#merman reader

It is unbecoming of a priest to judge, regardless of a beings sins or virtues, and yet you find it hard to restrain yourself.

Day in, day out, that antique waterspout has nothing better to do than bother you. As if that soul-deep boredom can only be relieved by irritating others, he asks anything and comments on everything. Who you are, where you are from and what you are doing started as casual questions and have now turned deeply philosophical. Gossip about the grumpy old shark became complaints, teasing you with the cute jellyfish’s crush turned into confusion as you keep rejecting all affections, laughing when the merchildren pulled pranks on you grew into brag-worthy retaliation, and then he started bringing you random things, from shiny pebbles to colorful feathers and various fruits.

By now, you have started to suspect that the gargoyle may be courting you. Though, he himself seems to be unaware of this fact.

This evening, you close the cathedral’s doors upon sunset and retreat behind the altar, where you have made your bed upon a giant carpet anemone, as usual. And just when you begin cleaning your scaly tail, the gargoyle swoops in through a broken window.

You can’t help rolling your eyes, “What do you want now?"

“Wow, is that how you should be talking to this place’s owner?” the gargoyle immediately snipes back.

“You don’t own this place, you just live here."

“I’m part of this construction!"

You glance at him. He has only one pointed ear as the other broke off at some point during his long existence, his featherless wings are green with algae, the claws on his hands and feet have long been dulled by the water’s currents, and his long tail is missing a few pieces. “Yeah, you sure look the part."

The gargoyle looks at you incredulously, and you can’t help laughing.

His expression distorts his face, then he lunges and tackles you onto the altar to tickle you.

Your tails thrashes as you laugh and try to push him away, “Haha, no no no no, stop, stop it! Hahahaha, it tickles, ah, stop it! I said, stop!"

And he stops.

Arms propped up on either side of you on the old altar overgrown by colorful corals and sea anemones and his legs straddling your tail, he stares down at you.

His voice is a little hoarse, “What, had enough already?"

Your heavy breath makes your gills flare, and you clearly feel his strong, stone-like chest pressing against your hands.

You feel warm.

“Or,” his hand caresses up your chest and neck, “do you want,” wanders over your cheek and buries itself in your hair, “something else?"

You purse your lips, yet a soft whine still escapes your throat at his tight grip.

The gargoyle smirks. “Well then, my good priest, let’s have some fun together, shall we?"

His hand in your hair clenches, keeping you put, and his other trails down your upper body to your tail. While his tail intertwines with yours, he rubs here and there until some of your scales soften, the flesh beneath swelling and opening a gap. A dull claw dips into the gap and stirs, nudging the tip of your dick and gradually teasing the slimy tentacle out of you.

You writhe at his touch, face flushed and lips bitten red as you bear this pleasure.

He palms your cock and rubs his thumb along your length, from the base to the tip and back down. Your cock pulses in his hand, every little stroke and caress making you throb.

How curious; just another being’s touch, yet it brings you so much more pleasure than if you were to touch yourself.

The gargoyle watches you with great satisfaction. He mischievously tightens his grip on your cock, rough stone-like skin against tender flesh, deliberately restricting the blood flow to make your cock swell almost painfully before releasing and stroking gently.

It is clear that he is toying with you, and yet you are unable to resist.

His gentle strokes are agonizingly slow, as if he has all the patience in the world and can continue like this until you turn into sea foam at his hands. Truly, it is a sweet kind of torture.

With a twist of his wrist and a tighter grip on the downward stroke, a pulse shoots from your abdomen along your nerves, and you cum. The milky white liquid dissipates into the water and leaves behind a delicate warmth, making the gargoyle smirk.

“Exciting, isn’t it, my good priest? To fall into sin at my hand..."

You don’t get any chance to reply before he continues.

He lets go of your dick and his fingers trail down, nails grazing the sensitive skin of the base. Then he goes even further, squeezing a finger into the gap from which your cock protrudes and going under to penetrate your engorged hole.

Your gills flare as you gasp, the sudden intrusion a little strange yet arousing. You feel how he crooks his finger and playfully wriggles it, sending light shocks akin to a jellyfish’s sting along your nerves. Moaning and writhing in pleasure, your body pules in accord with your heartbeat, and every twist and curl of the gargoyle’s finger brings you closer to your climax, as if you’re about to burst.

And just as your pleasure is about to reach its peak, he forces another finger in.

Caught between sensations, you cry out and cum. White light bursts in your vision and obscures the gargoyle’s smirk as the unprecedentedly powerful orgasm shakes your body. Surging currents of elation carry away your thoughts and a soothing sense of satisfaction envelops you like a gentle embrace.

You are blissfully unaware of the passage of time until you feel movement.

Under the last rays of the dim twilight sun, almost fully cloaked in blurry shadows, the gargoyle appears more alive than before. His eyes gleam and his touch carries heat, while his body emits a certain scent that hadn’t been there mere moments ago.

But with being alive, there obviously come certain... desires.

As such, you can clearly feel his burning hot erection press against your scales.

“You, what are you doing...?"

He chuckles, “What do you think I am doing, my good priest? Of course...” he lightly bites your throat, muffling his voice a little, “I am just claiming my reward."

The next moment, he lifts himself a little and rubs his tip along your entrance before penetrating you. His dick stretches your tight little hole, brushing past your cock as he slowly crams his length inside.

Your tail twitches in the grip of his and you reflexively grab his arms. Tears keep floating from your eyes, forming tiny pearl-like beads in the water, and you can barely think as the gargoyle fills you. It feels so unexpectedly good, pleasuring parts of your body that you weren’t even consciously aware of.

And then he starts to thrust.

You subconsciously tense, prompting him to grunt and work his hips even harder to make up for your resistance.

He groans, “Holding onto me so tightly, are you afraid or excited? Either way, I’m not letting you go tonight…”

Moans spill from your lips and the water stirs with his movements. His wings sway in the gradually visible bioluminescent glow of the sea anemones settled by the altar while his tails strokes yours in a soothing caress, and he just cannot get enough of looking at you.

Your flushed face and glazed over eyes almost give him the illusion of you worshipping him, each gaze full of piety and every sound a prayer to call upon his love and tenderness… But he has neither love nor tenderness, only desire. The desire to have you look at him, the desire to have you smile because of him, the desire to see you lost to lust with him.

All his desires revolve around you, and so he wishes to offer them all.

So cry out for me, pray to me and worship me, and I will give it all to you.

The gargoyle buries his face in the crook of your neck and clutches you in his arms, his knot swelling and slamming against your entrance with every thrust.

You feel the heat build, the drag against your walls making you tremble. Like a little boat caught in a storm, you are tossed by the waves the gargoyle causes and ravaged by him.

Your hole flutters around his length as you climax and cum. Your body tingles and throbs comfortably, and just as you start to relax he pounds his big knot into you.

“Holy—!"

“My, my, now, you wouldn’t curse, would you, my dear priest?” the gargoyle smirks, his voice hoarse like gravel.

He provocatively grinds his knot against your hole, cock reaching far into your untouched depths and making you moan.

“Unless you want to praise me? In that case, carry on, don’t let me disturb you."

His continued thrusts, limited by your tight hole gripping the base of his knot, stir your insides and your thoughts into a mess. He fills you to the brim and stretches you so viciously, as if toeing your bottom line to see how far he can go.

You dig your nails into him and bite down on his shoulder. In barely any time, his targeted stimulation squeezes another climax out of you. Your hole quivers around him, sucking him inside, and he, too, comes with a groan.

He sighs beside your ear, “You feel so good, really makes me wanna go again..."

You bite down harder, and he moans and you clearly feel his cock pulse inside you. Then he grips your dick and strokes, shifting his hips and caressing your body with his tail and lips.

“No, no more...” you mumble, not even expecting him to stop.

But he does.

The gargoyle looks at you. He cradles your head and seems about to kiss you...

“You know, if you don’t want to..."

You glare at him, grab his face, and press a kiss square onto his mouth. “Pulling back now after acting so audaciously? Not a chance!"

He stares at you, and then he laughs.

It looks good on him.

After a long pause, during which he just holds you and waits for his knot to go down, he is about to let go, but you entangle him in a tight hug.

“Don’t leave..."

“Okay, not leaving."

“Stay with me..."

“My good—"

“Dear."

“...My dear priest, how did you suddenly get so clingy?"

“Is that a complaint?"

It was easy to make the decision that you should try to make a break for it, there was nothing he could do to you if you were caught that he hadn’t already done and even a small possibility of making it home was worth it. You held your breath as you carefully extricated yourself from Damian’s sleep-loosened grasp, you had enough wits about you to grab a sharp looking dagger Damian had hanging on the wall, and then quickly made your exit out of the sea cave that he called his home.

Wasting no time you swam with all the urgency that your exhausted and aching body could muster. You remembered the general direction and swam and swam and swam.

But once the sea cave was behind you you were left in the cold embrace of open ocean. Your whole life was spent inside the city and reef you had called home, over time the natural homing instincts of your kind had been almost completely lost and you were no exception.

While you were indeed heading in the correct general direction that wasn’t enough as just being a bit off would end with you not being able to find your way home. Inevitably you veered just a bit and found yourself completely lost, though you didn’t realize it yet.

Only when you felt that you had swam for hours did you finally realize that you should have already arrived back to the safety of your home.

Now you were panicking, this was not a place for you. This was not a good place for anyone except the mightiest predators of the ocean. And you were vulnerable. You were tired from your previous struggles trying to escape Damian after he tied you up, you were battered, bruised, and sore from the rough fucking he had imposed on you, you were tired from your hours long swim in search of home, and to top it all off you were weighed down by being full of Damian’s eggs.

You could practically hear your heartbeat, sure that at any moment something or someone would emerge from the endless blue surrounding you and make a meal of you. Your hand shook as you gripped the dagger you stole tightly. 

In your fear you desperately searched aimlessly for any sign of your beloved reef. But it was simply no use. You were on the verge of tears, but then things got even worse…

Suddenly you were swept up in a powerful current! Had you been at full strength you almost certainly could have been able to power through it and remove yourself, but in your current state there was just nothing for it. You were swept deeper and even farther away from your goal. You were unable to even maintain a grip on your weapon as it drifted uselessly below. 

You were only swept up in the current for several minutes but it felt like hours, when you were finally released you found yourself a decent distance above a large and sinister looking trench. The cold caused you to shiver, you were not used to the cold water that occurred at this depth.

Out of the trench you saw three orbs of light shortly followed by the dimly illuminated forms of three thin merfolk of some kind, too far away to really make them out. You immediately dashed away as best you could but your own bioluminescence gave you away and made for an easy hunt.

It didn’t help that the current had beaten most of your remaining energy out of you.

They easily began catching up to you and you could soon see that these were anglerfish merfolk, if the sickly green glow of their lures didn’t give them away then the wide empty eyes and the wide gaping maws and lolling tongues certainly did.

"Please! Please leave me alone!" You sobbed desperately.

As they steadily pursued you and came ever closer they finally entered striking distance. They lunged. 

You spun around sharply, smacking one away with your tail with strength you didn't know you had while dodging another. But a few lucky strikes couldn't save you from a small pack of skilled predators. 

The third one managed to catch your arm and bit down on your hand causing you to shriek in pain. Red flowed from your arm behind you as you managed to shake your assailant loose. You swam as fast as you could but you didn't make it far before you were pulled back by the sharp clawed hands of these angler folk. 

"NO NO NO NOOO!" You screamed, hurting your throat, as you felt teeth sink into your tail.

Suddenly the pressure of the bite stopped as the anglers that had their hands on you were pulled swiftly backwards. Confused, you looked up to see your hero, Damian, as he crushed the throat of one of the anglers and viciously bit into another until it stopped moving.

The final one came at him and grabbed it and easily snapped its neck.

Now that all three had been deaded most thoroughly Damian swam over to you where you were struggling to keep yourself in place in the water.

"Fucking dumbass! What were you thinking!? That you could just run off? Think I couldn’t follow your scent?"

Despite his harsh words he gently picked you up and held you close. 

"When I woke up without you in my arms I was so fucking pissed! But... looks like you learned your lesson so... I won't be hard on you..." He kissed your head and started swimming back to his nest. He wanted your wounds dressed as soon as possible and then he wanted to hold and kiss you as you slept in his arms.

"Your wounds don't look life threatening but I still need to treat em'. Okay babe?" 

You can’t even present the tool needed to complete the task. No matter what you do, your dick stubbornly won’t emerge from your genital vent. The thing might as well be welded shut.

It’s not like the client is unappealing to you, either. You find most mermaids attractive on some level - but it’s never had much to do with how they look, anyway. It’s just a job to you, a pleasant biological process that you exchange for extra gold every June and December.

Eventually, you both decide to give up. There’s no point in wasting any more of either of your time when it’s clear that nothing is going to happen.

You push the seaweed curtain to the side as you swim out of the mermaid’s private cove, still absolutely mortified.

It seems all you’re doing lately is fleeing awkward situations…

The client was nice enough to be graceful about your failure to do your job. Your boss, on the other hand, is not going to be so nice.

The next day when you arrive, Madame does indeed rip you a new one.

<What happened?> She signs, her ornately lacquered finger nails a bit more tense than normal from her clear irritation. 

<I don't know.> You sign in turn, movements trailing off into the next as you try to collect your thoughts better. <We just didn’t… click.>

In the back of your mind, you know exactly why you failed, even if you haven’t fully accepted it yourself yet.

<Unacceptable. This isn't a question of personal preference, you’re still expected to perform.> Her brightly lined eyes narrow at you, and her fins flare out in thought. <Your track record is spotless- aside from the cyclone this past summer- so this is rather surprising.>

<So, you already know I can do better.> You reassure her. If anything, you know how to market yourself. <It was just a fluke.>

<Are you sure? You can take a leave if the pressure is too much.>

Is she… actually showing concern?

&lt;;A permanent leave. Not everyone can handle this job, after all.> She continues, shattering any hope of relief. <I can have your lined up clients select someone else; I'm sure Uttar has other pretty faces with debt that he could lend me. Deadlines are deadlines.>

No, of course not. Of course it's only about metrics.

&lt;No! No. I need the gold.> 

<Well, if that's the case, I need your assignments done without issue. It will hurt the reputation of my business if you can't even manage that much.>

<Please give me another chance.> You're sick to your stomach that you're groveling like this to keep a job you don't even really want. You have too much self worth for the taste to go down smoothly. The extra pay is just too good to let go. <It won't happen again.>

<Make sure it doesn't.> She swims over to the cove wall where several rectangular planks of carved abalone and nacre are strung along a rope. She pulls off a blush pink plank with your next assignment's location painted on it off the line and then swims back over to hand it to you. <I would hate to lose a valuable asset because of incompetence.>

You swim out of there,  and out of the lobby so fast the receptionist probably only sees a blur of blue and purple.

You're absolutely seething. You're surprised the water isn't boiling around your face, with all the heat of the restrained anger gathered there.

It was difficult to resist the urge to quit on the spot. You wish you could…

But it pays so, so much better than your regular courier gigs, and it’s only two months of the year. 

So, you swallow your pride. It's all you can do.

After hours of high speed swimming and your anger has finally cooled off considerably, you start thinking about taking a break. 

Normally on this route, you’d book a room for an overnight rest when you caught up to Varuj’s ship, but…

You cringe even thinking about it now.

How could you even face him after what happened the last time? What would you even say?

Even with your mind fully occupied with self-scolding and self-loathing, your body has absent-mindedly navigated to follow his ship’s route. And sure enough, as soon as you’ve realized it, you spot a familiar keel in the distance.

You want to talk to him. You miss talking to him already. You just… have to actually say something…. 

But what?

Slowing from your rapid cruising speed, you pull up alongside the boat’s side. You barely break the surface enough to scan for a sign of him above deck in the crowd of people enjoying the clear weather. 

He's chatting to some of his passengers like he usually does, with an effortless charisma. Varuj may not be loud or bombastic or overtly attention grabbing, but he has such a warm personality that people tend to naturally gravitate to him. Even during your stays, he often ends up with a small group of tourists around him- he can turn anyone into a friend, it seems.

…Even people like Uttar, apparently. The thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Varuj seems to be doing fine. Great, even. He's certainly at least behaving normally, which is more than what could be said for you.

Why is that, when you're this torn up? When it feels like your entire life has been shattered to pieces?

Things were going fine. He just had to suggest making things more… involved…

Being able to quit sounded so nice at face value, but he doesn't know the reason you're doing this. You'll never pay off your debt if you go back to normal, less shady courier work. 

Varuj did offer you work, but… who knows if that'd be enough, either.

More importantly, you don't want to be indebted to him like that, not anymore than you want to be to Uttar- or anyone else, for that matter.

What was he thinking, even suggesting that? Maybe he was just drunk…

You grimace and dip back underneath the white caps before you're spotted.

You can't deal with this right now. You don't want to know, if that's the case, anyway.

You eventually find a cove to rent for the night, but it's annoyingly far out of the way of your route back. You prefer staying on Varuj's ship on your work journeys because the vessel keeps making progress in the right direction while you rest… that's not the only reason, of course, but it's what you're lamenting the most as you mire yourself between the bunches of kelp, trying to get comfortable.

But no matter how you arrange yourself, you can't seem to find a position you feel at ease. Your body is still far too worked up from earlier, and craving the release it didn’t get.

Your mind wanders back to where you'd rather be; what you’d rather be doing and who you’d rather be doing it with, and your hands follow suit.

The soft edges of your vent are warm to the touch and throbbing lightly already, just remembering how it feels.

Really? Now? You mentally chide your body.

You lightly trace your opening the way Varuj usually does at the beginning of an encounter. The more you think about him, the more your muscles loosen up obediently, viscous natural lubricant starting to coat your fingers.

Where was this enthusiasm when I needed it earlier?

After barely any encouragement, your cock has already begun to emerge from the top portion of your slit from the sensation, stiff and craving the warm squeeze of his mouth and the smooth point of his tusks on your inner thighs.

Ugh… why did it have to be like this?

It makes sense, you guess.

It’s different with Varuj than with clients, anyway, to the point that you’d much rather it be him than a client. There’s a level of freedom there that you don’t get when it’s someone you’re assigned to please- at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.

You had such a good thing going. It was… Easy. And now…

He just wants to tie you down, like everyone else.

And nothing good ever comes out of owing anyone anything.

At some point, the heady thoughts about his mouth on your cock has shifted into thoughts about his mouth on your own instead; a prospect that is equal parts exciting and confusing. You’ve never been so aroused by the thought of kissing someone, but here you are. Before him, you didn’t even think you were even all that interested in kissing. But remembering the sensation of warm, slick tongue muscle and the soft hum of affirmative grunting against your lips, you find that you’ve really come to crave it.

Tentatively, you start pressing into your lower slit and into your entrance, thinking of his girthy fingers being the ones pressing inside instead.

To your surprise and moreso chagrin, your fingers slip inside with almost insulting ease. Spurred on by lust, you slowly, firmly, press your fingers deeper inside.

You never expected things to end up like this. While you’ve always enjoyed Varuj’s company, you prefer your boundaries well defined, and he is far from your usual type. 

But you can't deny the effect fantasizing about him is having on you- No resistance, with each little wriggle of your fingers making your hips jerk against your hand. A stark difference from your failed attempts to do your job lately.

Unfortunately, lightly fingering yourself isn’t really satisfying you enough. You’re accustomed to more mass than even three of your fingers can achieve, and they can’t recreate the knobby texture ubiquitous of his orcish dick.

Chasing the memory of that feeling, your fingers move more emphatically on their own. They thrust deeper in, with more firm pressure behind your strokes until you feel the dizzying jolts of pleasure going straight behind your eyes.

You’re so worked up that it doesn't take much of that solid rhythm to push you over the edge. The edges of your vent contract around your fingers, clenching along with the pelvic muscles forcing cum out of you. Thick, vicious seed disperses into the water above you, suspended in the mild current as it slowly disappears.

Your gills pulse in silent panting. It felt good, but there's a deep pit of dread hollowing out your chest overshadowing the afterglow.

It’s as you suspected, as if you really needed to investigate it. Your dick definitely still works. Your body isn’t suddenly incapable of arousal- though it might be easier if that was the case - it’s a natural side effect that commonly happens to some merfolk.

It’s spawnlock.

Varuj is the only partner your body will accept now, whether in person or just the thought of him.

You know exactly what that means.

As much as you have been denying it and avoiding it and lying to yourself the feeling is there, and being expressed by your body regardless of your permission.

You love him.

And the feelings you’ve developed for him are now a physical obstacle for your work.

…This is bad.

You rub your face with a palm in frustration and exhaustion, swaying silently in the water for the rest of the night.

In the morning, you still continue to your next client’s location, though the tenseness in your shoulders makes swimming much less enjoyable.

This can still work. Maybe if you just… think about him hard enough, you can bypass the effect?

You spend the rest of your travel trying to psych yourself up and push through, to continue on like nothing has happened. You get all the way there and begin the session, stubbornly committing.

It does not work like you’d hoped. No matter what you try, it’s the same results as before.

…Unfortunately, your willpower isn’t strong enough to trick your body. Just thinking about him isn’t enough, not with the presence of another person and not him.

<What’s this? You fall in love on the way over here?> Your client signs, punctuating her thoughts by curling her fingers in manual laughter.

At least she’s amused. You don’t know if it’s worse or better this way; you suppose it’s better than her being angry, but you’re not sure how much more bruising your ego can take.

You apologize, accepting defeat much quick this time than the last, and leave the client’s dwelling in shame as fast as your fins can manage.

A cold hand of dread grips your chest as you exit the cove.

There’s no way around it. You can’t work this job anymore, and it’s your own fault.

You don’t even bother taking a rest this time, instead rushing through the swim to get back to Madame’s place. You’d rather just face the music and get it over with.

The trip is strangely serene. You expected to be panicking on what this means for how you can pay off your debt, but all you feel is a calm, empty resentment for your situation.

<You have a lot of nerve coming back here.> She points at you accusatorily as you enter. <You asked for a second chance and this is what you do with it?> 

You set the plank with the information about your last failed job on her desk.

<Look. I did my best. But->

She swipes her hand through the water, interrupting you.

<I don’t want excuses. Do you think I haven’t already received the message from the client?>

<I can explain.>

<There’s not much to explain.> Her expression is somewhere between scorn and pity. <You got yourself a little crush?>

<What makes you think that?>

<I've been doing this a long time.> She shakes her head in admonishment. <It’s not a past client, I hope? That never ends well.>

You don't respond. The fins on the sides of your head flutter through the water in simmering rage, the only movement you're making as you stare her down. Your hands don't need to do the speaking when your eyes are certainly already taking care of it.

<Your contract is void.> She signs pointedly, her glossy lips pulled into a tight, sanctimonious grimace as she seems to savor adding the last movements. <You're fired.>

<You don’t have to fire me - I quit!> You finally snap and sign the last word over and over for emphasis, letting the simmering frustration boil over. <Quit. Quit. Quit.>

You turn your back and storm out, your hands still repeatedly forming the decoupling shape of quit as you go- it’s petty, but you're going to have the last word. 

You want nothing more than to run- just swim off so far and so fast that you can leave all of this behind.

But what’s the point in trying? The tracking rune that was placed on you when you were saddled with the debt would only make it a matter of time until you were caught, anyway.

Swimming aimlessly calms you down eventually… You realize you’re following Varuj’s ship route, again. 

This time you force yourself to veer off, deciding to go to where Uttar’s ship would be right now. You don’t want to, but he’ll find out what happened sooner rather than later. He’ll at least have a courier job for you to pick up, most likely…

You feel detached from your body when you finally arrive. Every bone and scale on your body is telling you not to board the ship… but you do. You have to.

“Well, would ye look at that,” Uttar says, picking his teeth in a tarnished, ornate handmirror. “Favorite little fish ‘o mine is back early. But Spawn’s still goin’ for another week or so, aye?”

You know he already knows what happened. Once again, he just delights in yanking you around.

“That arrangement’s not working out anymore. This isn’t something I can keep doing.”

“Real shame that is. As I recall it, you don’t exactly have the luxury to be picky about what jobs ye choose to take.”

“It’s not a choice.” You clench your fists at your sides, trying to keep your voice even and unraised, determined to not let him feed off of any reaction. “I physically can’t do it. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“None a’my business? You are business-” You can basically smell the burning rubber from his speech grinding to a halt as the gears visibly work in his head.

Then, with the realization, he laughs boisterously. It’s a nasty, cruel laugh, meant to taunt you in and of itself. He drops the mirror and gets up from his seat, coming around the side of his desk to approach you.

“Oh, hoho, fishie’s gone an’ fallen in loooooove, ‘ave we?” He throws an arm around your shoulders in a clearly fake, over-acted chummy manner. You resist the urge to dig your teeth into his forearm and not let go. “Who’s the lucky lady? Or gent, more like?”

He’s playing dumb to make the end result more vicious. You know, because you’ve heard that tone before.

“Must be ol’ Rujie, huh? Seein’ as ye were at his little shindig the other day. Looked like ya saw a ghost when ya seen me there!”

“No.” You say, not convincing anyone. You hate that he’s even talking about him. 

“Me an’ him go way back, y’know?” Uttar continues, absolutely ignoring the fact that you attempted to deny it. “If I’m bein’ honest with ya, though? -Because y’know I have yer best interest at heart- the salty dog laid with each an’ every able bodied seaman he could get his mitts on. With ya here like this workin’? He’s probably got his mitts on some other man as we speak.”

“We’re not dating.” You say coldly, a deep disgust that he’s trying to smear Varuj’s character tying a knot in your stomach.

“Aye? Got ya all loved up and then cut ya loose?” His arm around your shoulder tightens. “Well, a pity, that; it limitin’ yer options an’ all. The merladies pay much better during Spawn times, as y’know. Landlubbers won’t pay quite as well; but their gold’s still gold. And you still have a debt to pay off.”

“Landlubbers…?” You repeat, the full realization of what he’s saying begins to sink in. “...Oh...”

“What, thought ya were off the hook?” He laughs another cutting acidic laugh, and moves his arm to swat you on the ass. “Ya might be locked up in front, but from where yer standin’, round back will still work fine.”

You’re unable to protest the crossed physical boundary, too shocked to even speak.

“Maybe yer gonna think twice about letting me knock some o’ that interest off, aye? For now, go ahead an’ deliver this parcel for me.” Uttar shoves one of the typical shady-looking wrapped packages you’re used to delivering into your open palms. “I’ll line up a new Madame from one of the pleasure boats to handle ye between runs. Ye’ll be back to work by time yer back, ain’t that nice?”

He keeps talking, but it’s just a verbal slurry at this point.

You swallow dryly, and your fingers slowly clench around the parcel in numb, wordless despair.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Vietnam finally had enough time for herself. She always loved spending time by herself to relax after a day's hard work, but for the past few weeks, in preparation for another international summit, she barely had enough time to sleep, much less walk around her home.

Now that preparations were set and Vietnam had already packed for the trip the following morning, she had just enough time for an evening stroll. For some reason that she could not discern, she thought it prudent that she wander along one of her nation's ports.

Because it was nearing the end of the day, there weren't a lot of people milling about. Above Vietnam, the sky was steadily transitioning from the warm, vibrant hues of golden orange into the gentle caresses of blue and violet. Another day well spent, the worn Nation thought to herself with satisfaction. 

As she peered into the horizon, she began to hear something that at first piqued her interest before gradually transitioning into that of panic and alarm. Near one of the boats that was already tied to port, there was the sound of panicked thrashing that disturbed the water. Already, her mind was working into overdrive as her feet pounded against the wooden floorboards. 

Was someone drowning? 

No sooner did Vietnam finally make her way to one of the smaller boats did she realize that it wasn’t one of her civilians who was making such a ruckus in the water, but rather… A peculiar creature. 

There was a young man in the water, but at the same time, it wasn’t. His upper half looked like he was a male in his early twenties, but his skin was faintly green with splotches of brown and blue. Where his ears should have been were a pair of fin-like appendages and his skin was faintly patterned with glistening scales. However, it was his lower half—the half that moved the most—that caught and held Vietnam’s attention. 

Thrashing with great abandon, a long tail glistened and gleamed underneath the dying light of the sun’s warm rays. Like his upper half, it was a light green flecked with browns and blues. Closer observation revealed that the fins at the end of his tail were pointed and triangular like a fish. 

“A mermaid,” Vietnam whispered under her breath. 

Many Nations who lived fairly close to the ocean had said that they were beautiful, but horrifying, their natures as turbulent and as willful as the sea that spawned them. Not many of Vietnam’s kind were willing to spend more time than necessary interacting with sea folk. In fact, Vietnam had sighted a couple mermaids from time to time over the past few hundred years but had never dared get in the water for fear of drowning. 

This one, Vietnam surmised, was more dangerous because it was caught in the net that a careless fisherman must have accidentally dropped into the water. Most animals were keen on putting up a fight when cornered, but children of the sea were particularly vicious if the stories that she heard could be believed. Yet, despite the dangers that the merman posed, Vietnam knew that she couldn’t leave him alone. 

Carefully, she approached the merman and lightly splashed the water to grab his attention. The effect was near instantaneous. It was as if Vietnam had set off a grenade instead of cupping some water in her hands and aiming at him. Swiveling his head with the speed and uncanniness of an eldritch being, the merman ceased all movement and appraised the Nation.

Not knowing if the merman knew her language, Vietnam chose to speak slowly and clearly, her movements steady and minimal. The last thing she needed before an important conference was to show up covered in bandages or attending the meeting through her computer. (She could brush off petty insults any day of the week, but she’d rather not show off weakness like that so openly).

“I won’t hurt you.” The merman chittered under his breath softly, but other than that, there was no other response. Taking that as a good sign, she continued, “I’ll help.” 

Carefully, she waded into the water and began to untangle the merman from the trap. What she noticed as her hands deftly moved the netting, it was that it would be easy to set him free. Had he kept a cool head and used his hands instead of trying to swim out of the net, he would have left sooner. Still, though, Vietnam was grateful that she didn’t need to go looking for a knife to free him of the net. 

The sooner she freed the merman, the sooner she wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to drown her. 

After a few tense minutes of Vietnam maneuvering the heavy netting away from the merman’s tail and his fins, Vietnam finally relieved the sea creature of its burden. At this point, the merman had taken to looking at Vietnam with much less hostility than when she had first encountered him. In fact, she even thought that he looked thoughtful. 

Whatever the case, he was now free. 

Free to leave. 

Free to drown her. 

Just as Vietnam was about to back away slowly, the merman floated closer and beckoned her to him with a scaly hand. His face was expressionless, but the claws on his hands still gave the Nation pause. As if sensing her unease, the merman gave a slight nod before holding up his hand again in placation. 

“Do you want me… to come closer?” 

It had been a while since Vietnam had interacted with some of her mythological creatures, but even she knew that most of them didn’t just reach out like that. Perhaps the merman was thankful for her rescue? What was he going to do now? Creatures like him did not have the same morals or beliefs like humans and Nations did. 

When the merman did not relent in reaching out, Vietnam sighed and prayed that if she did die tonight, that she would regenerate quickly so that she could get on the flight come morning. 

She grasped his hand, scaly and uncomfortably slick with slime. 

For a moment, all was still, and then—

The merman spoke. 

The words that flowed from his tongue were not at all like any sort of human tongue that Vietnam had been acquainted with for so long. The sounds and clicks were foreign to her, not bearing any resemblance to any of her closest siblings’ languages or from her fellow Nations on far off continents. Before Vietnam could connect sound to language, she saw that she was becoming ensconced in some sort of transparent cocoon. 

Trembling, she stroked the surface. 

It bent and it warped under her touch, but refused to break. 

With the hand that the merman continued to grasp her wrist, he gently tugged her underneath the water. Inside of the bubble, Vietnam couldn’t help but marvel at her surroundings. She was neither wet nor cold, cramped or uncomfortable. Rather, she imagined that this was the closest to floating on a cloud. 

As the merman continued to guide her bubble deeper into the ocean, the sights became all the more ethereal. Vietnam was no scuba diver, but she could easily guess that she was getting a front row seat to what they would have seen during their dives. Schools of fish swam gently in coordination, creatures that roamed upon the ocean floor scuttled to and fro seeking shelter. Most of the creatures paid Vietnam and the merman no mind, but there was a skittish octopus that immediately absconded the instant it saw the merman. 

Deeper and deeper the both of them went and when Vietnam was just about to ask if the merman was going to release her any time soon, they were deep into an abyss of darkness. A part of her thought that this must be the merman’s plan all along: lure her in with a false sense of security and then drown her. At the very least, if she regenerated, her body may end up floating up to the surface. Maybe.

However, the merman let go of her hand and then—

“Oh my.”

It started at the very tips of the fins at the end of his tail and then began to light up all around his body before stopping at his sculpted features. Bright, bioluminescent lights up the expanse of the darkness below and now that Vietnam was truly paying attention, she noticed that many other fish were also glowing. 

It was beautiful.

The awe must have showed on her face because no sooner did she subtly move closer to the merman as if to take a better look, the merman held her hand again and began to swim in a way that reminded her of dancing.  

And in that light of his bioluminescence, Vietnam decided that she would rather stay a little while longer.

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