#I really love the idea of Swerve hogging the readers seat

[zenxenophilia]

Merformer Swerve Fic

(This was originally going to be part of a request, however it quickly turned out to be much longer than I had originally planned so now it’s its own thing lol.  XD  I may or may not continue it as a mer Swerve/Reader series depending on how much time I have and if anyone is interested.  Please let me know what you think.)

You knew you had made a huge mistake the second you laid eyes on the ramshackle cabin that looked as though any moment it could slide into the frigid, grey waters of the lake beside it.  The wood was warped and weather beaten from what was possibly a hundred years worth of winter storms.  The stonework chimney leaned precariously to one side and was bent at an odd angle, making it look like something out of a cartoon than any functional appliance. And the vintage wooden blinds hanging in nearly all of the windows appeared to have numerous missing slats, like a grinning mouth with missing teeth.  

 You grimaced as you set your travel worn suitcase inside and surveyed your surroundings.  You were slightly surprised at how clean the place looked, (despite the hideously retro décor) having expected nothing short of a century’s worth of cobwebs, and possibly even the grinning remains of the last poor soul that had been fed the same spiel about the idyllic lakeside retreat from a crumpled travel brochure.

You wished now that you had decided to spend your winter break in Hawaii, or Fiji, or anyplace with sun really, rather than this dreary, rainy town in the middle of nowhere and its giant, mist covered lake that looked more at home in a Silent Hill game than out in the real world.  

 But the place had looked so inviting in the brochure that had been coincidentally slipped into your mailbox last week.  It had promised cozy accommodations, friendly people, pristine lake water, and above all, peace and quiet.  The last part had been your deciding factor.  You refused to spend another precious break away from university surrounded by shrieking children, wall to wall traffic, and rude tourists. This time, you had promised yourself, you were going to treat yourself to a real vacation.  Just you and the quiet beauty of your natural surroundings. Now however, gazing out over the misty waters that perfectly reflected the sunless, grey sky you felt a chill creep down your spine that had nothing to do with the dry, winter air.  Gazing out of the kitchen windows, you found yourself transfixed by the mirror-like water.  You couldn’t explain why, but you got the eerie, unexplained feeling that someone (or something) was watching you).

 With a scoff you closed the blinds and began dragging your suitcase to the bedroom to unpack.  You were just letting the townsfolk’s silly fairytales get to you you told yourself with a huff as you kicked off your muddy boots and tossed them into the tiny adjoining closet.  

 The residents of the secluded town of Caliban were what you’d call somewhat eccentric, you supposed, though you had a few other words in mind.  Most of the two hundred or so people living there were at least fifth or six generation; a few of them even had ancestors that had founded the tiny fishing village.  They were exactly the kind of people one would picture living in a cozy, secluded, lakeside town; warm, friendly, quiet, heavily steeped in tradition, and more than a little superstitious.  

 Chief among these local urban legends was the idea that there strange, mermaid like creatures that lived in the surrounding lake.  These creatures, they claimed, were fond of humans and had been protecting the sleepy little village and its inhabitants from boating accidents and drowning for generations.  The locals held nearly an obsessive amount of pride for their mysterious, underwater guardians.  People would set out plates of food for them on the end of their docks as an offering, oohing and awing the next morning when the food would be eaten by what was probably nothing more supernatural than a nosy raccoon.  And images of the odd, manatee-like beings decorated nearly every store front and sign in town like some sort of bizarre town mascot.

 The local pub especially had an affinity for the ‘mers’ as the locals called them.  Fishermen would gather in their aging leather booths and swap stories (over mer themed drink specials) about their encounters with their aquatic friends.  Just about every person in town had a personal experience with these creatures, including the town sheriff.  

 Charlie Burns was warm, soft-spoken, practical man that had a rare gift for commanding the respect and attention of anyone in the room without ever really trying, and you were no exception when he had come over to give you a friendly introduction and welcome you to the town on your first day.  You had listened with rapt attention when he had let you in on the town’s worst kept secret, regaling you with his own stories of the playful beings stealing a fish from his line or splashing him while enjoying a peaceful canoe ride.

 “They’re a mischievous lot, but they don’t mean any harm,” he had said before reaching into his jacket pocket to produce a crisp white card, embellished with the official sheriff’s office logo.  “This is a pretty quiet town, (y/n).  Not much happens here in the way of crime, but if you ever find yourself in any trouble during your stay, you give me a call at the office, alright?”

A few uneventful days in the dreary little town however had pushed Sheriff Burns’ conversation out of your mind.  In fact, the most eventful thing that had happened so far this week was going to the store to pick up some groceries for dinner.  The grey clouds blocking the sun seemed to gather even more thickly, as if in response to your already bleak mood.  You shifted the brown paper bag in your hands and pulled your jacket tighter around your chest, trying in vain to keep out the winter chill. Your worn walking boots crunched loudly on the gravel walkway up to your cabin on the far edge of town, breaking the eerie quiet of the surrounding woods.

 Something out of the corner of your eye made you pause however before turning your key in the door.  You squinted against the harsh, bright grey haze towards the broken down wooden steps leading down to the pebbled shore of the lake.  As your eyes adjusted to the glare, you noticed that someone appeared to be sitting in the warped wooden deck chair nestled neatly at the very edge of the lake.

 Your breath hitched in your throat as your mind raced with images of intruders and serial killers and every scary movie about secluded cabins in the woods ever made.  After a few deep breaths however, you realized the most likely scenario was that one of the local kids had decided to sneak over to the normally empty cabin and enjoy a little winter sunbathing.  Shaking your head in dismay at your own overactive imagination, you began crunching your way down the lake shore to shoo away your unwanted visitor.

 However, as you reached the top of the rickety stairs, you noticed that the figure slumped in the deck chair had a distinctly inhuman outline.  A thick, blubbery tail hung loosely over the edge of the chair and draped lazily over the dark sand.  At first you thought that maybe some teenagers had played a sick joke on the new visitor by placing a dead manatee in your chair, until you notice the short, stubby, humanlike fingers curled over one of the armrests.  

 Your breath hitched in your throat as you approached for a closer look.  It was about the size and shape of a manatee, but decidedly human (or at least semi-human) shaped from the middle up.  Splotches of red covered the rubbery looking white body in abstract shapes, getting darker and more solid as they rounded the back of its head and along the tips of tiny clawed hands.  It was lying so still, you would have thought it was dead if not for the faint rising and falling of its chest as it dozed peacefully in cloud covered sun.  One hand lazily draped over the thing’s face in an attempt to block out the blindingly grey haze of the chilly winter morning.

 For a brief, mind numbing moment your entire brain stopped working.  All you could do was gape in shock at the creature sprawled out over the deck chair.  Years of fantasy novels and fairytales came flooding back to you like a torrent while all the while one word circled through your brain on repeat, screeching its implausible truth with the force of a fog horn.

 Mer.

 The thing in the chair let out a loud, snuffling snore, snapping you out of your chaotic reasonings.  You stared in abject disbelief as it shifted slightly in its sleep like a dog dreaming of catching a rabbit.  For some unexplainable reason, rather than fear, or awe, or any other million emotions that the fairytale books you had read as a kid would deem acceptable for this sort of situation, all you felt after the initial shock wore off was annoyance. Annoyance at the creature commandeering your backyard furniture like he had some sort of god given right to be there.

 This was your cabin (if only for a few weeks).  And no stranger, human or otherwise, was going to just sprawl themselves on your deck chair, particularly after you’ve had such a busy morning.  You had earned that chair, darn it.  Even if the thought of sitting outside after having to walk back from the store in the cold was the farthest thing from your mind two minutes ago, the fact that this creature was robbing you of the option irritated you to no end.

You gently, but firmly prodded one of the wooden legs of the chair with your boot, careful not to kick… whatever it was that was occupying it.  You jumped back slightly, not knowing how the thing would react to being woken.  The creature, rather than bolting upright like you had expected, slowly drew away the arm covering its startlingly blue eyes to peer at you with what you can only describe as lazy expectancy.  As if it was waiting for you to say whatever it was that you needed to, so it could finish its nap in peace.  For some reason this thought made you even angrier than before.

 Before you could say or do anything however (not that you would have had the slightest idea of how to proceed) the creature’s gaze fell upon the brown paper bag grocery bag in your arms, the contents of your latest purchase sticking tantalizingly out of the top.  Its eyes sparkled like a kid on Christmas morning and it turned to grin up at you in eagerness.  You gasped and nearly dropped the bag, a few fresh apples spilling out and rolling over the rocky beach.  The thing’s mouth was filled with small pointed teeth, similar to a dolphin’s, each one clamping against one another in the universal sign for hunger.  

 The sight is so startlingly unexpected that you momentarily forgot your anger. The thing (even now you hesitated to use the “m” word) reached down to retrieve one of the apples that had come to rest against the leg of the deck chair, its thick, purple tongue licking over the lipless mouth in glee.  You stared transfixed as it turned the apple over in its webbed hands, almost reverently, before biting into it with that hellish mouth, the juice dripping from its jaws as devoured the fruit in a matter of seconds, core and all.

 It licked the juice off its fingers, savoring every last drop.  The thing then turned back to you with a toothy grin that nearly turned your stomach and held out one of its hands, making a childlike grabbing gesture towards the bag.  You clutch your grocery bag to your chest on bolted back inside your cabin, with a potent combination of fear, confusion, wonder, and disbelief all bouncing around your brain, as if trying to figure out which to deal with first.  You slammed the door and bolted it, pressing against it with your back and releasing the pent of breath you didn’t even know you were holding.  

 You clutched at your temples, trying desperately to reconcile the thing on your deck chair with years of schooling, common sense, and the laws of nature in general.  You dared to sneak a peek through the thin wooden blinds along your kitchen window, not sure if it would be better or worse for that thing to still be there. It still was, to your mixture of relief and dismay.  The proof of your unbelievable tale was still sunning itself on your deck chair for all to see, its chubby tail smacking the grainy sand as it strained to reach one of the fallen apples just beyond its reach, unable, or simply unwilling to leave the comfort of the warped, wooden recliner.  You had to admit, were you not having to reevaluate your world view at the moment, you might have found the sight humorous.

 Instead, you felt that earlier sense of annoyance creeping its way back in, tinged with a small amount of embarrassment.  That thing had not only stolen your deck chair, but now it was actually eating your food.  The food that you had personally gone out and bought with your own money for your own enjoyment.  Not only that, but here you were (you hesitated to use the word cowering, but) cowering in your own vacation home, while that Abe Sapien wannabe was lounging about without a care in the world like he owned the bloody place.  Gritting your teeth in aggravation, you reached for the archaic landline phone and called the only person you coul think of.

 “Hello.  Sherriff’s office,” the calm voice from the other line crackled through the receiver. You could hear the rustle of papers being filed on the other line.

 Hello.  Sherriff Burns?” you muttered, nervously twirling the now hopelessly wrinkled business card between your fingers.  You never thought you would actually have a reason to use it before now.  “This is (y/n).  Remember?  From the other day?  I’m calling about a…  I mean, there’s this…  I don’t really know what you’d call it.  I’m-“

 “(Y/n)?  What’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Sherriff Burns asked with a slight hint of alarm in his voice.  

 “No. Not now, I’m not.  I mean, I’m inside right now, but there’s this… thing on my deck chair outside.  And I thought it was a manatee at first, only it wasn’t a manatee, it’s this weird red and white fish monster thing, and I tried to get it to move only it didn’t, and then it ate my groceries, and now it’s-“

 Sherriff Burns’ chuckle sounded over the receiver.  “That’s just Swerve,” he said, the relief evident in his voice. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s a bit of a glutton, but he’d never hurt anybody.”

 “Swerve?  What’s a swerve?  What is that?” you babble, the questions pouring out of you like a waterfall.

 “Not what.  Who,” Sherriff Burns corrected.  “Swerve’s been a staple of our little town as long as I can remember.  He’s the most personable of all the mers around here. Curious guy.  Always poking his head out to see what people are up to.”

 “Mers…”  The word seems to stick in your mouth, incomprehensible and alien.

 “I take it you’re not the type of person to listen to a bunch of local fisherman’s tales,” the sheriff said, not unkindly.  “I don’t blame you.  I didn’t believe in the mers until I saw one with my own eyes.  You should count yourself lucky.  Most strangers that come here never get to see a mer for themselves.”

 “Okay, so, how do I get rid of it- him?  Do I call animal control, or…?” you asked, taking another peep through the blinds. The creature – Swerve – had apparently successfully retrieved the fallen fruit and was munching on it happily in the sagging deck chair, his thick tail slapping happily against the beach.  You scowled.

 “Just leave him be.  He’ll move on his own,” Sheriff Burns replied.  “He probably thought that your cabin was vacant and saw an opportunity for a little sunbathing.  He’ll probably leave you alone from now on now that he knows someone’s up there.”

 “And if he doesn’t?” you prodded, watching as Swerve stretched his arms over his head in an exaggeratedly lazy yawn before settling back down for a nap.

 “Sorry, (y/n), I’ve got another call coming in.  I’ve got to go.  Give me a call if you have any more trouble.”

 “No wait-“ you cried, before hearing the click of the other line and the mocking drone of a dial tone.  You cursed under your breath and glared out the window at the creature who had commandeered both your morning and your lawn furniture.  It sprawled itself out against the aging wooden chair as if mocking your frustrations.  

 Your scowl deepened.  You growled, slamming your now soggy bag of melting groceries on the counter and began throwing things in the rickety, single door refrigerator that looked like something out of the 70s.  You made a concentrated effort not to look out the window as you struggled with the broken produce drawers, muttering darkly to yourself the whole time about stupid mermaids, and townsfolk, and appliances from hell.  

 When you finally gave into the urge to check out the window again, the thing was gone, leaving nothing in its wake but a heavy, dragging trail through the sand leading down into the water.  You allowed yourself a small sigh of relief, but for some reason couldn’t shake the feeling that you hadn’t seen the last of the little apple thieving menace.  You ran a hand through your hair, watching the muted, grey sunlight play gently over the deceptively still water.  You were really starting to regret not spending the winter break in Hawaii instead.