Story cover for Merfolk Mating Rituals Are Confusing by Bxtchoi
Merfolk Mating Rituals Are Confusing
  • WpView
    Reads 8,941
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    Votes 318
  • WpPart
    Parts 18
  • WpHistory
    Time 5h 1m
  • WpView
    Reads 8,941
  • WpVote
    Votes 318
  • WpPart
    Parts 18
  • WpHistory
    Time 5h 1m
Ongoing, First published Apr 24, 2020
Mature
You lived in a relatively well off, sea side town. Bright sunny skies, occasional heavy fog, and sometimes - if you were really unlucky - a whale carcass or two... Normal things, y'know?

Oh yeah. And your town was effectively under the rule of a pod of Merfolk...

Normal things...

-

Reader has a speech impediment (stutter) similar to my own, any complaints about it will be deleted immediately.
All Rights Reserved
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Pyro

13 parts Ongoing Mature

Let me tell you my story, the one about how I died. Don't worry, though. I came back. They say when someone shares their story, they're sharing their burden. Seeking someone to help carry the weight that bends their shoulders, hoping their troubles will float away like helium balloons into the endless sky. Your silence becomes their sanctuary, a vacuum they fill with dust-covered memories. If you speak, do it gently - a nod, a smile, the ghost of a touch on their shoulder. But my story? It's different. It carved its path because trust becomes a luxury I could no longer afford. How could it not, when the one person who swore to never betray me did exactly that? The one who promised never to hurt me, broke me. The one who vowed to stay, walked away. So tell me, why trust anyone else when the person I trusted the most killed me in every way but physical? Until they managed that too. They say the most dangerous predators are the ones who look like prey. I learned this truth through split knuckles and shattered promises, through blood on my tongue and threats whispered against skin. Through playing weak while gathering my strength in darkness. Now I watch him, this self-proclaimed hunter in his own game. He doesn't see he's just another piece being moved across someone else's board. The mafia's golden prince, they whisper. If only they knew what lurks beneath that polished veneer. What dances behind those eyes that mirror the shadows I know so well. But shadows? They're born from fire. And somewhere out there, someone's striking matches, leaving black roses on cooling ashes, drawing closer with every corpse that falls. They call him Pyro. And when that name drops in a room. Well, let's just say I'm not the only one with secrets worth killing for. Some demons wear designer suits. Some victims wear crowns. And some fires are worth burning for. Welcome to the game. Trust no one. Not even me.