper scurrying across the boards.

"Piper? Is that you?" You don't know whether this is the bird that's been following you, but when he runs up to drop a small stone at your feet, you're delighted.

You thank him and smile, and the avian puffs up a bit, ruffling his wings. You're just happy that you didn't lose your little friend after all.

The sun sets again as you head home, and your thoughts turn to your favorite swim spot as you drift off to sleep.

Your dreams are filling with sharks guiding you on a swim, the sun warming your bones as you go.

~~~

Waking up is less fun, but alas, there is money to be made. Technically speaking, your second job is also at the aquarium as a part time scuba diver. When you'd started your mermaid gig you didn't have the certification, but as time wore on there was a class offered for employees to get the right credentials, and you had hopped on the opportunity quickly.

Scuba diving didn't quite give you the same rush as free-diving did, but it offered other fun paths— you liked helping take care of the exhibits. It was like cleaning Betsy Ross' tank, only on a larger scale.

You're in the middle of making your lunch when Mercedes stumbles out of her room, hair sticking in every direction.

"You making sandwiches?" she asks, blinking blearily.

"Yeah," you respond, working on crafting the perfect bologna sandwich, "Diving today, so I'll be a little extra hungry when it's break time."

She snorts, "You'd think that you'd be hungrier after all the tricks you do in costume. Can I snatch some of your bread?"

You nod before responding, "I dunno, I think it's all the extra gear I lug around when we clean— it's not just me getting into the pool. It's pretty physically demanding."

Not that your mermaid gig wasn't demanding, it just used your muscles in a different way.

Mercedes nods, before you watch in horrified fascination as she spreads mustard onto the slices and slaps it together. Just mustard and bread. She catches your expression, and shrugs.

"What? It's good."

You have your doubts, but there's not much in the way of time to argue, so you stuff your lunch into your lunchbox and head out the door. Piper's on the porch when you pass, and you greet him. There's a lack of shells to be had, but you don't pay it any mind as you head to your job.

The building is quiet as you enter, and you greet the security guard (Michael) as you pass through the gates.

In the backrooms of the aquarium is the humming of equipment and pumps running, and you meet up with the dive team near the normal reef pool where you'd be if you were mer-performing.

You greet Stan, the head diver, and receive a grunted 'hello' in response. Stan was an older man, and had been diving at the aquarium for so long he practically came with the place. He was working on assigning you all to your zones, and you stand on your tiptoes to try and see over his shoulder at his clipboard.

Stan sighs, and moves it over, voice rumbling, "You'll see it when everyone else does."

You scowl comically, before batting your eyes, "I thought I was your favorite diver?"

"My favorite diver would be the one that's prepping their gear for the day instead of bothering me," seeing your expression wilt, he sighs, "You'll see it in ten minutes. Now shoo, I have safety checks to be doing."

Beaming, you scurry away to go collect your gear. Similar to your swimsuits, all the gear was treated at the aquarium. But since you were a regular, yours was specially tagged so you didn't have to do fittings every single time you showed up for a dive. It was lovely.

You go about doing your own standard safety checks as you go through your dive kit. Testing the air in your BCD goes smoothly, and you walk over to the weight storage to pick out what you think is the appropriate amount. It would vary slightly depending on which tank you were going into. Stan would verify with you before you headed out. You're almost done doing your checks when you hear him clap his hands loudly, signaling time for the safety briefing and assignment handout.

The other divers form a circle around him and you join, shouldering your way in between Dave and Buford— two guys who looked like football players but had actually never played a ball sport in their lives. They were marching band players with a love for fish. They fist bump you as you wait for Stan's instructions.

He clears his throat, and begins: "Alright people, we've got a big day ahead— can everyone hear me?"

There's a general murmur of assent among the group, and he nods before continuing on.

"We don't have any rookies in our ranks today, so I'm hoping this will be as smooth as possible. Nothing is out of the ordinary in terms of new decor, but as always please make sure to not hit any of the reefs. They may not be fully real, but there are some plants on there we need to look out for," he flips a page on his clipboard, reading off more notes, "Additionally, I was told to give a reminder to you all not to stir up the sand. Apparently it 'doesn't look good for social media.'"

He adds air quotes around the last bit, and your group chuckles appreciatively. Another page flip and a few more safety bits and bobs later, and he finally gives out assignments. You patiently wait for your name to be called, and when it is you step forward.

"Your partner will be Oliver. Oliver, they don't bite, please don't look so nervous," Stan says, gesturing to the guy in question. "You two will be cleaning the shark reef tank, along with Jill as your safety diver."

Oliver steps forward and you shake hands. You've only met him a few times but never had him as a buddy since he was newer. He seemed nice enough. He's a tall, lanky fellow who's about your age, and his face is dotted with freckles. He sports a haircut that might be good if it was styled differently.

You greet Jill with a high five— the two of have been paired many times, and know how to go with the flow. Jill is actually a marine biologist for the aquarium, so for a safety diver you've essentially hit a gold mine.

The meeting ends and you head back to grab everything you'll need, which is all stacked in a neat pile exactly where you left it. You double check the list and brace yourself before hoisting your tanks onto your back, carrying your fins, goggles and wetsuit in your arms. Underwater it's not all that much weight, but above water it was an easy sixty pounds that you plop onto your back.

You begin your confident waddling after Jill towards the shark tank. Oliver isn't far behind you, and you're focusing very hard on walking upright without the tanks dragging you backward when he speaks to you.

"Have you ever gone in this tank before?" He asks, speeding up a little to walk side by side with you.

You shake your head, "I haven't. You?"

He nods enthusiastically, "I have! This one is one of my favorites, especially since-"

Oliver catches you up to speed on the cool decor that's part of the shark aquarium, and informs you that his favorite bit are the decorative skeletons that are scattered on the bottom. Some of them have eyepatches, and the middle of the reef has what looks to be a shipwreck on it.

"It's a pain to clean," he informs you, "But it's so worth it."

Fortunately, his explanation distracted you from the walk for long enough that your group had arrived at your destination. You gently set your BCD and tanks on the ground, and begin to wriggle into your 5mm wetsuit. As much of a help as it is during dive time, it's such a pain to get on. Your compatriorts are in much of the same position.

After a bit of struggle, you pull the zipper on the back up and tuck the attached string into the back of your suit. Next thing on are your neoprene booties, and a final double checking of your gear. Then you and Oliver trade places and check, and do the same for Jill until everyone's kit has been double, triple, quadruple checked. The aquarium hasn't had an incident before, and you lot weren't keen on being the first.

You and Oliver are the first ones in, and after the entrance goes well, Jill follows. The long fins attached to your feet allow you to sail through the water with no problem, and you relish in the ability to do so. You so needed to bring your good fins out to the cove when you had the chance— feeling like a sea creature was an extraordinary thing indeed.

Oliver parks it on the bottom of the glass, slowly beginning to use his scraper to remove the diatoms and algae that had built up. Diving teams were sent in everyday with rotations of groups, but even then there was still some nastiness to be expected. You head over with a sponge to begin working on taking off any bits that might be easier than using a scraper, and using a net to catch any big chunks of debris floating in the water.

What you don't expect is the massive shark that appears between you and Oliver, and you backpedal immediately as the nurse shark pushes you away from the glass. It circles away towards the other side of the aquarium, and you look at Oliver. His expression is hard to make out, but he flashes the 'ok?' sign and you return it. The two of you turn back to work on the glass.

It happens again. The shark appears insistent upon separating you from your fellow diver. You frown, and signal to Jill. She comes down, and the creature swims away, only to reappear a moment later. The biologist redirects the nurse shark, but it appears to be dead set on the matter.

Jill pulls out her communication board and scrawls out: 'work on ship?". You nod, flash the ok sign and swim off. The nurse shark follows at a distance.

As you begin working on the mast, you're absolutely flummoxed by the behavior of the sharks. They're not aggressive, you simply just don't understand why all of a sudden they're flocking to you. Does it have something to do with the alleged merman that might've saved you? You snort at the thought, sending a burst of bubbles upward from your regulator. This seems to tickle the shark that's above you, as it wriggles a bit in the bubbles then continues gliding away.

In all honesty, you're a little frustrated about the situation, but you get through your task, and assist the others as you can. The sharks don't seem to mind Jill, but they do care about when you get close to Oliver.

Once everyone is at the surface, Oliver spits out his regulator and turns to you.

"Is that normal?" he asks.

You're just as confused, and say, "No, it's really not. I don't know what's going on but recently the sharks here have been super interested in me. It's freaking me out a bit."

Jill chimes in from where she's taking off her gear, "They could be sensing that you're the kind of person that loves ocean creatures. You know how sometimes cats like coming to people that aren't familiar, even if they usually hate strangers?"

You nod and she shrugs, adding on, "It could be something like that. Although I could test your blood and see if you're part shark."

That gets a laugh out of you, and you respond with a "no thank you" as you clamber out of the water. Jill gives you a hand as you make it onto the platform.

You all gather everything up and head back to the main area to hang out. There's a few other dives you do during the day, and you finally get to eat your sandwich. Somehow they also rope you into lugging buckets of sand around. You sigh, but go along with it.

At the end of the day you're a little bit sore, but overall very pleased with yourself. You crank your car and head back home. At your abode, Mercedes is working through trying to create a dress that gives off the impression that it's made of crystal, and you're terrified to ask how much it cost.

The rest of the week is much of the same in terms of performances and cleaning dives, and you find yourself looking forward to the weekend. You're ready to head back to the cove. Who knows what you'll find? With the storms that roll in and out throughout the week there's a higher chance of finding some really nice shells that have washed in from the deep ocean.

Saturday dawns, and you hum as you brush out your hair, gently working through the tangles that had appeared overnight. Gathering all your things and making sure your phone is fully charged, you make your way out into the main part of the house. Packing lunch is easy enough, and you head out to get your bike to ride to the cove.

You'd told Mercedes about your plan for the day already, and she'd asked that you at least give an update every few hours just to make sure you were alright. She was fairly swamped with work so she didn't have time to check on you barring an emergency. But a few choice words had you agreeing that yes, you'd make sure you did exactly that.

The water is warm as you get in, and you tug your fins on over your neoprene boots. These ones aren't as nice as the ones you use at work, but they go well enough with what you're trying to do. You wish you had your old seashell bag as you wade out even further, waddling along until you're waist deep so you can turn over and float.

You idly kick backwards, and chuckle as your fins simply slap the top of the water. Snickering, you adjust your waist so the equipment on your feet can actually propel you along. There's a brush against your fingertips, and you look over to see that your baby sharks have returned to keep you company. They all receive pets as you tread water.

Taking a deep breath, you sink under the water, blinking as your eyes adjust to being filled with saltwater. Your friends follow you as you swim towards the bottom, looking for good shells. There's nothing crazy on the bottom, much to your disappointment. You'd found a huge conch shell out here months ago after a big storm.

Eventually you take a break, fins coming off and you walk onto shore fully human, stretching. You text Mercedes and idly tap on the work groupchat that had gone off while you were out in the water. Something about a get together at a local restaurant on the pier? There was an ongoing war about details, so you simply give a thumbs up emoji to the person that initially suggested the idea, then put your phone back down.

You turn to wade back into the water and notice the big shark fin that's hovering around the edge of the cove again. Weird, but you're brave enough to wade back into the water that isn't above your head. After a little while of bobbing up and down through the shallows the fin is gone, and you're satisfied with heading back out into deeper waters.

You've almost made it to the first sandbar when one of the baby sharks swims in front of you. You laugh a little, and try to continue going, but it does the same thing as the nurse shark did and insist on making you swim backwards. It's less funny when you have a group of ten small sharks making you swim away from something. As soon as you get about ten feet away from the sandbar, the sharks disperse.

You surface, and turn in a circle, looking for anything that might have them acting strangely. As you do, you feel something tug at your fin, and you immediately yelp and splash your arms a bit as you attempt to go backwards. You dip your face into the water to try and see what's under you, but all you can see is sand and a few fish swimming along the bottom. You grunt in frustration, and try going back towards the sandbar, where you can see a massive seashell sitting.

But again, your apparent bodyguards swarm you, pushing you back to the cove. Coming back to the top of the water you give up, and tell them, "Fine, fine! I'll go back. I've gotten the message."

But as you go to swim back, something yanks on your fin, harder this time, and you almost choke on seawater as you shout in surprise. Something was fucking with you.

You do a small barrel roll in the water to adjust your position, and turn back to look for your shark entourage. To your dismay, they're gone— lingering in the distance. How odd. You look to your left and right, spotting a familiar looking knife on the ocean floor. It's half covered with sand, and after diving down you wave your hand over it to reveal the blade that you lost on the day you got caught in the net. How wonderful! You'd been missing the familiar weight.

The blade is smooth under your fingers, but the hilt has gained a new wrapping of sea kelp around it. There's small cowrie shells woven into the shorter strands that are tucked under the main bit of kelp. It's fascinating, and you're very very certain that this did not happen naturally. Which begs the question: who, or what, did it?

You feel a tap on your shoulder and spin around, stirring the water around you and kicking up a cloud of sand.

But through that sand you can see red eyes, and the outline of something huge. Your spine prickles and your instincts scream that now would be a good time to run.

It's as you swim backwards that you finally make out the shape, and see the fins swimming toward you that your brain puts two and two together.

The shark that's been following you wasn't a shark at all— it was the merman from before.

And he's here to make sure you drown this time.

~~~

Author's note: 14k in and MC finally gets to talk to the merman lmaoooo

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

Sanguinius sighed and passed his hand over his face, glancing around the room in resignation; piles of dresses lay scattered around, draped over the huge postered bed and hanging from empty iron sconces.

His eyes flickered to the bathroom door as light pulsed softly through the crack of the hinges, broken rays of soft yellow flittering as a shadow passed on the other side.

"It is time to go, dove"

Sanguinius rapped his knuckles to the door, wings bristling slightly as he counted the passing minutes.

"Im not going, Ive got nothing to wear!"

The primarch paused, eyes darting to the rainbow sprawl of frocks around the bedroom.

"Are you sure?" He laughed softly, "because it looks like a krak grenade went off in a tailors shop"

"I'm serious! Everything looks awful. I can't go"

The angel sighed and swept a hand through his hair, pushing golden strands back from his face, exasperated.

"My love, you are expected, it's not really negotiable."

"Do I have to?"

The primarch held back a groan and turned, resuming his pacing. His own robe swept about him in a storm of golden linen and silk, pearls on silver chains clinking softly from his wings as he tried to remain calm.

"Enough. My sweet."

"Fine"

The door opened with a click and Sanguinius sighed in relief. Forcing the frown from his face, he exhaled deeply and spun, offering his hand out towards you.

"Thank you. Now let us-"

He froze.

The dress clung to your body like a second skin. Blood red and satin soft, it shimmered as you shifted. The neckline plunged deep, revealing the flushed swell of your breast with each breath you took and the skirt cut high on your leg as you stepped into the room, flashing a brief glimpse of the soft skin of your thigh, before it slid back under the rippling fabric.

You smiled at him nervously and spun on the spot, revealing pearlescent wings embroidered over your back, arching towards your shoulders.

"What do you think?"

Sanguinius swallowed dryly, feeling his pulse quicken and his body ache.

"Its perfect"

Your smile widened and you beamed, toying shyly with the delicate blood angel sigil pendant at your throat before taking his still outstretched hand. He recoiled at your touch and you stalled, your smile flattering as he smoothed the front of his robe and made for the door.

"Let's go."

"Stupid outfit with stupid-" you muttered under your breath, your feet already throbbing in the crimson and gold heels as you paced quickly to keep up with the primarch's long gait. Staring at the back of his head, you chewed your lip nervously, seeing the tension in his shoulders increase; his muscles tightening and feathers fluffing with each step.

You strode past the gilded windows arching high towards the ceiling, illuminating the hallway with the last cold light of the winter day and faint flickering of the city below and sighed, wishing once more for the hot arid air of baal.

Snapping yourself away from a dream of warm sands and updrafts, you watched Sanguinius finally slow down, his massive stature silhouetted against the cool moonlight seeping through the glass. You jogged to catch up with him, wincing with each painful step.

"My love?" You called out.

No response.

"My lord?" you tried again, more forcefully this time.

Still nothing.

"Sanguinius!" You snapped, running forward to tug the primarchs hand. He stopped, but didn't turn, refusing to meet your glare, instead staring blankly at the carved ballroom door now feet in front of him, the sound of laugher and music muffled behind the thick varnished oak.

"What is wrong with you?" You asked, squeezing his hand. "What's gotten into you?"

Sanguinius turned to you slowly, the silver moonbeams harshing his features as he started down at you blankly.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Blood roared in Sanguinius' ears, his pulse racing and heart pounding at your touch. Your scent filled his nose and he could hear your own pulse beating through your body like a siren song. Saliva pooling in his mouth and he swallowed loudly as he finally turned to look at you.

"No, little dove" he replied "you have done nothing wrong"

"Then why...?"

He watched your eyes widen for a moment and almost sobbed at the loss when you dropped his hand and stepped back.

"It's the dress isn't it" you whispered, wringing your hands together.

He finally snapped. Glancing around, he reached out and grabbed your arm, dragging you behind him as he raced towards the nearest door.

"It's true" he muttered, kicking the door open and pushing you inside "Its the dress"

You staggered as the angel shoved you forward into the office, knocking into a small desk littered with papers hastily abandoned in the wake of the primarch's gathering. Your back hit the wood and a crystalline decanter fell to the floor with a crash, spilling wine across the cream carpet and splattering up the oaken bookcases that lined the walls.

"Sanguinius what-"

"I can't stand it" The primarch's eyes were wild. Pupils blown wide and nostrils flaring, he dragged a bolt across the door and stalked towards you.

"I'm sorry I didnt-"

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." He cut you off, pushing you further back against the desk and seating you on its cold surface as he crashed his lips into yours, hands clawing at your body and wings fanning out protectively.

"Wearing my colours like this" He growled, running a hand up the slit in the skirt and along your thigh, resting near your hip.

"Bearing my mark" sliding his lips from yours to trail kisses over your jaw and down your throat, tugging at the necklace with his teeth before stopping to nip and suck at your pulse point, "I can't take it any more"

You relaxed at his words, anxiety quickly giving way to something warmer and much more inviting.

Tilting your head back to allow Sanguinius more access to your throat, You heard him hum approvingly as his fangs grazed your artery.

"I thought you hated it" you sighed, tangling your fingers through his silken hair as his teeth pierced the skin.

"I hate how easily you break me" came the reply, muffled against your skin.

"I hate the thought of anyone desiring you like I do"

His sank to his knees, trailing kisses down your neck and along the deep V neck of your gown. Pulling the satin aside, he mouthed at your breast, flicking his tongue over the nipple before grazing it with his teeth, making you squirm.

"But the dress? Oh I *love* the dress"

He dropped lower before you could react and you yelped as he threw your ankles over his shoulder and dipped his head beneath your dress.

"We really shouldn't sang ah!~"

You threw your head back, biting your lip to silence your moans as Sanguinius pressed his mouth to your core, tongue lapping over your clit before pressing your entrance. You felt him groan against your skin and his fingers dug into your thighs, keeping your shaking legs apart as he thrust his tongue.

"Fuck, Sanguinius~~"

Nails raking over the desk, you cried out as he latched onto your clit, sucking and lapping until your whole body shivered and your voice broke.

"Sing for me, Little bird" Sanguinius breathed, one hand releasing your leg so he could press a long finger to your entrance.

"Someone will hear us!" You hushed back, trying to pull yourself upright.

"Best keep quiet then"

You whined and fell backwards again, his tongue teasing your clit as his finger thrust and curled. Slick pooled on the table beneath you and the air felt heady, your self control dwindling as Sanguinius pressed against the soft spot he knew would send you reeling over the edge.

"Cum for me, Dove" he pressed another finger in. Your back arched off the cold wood and you slammed a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries as you came, tremors wracking through you in waves.

You were still red faced and panting when Sanguinius finally reappeared from beneath your dress, face damp and cheeks pink. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and rose to his feet, dropping you legs and leaving them dangling uselessly over the edge of the desk.

"Sang~" you mewled, feeling him throb through his robe as he lent over to kiss you, pressing himself against your body and capturing you lips

Breathless, you watched as he pulled back from the embrace and finally pulled himself free.

He was painfully hard, tip flushed and glistening with arousal. He gripped himself as he looked down at you, eyes almost black with his dilated pupils, hand moving slowly, coating his shaft in precum.

"Bend over"

You rushed to obey, slipping off the desk onto wobbling legs. You began to pull your arm free of your dress until he grapsed your jaw and tilted your head.

"Keep it on"

He released you and you twisted, bending over the still damp wood. Sanguinius stepped behind you, a massive hand palming over you ass and squeezing.

"Good girl"

You shivered as you felt him ruck the fabric up around your hips, cool night air pebbling your skin. His foot nudged yours, pushing your stance wider and using a thumb to tease over your slit. You felt yourself blushing furiously as he spread you open and you opened your mouth to protest.

All that came out was a choked "oh" as he pressed his cock to your entrance and hilted himself in one fluid movement, stretching you to your limit and pushing the air from your lungs.

The primarch gave you a moment, both of you gulping in air before he began to move, slow deep thrusts that left you whimpering and keening. Sanguinius hissed, feeling your body trying to accommodate him, muscles twitching around him as his tip dragged across you walls, hitting every spot that made you see stars.

Your voice spurred him; a mixture of whimpering for more and weak warnings of being caught.

"If anyone finds us, there will be no doubt you are mine" he growled.

His words sent you over the edge. You arched your back and cried out his name as you came, your entire body feeling hotter than baals desert.

You struggled to stay quiet, biting your lip as Sanguinius pressed his hand on your back, smoothing his palm over the embroidered wings spanning your shoulders.

"My own angel" he whispered.

His own wings flaring and shuddering as he chased his high, rattling the chains and pearls loose front their place amongst his downy feathers.

"I'm yours" you cried out, clawing at the edge of the desk, trying to ground yourself. Sanguinius' hand shifted from your back. Sliding down your arm to envelope your hand in his. He stopped low, chest almost flat to your back as he groaned in your ear. He could feel your body cling to him, begging him to fill you over and over.

He was happy to oblige; thrusting his hips over and over, the room was filled with the slap of skin on skin and breathy pleas for "more, harder, don't stop"

He was close. His cock throbbed and ached, every muscle in his body was tensed and spring loaded, like static ran through his nerves. He looked down at your face pressed against the desk; rose tinted and blissed out, your eyes were half lidded and drool pooled at the corner of your mouth.

"S-a-n-" you mumbled, blinking up at him dumbly from the corner of your eye.

"Pl---ease....n-need...you..insi---de"

You were a state, arms useless, ass red from the impact of his hip and legs barley holding your weight.

But clad in blood angel scarlet and bearing his wings, you were the most beautiful thing In The world.

And you were his.

Sanguinius' wings flared as he came, pinions knocking books from the shelves as they stretched.

He saw your eyes widen, feeling thick hot ropes filled you before leaking out around him as he continued to rut into you, oversensitive but unwilling to pull away from your warmth. His muscles were cramping, stomach tense and back aching before he finally pulled out. He watched as his spend began to drip from your cunt and debated fucking it back into you before smothering the thought down to offer you his arm.

You struggled to your feet, legs wobbling as they struggled to support you. You clutched the edge of the table and laughed softly, looking at the wet streaks now staining your dress.

"I think I need to get changed"

Sanguinius took your arm and helped you straighten, eyeing the darkening patches on the silken fabric.

"Go, I'll send Raldaron to escort you back when you've changed"

You smiled and nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckles before turning back to the door.

"My dove?"

You turned to look over your shoulder. The primarch was straightening his robe and preening loose feathers from his wings.

"Leave the dress out. I may wish to see you in it again later"

Sanguinius clapped his brother on the back and laughed before raising his goblet to his mouth and taking a deep gulp.

"She will join us soon" he chuckled, " she couldn't decide on what to wear so I left her to it"

Horus cocked an eye brow at his brother, looking him up and down before taking a swig from his own chalice.

"Is that what it is? I thought something else was keeping her"

Sanguinius frozen.

"Like what?"

Horus grinned, making to reply before the door creaked open and a small shape slipped through the crack.

"Ah it appears she has arrived. Introduce me angel!"

The war master strode through the crowd, Sanguinius hurrying after him.

"You must be the infamous new love"

You spun, smile dropping as you faced the Luna wolves primarch. You quickly dipped into a low curtsey

"My lord"

"Oh so formal" Horus grinned. "I was worried I wouldn't get to meet you. The angel seems adamant on keeping you locked away from the rest of us"

You froze, still dipped in a low bow.

"I'm not sure I understand my lord"

You heard the war master inhale deeply and chuckle.

"Aaah so that is it"

You glanced up to see Horus staring down at you, eyes twinkling.

"What an interesting little thing you are"

🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔

Chapter 1: What do you mean mermaid are real?

It was hotter than hell outside, you were fairly certain. Not that you'd ever actually been to hell, but if you had you'd summat that this was very close. If not worse. The sun beat down on you from high in the sky, and the humidity had swelled from a rainstorm that had occurred earlier during the day.

You were sitting on your porch, idly rocking your chair back and forth while sipping your favorite drink from a glass that was dripping with condensation. You grimaced as the ice cold drops of water hit your thigh where your shorts had ridden up— it wasn't a bad temperature change, just a bit shocking.

It was a heat wave indeed, and you stare off into the distance while considering going to take a swim. There was a cove that wasn't too far off from where your house was— perhaps you'd go take a visit and dip. It wasn't like you were doing much else, and the day wasn't getting any colder any time soon.

Glass drained, you make your way back inside, and change into a swimsuit before pulling on suitable shorts to cover your legs for the bike ride to the cove. It wasn't a far walk, but you didn't feel like making the trek on foot today. It was flat enough ground anyways, so a ride wasn't anything to worry about.

You yell over your shoulder to your friend that you're heading out and get a vague answer in response— you don't hear exactly what she said, but it sounded like acknowledgement enough. A sandwich, water and snacks are shoved into your backpack as you head out. The screen door slams behind you, the wooden frame nipping at your heels as it shuts.

You click the helmet into place and climb onto the bike. You don't ride as much as you used to. Your friend Mercedes had moved in after your shitty ex-boyfriend had moved (read: been kicked out) from your place to elsewhere. You didn't know where, and didn't really care either. The sand churned up onto your ankles as you start to move the bike pedals, and you take off down the well worn path to the cove.

You hum a bit as you start getting into the old rhythm of the ride, bumping over the gnarled roots of the trees that twisted and formed a canopy over the trail.

It had been only yours, once. The cove. Your favorite spot to go to and relax, away from everyone else. As far as you could tell, the only path down was split from your house alone, with little access from any other direction unless you knew where to look.

Then you'd shown your boyfriend where it was and he had begun bringing friends down to it. They'd trashed it, and once you'd broken up with him it had been one of the first projects you'd undertaken to get your mind off the issue. You'd picked up broken bits of bottles and scraped bits of old food off the rocks while barely holding it together, listening to the quiet crash of the waves on the shore and trying not to fall asleep despite the bags under your eyes saying otherwise. Mercedes had been very kind and come out to help you lug the trash back to where you could properly dump it out. And given that the access was on your property, it was easy enough to keep people away from it. Besides— all the friends he'd brought with him were his friends. Never yours.

But at any rate, you'd succeeded, and now the shore was as clear as it had been the day you'd first found it. Crystal clear waters, sand with small pebbles that dotted the beach. It was beautiful. And the overhang of rocks and trees provided the perfect amount of shade to go swimming.

The salty breeze from your biking lapped at your face, bringing you to the present once more. You parked your bike behind a tree, and raced down to the cove, sending little rocks scattering as you did so.

You sling off the backpack as you get to the bottom, and unfold the towel that you'd kept tucked away to lay on the sand. Abandoning your shorts, but keeping your shoes on (they were water shoes with thick soles), you slid into the water, relishing in the coolness of it as it washed over your skin.

You'd gone to the pool in town a few times (Mercedes preferred it to swimming in the ocean water), but you'd found it too crowded in comparison to your little slice of paradise. Mercedes had always claimed that at least she knew what was in the pool, but you'd retorted that at least nobody had to clear out the ocean because someone threw up in it. She didn't appreciate that much— although you chalked it up to her college life-guarding summer job flashbacks.

And besides, what was wrong with not being able to see the bottom? The weightless feeling of looking down into the deep blue that you got when you swam out a little too far. You couldn't help it! Besides, there was a sandbar not too far out that you could reach when the tides got low enough. It wasn't like you were going to be swept out to sea. You were a strong swimmer— which was how you and Mercedes had met. You'd both been attending lifeguard classes. Although you had attended simply for want of something to do. But it had come in handy when you'd needed to swim to the bottom to get things.

The lifeguard training had paired with a long string of free-diving classes, where you'd learned how to hold your breath for long periods of time, and the proper technique to stay down on the bottom with little to no weights on your belt to counter act the buoyancy. That part wasn't something you had used frequently, but it was useful to learn for your mermaid gigs.

You chuckle while thinking about it as you swim backwards, staring at the blue sky overhead. The sun felt a little less like a death ray while you were in the calm, shaded waters of the cove.

You'd picked up being a mermaid as a side job after your free-diving instructor had mentioned it to you. There was a large aquarium in a nearby city that allowed you to come in and dress as a mermaid to entertain the guests from a large tank filled with all sorts of fish and ocean wildlife. You had a blast doing it, and interacting with the children and adults that came through.

You kick your feet, amused as you wonder what it would be like to only had fins, and not be able to take off the tail and walk around. Mercedes had always joked that you were part fish. You do a practice barrel roll as you glide through the water, finally crossing out of the shade and into the sunny waters.

You squint as the light reflects off the rippling waves, and paddle back into the safety of the overhang. You idly check your watch and realize it's been longer than you thought— it was easy to get lost in the waves, but upon noticing it was after lunch, your stomach gave a grumble.

You make your way back to the shore, easily cutting through the current, and come up to eat your sandwich. You take off your shoes for a minute and sit down onto the towel, intent upon chowing down on your lunch. It's slightly soggy where your hands touch it, despite the fact that you wiped them on the towel as best as you could. You dig your feet into the sand while you watch some birds in the distance, curling your toes to feel the bits of shells that are scattered among the pebbles and sand.

There might be some good seashells out near the sandbar, you think as you pop some pineapple into your mouth. The sweetness of the fruit contrasts with the way it makes your mouth tingle. You're pretty sure you might be a little bit allergic to it, but it just adds to the flavor, in your opinion. It's a very minor allergy, if any at all.

The current is solid and the tide is beginning to go out, so you slide your shoes back on and make your way over to your backpack to pull out your seashell collecting kit. You don't always find anything good, but sometimes the shells you find can be repurposed into jewelry. You enjoy wearing a seashell necklace, especially if it's made from shells you collected yourself. The kids at the aquarium seem to enjoy them too— along with the occasional adult who shyly asks if they can have one.

Alongside your normal net seashell bag is a large knife that you strap to your hip. Sometimes you find trash and lines that need to be cut, and you'd rather have a knife with you to try and cut through it than leave it. You have a compartment in your shell bag for small bits of trash. Anything major and you'll have to collect it all up and drag it to shore as best as you can.

Fishermen don't come out to the cove much anymore— none of the good sporting fish hang out around your cove. There are, however, several dozen different smaller species that come to greet you as you begin your underwater swim. You hope that you see the puffer fish that had been swimming around the outer rocky crevices the last time you'd swam through.

You breach the surface as you near the starting spot for your search, and take in a deep breath, before plunging beneath the surface. You swim to the bottom (which is, admittedly, not that far away), and begin to look for seashells. Ones that are discarded, obviously. You'd learned a lesson when you'd pulled up an entire conch only to find that the inhabitant was not only quite alive, but very angry at you as well. You'd gently put them back, surmising that you'd be angry too if someone simply picked up your house with you inside of it.

There's a few good shells you see as you go along— you're trying not to kick up too much sand as you search. A fish or two nibble at your exposed legs, earning a giggle and a small kick as you move away. They're harmless, really, but it tickles and laughter uses up air.

You hit the sandbar in no time at all, and you surface to take a breath again. Your toes skim just the bare top of the sand, obscuring whatever is underneath it. The only thing about the cove was that the sandbar was what blocked out the rest of the ocean from coming in too close. Although if anyone were to ask you about it, you'd say that Mother Nature was trying to prevent the fishermen from getting any closer to the safe haven that the trees and small caves provided. But no one asked you, so that opinion had to stay to yourself.

At any rate, the other side of the sandbar was daunting. Even you tried to not go past it. The water of the inner cove had a much different vibe than the waters on the other side. The waves rolled bigger, and the color was darker. Light didn't pierce as far down. You had to agree with Mercedes there— who knew what was down there?

You continue along, collecting bits and bobs of shells that you find. You also spend a good few minutes following a horseshoe crab that was slowly walking along the bottom. Fascinating creatures.

You flip over onto your back again and eyeball the sun. It wasn't much lower, but it wasn't attempting to suck all the life out of your veins anymore either. A glance at your watch shows late afternoon. You decide that you're going to do just one more sweep and then call it a day before your friend decides to call the authorities to help rescue you. Again.

You take another long breath, and dive down again. But this time as you do, you spot a small bit of movement out of the corner of your eye. Further inspection shows you a ghost net that's stuck to the bottom of the ocean floor, tangled with debris and swaying in the current. It's on the other side of the sandbar, but you carefully maneuver yourself down towards it. Your bag won't be able to hold all of the netting, but you can certainly grab as much as you can and bring it back towards the shore. A quick pass around it shows that smaller fish should be able to get through just fine, but larger ones might have an issue.

That observation is quickly proven correct when you spot a flounder doing its best to writhe free of the netting, the ropes tangling around its body. Flounder were particularly susceptible to getting caught since they were bottom dwellers, but to see a net so far out here…

You frown, then pop up to the surface, devising a plan, then heading back down to help out. The fish has done an excellent job of wrapping itself up in the net, although really that couldn't be helped. You scowl even more, and begin searching for the best spot to begin cutting to get your new friend free.

It proves more difficult than you initially thought— the net is old, but instead of the ropes fraying and breaking with ease, the coating on the lines has created a more solid shell for you to saw through. It results in you cursing out every single man, god and other being in existence that you can think of as you hack away at the line while trying not to cut the frantic fish just two knots down.

You surface again, take another breath, then go back.

The rope is fraying now, just a tad, and your hands are becoming sore from the amount of pulling you've been doing to help keep tension and cut the rope. You might have one hell of a blister tomorrow, but at least you've got a story to tell. The rope finally breaks in that one knot, and you could cry with joy from the victory.

It's short lived though as you bob upwards and breath, blinking the stinging water out of your eyes, and then dive again.

There's so much rope. You work and work and work, surfacing again and again, until there's only a few knots remaining between you and the flounder. The fish is still breathing, but seems to have realized what you're trying to do, and is holding much more still. It helps, just a tad.

You're busy trying to figure out the last bit of rope when you feel it— the current shifting. This might not have been a normal cause for concern, if you were closer to the shore. But out behind the sandbar, it was going to become a problem shortly. Especially since you didn't have your swimming fins with you to provide any sort of advantage for fighting a current. You begin to work faster, knife going until finally, finally, the rope breaks and the flounder swims free. It shoots out past you, rocketing into the depths below and disappearing from sight.

You smile with relief, and then give a strong kick towards the light above you. Only to be stopped as something tugs at your leg. For a moment you don't think much of it and try again, only for that movement to snap you deeper into the water. You twist, and are horrified to find that part of the netting has now ensnare your leg.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You try to remain calm— what was it your instructor had always said? Slow your heart rate, and try to tamp down any panic.

Which is great advice, in theory. Less so in practice, when you're snared to the bottom of the ocean and there's no one that knows you're down this deep so rescue probably won't be coming. Scratch that. There is no rescue. So either you free yourself, or you're royally fucked. And dead. One of those is worse than the other.

You look up at the surface, and you see the shining blue above you, the light shafts coming into the water as the sun shines on overhead, oblivious to your plight. Stupid sun. Wouldn't it be better for it to be cloudy while you're maybe about to die?

You tug at the rope around your leg, hoping that perhaps you can simply wriggle out of it. The rope doesn't budge, so you grimace, and begin to move around so you can try and use your knife. The cold steel feels odd against your leg and the stray thought crosses your might that you might cut yourself. But in all honesty, you'd rather have a cut on the leg than drown.

The air is seeping out of your lungs faster with the exertion of using the knife. With the flounder you'd been able to get more gulps of air, but with your own leg it's much more difficult to focus.

The edges of your vision are blurring slightly as you fight on, willing your hand to keep going. There's more than one line attached to your leg, but as you keep dutifully sawing, more of the net moves, and you're frightened to realize that it's coming for you, and there's nothing to be done.

You think you spot something then— in your peripheral— but nothing is there when you turn to look so you spin to watch the horror show unfolding in front of you. The current is slow moving, yet the net is moving too fast for your liking. You shout as it tangles around you more, realizing much too late what you've done as the saltwater rushes into your lungs, seeping in and blocking your airways.

You cough and sputter and struggle in vain against the ropes, the knife slipping out of your hand. You only manage to get yourself twisted tighter against the net. You stare up at the rippling waves above you as you get dragged deeper down. The sand bumps against your knees as you hit the bottom. Your lungs burn, but trying to purge the water has done nothing.

You're beginning to go limp when you see the movement again. A massive fin swims by you, and faintly you recognize it as a shark tail. Well, at least you may be a decent snack. The humor is morbid, but at least no one can say you aren't funny, even in death.

That's when something touches your leg deliberately, and if you had the air, you might've shrieked again. But instead, with the dwindling consciousness you have, you focus on whatever is touching you.

It tugs at the ropes, and you have the faint idea that maybe a diver has come to rescue you. A diver. From a boat. A boat that you definitely would've seen out in the open ocean. Fuck, it's not a diver, is it? An angel, maybe?

With what little energy you have left, you turn your head, and catch sight of the massive shark tail that's behind you. It's a dark tail with scars littered down the back— if you had any presence of mind, perhaps you could identify the species, but as is you were fighting for your life. Your head bobs back to its original position, and a giant arm has appeared beside you, with clawed hand that are carefully cutting at ropes.

Maybe it is a diver after all?

Your vision is blacking out around the edges, but you feel a yank as you're pulled free from part of the rope, and are spun to be face to face with what you're pretty sure would be a merman. Cool. Mermen are real. They're real and you're getting to see one. Or maybe heaven is underwater? At least you got to go out in a cool way.

You watch him work while you bob in the water, vision blurring in and out of focus. He was huge, but the thing your brain decided to focus on where the bits of golden jewelry that glinted in the sun's rays. Neat. Very pretty.

Red eyes shift to you, and you're certain that maybe you tried to speak the words. You doubt they were intelligible at all given the circumstances, but maybe he understood you anyway.

The last of it is untangled from around your legs, and off you go to the surface. Your head breaches the water and you can feel the air on your face. But your lungs are still full of water and your head sags— almost back into the water before your rescuer rights you. Everything goes black as you start to move again.

You wake up to the sensation that you need to vomit, and you're already on your side as you begin to violently cough up lungful after lungful of saltwater. It tastes horrible, and you shiver as your body does its best to purge everything out of your system.

The next time you wake up, the sun is on the opposite side of the cove, and you come to the realization that you spent the night on your little beach. There's sand stuck on your cheek and in your hair, and your hair texture has dried with the salt water to be slightly crunchy. You try to get up, only to flop back onto the sand in exhaustion, muscles drained of energy. Maybe a little more sleep couldn't hurt.

Your eyes flutter open again to hear panicked shouting coming from the top of the cove. Mercedes rushes down the path, and she almost falls flat on her face from the speed of which she does it. You feel a sting of relief upon seeing her.

"What have you been doing?" She shrieks, flinging herself at you to pull you into a hug. You're reminded of your nausea as she shakes you. "You've been gone all night!"

"I uh…" did you almost drown? Was that real? You shake your head, "Sorry I… fell asleep. I think. I freed a flounder from a net though." Mermen were not real, and you must've dreamed the whole thing. Yes. Yes! That's what happened. You nod, sounding a little more convinced as you continue on speaking, "Should have some good shells, I—" you pat around at your hip, only to realize that the shell bag is gone, and so is your knife.

Mercedes frowns at you, before pulling you up. You stumble slightly as she does it, but your friend is already plowing on into a (well deserved one, mind you) lecture. "You're lucky I didn't call the guard in again— seriously, just what were you thinking falling asleep on the beach? I'm never letting you out of my sight again I swear—"