Lucky_Duckyyy's Art Drawer

You have been on the road for ages.

Aimless, your trusty and dinged up camper van has taken you down countless roads, leading you to your next muse. Too antsy to stay in one place and too avoidant to cling onto any one person for long no matter how much you like them.

In the end, it's just you and your art. Something none understood.

Nature is wonderful; even its man-made aspects all eventually return to earth. Dilapidated buildings, forgotten towns, and untouched valleys frozen in time all intrigue your paintbrush. There is beauty in everything, no matter how elegant or macabre, and you long to capture every moment you come across on canvas.

So when you spotted a towering grey, blocky figure in the distance as you were cruising through a beautiful crackling cliff side road hanging over the calm ocean, you knew you had to make a pit stop at the very least to capture all of these unique views.

From a distance it seemed like a stone fort, worn down and visibly damaged, utterly destroyed to an unlivable extent even from your view  beyond the forest its hill is surrounded by. It intrigues you, but what should you capture first? The nature around is just as lovely and will be great practice before you tackle the large building.

As you think such things however, the clear blue sky that was overhead suddenly faded in rolling dark clouds as if they were hiding behind the blanket of calm, revealing crackles of lighting and undertones of green, foreboding in nature's own warning.

A warning you did not heed, thriving at the view. It weaves a story to you, the sight of a sad and lonesome, crumbling castle. Who else but you will ever come across it and listen to its tale?

The beating of your heart thumps in your chest, urging you to forget all else and rush to the scene with impulsive delight.

As your vehicle makes an attempt to off road towards the historical site, the sloshing of waves you leave behind grows intense, the water level rising remarkably fast up to the cliff you were just driving upon.

Heavy rain starts to beat at the metal roof, only feeding the water you now are forced to escape; the thick and green sludge seemingly chasing your van. Once you start rolling uphill, the rushing liquid is unable to continue chasing you.

Luckily for you, there was unmistakably a large trail leading up to the fort for your van to take, a winding clearing of trees and the presence of gravel leaving behind silent history. Overgrown was the path and everything surrounding it, yet nature itself must have intended for you to find its hidden story, keeping anything troublesome out of the way so that you may park your mobile home right outside of the castle.

With its size? It is most definitely a castle, plopped in the middle of nowhere.

Even through the heavy blasts of wind and the eerie darkness brought forth from the cloud cover, the building stands high and wide, yet irreparably damaged from what must have been either war or a natural catastrophe.

The imposing wall’s height alone implies an outrageous amount of floors, yet enough jagged edges and blown open holes are proof enough to show that the upper floors have long caved in. Muck and vines coat the entirety of the building, windows grown over, and pinned flags long degraded. The large, imposing, arched front wooden doors barely seem to be attached to its hinges, the wood having rotted, splintered, and wettened into a mushy green and black.

Your heart spared itself the effort of beating for a minute, caught at the unreal sight. Coming across enchanting abandoned locations is not new to your adventure, but one so ancient and regal has escaped your capture.

You WILL paint such a view, once the weather decidably clears that is. But… The rain might not be able to stop you from painting the interior.

Latching your folded easel to your back with straps, you carry it, your paints, and a small canvas out of your van and rush through the uncaring front door. It's as if the building yawns at your entrance, years of dust kicking up at each swing of your legs through the entryway. It smells of mildew and stillwater, an underlying stench of nature but sterile in its own way without the smell of decay.

Choosing the first room to freeze on canvas is the hardest choice for you to make, as the more you walk the more you see things that capture your breath. A sizable collection of hung animal trophies mismatched and toppled, an endless dining room housing a long table with forgotten spilled chairs, spiralling hallways filled with stained glass windows depicting different stories of a reoccurring black sun, all hushed by nature's envious vines. You've retrieved a small pocket book you always have on hand to thumbnail each and every sight that calls to you, pinning the framing of these contenders for your paintbrush.

Portraits of previous moments in time are hung obsessively along every wall you come across, each one a detail in your drawings, yet all have been molded over and withered, paints chipped and flaked off or washed out entirely. The secrets of their depictions are long gone.

All but one.

You must have come across a chapel section of some sort – not too surprising with the age of this building. Pews line the walls, forming a straight and holy pathway up towards a small staircase, the elevated section half-circled and flooring empty of what you come to expect with religious sites. Instead, all that it holds is a single painting rivaling the size of your camper van, muddied and waterlogged, paint chipping at random intervals.

Yet somehow, the painting remains legible compared to any other.

It depicts this very Castle – though the building’s image has melted and dripped down the canvas – surrounded by woods, skies, and ever rising waves, all tarnished by the presence of mold and soaked up water, causing the paints to discolor to assortments of blacks and greens.

That is not what holds your attention though, no. It is the omnipresent figure between it all.

Its paint appears to have been tampered with, parts of the image purposely scrapped off, flaking at each edge, and even stabbed – a vertical seam distorting the figure's right eye. Despite all the wear the artwork has, somehow this purposely tarnished character remains the least damaged by nature, the exposed canvas areas not even hinting at mold or discoloration.

The figure itself is tall with a benevolent smile and an uncut left yellow eye, half lidded but sharp. It's reminiscent of the black sun you've seen repeatedly, face black and haloed with sharp spikes, an orange veil weaved between each protrusion until the ends dangle, tied off with silver charms depicting the various inhabitants of the sky. The regal robe is black and framed in many ways with orange and blue. It's baggy, layered, and hangs off its lithe form, only two loose but long sleeves hiding multiple arms within. It is covered in silver ornaments, dangling from its neck and down its arms.

The creature is not depicted as doing anything besides existing, its mere presence meant to be acknowledged above all else, large and centered in the painting.

Surely, to the original inhabitants, this was their God.

“A shame, isn't it?”

An echoing, masculine voice rings through your head, popping your ears. You cannot pinpoint where it originates, yet somehow it feels as if the earth tremors beneath you with its impossible sound.

“This place, my painting, it all used to be perfect. Unfortunately, for so long my abode has been vacated. Forgotten. Abandoned. It doesn't feel fair, does it?”

No, it doesn't, yet you can't help but admire the beauty of the loss in itself.

“Go on. Look closer.”

You still do not find the owner of the voice but instinctually you listen. There's squelches and splashes at your feet as you walk along the carpeted path towards the depiction, the puddling of green murky water along the floor having originally escaped your original assessment as you were caught with the painting before you.

Stepping atop the elevated stage, you spy artistic instruments littered below the tapestry, even a knife covered in dried paint, each tool seemingly used upon this very canvas. You itch to hold them.

“Look upon my face and tell me what you see.”

Somehow, you manage to deem that the voice is referring to the painted character before you, your eyes flitting about its form, trying to make sense of the thin neck and the sharp and segmented arms. Its expression is uncanny, as if it would be frozen forever in such a way. Somehow, it reminds you not of nature, but something man-made.

“You remind me of animatronics that I've seen in many explorations, typically themed humanoids made of metal. Reminiscent of a permanent smile and unblinking expression… But it's dumb of me to think so. Why would a machine be depicted as a God from the past? From an era where no such concept would have even been thought of?”

“Ah…” The murmur becomes real, no longer ringing and shaking your very existence. Instead, it bases itself in reality as a hand follows its breathy departure, landing its entire palm upon your shoulder from behind before slipping off like slime.

“It's a more grounded observation than any other. I for one appreciate a realistic touch, over being an under-thought figure of unknown anatomy.”

You can't help but turn towards the voice, eyes wide at the towering figure. He is exactly as depicted in the image, though with minor differences you can't help but stare at. Unlike the image’s undefined black, his neck appears ribbed and metallic, and the hands at his side seem segmented similarly to said animatronics you compared him to. His right eye is still cut through very literally, a large vertical V shaped cut out of his face completely missing, allowing you to look through his round and flat head. His inside is pure black, but his exterior would imply that he was robotic and full of wires.

The most notable thing however is how he looks painted with oils frozen in time. Chips and scapes ever present on his form, interrupting the otherwise seamless black. Any bright sheen is even a dollop painted on himself, a figure not grounded in any reality but paint.

Are you going crazy?

His paint seems to drip ever so slightly as your thoughts come and go. He stands ever vigilant, unmoving from the same pose he is captured in.

“It's alright to be confused, small one. I do not wish to confound you or hurt you, rather ask for your assistance. I have seen your dawdling around my abode, sketching away and immortalizing every room in its accurately depressive state. If not for that, your canvas and supplies would have given you away. You are an artist, are you not?”

Even the thought of speaking to such an imposing and mind warping figure has your throat clogged, shut tight. Not wanting to gain his ire, you nod hurriedly.

“Riveting. Then I shall propose a mutually beneficial deal, one that I implore you to accept. Restore my keep to its former glory, and I shall keep you housed, fed, and bestow all that you desire as long as you stay.”

“...All that I desire?” You squeeze through your dry throat.

“People, animals, riches, luxuries; anything you paint, I can bring to life and make it as real as the dirt we all stand upon.”

You don't desire for much, so his promises themselves do not intrigue you. Yet, the idea of your paintings taking a form of life catches your breath.

“And… How will I be able to restore your home? I am only one person, one who doesn't know a thing about construction.”

The tall, dark figure’s smile twitches the smallest bit upwards. He looks more stable than ever before, solid in almost every way.

“Why, by simply painting its form. Interior and exterior. Roof to floor. Design whatever ornaments to litter about and bring you comfort if it will please you.”

To deny your interest would be a great lie. You already would have painted the castle in all its current glory for your own amusement and preservation of history, and now you're being invited to paint it, not only for your own sake but for another's.

The added benefits of this God’s abilities is just a bonus for you in reality, at least keeping you from having to interact with other people in order to eat or fill up on gas. Maybe you'll even be able to sleep on a large bed again without paying a cent. Never will you need to pay for paints again!

Ever increasing your willingness to accept his terms with every thought, you extend your hand, happy to provide not only for yourself but for this wondrous God.

“I would love nothing more but to paint your home as glorious as it is, and once was.”

You expect a beaming smile and a return shake of the hand, finding that as soon as you felt such a way, the god did just that. A sharp grin stretching from cheek to cheek, a dilated yellow eye pinned to your form. Despite his overwhelming size, his hand enveloping yours was gentle and he allowed you to lead the handshake.

He's cold to the touch, but textured and real.

“The pleasure is all mine, dearly divined. One day, after you have proven yourself, I will allow you to recapture my form in its true glory. Replacing this utterly decrepit and deformed monstrosity of a painting.” He waves at the painting with a middle arm, as if shooing it away – rather animated compared to its stiffness prior.

“Don't say that!” You squawk. “It's still a rather helpful depiction of you, and especially with its flaws, it's mesmerizing to look at all the same.”

The god flinches at your words, a wide eyed gaze painted on his face.

“Ahem… Very well. Awfully bold of you, but I can understand it's an artist’s need for preservation. You may keep it once you do your part, but I still ask for it to be replaced.”

His compliance and shocked expression has the tension in the meat of your shoulders finally falling. Every nerve in your body is tingling at the prospects, excited to start and perhaps further amaze your lone audience.

“I'll keep you to that,” You bounce on your heels impatiently. “May I know the name of the one I'll be immortalizing one day?”

He straightens himself, bowing his hands to clasp together in front of him. There's not even a hint of amusement when he talks.

“What do you think it is?”

Without question, you stare and squint at him, taking in every detail in needing to guess his name lest you offend him. The thoughts of a black sun and all the sky imagery upon him and in the widows you've passed leads you to very limited ideas. You stick with the one that sounds the best.

“To me, you feel like an Eclipse. When the sun goes black from the moon covering its line of sight.”

The god is frozen in form until you finish, a smile shifting like an apparition – nothing to blazing bright in mere seconds. His body does not move an inch.

“Eclipse… My dear divine, you have done well already.”

You feel yourself shaking with glee, a smile to match his upon your face, proud of yourself for being correct.

Black and White Version:

Sketches:

(I was having too much fun drawing robot anatomy and had to erase it for the final drawing ITS FINE ITS OKAY I'M OKAY--)

Blasting these two with tags don't mind me--

@rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna @rosescarletful @monsteractiasluna

Sunlight blinds you often, in the oversaturated colors that threaten to burn the corneas of your eyes every which way you turn. But your batter's colors are a subdued, muted yellow at contrast to the overwhelming, forced color.

He was something once. It was twisted, gnarled into something unrecognizable, but you can still see what was meant to be. Sometimes, if the light hits him right, you can even see the bright yellows he used to be.

The bat swings into a specter hard enough to splatter it all over the wall. Dust covers his uniform and face plate with little preamble - it's no long the shock it used to be. His colors mute again. The joint in his elbows creak with the excessive pressure.

A gap widens between the two of you. Gone is the kind animatronic that pulled you out of danger. You feel like a burden to drag along now.

"Sunny?" This is the third time you've called. Your feet ache from the miles you have walked in this factory.

You're ignored in favor of the scream and pop of a big headed specter dying from Alpha's ring. The carnage lies around you in piles and piles of dust.

"Stop." He ignores you again, taking a running start at a rather small specter. Its...sprinting away from him. Crying. For a moment, the being seems blurry, forming the shape of an Elsen, but the bat simply cleaves it in two. You must just be...seeing things.

"Stop!" Your shout rings the hallway, stopping Sun dead in his tracks in a half lunge. All three add ons return to him, facing you. Suddenly, you feel as if hundreds of eyes are watching you, but that's impossible. "Stop it. That's enough. They're not hurting you." Not a single one of these had lunged at him. The worst they did is. Stand in his way.

The Batter turns his face plate sideways to eye you. Then his foot, then the rest of his body in a graceless swing much unlike him. There's a strange look in his eyes, swinging the bat to lie across the back of his shoulders. You don't like how you're having a hard time seeing his face.

"But we've come so far?" The most you can see with his face in shadow are the glow of his eyes. "What are you going to do, player?" A collar seems to tighten around you neck. There's nothing you really can do.

Typically, today would be the perfect day to be out fishing. The salty breeze is steadily kissing away the blistering heat of the bright sun, the sky clear and beautiful – no storm clouds in sight. It's the middle of the week so all the townsfolk should be busy instead of lining the sands and waters. Most of all, you're using up your PTO before it resets for the Quarter, which you decided to place all that time on your boat, honing your fishing skills.

Yet all that time perfecting your relaxing hobby and all you can show for it is this one measly fish. It's barely even the size of your fist!

Setting the poor fish down in a salt water filled bucket, you debate on what to do with it and slump in your beach chair. You were hoping to be able to catch a meal for dinner, wanting to spend all your time at the beach today, but maybe that's only a pipe dream at this rate. Could you possibly use the tiny fish as bait..?

No, that's a stupid idea. You're probably lucky to even catch this little guy with all the Fazcorp boats roaming around. It's a mystery why they have a massive, looming ship in the distance and a bunch of speedboats zooming in circles like their drivers’ heads are chopped off. You just don't care to look into it.

Next thing you know, you're sprayed with a wave of freezing sea water, immediately snapped out of your musings. Your eyes sting with the power of a million suns, your soaked hands rapidly trying to rub out the salt that continues to make your eyes water.

Peeling out of your chair, you lean heavily on the edge of your boat, pouring caught water onto the floor; not like it's making a mess, since there's water all over your deck anyway.

Through your waterlogged hair you see that bear fish thing logo taunt you from the back of a speedboat. Right, of course it's as if the devil itself heard your thoughts and sent karma straight back your way.

You really don't want to end things here, but not only is your mood soured, your clothes are sticking uncomfortably to your skin after becoming drenched. Sure, you brought a spare change of clothes since you're surrounded by water –stuff like this is bound to happen– but until you're back on land you don't want to tempt fate into soaking those too.

Resigning your special time out at sea, you pat yourself dry as best you can with a towel and start up your boat’s engine, heading towards the local pier. Maybe you can go to the store and get some things to pair with the fish… The day doesn't have to end up completely wasted.

Instead of watching the annoying corporate boats clog the horizon line, you turn your head to watch the clear beach. Your boat isn't slow, but it doesn't speed past 30 miles an hour on a good day, so you might as well enjoy the scenery while you wait.

Gosh it really is a pretty day, annoying you all the more that those boats are there; you'd have a beach day instead if you wouldn't be pissed off seeing them everywhere. There's swaying palm trees casting perfect blots of shade and bundles of bushes further inland separating the land and sea as if it's a naturally made privacy wall. There's even a taped off area prohibiting people from messing with the sea turtle eggs – you hope the boats haven't scared any mamas off. You'd love to see them all hatch, though it's a very rare chance you'd witness that.

Instinctually you slow your boat as a wiggling mass lays near the restricted area. You can't tell what it is exactly, dark colors barely brightening in the light of day, but what you can see is the thick net it's all wrapped up in.

Oh god is that a turtle?! Is it trying to lay? Or… Do turtles check on their babies??? Oh, whatever, poor mama probably got caught in one of those fazco nets somehow! Man they just piss you off more and more, what are they even doing along your coast? That monolith of a research center is farther north!

Pulling your boat up to the beach, you take the fillet knife you were planning to use for dinner prep and carefully sheath it in your pocket. It's not the safest thing to do, but it'll have to do. You're not exactly equipped with things to cut nets with.

Now that you're out of your boat and creeping up to it, the thing is much too big to be a sea turtle, let alone its color being a dark blue rather than the green you were expecting. You don't even think it's close to a turtle at all, its round shape in actuality is it being forced into a curled position.

A red eye appears between the netting, honing in on you almost immediately. The animal freezes. You barely raise a hand to placate it before it starts snapping at you and wriggling its way over.

You run around it, trying to figure out what to do as clawed hands reach for you only to cause the creature to tumble about within the net. It hisses at its self-inflicted pain, making it only struggle more.

With your back to the shore, you hear the worst sound possible in this situation.

“Hey! You okay over there?!”

You whip yourself around and stance yourself wide, hoping the intruder won't see the strangeness of the being behind you.

“Uh– Y-yeah! Just a, ah, poor turtle got stuck in a net! I'm helping it out and releasing it back into the water.”

The person was poking their head over one of the smaller bushes, decently far away enough that you can't make out much of their details. You hope the same goes for them when it comes down to the trapped creature.

You hold your breath, praying the animal behind you doesn't hiss or heaven forbid maul you in front of this random guy.

“No, I was asking about you! You look drenched dude!”

…What?

“Uh… It's just a bit of water? A… wave got my boat pretty bad, but I'm fine?”

“Kay, good to hear then! Welp, if ya got it all handled then see ya!” The figure pulled back behind the brush and went off about their business.

Wow. Okay.

You're not going to complain about things going your way, but if you were that guy you'd be tripping over here immediately. Even calling the closest marine life rehab or something so they can professionally take care of the “turtle”.

Though, in your current shoes, you don't think you should do that. If your eyes aren't suddenly damaged from the spray of salt water from earlier, you'd say you found an honest to God mermaid.

Everyone knows the number one rule to preserving mythical creatures is to not willy nilly tell people about them. You wouldn't want someone to snatch this mer up and stick them in a fish tank.

The mer…maid? Man? They’ve settled in the sand thankfully, staring at you with sharp eyes.

They growl at you when you take a step towards them.

“Look, I just– need to get you into my boat okay? I don't think it'll be a good idea to release you here.”

You side step in a perimeter around the creature, only their eyes following you unlike previously, when their whole body would shift to keep you in its reach.

When you're close enough, you book it to the end of their tail and grab hold of the netting. The mer flails again with hisses and growls as you pull as much as you can towards your boat. You try not to gag at the heavy waft of a rotting fish smell as you strain to fight their weight. Luckily the back of the boat has a latch door that flops down into the sand, letting you drag the mer aboard.

You hastily shut the door and dance around the once again aggressive mer before zooming off. Instead of heading where you came from, you head further in the opposite direction out to sea. That way none of those annoying speedboats and any bystanders are around to witness the release.

Tiptoeing out of the humbly titled “Captain's Quarter's”, you peek at the mer lying on your now somewhat dry deck. It immediately spots you, to which you sigh at its warning growl.

Observing them, they seem to be really dried out, sand clinging to their entirety and scales appearing matte. You can't make out much of their form besides creases where its body folds onto itself, its color unanimously blue and so deep it could be considered black. If it's that good at camouflage this close and on land, then no wonder these creatures are still only regarded as legends.

“Let's get you–”

“Hisssssss!”

The mer swats at you when you retrieve your fillet knife, making you drop it with a loud clang. They seem to puff up looking at it, actually succeeding in swatting it across the deck with a flail of its tail.

Okay, so not cutting them out anytime soon… And they definitely don't want you touching them. Even if you did cut them out, they'd probably kill you anyway.

But you don't want them to just die…

“Alright, so no sharp things for now. I got it buddy. Just uh… let meee…”

You look around and spot your only bucket. The bucket that has your tiny forgotten fish.

“You hungry?”

Maybe building trust will be the best course of action? You have to get rid of the fish anyway to use the bucket.

The mer doesn't respond. It is awfully dumb of you to assume it knows English, huh? Well, it makes you feel better at least, so yap you will.

Carefully gripping the squirming snack, you shimmy closer to the mer. You're presenting the tiny fish as if it's an offering to a god; you can only hope the mer is more merciful than how a god would react to such a lousy sacrifice.

You can't exactly expect them to be able to eat the fish themselves –the netting is quite tight– so you really hope the idea of food makes them not want to bite your hand off.

They're deathly still as you settle your feet beside them, lowering the fish closer to their head.

You actually had your hopes up that you'd get away with it as it was unresponsive to your closeness, but as soon as the meal was before their mouth both clawed hands gripped your wrists painfully, dashing all hope back into the ocean below.

Welp, time to accept your fate. It's probably offended you offered something so small and decided to eat you instead–!

Despite the pain radiating from your surface level cuts, you numbly blink at the creature eating from your hands.

It's a little gross; the slime of its spit and the blood of its meal quickly coats your fingers. It takes you only a moment after acknowledging that to process that its teeth are currently hovering over your empty palms.

With a yelp, you yank your arms back and fall on your butt. It seems neither you or the mer expected the overreaction, it's eyes wide. You're shocked it's grip was even loose enough to let you go.

“Cheehehe chee chee…”

A hushed, raspy, masculine laugh escapes the mer, rattling like the slow shake of maracas.

Oh, this guy thinks he's funny, huh?

You send him a half-hearted pout as you scramble to your feet, marching over to the bucket to give him what he deserves–and needs, but this is for you right now.

Grasping the top and bottom of the bucket, you launch the water out of it and onto the mer without warning. He flinches with an adorable yelp.

“Oh my God…” You look at him in awe.

The mer watches back with a shocked expression. At least you assume it is with its fishy smooth lips being pulled into a long line. The deep cobalt blue explodes into patterns of color, irregular white markings and yellow spots dotting along the length of its tail. The mer is a little more humanoid than you expected, a familiar muscle structure making up his top half – the texture of the front appearing more like the soft underbelly of a snake while the rest of him is coated in those pretty scales. Little fins decorate along his tail, but the strangest thing is the night cap-esk appendage attached to the back of his head. It almost seems to be like a one to one copy of its tail but miniaturized.

Trailing your eyes back to his face, he seems to have caught you staring, that flat face tweaking a brow at you.

You weren't checking out a fish, you weren't checking out a fish, you weren't checking out a—

“Yourrrr–voice, is adorable! Aw, and what a cute squeak you made!” You warbled.

Maybe patronizing the mer isn't a much better idea than gawking over it, but it doesn't understand you anyway. It's fiiine.

Turning around to wash off your hands and scoop up more water with the bucket, you return to the mer seeing it look anywhere but you, hiding its face in its arms.

It sends an uneasy feeling in your gut, but you brush it aside. At least it seems like the mer is more docile. You gently test that theory, slowly pouring the water on top of him again, walking around his body instead of just tossing the water over him to ensure everything gets properly wet.

After completing a cycle around him, you're satisfied by the relaxed appearance of the mer and the removal of dry sand on his scales. That must feel so much better already.

Maybe it's finally time?

You place down the empty bucket and spot the glint of the knife he swatted away, picking it up while keeping a close eye on the mer. Making your approach as noticeable as possible, you walk just a bit heavier and make the tool visible with its tip pointed to the sky.

The mer scooches back nervously once it notices you welding the fillet knife, but he doesn't dare move when you settle by his face and kneel. He eyes examine yours wildly.

“Don't worry, buddy. I'm not going to hurt you.”

Oh so slowly you reach out and pinch the netting at his chest, pulling it up and letting him witness how you end up cutting it. His body tenses at each snap, but the longer he realizes the painlessness of the operation, the more he seems to relax.

When you worked your way up to his head, you were the one to tense up at realizing his awed stare. You have no idea what's going on in that fishy head of his, but it almost seems like there's stars in his red eyes.

Not willing to just sit there and contemplate, you focus on finishing the job. It took ages seeing as you had to practically saw through every fiber with a dinky fillet knife; the sunset is already starting to settle into the horizon.

As soon as his head was free the mer was able to slip out of the net himself.

And holy shit was he big.

Maybe he's proportionally human sized, but as he sits on his tail he is already taller than you by two feet. Sitting!!! Two whole feet taller!!!

Curiously, he just sat there and let you boggle at his height… Though, you'd be a little struck too seeing a two legged thing free you from its own creation. Is he observing you back? Do you seem smaller to him now that he's free?

“Welp! You're uh, free to go, buddy! I'm glad I could help you out, and especially happy that uh, you didn't decide to maul me..!”

Gosh you're bad at this. What if it was a long con to get your guard down? Now he can just eat you up without any restrictions! Great job!

“I'll uh, yeah! I'll keep the net, erm, take care of it so this doesn't happen again, ya know! And uh… You can skedaddle on home!”

The cruel irony of your stomach growling is not lost on you. You even gave the dang mer your dinner and now you're probably going to become his dinner!

A sudden splash snaps you out of your inner woes, an empty deck greeting you.

He's gone?! And he let you live!?! Woohoo!!!

You thank your lucky stars that everything worked out in the end, doing a little dance as you make your way back to the wheel. Finally, you can go home and eat something!

The tension seeps out of your shoulders as you enjoy the salty air and the dying light of the pink sky. Seems today wasn't much of a waste after all.

Only a couple of minutes into your boat ride back home however, a ship-shaking slam causes you to kill the engine in a panic.

You worried you hit something with your boat, but in actuality the mer is back on your deck with a hugeee ass tuna fish in its claws.

“Thisss, is a proper meal.” He hisses, holding it out to you.

Oh. Oh okay.

Right.

So you had a listening audience this entire time. Great.

And now he's giving you a lecture??? What the hell is happening?

“Uhm… Okay.”

“For you..?”

A soft gurgle escapes from him as you blink owlishly. He looks a little unsure. Is this whole thing really just for you?

Maybe you can have that full day on the sea after all…

“Thanks, big guy! I'll happily take it off your hands, though, I'm sure you need to eat too. That little fish couldn't have been enough,” You tsked at him with a playful smile.

Today isn't a bad day at all thanks to this sweet lug! You should really return the favor somehow. Maybe saving him is more than worthy of a gift in return, but you don't think you did all of a great job at doing that to deserve this.

You almost cooed such thoughts to him before he nearly collapsed all his weight onto you with a crushing hug. That rumbling hiss returns with heavy stutters, shaking your entirety and making it even harder to stay standing. He's all slimy too, rubbing that putrid fish smell all over you... Maybe you will go home just to wash that off.

“Wonderfulll. Such a sweet, caring, funny, thoughtful little mate, sharing with me.~”

Uhm… You had to have misunderstood that. Maybe it's just a compliment and you're overthinking it like you did all day.

Yet, as you tried to release yourself from his hug, the mer grabbed your head in a gentle cradle and started licking up the side of your face and hair unabashedly.