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his childhood bed carved with ocean waves and smiling fish and a cluster of mer-people who swarmed around his pillow like a halo of protection against nightmares.
He wondered if they would consecrate a stone and jar of sea water in the back yard as an altar to a sailor lost at sea, just like his mother had; set for Alba’s father, starved to death on a northern ice-locked ship then eaten by crew mates who inevitably died right alongside him. Alba used to shudder at the thought; but since returning home years prior knowing what it was like to fear for one’s life on an ice-locked ship in the north, knowing what human flesh tasted like on his own tongue, he’d realized to die first was actually a blessing.
So often, he gazed down at the sharpness of that blade and thought how it might feel to be sliced so smoothly, so effortlessly. He wondered if he would writhe with eyes bulging, gasping silently at the air until finally giving up and letting death come for him, accepting there was no other chance.
TO: SEA PRINCE ALBATROSS MARSH. MESSAGE: WICKIE. BLUECASTLE. FULL MOON.
Forcing himself to focus on how familiar didn’t mean good. Familiar didn’t mean safe.
one. A single clue, clear as day. Practically laughing at him for losing his patience just a moment too soon.
SINGLE WICKIE NEEDED. WHITESAND COVE. LIFETIME CONTRACT. $30/WEEK. NO PRIOR EXPERIENCE NEEDED. CHECK IN WITH POST CLERK.
Follow the dirt road at the edge of Willowswort south for one mile. At the wooden signpost, turn east toward Mardston. You will find a stone marker three-hundred feet past that. Follow the footpath north for one mile. You will find the road into town past the creek.
a cock never made a man anyway.
white, pearlescent, silky under his fingers unlike the slippery, smelly residue left by whale fats.
Please don’t be merman cum
the song of the sea-creature found him again, more intensely that time, gripping him over every inch. Like a net cast over his being, it hooked the bends of his arms, his knees, the nape of his neck, and pulled. It tugged at the back of his throat, the base of his spine, his navel, attempting to draw him back. To lure him to return. That thing in the water was singing out to him—and for the first time in his life, Alba was tempted by it.
He’d never been enticed by the sea before. Not once. To finally know what so many sailors heard before giving in to the call that tempted them—and for it to happen to him while all alone, isolated, with hardly a soul knowing where he was— It was nothing but beauty—and dread—and heartbreak, at forcing himself to ignore it. Gut-churning, soul-rocking heartbreak, distressing enough that Alba burst into tears with how badly he wished to turn and race back out to hear it again.
Claw marks of something heaving itself from the sea into the house, its trail of water the only indication it’d ever gone back again.
His mother used to scold him for always being in a rush, telling him ‘take that bone from your teeth; good things come to those who wait.’
a few more noisy waves chased after him as if laughing. Promising to get him next time.
You shall not walk anywhere you cannot hear the sound of the waves, else you crumble into a pillar of salt to be tousled into dust by the wind.
Take that bone from your teeth.
“Eridanys.” “Like the stars?”
Alba wouldn’t think about why they would have scribbled Edythe Marsh’s existence from their town records. He wouldn’t wonder whether she’d been purged before or after she tried to return, and whether or not it really was a lie when they said they didn’t know anyone by her name when Alba first asked.
Perhaps he needed to be a little more honest with his merrow companion when he returned to the lighthouse; to tell him the extent of the danger he was in.
Insides squirming with the faintest desire to be taken and touched, caressed, fondled by any hand that may emerge from the trees, not unlike all those times left flushed and itching for touch on the rocks—
“Well,” he said, “would you look at that. Never thought I’d cross my lost little pup while running errands.”
Clearly, someone else would come. Someone already had. There would be a third. Then a fourth, and a fifth. And Alba just wished his feral sea-creature would come back and be ready to gut anyone who did.
“You must have had someone on land who would have grieved a little too loudly. The sea can always tell.”
“To instead mark you as their own, death fall on any others who try to take you for themself?”
Plenty of creatures in the sea would love a human plaything. Even merrow used to do the same with chosen mates here in Moon Harbor,”
“Special humans who, when chosen and properly mated, wouldn’t ever fall for another creature’s luring song again. Only ever made victim to their own merrow’s call.”
“Sirens are just merrow cursed to hunt for their own food and companionship,”
“Made savage by the waves. Driven mad with hunger, enough that it warps their song, changes how their magic hooks into the minds of prey. Merrow thrive when raised within a familial kinship—so to drive one out, alone, into the vastness of the sea, understandably forces it to resort to its most base instincts to survive. Both hunger and… otherwise.”
“I want to mate with you. To make you my caller of the shore, just like merrow once did with the humans of Moon Harbor. So that you are only ever made weak by my own song, and you allow me to cross onto the shore, uninhibited by the warding bonds and traps alike that they have in their waters. Is that clear enough?”
don’t—I want to know their reason for luring you, and whether or not they try again with me next to you.”
“You’re exactly the type of man most creatures would love to play with.”
“I suppose there’s always the chance I’ll get too excited, forgetting my own strength once I have you. Going mad with hunger enough to forget. Remembering how good you tasted the first time we met, knowing that I’d have to resist that temptation this time. I admit, every time your cheeks go red, I have to resist chomping down on you a second time. Wondering if your blood would be just as mouthwatering as the first, especially with me on top of you, writhing and gasping and begging for what I have planned—”
He didn’t want to think about how he might be mating with a merrow—a bloodthirsty siren—rather than a man.
Excuse me I do, gimme
Eridanys pulled Alba closer. Kissed him possessively. To be the first to kiss him, touch him, devour him alive—and devour Alba he did, with hands and mouth and tail wrapping around him beneath the water, parting Alba’s thighs against the rocks and gliding between them.
With such a hypnotizing voice in his ear, Alba thought he wouldn’t grieve his own death if it was at the pale hands of the moon.
“You will be made my caller of the shore,” the humming, growling voice spoke between their mouths, making Alba’s heart race. “My bride of the salted air, my brine witch. I will be your caller of the sea—your bride of the shore and soil, your mud witch.”
“Only my song will ever call to you—and I will hear when you call for me, from any edge of any sea.”
Eridanys’ breath caught, brows furrowing as Alba explored deeper, hypnotized by how the siren’s expression shifted from focused to the briefest flicker of soft pleasure.
A twitch that lasted only a moment before tightening again, Eridanys’ lips parting with a breath as Alba’s fingers explored further—finding the head of a swollen cock, dripping and slippery. One—and then two, straining to emerge where Alba might touch them more.
YES HE HAS TWO
The growing hardness twitched against his palm, long and thick, textured with smooth scales and boney ridges beneath skin like that of his upper body. Soft but firm, warm and dribbling stringy pearls of pre-cum. His second cock was fleshier, softer, lacking the same bumpy exterior, but the size alone made it still intimidating.
Forgetting the freezing chill of the water, the rocks scraping against his back, he felt only the swollen pressure of a cock buried between his legs, the other teasing deeper into his ass with each thrust.
Piercing him, filling him, tearing him open for the sea and sky to witness, lost in a swirl of pleasure and fear and pure delight.
“I will protect you from harm, from the sea and on land, with this act. So be it.”
“Mornin’, lad,” Eugene said with a smile and tip of his cotton hat.
I love this man and if anything happens to him I will kill everyone and then myself
“Merrow worship the moon, so when she’s grown tired and fades from the sky, we dance and sing and make merry to draw her back out again. Making offerings to try and draw her back out again, gifts to show how much we miss her. How we noticed her absence. To remind her there are beings down here who would miss her beauty if she sleeps any longer…”
“Seein’ as it affects the tides so much… I have to wonder the same thing,” Alba said with a tiny smile. “I imagine the townspeople would have their own reasons for wantin’ to draw the moon back out again, considerin’ she takes the sea with her when she goes.”
You look like a feral cat being taken inside for the first time. Stop hunching like that. Why do you look so alarmed? Straighten up. Meet their eyes. You’re a grown man, for god’s sake. Stop acting like a salty sailor. I will not let you become an anti-social man who prefers the sea over people.
“Stays here mostly, but sometimes spends a night or two with a neighbor when he needs a change of scenery and they’re feelin’ sweet on him. Folk here love doting ever since he got sick, a miracle he hasn’t been spoiled rotten. Sweet thing. You likely won’t be runnin’ into him anytime soon, though, so don’t worry about a stranger sneakin’ up on you in your sleep.”
He’s either dead or there’s something deeper here. Sus as fuck on Dawson
“Rare to hear ‘bout a lady tendin’ a lantern, you know? Heard from a doctor years ago that there’s somethin’ ‘bout how their feminine organs tangle up inside ‘em if they stand too close to something always spinnin’ like that. Tried warnin’ her once, but she just smiled and said she wasn’t plannin’ on havin’ no more babies anytime soon.”
The way I am pissing myself laughing over this
