#mermaid reader

The Ocean was a jealous and unforgiving entity. Didn't man have a phrase for it? A cruel mistress? Yes, that summed it up nicely. The sea let you breathe beneath waves because you served it, but sometimes you despised living under the reign of the Atlantic. Creatures which resided here were never entirely exempt from her wrath and even the sailors above would remain ever at her wicked mercy.

Especially on nights like tonight.

The storm had been raging well into the evening and you found yourself way out in the open sea, as you so often did. Boats wrecked in this kind of weather. Ships sank and crews went under frigid waters, swallowing salt that would preserve in their lungs. Siren song was a constant dissonance beneath their screams while you tangled with those who had yet to depart this realm.

Bodies and twisted limbs twitch for the final time as you sing, gently coaxing each human essence to sleep. Only then, once they were still and breathless, could you ferry their souls to the other side of the veil. That was the solemn duty bestowed upon you: To guide the drowned to rest, lest they linger and haunt the tides for eternity. Only the song of a mermaid could soothe the tragic figures, so you lulled them not to death, but to peace.

A new one is ready. Bring him to me.

The Ocean shudders when she speaks, calling you away from the bones of this shipwreck and towards another closer to land. When the Ocean calls, you are bound to answer, so you begin swimming towards wherever she guides you next. A smattering of villages dot the cliffs of the English countryside and you must admit that you've always felt drawn to them. Something about life there seemed so terribly alluring when it remained beyond your reach.

Moonlight skitters faintly across the tilting surface above you, catching on ripples and thrown by the rain. The shadow of an empty rowboat bobs mournfully over waves, setting the scene for a lonesome demise. A set of brittle oars drift in opposite directions, tumbling about in the turbulent sea, yet there's no sign of a sailor.

His grief lingers, though. It stains the waves like an oil slick; pungent, and invasive.

Part of your burden was to absorb the final emotions felt by the drowned, ensuring that any ties to their human form were completely severed before they reached the afterlife. Throughout the eternity of you doing this, you'd determined that most felt fear in their last moments. Others were angry and some found regrets. Fewer still left behind a disjointed sort of peace. A contentment, when it had been of their own volition to be taken by the sea.

Those were the ones that felt heaviest to you, and you suspected that this innocuous rowboat had been abandoned by another suicide.

"Did you do this?" You wonder aloud, having yet to venture above the water. It was a reasonable question, you thought. Sometimes the Ocean got greedy and claimed the life of whoever she pleased on a whim. But even before her answer came, you already knew what she would say.

No, my child. This was decided before I got to him. Retrieve him now and bring me his soul.

Through the inky depths you could feel it; the last vestiges of life as it crept from his flesh. A sense of anguish, too profound for words. Somewhere beneath you, in the vast void of nothing, someone was dying.

Without wasting a moment more, a powerful surge of your tail sends you hurtling through the darkness. You navigate currents with ease and follow the tendrils of grief until you see the outline of a man suspended. Weightless.

Below him, the nameless husks of the dead swarmed. The Unrested, as you called them, were the tormented beings who had died at sea but were never delivered to the afterlife. Their souls remained here, caught between plains and desperate to cross over by any and all means.

Gnarled fingers belonging to the watery demons claw at his boots, desperate for even a fragment of his life source. You catch the sailor under his arms and tug, freeing him from their wretched grasp. Should they have gotten to him before you, his soul would have been torn apart and devoured before you could shelter it. The Unrested would try to replace his spirit with their own, masquerading as his essence in hopes to succumb to siren song themselves.

But it didn't work like that.

Though his limbs dragged limply behind him as you distanced yourself from the writhing mess of death, he wasn't quite gone yet. His unconscious mind was fading while his soul reached out from the cavity of his chest, searching for whatever would hold him. It was mournful, in a way. There was such an infinite complexity to him yet still he felt hollow. Lonely, in how he reached for you. For something. For anything.

"It's alright." You soothe your palms over his shoulder blades. "You're not alone. I'll take care of you now."

And so you began to sing.

You spoke the ancient tones that were scribed on stone and lost to the deepest parts of this world. They were the words that would allow his corporeal form to release his soul to you — a haunting melody of sleep and death and ease. But even as you sang, something within him repelled your power.

Some people were more receptive to the end than others, and this sailor was certainly stubborn. Despite his willingness to plunge into the icy basin, he still seemed hesitant. Resistant. It was that very resistance which concocted a flicker of doubt in your mind. Perhaps he wasn't as ready to die as the Ocean claimed he was.

Keep trying. You mustn't let him go.

Repressing the notion that to continue was wrong, you intensify your song in hopes of coaxing him towards his final breath. How you try, but still he fought. Some part of him refused to accept this as the end and before you could utter the final verse of a swan song, you falter. It's a crescendo cut short. A coda left unresolved and with nowhere to return.

"He doesn't want to go." You whisper. Webbed fingers curl into the sodden weave of his sweater and his head bobs down to rest in the crook of your neck. Your heart does something foreign then, and you pull him close.

It doesn't matter what he wants. The Ocean spits. He is here. He plunged from his boat of his own volition. His fate is out of his hands now.

Something in his soul intertwines with yours and suddenly that disjointed ache in his bones made sense. He hadn't come seeking death. He hadn't wanted to die to escape his past. This man was escaping his future — one that could never entirely be known. There was something so profound and utterly human in his unique despair and it appealed to a part of you that had been long repressed.

"You're right." You say, reverent. "His life is out of his hands now... It's in mine."

NO.

The syllable was a roar but you were already swimming with the man clutched to your chest. You race upwards, chasing what silver strands of moonlight filtered from above.

Defying the Ocean was a risky game. She could just as easily sentence you both to a watery grave, but you had to do this. You had to try. There was still a chance for his lungs to recover if you acted fast enough and somehow you knew that he still had more to give. He still had more to live for.

An angry wave crashes over your head when you surface, threatening to steal the sailor from your arms. You barely manage to keep hold of him, cursing the Ocean while you fight to keep his head above water. Rain pelts down from every angle and the wind seems intent on stealing your breath away. Despite the elements working against you, you manage to tow the man to shore.

A lighthouse sits as a beacon off the bay, it's beam sweeping across the deserted harbour while you drag him up the rocky beach. It was a place secluded enough that nobody should see you if you moved quickly, but it was also near enough to civilization that someone would surely find him. Sharp stones and bits of shell catch painfully between the scales of your tail but the sting was a background thing. You were far more focused on pulling the man far enough up from the waterline so that the Ocean couldn't reach him. The sea continued to lap at his ankles and shiver across your fanned fins. There was greed in the angry waves that skittered up the rocks.

She still wanted him.

Now that you no longer had the water to assist with his bulk, you realized just how much he weighed. He was heavy like a sea lion — and whiskered like one, too. You tangle your hands through his wild beard, finding it to be scratchy but somehow smooth. Both soft and rough in the same moment and you find that to be fascinating. You'd been close to human men before when you were collecting souls, but never were you permitted to indulge in your curiosity. None of them had been as big as this man, and you'd be remiss if you passed up the opportunity to explore.

Tentatively, you brush your fingers over the purpled lines set below his eyes. He looks tired, even for a fisherman. At least, you'd been assuming he was of the profession. He certainly had the build for it. Your hands looked tiny where they are braced on his massive shoulders and his arms were thick, as were his middle and legs. Every part of him seemed built for physical labour — for hauling in ropes and traps and nets of cod.

Not for dying at sea. He was too strong for that.

A palm smooths over his chest and you drop your ear to his heart. A faint, rhythmic thumping is barely heard over the crashing waves. It's weak, but unmistakably there. His chest doesn't rise, though. A frown creases your eyebrows. That wasn't right. Humans needed oxygen to live. They couldn't filter it from the water like you could, but he was on land now. Why wasn't he breathing? He was out of the water, wasn't he supposed to wake up?

It was said that a kiss from a mermaid beneath the waves would grant a mortal to breathe through the ocean for a time. Maybe it could work on land, too. Maybe you could... somehow give him your breath?

You place a palm against his scruffy cheek and tilt his head towards you. With your mind made up to save him, you ever so cautiously close the scant distance between you and slant your lips across his own. Steady puffs of air filter into his lungs and you can taste the salt and loose sand and rain on his tongue. Your eyes never leave his face while you work, praying for some sign of life to return. Come on, you urge silently. Please, come back.

Finally, the man convulses and coughs up brine. Seawater bubbles up from his lungs and dribbles down the sides of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. You sit back triumphantly, watching in fascination how he turns on his side and braces his forearms beneath him. When he's finally stopped wheezing and able to take a ragged breath on his own, he sees you. Eyes the colour of a glassy lake widen as he takes in the beautiful creature before him.

"Bloody hell." His throat sounds raw and still a little waterlogged. He's stunned, staring at you as if he weren't quite certain of his reality. "Are you real?"

The man's attention diverts to the gills fluttering over your ribs, the delicate webbing between your fingers, and the fact that you had a scales and a tail in place of legs. Most of the world knew your existence to be that of a legend. A fisherman's fantasy. Yet here you were, before him in the flesh.

"Yes." You smile, keeping still so as not to startle him further. "I'm real."

"Am I–?" He splutters, coughing again.

There's an uncomfortable amalgamation of emotion which seeps from him even still. Disappointment, wonder, and a sorrow as vast as the horizon. That was odd. You would have expected relief to overshadow it all. That was there too, but buried.

"You're okay." You speak softly, tilting your head. Why did he still seem troubled?

The man swallows hard, throat bobbing. His fingers tremble as they extend, hesitantly brushing along the dip of your hip where flesh began sprouting scales. Your skin ripples at his touch but you don't pull away. His curiosity, like yours, was gentle. Tender.

The storm fades into the background, becoming a dull rush in your ears. It was as if you were listening from under the water, removed from reality. You can hear his breathing, his heartbeat, and even the creak of wet wool fibres of his jumper when he pulls away. You regard each other then, each cautious of the other while equally as captivated.

On the cliffs above the beach, a vehicle comes roaring to a halt. Its headlights expose the brutal rains in two long, tunnelling beams before they blink off, leaving you dazed. Someone slams the drivers door up on the incline and steps out into the monsoon.

"Price!?" A new man yells over the whistling wind. "CAPTAIN!"

John reorients to the voice, glancing over his shoulder. He sways with the movement that proves too much too soon and when he looks back towards the sea, you're gone.

He blinks.

He blinks again.

You're still not there.

Only a murky shoreline that bleeds into the black of night remains.

"Steamin' Jesus, Cap!" Johnny comes skidding down the beachfront, spraying up sand and pebbles in his wake. His coast guard jacket is open in the front like he'd barely had time to shrug it on at all before jumping in his car. "What the hell are you doin' out here in a bloody sump?"

"I saw a fuckin' mermaid." John points to the sea crashing behind them. "Right here with me. Did you...?"

"Christ, yer away with it." Johnny mutters, lifting him under the arms and hoisting him to unsteady feet. "Right you are. I'll bet you kissed a fairy, too."

A laugh, or perhaps a sob dissipates into a watery cough when Soap heaves him upright. Price wobbles, drunk and disoriented from the rough sea. Loose gravel beneath his boots does nothing to aid his stability and he sways into his friend.

"I swear she was singin'..."

"Easy there, big man." Johnny steadies him. "Let's get you dry. Ye' can tell me all about it inside. Lucky it's my night off of watch." The two begin towards the small cottage at the base of the lighthouse. "Did ye' happen to see Nessie out there with tha' mermaid o' yours?" His voice grows fainter as they stumble up the path and out of reach of the storm. "Lass still owes me a drink..."

The loud, Scottish brogue carries across the water to where you hide beneath the nearby dock, tail wrapped around one of the support beams to keep you anchored against the pull and sway of the tides. You watch from the safe distance as the other human man carts the sailor up the shore. They disappear around the bend and you linger a moment longer in that feeling of contentment. He deserved to live. Although he didn't seem to agree, you knew that saving the him had been the right thing to do.

No.

"Oh, it was one soul." You scowl, fed up with the Ocean and her dramatics. "One soul who didn't want to drown. Not truly."

That is irrelevant. She snaps. You can't go playing with fate, child. I decide who lives. I decide who dies. The man lives on borrowed time now. I will not be so forgiving again.

An undercurrent snags the soft fins of your tail and unravels it's hold on the darkened pillar. Reluctantly, you allow yourself to be washed away from the coastal town and back out towards the dark, lonely depths of the sea.

That girl didn't want to die, she just wanted out of that house or whatever that audio is. Sorry for the long wait and sorry again because it will be a long time before the third chapter comes out probably. I'm focusing a bit more on my Nikolai fic and my Backrooms fic rn and aside from that, I just don't have the ability to turn out parts as fast as other authors do 😔. I really wish that I could, but I can only do so much in a day :(

Plus, brain fog :(

A bralette lay out on the vanity. Y/N removed her sleepwear and changed into the garment adorned with pearls in all colors. It seemed oddly extravagant for just another day, but then again, Y/N was a princess.

As she sat on the vanity stool, she wondered what “important matters” her mother intended to go over with her. A selection of her makeup had been set out for her. Y/N tilted her head. She was never one for a full face of makeup; she usually kept it to just lipstick most days, and maybe eye makeup if she was feeling energetic. Today, everything from rouge to powder to shimmer dust had been set out for her. How peculiar.

Once she had made herself presentable, Y/N swam out into the castle corridor, where her mother was waiting in full, royal regalia.

“Your crown, Y/N?” she quirked an expectant brow.

“My…crown?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, you need to look your best today,” her mother said, “hurry up now.”

An awkward swim back into her room, and Y/N found her tiara nestled on a pillow. She slid it on, securing it in her hair.

“Better,” her mother said, “come.”

After reaching the dining hall, Y/N sat down on either side of her parents.

“So, Mother says we have to speak about something?” Y/N asked.

“Straight to business, I see,” her father chuckled.

There was a hint of nervousness in his laughter that added to Y/N’s growing confusion.

“Have your tutors ever discussed the kingdom of Siora with you, Y/N?” her father asked.

“Siora? You mean the siren kingdom?”

“The very same,” the king said, “we have received correspondence from the royal household, and they have made a generous offer.”

He seemed troubled by what Y/N thought was good news.

“Father?”

The queen rolled her eyes and took her daughter’s hand.

“Y/N, the regents of Prince Sarin have offered to make an arrangement.”

Y/N’s heart sank; she just hoped she was wrong about her assumption.

“What kind of arrangement?”

“An arrangement of marriage.”

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. This was one time when she hated to be correct.

“What have you told them?” Y/N asked quietly.

“We agreed, of course,” Y/N’s mother said, as if this was the most obvious, logical thing to do.

“And I did not get a say in this because…?”

“Mind your tongue!” her mother said in disbelief, “this is an extremely advantageous marriage. The kingdom of Coireil will benefit greatly. And Sarin is not unkind. He is quite the gentleman.”

“How would you know? We’ve never even met him!”

“Enough of this, it has already been decided!” the queen said, “we cannot go back on our word with Siora. You are marrying Prince Sarin and that is final.”

Y/N’s jaw hung open, then snapped shut. Tears brimmed in her eyes and dissolved into the water around them. She pushed her chair out and swam off, despite her parents’ calls.

She should’ve known a day like this would come. She hadn’t wanted to believe her parents could be so shallow, but then again, people in power often twisted matters of love into matters of politics.

Y/N wasn’t watching where she was going, so it should not have come as any surprise to her when she barreled right into someone’s chest.

“Woah, steady! Are you all right?”

Y/N willed her tears to dry and looked up. A young man, around her age, stared at her with concern etched into his features. He looked just like any merman, but his skin was the color of the surface’s sky. Only sirens had such vibrant skin tones. Other merfolk carried the skin colors of the surface dwellers. As such, humans were more likely to trust a merperson than a siren.

This particular siren had long, black hair that floated a little behind him, and a resplendent, deep-blue tail which shimmered like crystals or a sea dragon’s hoard.

“I apologize,” the siren went on, “I hope you’re not hurt.”

“No, no, it was my fault,” Y/N said, straightening up, “I’m sorry.”

“You must be Princess Y/N,” the siren said.

“I am,” Y/N answered, “what brings you to Coireil?”

The siren chuckled a little, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You, as a matter of fact,” he said.

Y/N stared dumbly for a good few seconds. Oh. Oh. She wanted to pinch her scales for being so dense. How many sirens just happened to swim about in Coireil, much less the royal palace?

“Prince Sarin?” Y/N asked.

“Yes,” the siren, Sarin, said, “I confess I had hoped our first meeting would be a bit more, er, conventional. I’m afraid I must have gotten lost on a tour of your palace. You have a lovely home, Princess.”

“Y/N is fine,” Y/N said.

“Y/N.” Sarin amended with a small smile.

The pair stood (that is to say, floated) there for an awkward stretch of silence. Y/N had never quite gotten the hang of diplomatic conversation, and it seemed like Sarin hadn’t either.

A goby swam in through the window. Y/N and Sarin immediately turned their attention to it. Thank goodness, a way out of this doldrum of an introduction!

“Where did you come from, little fellow?” Sarin asked, cupping his hands underneath the small fish.

“Coireil is home to many reefs,” Y/N explained, “it’s possible he got turned around and mistook our palace coral for its own.”

“Ah yes,” Sarin agreed, “it is a marvel of symbiotic architecture, however did you convince the polyps to grow in such a way?”

He scratched the goby’s chin as he spoke.

“I… don’t really know,” Y/N admitted, “I am sure my parents could tell you, or one of the palace tutors. The palace has been around for a good while.”

“So has Castle Aiatrylle in Siora,” Sarin said, “though it is made of stone and crystal rather than coral.”

The goby proceeded to nibble Sarin’s hair. Y/N stifled a giggle. Another siren came around the corner, while Y/N’s parents arrived from the other end of the hall. This siren had blue skin as well, though it was of a deeper, almost greener hue, and he wore a short green cape that just slightly billowed behind him. His dark-teal tail bore old scars that had removed the scales in some places. His grey hair caught the light, making it look as though his head and lower face were covered in moonbeams.

“Sarin, there you are,” the siren said, “I thought we discussed how you were not to wander off?”

“Apologies, Cathaoir,” Sarin replied, “only the corals on this hall are particularly vibrant, and-…I shall endeavor to remain close by in future.”

Cathaoir sighed but nodded all the same.

“I see you have met the princess,” he said, “it is an honor to meet you, Princess Y/N.”

He bowed. Sarin swam over to him, and Y/N followed.

“Pri- Y/N, this is Sir Cathaoir, a regent of Siora and one of my oldest friends.”

“Not to mention your bodyguard,” Cathaoir added, “whose job would be easier if you weren’t swimming off into the blue every other moment.”

“We shall leave you to get settled, your highness,” Y/N’s father said, “we hope your visit to our kingdom remains pleasant. Afterwards, we shall begin the wedding preparations.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Sarin said, bowing.

Y/N watched him swim off with Cathaoir. She still wasn’t thrilled at the thought of marrying Sarin, but at least he didn’t seem like a total monster.

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