#Drift Boat Fly Fishing

[madqueenalanna]

honestly it was so big brained to have will graham be a fisherman cause like everything else about him is so prey-coded; he's the dog rescuer, he has seventeen mental illnesses, his brain is on fire, he's the lamb in the grip of the lion. but he's also the fisherman. he ties his own flies, he goes out into the river, he baits and waits and sinks his hook in, barbs and all. from the beginning he always has power, even when he seems like he's at hannibal's mercy, at jack's, at his own, he still rolls a cast and waits for the bite

[rollinouttahere-writes]

what about platonic Zeff and Sanji where they take in an abanoned baby and Sanji is immediately like guess I'm a big brother now

Adrift, At Home

Platonic Zeff and Child Sanji x GN Baby Reader

2.6k words

Warnings: graphic depictions of gore and mild references of starvation

The fishing line swayed with the water, drifting freely as it waited for something to bite. Zeff had been sitting in a chair on the dock for a while now and had yet to catch anything beyond the errant piece of seaweed that had tangled itself on the hook. This didn’t bother him. The restaurant was closed for the day and he was more than content to simply enjoy the fair weather, the fishing rod was an excuse to be out here more than anything. 

He’s not an old man that just wants to relax once in a while, he’s catching some fish for the restaurant, thank you very much.

A page was turned from a little farther down the dock. Zeff glanced over, casually observing Sanji as he paged through that fish book he was so fond of. He was lying on his stomach, head propped up on one hand and feet kicking in the air behind him. The boy was fully engrossed in the book and hasn’t spoken a word to Zeff since coming out here. Which was normal for him. 

Zeff went back to idly watching his line, not wanting to provoke Sanji into getting huffy because he caught Zeff looking at him. The horror.

“There’s a boat.”

The off duty chef couldn’t help but tense when Sanji abruptly broke the silence. Looking over at him again, the boy had propped himself up and was pointing. Shifting his focus to where he was motioning to, he saw what Sanji was talking about.

A small boat was slowly drifting past them. It was far too small to be a legitimate sea faring vessel. A lifeboat, perhaps? Had there been a shipwreck nearby? If there was anyone in it, he couldn’t see them. It’s still light out. If they were lost at sea, they should be up and actively trying to call for help. The only reason there wouldn’t be anyone in sight is either because the boat is empty and had simply drifted off on its own.

Or if whoever was in it was already gone.

Sanji suddenly leapt to his feet, “There’s someone in there! I can see a hand!”

A hand? Zeff squinted, internally cursing his aging vision. Just barely peeking over the edge of the boat was the hand Sanji was talking about. Some fingers limply hung off the edge, showing no signs of movement. Zeff really didn’t like that.

Sanji hopped on one foot while ripping off his shoes and was just about to leap into the water when Zeff caught his arm, “Don’t. I’ll go check on them, you go tell the others.”

The boy’s eyes flickered down to his leg, “But-”

“Go. I’m sure that person is hungry, tell Patty to make them something nice,” Zeff’s tone left no room for argument, and Sanji knew better than to push it. He sped off for the Baratie, his previously discarded shoes forgotten in his hurry. 

It would be for the best if Sanji wasn’t here to see this if the stranger in the boat was indeed deceased. There was no telling how long they’ve been there, and Sanji did not need to see that.

After reeling in the fishing line, he tossed it to the side and got to work on unbuckling the straps for his prosthetic. He pulled the peg leg off and propped it up against the chair. Using the armrests, he stood on his remaining leg, then dove into the sea.

The water was cold, but not debilitatingly so. Zeff had no trouble cutting through the mild waves, his lack of one of his limbs had done little to slow him down. The lifeboat wasn’t far off, it won’t take him long to close the gap.

Once he was close enough to be heard, he called out, “Are you alright in there?”

The flapping of wings, followed by some birds flying away from the boat was the only response he received. His heart sank. Maybe those birds were only there to rest, but it was unlikely that they would be bold enough to do so if someone was there to shoo them away.

Then the smell hit him. The musty, putrid, and sickeningly sweet scent of death. Before even making contact with the boat, he knew that it was already too late for whoever was on it.

Still, he forced himself to go the rest of the way. Whoever this was deserved a proper burial after what was likely an agonizing death.

Finally, he was at the boat. His hands grabbed onto the side of the boat, the unidentified person’s hand was directly next to his left hand. Steeling himself for what he was about to see, he hauled himself up. If it wasn’t for his rough history, the sight would have left him sick.

Based on the clothing, he could assume the deceased had been a woman. There wasn’t much else for him to go off of. Sea birds had been eating away at her flesh. They would start at the face, the skin was easiest to get through there, and after that they would work their way down. Her face was gone, every strip of meat had been ripped off and left nothing but a blood soaked skull in its wake. The birds had made decent progress down to the chest after that, a couple hours more and they would have gotten to the organs.

If he had to guess, he would say she hasn’t been dead that long. Birds work quickly, and the wounds are all very fresh. She was probably still alive yesterday. 

Zeff heaved himself up onto the boat, doing his best to avoid disturbing the body. Empty food tins crunched loudly under his weight as he army crawled onboard. The rocking of the boat dislodged the woman’s sunburnt hand from its perch. Rather than falling limp, the muscles remained stiff, fingers clenched as if they were still holding on to something.

Under no circumstances could he let Sanji see this. His eyes darted around the boat for something to cover at least her face with. He would use his shirt if he had to. There was a turned over crate with a tarp covering it. Perfect. It would be more than big enough to wrap around her entire body. Why she hadn’t used it for protection from the sun was beyond him, but there was really no use questioning it now.

The tarp was ripped off the box unceremoniously, and Zeff was frankly eager to get the body covered. Just because he could handle the sight didn’t mean he particularly wanted to see it.

There was something in the box. No. Someone.

A baby, and it isn’t moving.

Zeff forgot about the tarp in an instant and lurched forward to pull the baby out of its hiding place. You were underweight, that much was notable off the bat. Cradling your weak form carefully, he held you up to his face and pressed an ear against your chest.

thump thump thump

The relief that went through him was indescribable. You were weak, but alive. As bad as your given condition may be, your lack of energy was likely the only reason the birds hadn’t noticed you. He set you down in his lap and scrambled to get the oars into the water and get paddling. There was no telling how little time you had left.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll puree some of the best baby food you’ve ever had as soon as we get back to the Baratie.” It was debatable if he was saying this to reassure you or himself. It was barely audible, but he heard a small grunt. Looking down, he saw your face pinch as you attempted to open your eyes with what little energy you had left. “That’s it. Keep fighting, kid.”

Fortunately for you, the dock wasn’t far away, it would only take a couple of minutes before you would be out of the scorching sun and in the restaurant. Several of his workers were already waiting for him at the dock, one of them being Sanji.

Shit! He forgot to cover up the body of who he now presumed to be your mother. Setting down the oar, he pulled the tarp over her head and did his best to make sure it wouldn’t come loose. “Sanji, go inside and help in the kitchen!”

It looked like he was trying to argue, but the other cooks shut it down. From their grim expressions, it appeared that they already knew why Zeff would be so insistent on Sanji not being here for this. The kid scowled, but ultimately turned to leave, stomping his way to the restaurant.

Zeff paddled as fast as he could, praying that his efforts wouldn’t be in vain.

—

The time from when Zeff docked to now had been a whirlwind. Everyone had been prepared for a dead body, but had gone into a tizzy upon realizing there was also a survivor. A very young one at that.

Fortunately, you appeared to be old enough to eat solid food, and had been eager to do so once you’d gotten your wits about you. Apparently they hadn’t been feeding you fast enough, so you tried to take matters into your own hands by snatching the spoon out of theirs. For as weak as you’d looked on the boat, it seems your health hadn’t deteriorated as much as he’d initially thought. Your mother must have been giving the bulk of the food she had to you.

As for the deceased mother, there wasn’t much they could do about her. Ships went missing all the time, figuring out which one she had specifically come from would be near impossible. Even if they did… it would be difficult for anyone to identify her. As sad as it was, giving her a burial at sea was the best they could do.

They can only hope that she will be able to rest peacefully now that her baby is safe.

After giving you a much needed bath and clothing you in one of Sanji’s old shirts, you were happily sitting in a basket they’d stuffed some blankets into for padding. The shirt was dramatically too big for you, but it would have to do until proper clothes could be picked up.

Taking in an infant had hardly been something that Zeff planned to do today, but he saw few other options. If he couldn’t figure out who your mother was, what chance did he have at identifying you and tracking down surviving family members? Sure, this situation was what orphanages were there for, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon you at one. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to have a good roof over your head, and such a thing is hardly a guarantee at one of those.

“Where is the other person?” 

Zeff looked up from the catalog he’d been flipping through at Sanji’s inquiry. Admittedly, he’d been hoping the kid wouldn’t ask about it, however unrealistic that was. He’d been very focused on you since you were brought in. Even now, he was sitting by your basket and letting you play with his hand. Ah, they would need to pick up some toys for you next time they went to shore, too.

The pause was too long for Sanji’s liking, so he continued, “That hand I saw was too big to be theirs.”

Of course he’d notice the discrepancy. While Sanji was far from being a stranger to horrors and hardships, Zeff still did not want to disclose the details of what he saw to him. “The other person was already dead. We had no way of knowing where she came from so she was buried at sea.”

“Was she their mother?” Sanji turned to look at Zeff.

“More than likely,” was his simple response.

Sanji bit his lip and abruptly looked away, then back at the baby. Silence hung in the air a while longer before he spoke up again, “So they’re all alone now?”

“I wouldn’t say that. They’ve got all of us, don’t they? I expect that you’ll help take care of them since you were the one that spotted the boat they were in.” Zeff glanced over the list of baby supplies he’d made. Content with what he saw, he stood from the table. Now he needed to take account of what food they had in stock and make that list next. “Keep an eye on them while I finish making the list.”

He heard a hum of affirmation and considered that good enough before making his exit. The pantry wasn’t far, he’ll be able to hear you if you start fussing. Besides, Sanji’s a good kid. He can handle watching a baby for a few minutes. 

You’re going to need a name, he supposes. Can’t keep calling you ‘the baby’ forever. Oh well, he’s sure a name will come to him soon enough.

It didn’t take long to make note of what food they needed, which wasn’t much. They weren’t due for another grocery run for a few more days yet, but there were some supplies for you that they simply couldn’t go without in the meantime. He’ll set out bright and early tomorrow, you won’t have to wait for long.

Zeff came back into the kitchen, only to find it empty. This wasn’t immediately concerning to him. The only people on the Baratie were his staff, and he knew none of them posed any danger. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder where you’d gone off to. Even the basket was missing.

Might as well look around, to sate his curiosity if nothing else.

The first place he checked was the dining room, but that turned up nothing besides a couple of workers repairing a table that had been broken in a scuffle earlier that day. Maybe someone had taken you out to the outdoor seating area for some fresh air? He was on his way to go and look when he heard a muffled voice. It was coming from Sanji’s room.

The door was cracked open just enough for Zeff to be able to peer in.

“And this one is blue-finned elephant tuna. See how it’s got tusks and a feeler that looks like a trunk? It’s supposed to taste really good!”

Sanji was seated behind your basket and used it to prop up the book he was showing you. The book seemed to be holding your attention. You were taking in the pictures with wide eyes while gnawing on one of your fists. Sanji’s enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on you, making you let out little coos as he spoke to you in depth about the fish.

The next page was turned to, and he continued excitedly rambling, “This one is a sandora catfish. They’re carnivorous and huge! I bet it would be really good fried and with a cream sauce.”

It would seem that you liked the sound of that. The hand that had previously been in your mouth suddenly went forward and grasped at the page.

“Ack! Hey, don’t get drool on it! It’s not even food yet,” Sanji mumbled the last part. He’d been able to pull the book away without you tearing a page and was trying to wipe off the drool you’d smeared across the page.

His scolding had little effect, you giggled loudly at his outburst and were doing your best to turn around and continue your assault on his book.

Zeff quietly chuckled to himself as you succeeded in grabbing the book again. It seems you two were getting along well, he’ll leave you be for now.

[stillxnunpxidintern]

Shanks x Reader Imagine - Unfortunate Sailing

(This little imagine has been stuck in my brain for a while.)

You're part of the Red Hair Pirates, while you're happy to drink and get drunk with the crew, you only do it sometimes as you like not waking up with hangover or trying to do your liver in. Plus in the mornings you enjoy the quiet before everyone starts to wake up and groaning with a hangover.

If you're feeling annoyed because of the crew you will bring pots out of the kitchen and banging them, watching the crew moan, simply for your pleasure.

One particular morning you got a call on your personal Den Den Mushi, from your childhood friend, explaining a situation that was happening and needed help. After listening to them you figured that the rest of crew of wasn't needed for this, as you knew a few people in your hometown that will that would be more than happy to help.

After telling crew and declining the offer for them helping, knowing that them being there was a little overkill and you didn't want the town run dry of rum, with how much they all drunk and stocked up on, but did promise them that if you needed help you would inform them.

After packing what you needed and weapons, you told the crew to behave till you got back and hopefully you would be back as soon as possible. Shanks asked once more if you were sure of your decision and told him you were. He then said where they would potentially gonna be when you finished with business, you pressed a kiss on his lips and left, as you began your journey home.

You made it to your hometown quicker than you were expecting and immediately started making plans with some of the other people to deal with the problem of the bandits.

Having dealt with pirates of varying crews, the bandits were easy to take care of and very little injuries were attained by all. The whole town held a party after the bandits were defeated and didn't have to worry about them anymore.

Having spent a week catching up with your friends, you knew it was time to leave and head back to your red headed man.

Surprisingly you were able to get on a ship that was heading near where Shanks and the crew should be, so that made your life easier or it would of, had the ship not been attacked in the night half way through the journey.

You were thrown from the bed you were sleeping into a table with such force you were certain that you heard cracks, as you wheezed trying to get your breath back.

Hearing shouting and screaming, you grabbed your weapons and left the room to find who was attacking and help out. More cannonballs were being shot and you were doing the best to dodge people and the splinting wood that was flying around.

Just as you reach the deck, you were thrown again by the sheer force and you crashed into the railing of the ship, with your left collarbone taking the brunt, making you give a small cry of pain.

You did your best to fight but due to the darkness, the pain you were in and being unable to recognize who was attacking, most likely pirates, the battle was over and you were left clinging to broken wood to keep yourself afloat.

At some point you slipped unconscious and when you woke next, you were in a white room with light hitting your face, you were sure you would of died drifting unconscious at sea.

Eventually you found out from the doctor that had been looking after you, that a fishing boat had gone out earlier and had found you and brought you back to their island to be treated.

The doctor explained that you had broken your left collar in two places, and that it should remain in a sling until it was healed, you also had a couple of ribs that were fractured and the others were bruised, so best to avoid to doing much as they heal and then there was a gush to the head that was healing fine.

You had more cuts and bruises all over your body, that were bandage up, but resting and not moving much was the best thing for you.

After a couple of day, you were able to contact Shanks and the crew, letting them know you needed to be picked up, but conveniently left out what had happened, that was a conversation for later.

You had been at the port since the ship was spotted, so when the Red Force had finally arrived in port and docked, you were relieved to finally be going home, sleeping in your own bed and taking a long bath but you were also apprehensive giving your current state.

Taking a deep as breathe as you, being mindful for your ribs, you watched as the gangplank was lowered and waited for the commotion of the crew, when a little voice in the back of your mind made you wonder if you could escape before they saw you but that thought quickly left, as you heard your name being called.

You quickly told them to shut up, it was too early to be dealing with them and their shenanigans plus you weren't in the mood for it. You could hear Beck say it was past midday and you shot him a betrayed look he was meant to be on your side, as the other responsible person on the ship.

You were doing everything in your power to avoid the glaring issue and certain red head, you were happy they were here but you just wanted your bed and deal everything later one.

You were distracted by the crew that you didn't notice the looming shadow over you till your head was moved so you were looking up into the face of your captain and lover.

You could see concern in his eyes, obviously, but also there was a hint of anger and could see he was about to ask, but you stopped him by putting your hand up and shook your head.

His shoulders fall and pressed a kiss into your hair, and only says later to you, to which you just nod your head as his hand rests on the small of your back, as you head back aboard the ship.

Once back in the capital cabin, you looked at the bed and couldn't wait to be in it but you first a had a quick wash and pulled on loose cloth, with slight difficulty and pain but you managed. You then settled on the bed and did the best you could to find the best position to sleep.

At some point when you were napping Shanks had come in and settled behind you, gently pulling you between his legs and laying you against his chest as he rested his chin on top of your head.

When you wake sometime later it takes you a few moments to realise you weren't in the same position as earlier but definitely felt more comfortable than what you had fallen asleep in.

You felt a hand stroking your hair and moved your head to see Shanks, you didn't think it would anyone else but you never know its happened before.

After a few moments and feeling more awake, then shuffled around so your right side was against his chest, allowing you to look up at him easier. There was silence between you two as his hand came up and ran his fingers over the nearly healed gush on your head. It left a little scar but your hair would cover mostly.

His hand then travelled down your face and stroked your cheek with his thumb, then travelled down your neck and across your left collarbone with the lightest of touches and then continued down over your ribs before resting his hand on your waist.

The stillness between the two of you only last a few moment, before Shanks is resting his cheek on top of your head before asking what had happened to you to end up with those injuries.

So you explained to him how everything had happen, there were a couple of moment, while explaining when his fingers digged to your waist, which made you wince as you were still covered bruises and cuts.

You knew that he was down right furious, murderous, at the pirates that had attacked you and a little angry at himself for not being more insistent that the Red Force went with you, and you getting hurt could have been avoid altogether.

To distract Shanks from his musing, you moved your head and pressed kisses into his jawline and a couple of his neck, which got him, as he looked down at you with a cheeky smile.

He then peppered your face with kisses, as he teased that you couldn't be that hurt but he wouldn't fall victim to your alluring smile and addictive kisses till you had recovered.

You just laughed at him and kissed him again, to which he turned his head away each time and said nope, he wasn't falling for it again.

After a few moments of trying, you pouted at him and saying you were gonna tell Beck that he was being mean and attempted to get up but Shanks just tighten his hold to keep you against him, as he gave you a couple of more kisses and rub his face against your, whining that Beck would make him do some sort work.

You shook your head at his antics before a yawn escaped you, so you settled into a comfortable position and closed your eyes. As you drifted off you felt one more kiss pressed into the side your head and a mumbles words of affection.

It had been over a week since your return to the Red Force and had docked at some little island, having a party on the beach.

You were happily sitting in-between Shanks legs, using his thigh as a pillow, watching the fire as Lucky was cooking on it, when an unexpected visitor turned up, making some of the newer crew mates reach for their weapons.

Lifting your head up to see who was causing the commotion, you saw that it was the sword wielding Warlord. Shanks told the men to stand down as he welcomed Mihawk to come and drink with them.

Mihawk eyes locked on you, as you gave the Warlord a smile as you laid your head back down, noticing the bandages and sling that your arm was still you.

While Shanks was carding his fingers through your hair, Mihawk came and crouched in front of you, taking your face gently in his hand, he then called you Darling as he looked over you.

Upon hearing Mihawk call you darling, Shanks pouted at the swordsman and complained why he never got called darling.

Noticing the look that Mihawk was giving Shanks, you giggled to yourself, before his attention turned back to you and inquired as to what happened, as he stroked your cheek. You gave a murmured short explanation of what had happened.

When he let go of your face, you made a little grumble at the loss as you went back to using Shanks thigh, as the red head gave a better explanation of what happened to you to the Warlord.

As both men spoke (more like bickering you though) with each other, you slowly drifted off to the sound of their voices.

(Possibly implied MiShanks x Reader, take it how you wish)

[xxmaxwellxx]

Hello! Me again! I’ve finished writing another story. Again, any constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated! I’m also thinking of making another part to both the stalker story and this one. If anyone is interested in something like that please comment, dm me or send a request! As always sorry for any errors, I’m slightly dyslexic and if I missed anything in the warnings please tell me so I can fix it! (Also if anyone has any requests please don’t hesitate to send one in! I’m trying to grow my account and be better at writing so requests are very helpful!)

Tw: merman, general Yandere behavior (body horror? No gore just a very unique merman)

Gn reader (referred to with they/them pronouns!)

The seagulls screeching above are oddly comforting. Over my time as a researcher, I've learned that if the seagulls aren’t flying overhead, a storm is near. And luckily for me, the seagulls are in the sky and very vocal. I grab a shrimp from my dads cooler and throw it up towards the birds, watching one swoop down and grab it before joining the others. I always admired how intelligent they were, following boats in the hopes of getting food. I reach back into the cooler for another shrimp before my dad yells at me, “Hey!” I whip around at his voice, “Don't waste all our bait on some gulls! If you keep feeding them, they're going to swoop down and eat all our shrimp!” I giggle at his words. He's always lectured me about feeding the birds. The boat slows to a stop and my dad leaves the wheelhouse and lowers the anchor as I take my sweater off and put my flippers on. I wore my favorite sweater over my wetsuit, the wind out at sea surprisingly cold.

My dad sets up his fishing rod at the edge of the boat and I go to the other side to avoid his fishing line. He always fishes when I go diving, not to eat but to keep himself entertained while I'm gone. He never keeps the fish, just writing down the type of fish, how big and how old he thinks it is before throwing it back. He has multiple notebooks he keeps on his boat from years back when mom would go diving. She was always my role model, she was the reason I got my degree in marine biology and my scuba permit. She was the reason behind gaining a passion for fish, the reason my room was filled to the brim with marine animal stuffed animals. She had to stop diving, when I was young she got sick, and it was too dangerous for her, but that's why I'm here. I'm going to continue her studies for her, so she can still see the ocean she loved so much from her bed.

Putting my goggles and mouthpiece on, I excitedly roll off the deck and into the water. Right below me is a magnificent coral reef filled to the brim with color. Hustling and bustling with fish of all colors of the rainbow. Clown fish in the anemones, iridescent parrot fish, yellow butterfly fish, stripped Angelfish, a few yellow finned Damselfish, Surgeonfish and small Goby all swimming in and out, over and under the coral. I take out my camera and snap a few photos, not just for mom, but also for the other researchers back at the lab. They sent me out with a few videography robots to study the effects global warming has had on the reefs, but I don't think they'd mind if I snuck a few to my mom. I drift further and further away from my dads boat, distracted by taking photos.

A few photos of the vibrant parrot fish, a few of clown fish seeking residence in sea anemones, a few of the small goby fish and a lot of the vibrant coral. I keep wandering further, always keeping the boat in view when something catches my eye. A hole. A large hole. No, not a hole, a sea cave. I peer inside and see dots of color. I wouldn't hurt to venture in, would it? For science, I tell myself, for research and the betterment of knowledge, I tell myself, but I know I'm just too curious for my own good. Upon my entrance I see various seaweed, algae and sea sponge species. The further I go, the less light. The less light, the more things produce their own. I see a few small fish and algae glow but something big catches my eye, something really big, too big, and oh so colorful. Swirls of orange and blue and too humanoid to be a fish, but too fish to be human. It has what looks like hair, long and glowing blue on one side and orange on the other, with many streaks of the opposite color mixed in. a long tail with swirls of the same colors, and it goes up it's body onto what looks like a torso and arms. It has arms? Why would a fish have arms? Cave dweller or not, fish are not supposed to have arms.

I quickly pull out my camera, I have to document this. What I didn't account for was the automated flash, it has a light sensor and if it's too dark, the flash turns on. Suddenly the cave is lit up with light from my camera. I panic and fiddle with my camera, trying desperately to turn off the automated flash, but my efforts are in vain. A clawed hand grabs the lens, and I turn my attention to the creature in front of me. A wave of fear washes over me as I look up to a humanoid face, my heart rate picks up as I notice the scowl he wears. I start to hyperventilate as he leans in closer and reaches a hand out towards my face. A clawed hand coming towards my face. He's going to hurt me, isn't he? My fight or flight kicks in and in my panic I choose fight.

I quickly raise my legs and kick him in the stomach, making him curl into himself and let go of my camera and propelling me away from him. While he's distracted, I grab my falling camera and rush out of the cave and towards the boat. I didn't notice how late it's gotten, the sun setting over the horizon as I pull my self out of the water and onto the ledge. I quickly dislodge my mouthpiece and throw my goggles further onto the boat, trying to regulate my breathing once again. What was that? Human? Fish? Some kind of sick hybrid? Should I tell dad? Tell the team? Did I even get a clear picture of that thing? If news gets out, what will the press say? What will the scientists do? If it has the conscience of a human, it will be cruel to report on it. What if someone hurts them? Kills them? What do I even do?

My thoughts are broken by my dads voice, “Everything alright?” he always asks that after I come up, but he sounds worried this time. “Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine.” I'm lying through my teeth, I know it, and I'm pretty sure he knows with the look he gives me “Well, if you're sure. I made dinner while you were gone. It's on the table whenever you're ready.” he tips his hat and walks away, presumably to go eat the aforementioned dinner. I sigh and take off my oxygen tank, hanging it with the others before going below deck to take a shower.

My dad snores in his bed as I eat the dinner he made. Vegetable dumplings with a side of soy sauce and ramen. Simple, easy to make and oh so good. He always made the best food. I'm scrolling through my camera roll as I eat, checking if my team can use any of the photos I took when it pops up. I almost drop my dumpling when I see it. The creature on my camera roll, slightly blurry but still visible with glowing eyes. I want to throw up. He's objectively beautiful, but he's earth shaking. Merfolk aren't real, they're evolutionary impossible, and yet here he is. I suddenly don't have an appetite anymore, it's too much to handle. I put my food in the fridge and lay in my bed. What am I going to tell my team? What am I going to tell dad? That despite every odd on the planet, merfolk are real, and I had an encounter with one? They're going to think I'm crazy, right? What about the picture? Would that really be enough proof for them? Would they accuse me of editing the picture? What possible excuse could I come up with to explain it? If they do believe me, I don't want them to hurt him. Would it just be best to delete it? Export the photo off the camera and keep it for myself? These thoughts keep me up well past my bedtime.

Something is off. I feel like I'm being watched. I turn my gaze from the ceiling to the glass floor. It's him. The thing from the cave. It smiles, reveling razor sharp teeth. What have I gotten myself into?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They're mine. It was set in stone when we met.

When I heard of the cave shells, I knew I had to check it out. Supposedly there were shells that glow in the dark and I just had to get my hands on one. Avoiding the moray and brushing aside small lantern fish, I make my way deep into the cave. I've been there for a solid hour, going from tunnel searching the sand. I was getting frustrated. Where are those shells?! A flash catches my attention. Whipping around, I see a human. They look exactly like the rumors. Humans are real? And what's that box in their hand? What was that light? Was it a mating signal? Do they like me? I swim over to investigate the box, laying my hand on it, the thought crosses my mind. This was probably a mating gift! Immediately after I realize what it is, they kick me and swim off with the box. Humans must be a species that want to be chased before they mate!

I quickly swim after them when they go up above the water onto a strange piece of metal. That must be their home! My suspicions are proven correct when I see them sitting in a strange object and eating. Merfolk only eat in their homes, so it must be the same for humans. They crawl onto something squishy and cover themselves with something.

I dare to get closer to them, my face bonks against something clear, this must be the glass the other merfolk were talking about. I place my hands upon the glass, watching my mate. Eventually they look down at me, my friend Erin told me humans like when you smile, that smiling was a show of friendliness to humans.

Rest assured, little human, the next time you're in water you will be mine. Our mandarin babies will be so cute!~

(Merman is based off a mandarin fish, look them up! Very unique fish!)

[scullysexual]

We'll Meet Beyond The Shore.

Somewhere beyond the sea, she’s there watching for me, and if I could fly like a bird on high, then straight into her arms I’d go sailing.

Tags and Warnings: Major character death, enemies to friends (to lovers), doomed lovers.

n/a: People seemed interested in this so I thought I would make this official and give it a go writing it. I have four chapters written already so hopefully I'll stay on top and keep writing more. Please read the warnings and tags carefully; you'll probably hate me for this (and this fic) so I'm very sorry in advance but I'm evil and this is literally my playground. Anyway I hope you read and enjoy :)

Chapter One: The Reaping.

Fox Mulder awakens from his nightmare in the dank, dark basement he has called home for the last year. Skin clammy, heart hammering against his rib cage, he swings his legs off the bed and breaths in and out slowly, counting to 10 each time, willing his heart to slow down.

It was just a nightmare, he repeats to himself.

But it wasn’t just a nightmare.

A memory. Old but still as fresh in his mind as it was two years ago. District Seven’s town square, the smell of wood and sweat as the sun beamed down on him, a bowl full of names- girl names- and one called out.

Samantha Mulder.

In his dream he teleported, in the way one does in a dream, and he was right there, helpless, watching as his 12 year old sister was bludgeoned to death. She didn’t even make it past day one’s bloodbath.

He watched as his mother sunk away, a shell of herself, his father leave not 3 weeks later.

Mulder left himself, eventually, vowed to kill the Capital as they had killed his sister but he was just one boy, grief-stricken and angry, and his cries for an uprising went unheard. Mostly. The Peacekeeper’s had come down on him hard, punished him severely for it, but not executed, not as Mulder wished to be, his father’s influence was far too strong.

So Mulder left completely, snuck away in the dead of night with a band of merrymen. They had a boat and a dream to get far away from Panem as they could.

Their boat and their dream capsized on day 5, a strong wave knocking their tiny boat to pieces. Only Mulder survived, clinging on to a plank of wood, drifting unconscious for 3 days, into the territory of District Four.

A ship found him.

At first Mulder thought they were Peacekeepers but upon closer inspection he found they were dressed as simple fishermen. He was pulled aboard, introduced to the captain, the father of the boy who helped him up, who introduced himself as William Scully and his son, Bill.

Captain Scully took him to a pub, fed and watered him, and didn’t ask where Mulder had come from.

The pub became his job, the basement his bedroom. A week later he registered as a resident of District Four and his name was entered five times.

He hadn’t escaped. The hadn’t destroyed the Capitol. He never would.

Mulder shakes the dream, and memories of another life, from his brain. He puts on the clothes he wore yesterday and climbs the staircase leading to the pub.

He finds Wade at the bar, pouring drinks for the old sailors who have nowhere better to be. Mulder nods once at Wade who nods once back, a mutual good luck said between them. Wade is 18- the same age as Mulder- but his name sits waiting in that bowl 35 times to Mulder’s meagre 5.

Mulder bypasses the bar and heads towards the kitchen. He almost smacks into Kehlani, hands and arms full carrying three plates food. She knows exactly what he is here for.

“You’ll have to get in line, Mel’s backed up and it’s only half 7,” she tells him before she’s rushing towards her table. Mulder looks around the near-empty pub before he pushes on the kitchen door.

Melvin is frying fish in a pan. It stinks and Mulder resists the urge to cover his nose.

He really, really hates fish.

“Get lost 7,” Melvin shouts over his shoulder. “I’m backed up in here, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“Yeah, Kehlani said,” says Mulder. He throws the fish in the pan a distasteful look. “You got anything other than fish on the menu?”

Melvin smiles at him and Mulder counts one less tooth from yesterday. “This your first time in Fish District?” He cocks his head towards the door. “Saw a tree on my way in, maybe you can eat some bark?”

“Ha-ha maybe you should’ve been a comedian, Frohike,” Mulder says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He nabs the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter and leans against it.

Frohike and Kehlani were the only ones who knew where Mulder came from. Sat in the basement, the expensive bottle of whiskey between the three of them, Mulder finally told them he had been born in District Seven after their constant prodding. More questions and he told them what it’d been like living there. They stared at him in awe, soaking in every bit of information. They’d asked him which he preferred, Mulder hadn’t answered, keeping that one to himself.

“Hey,” Melvin calls, a sudden seriousness looming over them. “How’re you feeling today?”

Today.

“I’m good. One more year, right?”

Melvin nods. “One more year.” Then. “I found Kehlani crying this morning. I didn’t know what to say to her.”

“What did you say to her?”

“Nothing. What do I say to her? This shit’s fucked.”

Mulder looks towards the door, conscious of who could hear them, then quietly whispers. “Yeah…”

Kehlani bursts in then and looks at the two of them.

“Slacking off, Mel?” she admonishes , hands of her hips, the perfect imitation of Laguna the landlady.

“No!” yells Frohike turning bright red. “Just waiting for the fish to fry.”

Kehlani turns her attention onto Mulder and her eyes narrow, staring at the bowl of fruit.

“That was my fruit Mulder,” she tells him with a pout, dropping the imitation.

“Shit, sorry Lani.” Mulder holds the fruit bowl out to her. As her hands touch it to take it, Mulder says, “Good luck today, yeah?”

Kehlani looks to Frohike who quickly casts his eyes away. She turns back to Mulder and gives him a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, you too.” Mulder lets go of the bowl and she steps back. “I’m gonna go eat this,” she says to Melvin. “Mulder can be a waitress for a bit.” Then with a smile backed by a memory. “Don’t drop the plates this time, yeah?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” says Frohike with a laugh.

Mulder tosses him a glare and watches Kehlani leave wondering if this could be the last time he ever sees her.

.:.:.:.:.:.

The gulls caw, flying overhead. Dana watches them, committing them to memory. Her bare foot grazes the water, committing that to memory also, along with the breeze and the smell of seawater and sand. A ritual each year because what if it’s the last?

“Dana!”

Dana sighs and turns her head down the pier. Melissa approaches slightly out of breath.

“Mom’s looking for you. She wants us to eat before we go.”

Dana turns away to look back out into the ocean. “I’m not hungry,” she says.

Missy sits down opposite her. They used to do this all the time, sit out here together. Dana found her one time, when Missy had just turned 12 two days before the reaping, her eyes red from crying. It became tradition, each year 11 and 13, 12 and 14, 15 and 16…all the way up to last year when they were 17 and 19, when Melissa was free but Dana was still stuck with her name in the bowl 14 times, double the amount it should be.

“You have to eat,” says Melissa with concern.

“I’ll eat after the reaping.”

“Dana—”

“I’ll eat after the reaping,” Dana repeats louder and harsher. If she eats now she’ll throw up and that’ll be a waste, not when Melissa, Charlie, their mother can have more servings.

Melissa sighs, resigning herself. She looks out towards the ocean.

“I hate it,” she says.

“What?” asks Dana.

She points to beyond them. “That. The ocean. I’ve hated it for 3 years.”

“I love it.”

Melissa looks at her. “Only because Dad loved it.”

Dana shrugs. “You should come out with me and Billy on a ship some day.”

Missy shakes her head. “I’d just get in the way.”

That was true, Melissa wasn’t made for ships. But still…Dana smiles at her.

“What are you smiling at?” Melissa asks her, weary.

“If I’m not reaped, you have to join us on the ship.”

Melissa looks at her, aghast. She frowns, conflicted, and then relents.

“Fine…” And Dana smiles some more. “But only because I really don’t want to wish you were reaped.”

They both look out towards the ocean again, their smiles fading.

“I’ll see it again, won’t I?” Dana asks quietly.

“Yeah,” says Melissa with so much confidence Dana actually believes her. “And who knows, maybe Isla will finally be reaped.” Missy’s smile is cruel.

“You’re really going to hold that grudge forever, aren’t you?” Dana asks, shaking her head.

Melissa nods. “Yep, never letting it go.”

They smile at each other once more before movement on the other side catches their attention, hoards of people making their way towards the town square.

Dana’s stomach twists. It is time.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

People flood in like waves. Mulder navigates his way to where the cluster of 18 year olds stand. He finds himself next to Wade who’s eyes are down and he is white as a conch shell. His eyes meet Kehlani’s across the way standing with the other 15 year old girl’s. He smiles, she smiles back. He pulls his eyes away and looks down.

One more year.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She holds onto Charlie’s hand for as long as she can, until the Peacekeeper blocks their path and pulls them apart. She watches as Charlie walks towards the other boys before she is gently shoved towards the direction of the girl’s. Dana glances at them only briefly before she is staring straight ahead, eyes on the bowl, a bowl that holds 14 pieces of Dana Scullys.

One more year.

.:.:.:.:.:.

The Mayor, Walter Skinner, Monica Reyes.

The Mayor, Walter Skinner, Monica Reyes.

The Mayor, Water Skinner, Mon—

“The boys!” Monica Reyes calls out, as she does every year. She always starts with the boys. Mulder clenches his fists, tries to tamper down his nerves. Wade is shaking beside him, Mulder can feel it rolling over him in waves. Reyes places her hand into the bowl, searches around. Mulder glances at Wade, the other boy is…crying? Reyes pulls her hand out, unfolds the piece of paper. It’s Wade, Mulder thinks. That piece of paper has Wade’s name written on it.

“Fox Mulder!”

It’s Wade Firth—Wait. Mulder freezes. All eyes on are him.

Did she just say Fox Mulder?

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It’s not Charlie. Thank god it isn’t Charlie.

Dana releases her breath, one of two she holds.

It isn’t Charlie.

Instead it is Fox Mulder.

Dana had heard of him, a strange boy. It was rumoured he was the boy her father had found out at sea the year before, the boy from another place. His surname was familiar. 6 years ago a girl with the same last name had been pulled from the bowl, 12 years old, she had died almost immediately, everyone around her was just thankful it wasn’t their own.

Fox Mulder was the boy tribute but who would the girl be?

Monica Reyes places her hand in the right-hand bowl. Dana holds her breath, watching. She wants to close her eyes, hold her hands over her ears and be anywhere but here; sat on the pier watching the waves in the water, sailing on the ship pulling up nets of a hundred fishes, anywhere but where she was standing right now.

Monica pulls her hand out, unfolds the piece of paper. The name is said crisp and clear, there was no mistaking it. Somebody familiar cries out just as it all sinks in.

Dana Scully is the girl tribute.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Fox Mulder and Dana Scully stand on the stage. Mulder looks towards Dana, she can feel his eyes on her, she stares ahead. Scully, is all Mulder can think as he stands there, like William Scully? He wants to know but Dana gives him nothing, she can’t.

Reyes tries to get the crowd to clap but there is nothing but dead faces staring back at them. This isn’t District 1 or 2 where celebrations are held. District Four might not be the worst of the Districts but one will still find no jumps for joy here. All are still scared. All are still angry.

The doors close and they are all submerged in darkness.

[textbook-machismo]

SAVED BY A SIREN

Chapter 3: Is this the end?

Pairing: Crosshairs/Drift

__________________________

"Oi! Scram ya filthy flyin' vermin! Find yer own damn fish!"

Crosshairs was currently shooing the noisy seagulls away from taking the fish he caught for himself. One of the seagulls managed to sneak behind Cross and snatch one of the bigger fish and flew off before Cross noticed. The seagulls cried and flew off, leaving Crosshairs alone in his boat.

He sighed sitting down, running his hand through his messy hair. It has been a couple of days since he left the AutoShip and luck has not been on his side. It rained two nights ago and he got completely soaked, luckily the spare clothes he brought along stayed dry under his other belongings. Food was another issue. He didn't pack enough for himself and soon had to fish for food. The seagulls quickly became a problem because they kept stealing the fish when he wasn't looking.

Now here he was, alone on a small boat at sea, with the hot sun shining down on him. There was not a single cloud in the bright blue sky. Surrounded by miles and miles of sea, the sound of hungry birds flying above him.

"Bleedin' hell..."

Crosshairs took off his coat and placed it aside, but he was still feeling hot. He slowly turned his head and glanced at the water. It was tempting to just jump in and feel the cold water cool down his sweaty burning skin, but he shook it off, remembering all the creatures that lived in the salty waters. He noticed his reflection and boy it was bad. His hair was messy and oily, skin dry and burnt. He grew some stubble on his cheeks and his previous thin stache slowly became thick with hair. His eyes were the last thing he noticed. His emerald eyes were dull with bags under them. He looked like a mess!

His reflection disappeared from a splash of a fish, now just looking at the ripples. He sighed and sat back up.

Two days have passed and all he could do was lay on his back with his eyes closed. It wasn't as hot, the weather was warm with a slight breeze, the waves were calm but they still gently rocked his boat in a soothing way. Crosshairs was absolutely bored out of his mind though. Sometimes he would start a conversation with himself for no reason.

"Is there anythin' else ta eat otha than fish..?"

"Well ya could catch a seagull and eat that-"

"Nah, Ah ain't gon pluck feathers. Too much work.."

"Then keep eatin' fish ya dumbass-"

Crosshairs groaned, putting his arm over his face.

"Could this get any worse..?"

And as if on queue, the wind picked up and the clouds darkened, low roars of thunder replied.

"Guess it can--"

The weather quickly changed. The waves slowly got strong and the wind aswell. The boat began to rock more, making Cross move around along with his stuff. He held on tightly watching the waves get bigger by the minute.

"Shit shit SHIT! This ain't good..!"

He began to panic. The thunder got loud, the sound booming in his ears. The waves slammed against the boat, rocking it roughly. Crosshairs could only hold on and look at the situation that he's in. There was a loud crash behind him, making him turn around and the sight terrified him. Before he could react or say anything the massive wave crashed down on him, breaking the boat and washing away his belongings.

Crosshairs was now in the water, opening his eyes to watch the wooden planks and equipment float away. Now what was he suppose to do?!

Suddenly he felt his stomach turn. He felt weird, like...something or someone was..watching him? But there was no one.. he was alone..but he didn't FEEL alone.. He turned his head and only two cold blue eyes met his, making him yelp, causing him to lose some air. He quickly shut his mouth again and began to swim away, away from that..that THING- whatever the hell it was! He kept swimming and swimming and when he looked over his shoulder he saw the Thing follow him, and it was fast.

Crosshairs tried to swim up to the surface but the rough sea kept him down. He was running out of air and soon his body went still. Whatever air he had has left him. The last thing he saw before blacking out was a shadowy figure and those same cold eyes from earlier.

"Ah guess this is the end fer meh..."

___________________________________________

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

au where ford’s time in the multiverse made him directly connected to the fabric of dimensions

he knows what’s going on in completely different worlds and it’s confusing and gives him headaches

he remembers stan doing something and has to subtly figure out if his brother did that or if it that was a stan from a different dimension

the ocean get all choppy and he gets more frustrated and annoyed and the fact that the ocean getting choppy automatically does that to him just makes him even more frustrated and annoyed

stan can tell the difference between calm seas and deathly still waves without even looking outside just by his brother’s demeanor

ford gets phantom pains from other creatures in other dimensions- some of which aren’t alternate versions of him or even remotely related

he knows exactly where to cast a rod to catch fish, and he uses it to help stan out when he’s struggling to get anything (he’s worried that one of these times, when stan goes to gut the fish, he’s gonna feel it)

sometimes he gets thoughts from anomalies. they used to really freak him out but now it’s more so ‘aw fuck’ ‘is it the flying deer thing again’ ‘it’s the flying deer thing 😞’

sometimes when he’s drifting off to sleep, he can feel the waves brushing up against the sides of the boat. sometimes the feeling helps, sometimes it makes things worse

sometimes he can tell that stan is hurt even when stan doesn’t know he’s hurt (sometimes he knows exactly what to do to fix it, even when he shouldn’t)

sometimes, his family fills the space around them with stimuli he likes, even the niblings on the other side of the world, and it helps, it really does

sometimes stan will fill the cabin with familiarity to help his brother when he’s so confused by other worlds he can’t tell what or who he is

sometimes stan doesn’t mind when ford does something odd because instincts from another species, or even from another world entirely, told him to

sometimes ford forgets he can’t photosynthesize or connect to tree roots or open his jaw 90 degrees or secrete poisons or inject venom

sometimes ford hides all these things because he is immensely embarrassed by them and sometimes it’s so much that all he can do is writhe on the ground until he able to grasp the where and why and how and when and what of everything

but most often, he’s happy cause it helps enough just to be by stan’s side

[essayofthoughts]

i’ll send a couple titles !!! feel free to answer one or all or what have you

1. low tide

2. porcelain

3. break the air to feel the fall

(the last one is from “sex, drugs, etc.” by beach weather which has been on a loop in my head)

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it!

Nova, darling, what have you learned from every past time when you send in several options like this? I always choose all.

1 - Missing scene during Percy's hazy, dissociated time on the fishing boat. The tide's gone out, the water's low, and he's just sat on the edge of the boat, steadily gutting the catch, staring out at the mud flats as wisps and drifts of thoughts flitter through his mind. The coppery smell of blood, the awful sound of a knife in meat, the feeling of blood and guts around one's fingers, all dissociated from and connecting to his trauma memories of the trauma and massacre and murder. The calls of the gulls sounding too much like the laughter of the guards, him barely registering the other fishermen as he just keeps going with the fish because it's a job needs doing and he doesn't have the brain space to do anything more than the assigned task. Mind drifting between past and present, occasional moments of good memories - remembering eating salt-baked snappers at a family dinner; bird calls making him think of some ridiculous game with his siblings; a nick of pain when the knife slips but only a nick and not agony and so his mind brings up learning to fence with Julius.

Percy, drifting through memories as he stares out at the mud flats revealed by low tide on the fishing boat.

2 - A wealthy family has good china. Historically, even poor families will try to keep some good china for special occasions - for Sunday lunch, or feast days, or celebrations - but the wealthy families had fancy, fine china, sometimes with gilding or beautiful patterns. There might even be solid silver place settings and cutlery too, but the china is Important.

How much of the family china was smashed during the usurpation? During the massacre? After the feast, as the Briarwoods' men ran roughshod through their master's newly claimed castle, chasing down every last person to drag to the cells?

(How much was tainted in memory, for having been used at that dinner? For being used by the Briarwoods when they forced Cassandra to join them and play perfect pretty family? For being used by the Briarwoods at all, for surviving when their family didn't?)

Cassandra watching the china being laid out for some dinner in Whitestone - not just for Vox Machina but for some kind of political delegation, visitors in the castle so much like before, all these mixed memories in her mind as she decides whether to keep the old or look into getting something new.

She loves her family, even dead and gone, and she wants to honour them - but can she do so with such a raw pain, shattered porcelain shoved through skin, piercing her every moment she sees it again?

3 - Vex! Vex. Flying and falling over the ziggurat. The tomb. Every single moment on her broom. How flying means freedom, means a vantage point, means being above people in a way they simply cannot take away or ignore - to get above her means flying above her, means acknowledging she is there, that she's there and real and matters.

Because she does.

So much was beyond her - held above her, out of reach, always striven for but rarely attained (her father's love or approval, her classmates' good opinion, the simple means to live comfortably) but now she has it. Now she flies. Now she's free.

[mtfishtales]

FLY FISHING IN MONTANA: EXPLORE TOP SPOTS FOR YOUR NEXT TRIP

Want to explore Montana’s untouched wilderness surrounded by pristine waters and breathtaking mountains? The fly fisher’s paradise has the best fishing spots in the country. Whether you want to hunt the biggest trout or discover hidden gems in the fabled waterways, this is the perfect place to be. In this blog, we will explore the best spots for Montana fly fishing trips to set the seal on a remarkable voyage.

BIG HOLE RIVER:

If you are a first-time explorer, you will be in awe of the Big Hole River’s lush greenery, mountainous horizons, and wide open fields. The river is well-known for its slow-moving pools and blue-ribbon trout streams. It offers trophy browns, rainbows, and Fluvial Artic Grayling. As the 160-mile river enters the canyon, it changes dramatically, with over 1500-2000 browns and rainbows per mile hiding under house-sized boulders. 

MISSOURI RIVER:

Well-known for its tailwater fishery, the Missouri River is home to large rainbows and browns. Mostly famous for frequent hatches, makeing it a popular destination for fishermen. Dry Fly Fishing and Steamer Fishing can give you a satisfying experience yielding spectacular specimens. The average trout size ranges from 15-18 inches and can grow up to 22 inches.

CLARK FORK RIVER

The Clark Fork River is the largest river by volume in Montana. The upper part of the river is a small stream mostly holding Brown Trout and Westslope Cutthroat. As it heads west it becomes a large freestone river, including rainbow, Cutthroat, and hybrid cut-bows.

BEAVERHEAD RIVER

With over 3800 wild rainbows, cutbows, and brown trout per mile, the Beaverhead River is one of the most productive wild trout fisheries in the state. The river has narrow channels and powerful currents, so with short, accurate shots and good line management, you can catch aggressive trout. Drift from the boat and fish along the corners to navigate the river effectively.

JEFFERSON RIVER

This river provides fantastic trophy brown trout fishing with colorful and vibrant rainbows. Bordered by the Mountains and Tobacco Roots, the river offers excellent fly fishing without crowds.  Summer stones or hoppers are the greatest dry fly pattern. However, it mostly attracts predatory animals.

BITTERROOT RIVER

Located between the Sapphire and Bitterroot mountains, Bitterroot Valley is one of Montana’s top fly fishing spots. Experience the finest experience by flowing down the river and increase the chances of capturing brown trouts, rainbow trouts, and cutthroat trouts.

YELLOWSTONE RIVER

The Yellowstone River is one of the world’s largest trout streams. Rainbow trouts, Brown trouts, Cutthroat trouts, and huge whitefish are found in different areas of the river. Moreover, fly fishing in this spot depends upon the season, water condition, and level of the river.

If you want to explore these top spots for a thrilling fly-fishing adventure, visit https://mtfishtales.com/. Create your own personalized experience with MT Fish Tales today!

[here-2suffer]

Okay guys, happy MerMay! I'm still not done with chapter 4, but I am trying to finish it this month. Though for now, have chapter 3! @total-fandom-tr45h @kattramen I'll tag you here so you don't have to go searching. Without further ado, I present to you...

Fish Tales Chapter 3

The wind was howling, the skies were a dark gray. Heavy rain poured down and lightning struck, leaving the terrifying thunder to rumble as the winds grew stronger and stronger. Ships travelling the seas that were unfortunate enough to encounter this dreadful storm went down like a stone rolling down a steep hill, being torn apart by the unforgiving waves and spilling all its contents. 

The merpeople swam hurriedly to find and guide others to shelter, only hoping that their homes were strong enough to withstand such a storm. There was yelling, screaming, and panic everywhere. It was utter chaos.  

The children were rushed inside first, then the seniors and adults. The children’s cries were blocked by the deafening thunder. The adults tried their best to calm the children, some still out and looking for shelter.  

As you tried to gather all the children still scattered outside, the storm kept getting worse. Just when you thought you finally got all the children safe inside, you hear a scream outside. You whip your head back to see a child trapped under the wall of a broken house. 

The currents grow stronger, you have to act quick. As you dash towards the injured child, you feel a pit growing in your stomach as you realize that it might be too late for both of you to get into the shelter. 

The child crawls out from under the roof you lifted, and you instantly drop it and grab the child. You can feel yourself being swayed by the rapid currents as you dash through, as you try to make sure that at least the child gets there safely. You start to lose balance, you’re not going to make it, you’re not going to make it, you’re not going to make it.  

You muster up all the strength you can to push the child to the shelter. The last thing you see is the child being caught in someone’s arms, you hear voices yell your name as you’re swept away by the storm, drifting farther and farther from the only place you’ve ever known. 

There are shipwrecks nearby, some boats still getting shredded mercilessly as their contents spill out into the ocean. As the waves roughly rock you back and forth, a net comes flying at you and you end up getting tangled in it. You try to pull it off you, but with the rough waves combatting you, it only gets worse. It tears into your skin and tail, even cutting off and bending some fins, you can feel it cut into you like some of those sharp glass pieces that get dropped into the sea. 

Tears prick your eyes as the pain becomes almost unbearable, but you keep fighting. You fight for what seems to be an eternity, fighting until you can’t fight anymore. You let the currents carry you into calmer seas, the water around you mixes with your blood, your visions blurs.  

You swim around, trying to find somewhere to rest after the event. The net slowly peels off of you, revealing the scars from your struggle. You see something in the distance. A big shadow that looks like... 

A rock! 

You dart towards the shadow, hoping that there are other merpeople up there willing to help you. You try to call for help, crying out to the large shadow as your vision blurs even more, the corners of your vision fading into black.  

Though your cries seem to have gotten the attention of whoever was up there because they throw something off to the side, a rope splashes into the water. You grab onto the rope, and you feel yourself being pulled up. 

You’re finally safe. 

You can feel yourself getting unconscious, you can’t fight it anymore. You close your eyes and feel some arms grab you before you’re set down on a rough surface. You don’t think this is how rocks typically feel, but you can’t confirm or deny that as you quickly slip into unconsciousness. 

The last thing you hear are two voices filled with surprise and worry. 

[snaillamp]

Jod - day 27 - Unwelcome guests

Masterlist

Day 27: “I’m so sorry.” | Sacrifice | Obsession | Display |

Enjar stood from the small rowboat, making his way to shore. He gazed out onto the fjord, watching the mist drift over the water. He sighed, looking at the small catch he had managed to bring in. It would last him a while if he dried it, but he might have to go hunting for game later.

Hauling the boat in, he lifted the nets and pulled the fish from them, placing them in a sack and throwing it over his shoulder. His boots squeaked as he walked across the stony beach, trudging back to the pathway leading home. A cold wind whipped up from the ocean, sending spray flying into Enjar’s hair and face. He licked the salt from his lips, opening the door to his cabin and dumping the fish on the old wooden table. Pulling the small radio from his belt, he placed it in the dock next to an old shortwave radio that was on the table beside the front door.

The cabin attached to a large lighthouse. It was small, stone and comprised of three rooms, a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen/living area. A small fire place was tucked in the corner of the kitchen side and dry driftwood was piled beside it. On the other side, an old, sagging sofa that had been there long before he had moved in, was pushed against the wall under the window. He didn’t have the heart to get rid of it, and besides, it was quite comfy, despite its’ age. Beside it, the ancient shortwave radio, along with the smaller, newer portable radio, taking up the space on the side table.

There was a door on the other side of the cabin leading to a winding staircase. It reached its’ way up to the top of the lighthouse that was gently spinning a light out into the abyss of the black, churning ocean. Beside the door was a large built-in closet, filled with rope and climbing gear. When he was bored, Enjar liked to abseil, and it was helpful to use for maintenance on the tower.

He lifted some of the wood into the fireplace, then placing some kindling, old paper, into the wood pile, he lit a match, then the kindling, watching the flames begin to consume the wood. Standing from the fireplace, he moved to the kitchen sink. There were three fish, as long as his forearm that he needed to harvest. Leaning over in the sink, he began laying out the flesh he cut to be preserved in salt. He laid the strips on a salt covered tray and sprinkled dried herbs over them.

When Enjar had finished, he pulled a chair from beside the table and set it in front of the fire, beginning to clean the knife. After a few minutes of staring at the flames and listening to the wild wind, he fell asleep, the knife clattering to the floor as it slipped from his hand. He slumped in the chair, in front of the warm flames, tired and sore from a long day of fishing.

Enjar waited as the man walked into the trees. His large gun shined dully in the pelting rain as he disappeared behind a bush. Enjar looked through the binoculars spotting the man again. It was a Viktor Madsen, and he was an evil man. He had kidnapped a woman and was holding her hostage in a bunker in the woods.

His only mistake was that he had let her keep her phone, which had been pinging off a tower in this area for two days. “Suspect spotted. Squad A moving in.” Enjar muttered into a radio. He was young, but elite. His taskforce was the best of the best, ready to jump into action at any moment. He had done so many rescues before, this would be a piece of cake.

Shots rang out as the man behind Enjar flew backwards. He had triggered a booby trap. Glancing behind him Enjar felt his stomach drop. There was no helping his comrade now. More shots rang out and he fell to the ground, panting as he scanned the trees. He couldn’t tell where the shooting was coming from in the rain. He lay there, deep in the bush, completely still, waiting for the man to emerge into the downpour. He watched as Viktor ran across his line of sight. Readying his own gun, Enjar took a breath, aiming carefully and…

Bang.

Waking to the sound of banging on his door Enjar looked around. Pulling his hair over his shoulder, he walked to the door, glancing through the window. It was small and covered in salt, making it hard to see through, but it didn’t help that it was also really dark. Reaching for an old oil lamp by the door, he lit it with a match, holding the warm light near his head as he opened the door into the screaming wind.

The man was young, haggard and tired. He had to be at least 20, so 10 years younger than Enjar at least. He stared at Enjar with gaunt, scared eyes as he was illuminated with the warm light. Enjar noticed his eyes falling to the large, thin scar trailing across his face, running from his left temple, down past his eye and settling across his cheek. He did admit to himself, it made him look more scary than he was, which wasn’t always a bad thing.

“What are you doing out here on a night like this?” Enjar asked the man, who shivered. He was wearing a thin, long sleeved shirt and some long, baggy cargo pants, not exactly warm gear. “Come inside and warm up, hey?” Enjar moved to the side a little, making space for the man to squeeze through. The man hesitated for a second, before walking inside.

Enjar placed the lantern on the table before going to switch on the lights. The dull lamps flickered and buzzed as they jumped to life, humming slightly. Turning off the lamp, Enjar offered the chair in front of the fire to the man, who silently accepted. He shivered as he sat in front of the dying fire, so Enjar stepped in and piled more wood onto the weak flames. “So, what’s your name, stranger?” He smiled slightly, looking up at the young man. “N-Nils.” The man replied, rubbing his arms with his hands. Enjar sighed, looking at the pale man, whose chattering teeth were beginning to slow. “Wait here, I’ll get you a blanket.”

Walking into the other room, the bedroom, Enjar pulled open the closet. He found a thick, woolen blanket and pulled it out. It smelled kind of musty, but then again it had been there when he took over as lighthouse keeper, almost 10 years ago. It was a dull, grey colour, quite warm in the cold winters, Enjar actually quite liked it. He brought it out of the room, looking at Nils, who was a little less blue in front of the flames. He had taken his feet out of the big, maybe too big, leather boots he was wearing and was resting his feet in front of the fire. He had removed his thin ankle socks to reveal his purple toes, not purple from cold but from bruises. His feet were swollen and cut up pretty badly. Enjar frowned, looking at Nils’ feet with suspicion.

“Here, it smells kinda bad but it’ll warm you up quick.” Enjar said quietly, wrapping the blanket around Nils, who pulled it close to him. Enjar noticed the cuts on his knuckles as he grabbed the edges of the blanket, but they were quickly hidden by the fabric as Nils pulled it around his body. “You eaten?” He asked the man, who shook his head. Sighing, Enjar walked to the counter of the kitchen, opening the cupboard under it and looking at what he had. His stock of dried meat and herbs was low, not that Nils would really eat it anyway. He needed something warm.

Opening the small pantry cupboard, Enjar looked at what he had. A large bag of flour, a small bag of sugar, yeast and some stock cubes were laid messily on one shelf, while a large bucket of salt, a bottle of oil and a battered tin of coffee were on the lower shelf, equally as messy. A thin layer of dust covered the highest shelf, the biscuit tin containing sewing supplies untouched for months, and a mortar and pestle, also unused pushed to the back of the shelf. “Shit, I really don’t have much, do I?” He muttered looking at the barren pantry. He went over to he mini fridge beside the pantry, opening it and looking inside. Fresh veggies and fruits were piled inside the crisper drawer, along with milk, fresh bread and a few sausages. “There we go.” He smiled, pulling a potato and two sausages from the fridge.

After mixing everything up on the small stove beside the sink, Enjar handed Nils a plate of sausages and mashed potato, with a steaming cup of coffee to boot. Nils’ eyes lit up and he eagerly ate the food, not even accepting the fork Enjar offered him. Enjar shrugged, placing the fork back on the drawer it came from, before walking over to sit beside the fire. He noticed his knife near Nils’ foot and reached over, grabbing it, causing Nils to jump. “Hey, it’s okay. Just grabbing my knife I dropped earlier.” He held it up, before placing it above the fireplace, next to the seagull skull.

A seagull had flown into the window and broken its’ neck a few years ago, and Enjar, always up for something to do, had decided to keep the bones. The skull looked nice on the mantle, ever watching with curious, unseen eyes. It was comforting to have some company out here in the lonely wilderness, and Enjar even talked to it occasionally. He had called it Ulrich.

Nils finished the food and set the plate down at his feet. It had been licked clean. “Damn, I won’t have to clean it, you’ve already done it for me!” Enjar joked, looking at the man who stared back blankly. “Okay then…” He reached forward, picking up the plate and taking it to the kitchen sink. When he put it in, it hit the side of the sink, making a dull metallic thud and Nils twitched in the chair. Enjar frowned again, returning to his spot, resting his head against the wall. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, feeling it bend stiffly due to the layers of salt. He should really wash it soon.

“So Nils, what’s caused you to come out here in this weather. It’s not great to be out right now, given the storm front coming in.” Nils nodded, slouching in the chair. “It’s nothing.” He looked at Enjar, who tried to smile gently, but Nils quickly looked away, instead staring into the flames and leaving him smiling at nothing. “I’m Enjar, by the way. Been this lighthouse’s keeper for 8 years. I never really have anything like this happen, sure I’ve gone looking for missing people and such, but not many people turn up at my door. They tend to only do that when they want something.” He glanced at the shortwave beside the sofa.

The thing was ancient, probably older than he was, but it worked like a charm. It had crackled to life on many an occasion, usually the coast guard wanting assistance with finding missing fishermen or hikers. One of his favourite missions however, had been when he had had to help a guy abseiling when he got stuck on a cliff face. Enjar had used his own gear to rappel down and clip the guy on, before climbing all the way back up. A small red light on the machine blinked slowly, showing it was on.

“No reason. Just hiking. Weather turned and I saw the light from the lighthouse. Figured I could stay here until morning.” Nils murmured. Enjar nodded, his suspicion growing. “Well, you’re certainly well outfitted for a hike… Where’s your gear?” Nils glanced in his direction, knowing Enjar didn’t believe his lie. “Well, Mr Nils, you can stay on the sofa for the night. Let me know if you need anything, and I can take you to where you want to be tomorrow. Fuel is short though, I might only be able to get you as far as town in my truck.”

Nils nodded, standing from the chair and shuffling to the sofa, lying down on it. Enjar walked to his room and pulled a thick quilt from the closet, bringing it over to the cold man. He lay it over the top of him and walked to the light switch, pointing at his door. “I’m in there, need anything at all, just knock.” Smiling, he turned out the light and shuffled to his room.

The wind began to howl even louder as Enjar quickly changed clothes. He curled up in bed, sinking into the soft mattress before kicking himself for not having a shower. He probably stank of fish. Looking at the door to the bathroom, he sighed, he would do it tomorrow, the water would take forever to warm up in this weather anyway. Drifting off into a restless sleep, he dreamed of howling winds and cold rain, battering down on his skin…

Bang.

He missed Viktor by less than a millimetre. The running man froze, looking directly in Enjar’s direction. The rest of his team were gone. It was just him, he was the only one able to take this scumbag down. For the woman, for his friends, for his team. He aimed at the man, lining his barrel up perfectly and pulled the trigger.

The gun jammed.

‘Shit’ Enjar thought as he saw the man approaching him pull a machete from his belt.

Before he realised what was happening the man was on top of Enjar, raising the blade. Enjar felt his arms sting as he raised them to protect his face. His helmet got knocked off, maybe cut, in the struggle, and the man swung the blade again, catching Enjar’s temple. He felt the blade slice the skin down his eye and across his cheek, making his face scream in agony. He realised it was actually him screaming.

Enjar woke with a start, moaning softly and sweating hard. He rolled over, glancing at his clock, 3 am. The red, digital numbers glowed in the dark, as the rain battered the window. Nights like these brought back memories he would rather forget. He threw the blankets off his body, in an effort to cool down and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the deep scars on his forearms.

Standing from bed, he groaned, pulling his sweat stained hair back and tying it behind his head. It was below his shoulders now, it had been that long since he’d cut it, but he was kind of enjoying the change. He’d had short hair his whole life, this made him feel… it made him feel like he could be someone else, not the person he was before, despite the scars he carried as a reminder.

Walking into the bathroom, he turned on the dim, yellow light, twisting on the stiff tap and watching the water trickle out. “Pressure’s shit itself again…” He mumbled to himself, sticking his hand under the water, before pulling it back. It was ice cold. “Fuck.” He shook the water off, rubbing his hand and standing there, waiting for the water to warm up.

Eventually, a small trail of steam rose from the tap and he splashed his face with it. The warmth melted the sleepiness away as he switched off the tap, turning off the light and returning to bed feeling a little better. Pulling the blankets back over his body, he shivered as he stared at the clock, watching the red numbers tick up, 3:15, 3:34, 3:59, 4:00. Sighing, he rolled over, shutting his eyes and trying to fall back to sleep. Just as he was slipping away, a soft knock echoed from his door.

Groaning in slight annoyance, Enjar sat up, rubbing his face. He had forgotten he’d acquired a guest. Stepping out of bed, he walked over to the door. When he opened it, he looked at the man standing in the doorway, his expression as gaunt as ever. “What’s up?” He mumbled, looking at Nils and blinking slowly with tired eyes. “They’re coming.” Nils whispered, staring at Enjar, spooked.

“Wait, what?” Enjar asked sleepily, “Who’s coming?” he looked at Nils who was visibly shaking. “Lars. He’s… I don’t know, but I heard it on that.” He pointed at the shortwave. “What?” Enjar shook his head, entering the main room. “What exactly did you hear?”

Nils sat on the couch, pulling the blanket around his body, almost as a defence against the short wave. “I heard him. He was talking, that thing spoke.” He shivered. “He said that he would check the lighthouse next. The keeper wouldn’t be a problem. He was talking to me...” Enjar frowned, looking at the spooked man. “So… Who’s Lars then.”

“Lars Sorensen.” Enjar’s face grew stern. “The murderer? That Lars Sorensen?” Nils nodded. “He escaped with two other men. They split up and were talking on radios they stole from somewhere. Guards at the prison I think.” He shivered, “I worked there as an officer, they took me hostage… I’d only been working there a few months and… You have to help me they’ll kill me if they find me.” Enjar looked at the man shuddering on the sofa. His pleading eyes seemed to be telling the truth at least partially.

“Fine.” Enjar sighed. “Take the blankets and go up to the tower. Climb the stairs until you reach the top. There’s a small maintenance closet at the top you can hide in. I’ll tell them I haven’t seen anyone around.” He glanced at the shoes and socks by the fire, picking them up and placing them in the cupboard under the kitchen counter. Looking up at Nils, he raised his eyebrows, “Well, go!” he pointed at the door and Nils sprung up, grabbing the blankets and racing to the door.

Enjar heard the shortwave crackle to life, it was Matthew, the local coast guard. “Attention all staff in the area this is Base. I repeat attention all staff, this is Base. Be advised there have been escaped convicts sighted in the area. Be on look out for four men, Lars Sorensen, Hugo Andersen, Neil Larson and Nils Strass. Consider them armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Report all sightings to me immediately. Do you copy Tower 1?” Enjar listened as each of the towers answered.

“Do you copy Tower 4?”

Enjar reached for the receiver, “Tower 4, copy. Be advised, I heard some chatter, no one I recognised. Do the men in question have radios? Tower 4 out.” His mind was reeling, was Nils also a convict? Should he even be helping him?

“Copy, Tower 4. Checking now,” a few seconds ticked by as Enjar waited for the reply. “Yes, they have radios. Passing that on now, thanks Tower 4. Will send some…” The radio was overcome with scrambled buzzing, “Tower 4 do you…” Enjar reached for the receiver, “Base repeat?” “Tow- Be advis- Cauti- Tower 4. Over?” Trying to contact Matthew again, Enjar heard the wind howl against the lighthouse. The radio buzzed and then went quiet. “Dang it. The storm is interfering with the signal. Piece of shit.” He looked at the machine, twisting nobs and pressing a couple of buttons. It made a high pitched whine, before promptly cutting out. Trying the hand held radio, Enjar spoke into it, only receiving static. “Shit. Signal’s gone”

He sat on the sofa, hoping that someone would be able to come and check on him as he watched the rain batter against the window. The fire had died down to embers now, providing a slight glowing light. As he watched the raindrops race down the window, he began to feel sleep settle in. He lay back on the sofa, shivering as the wind shook the rattling window and letting a sliver of cool air in. As he dozed, arm flopped over the edge of the sofa, he swore he saw a shadow in the window. His stomach sank.

It all happened in a few seconds.

The door burst open and a large, wet, bearded man barged into the cabin. He had a large purple bruise on his cheek and a blackened eye, clearly from a well placed punch. Enjar leapt from the sofa, staring at him. “Heard your little conversation. Though I’d come and put a name and face to that lovely voice of yours.” He growled, holding up a small, handheld radio, before he placed it in his pocket. The wind whistled through the cabin as the man rushed at Enjar, who dodged, flinging himself onto the sofa, then diving towards the fireplace. The man was panting as he rested his hand against the edge of the sofa. “Ahh, so it’s going to be like that huh?” His cold, dead eyes stared into Enjar’s, sending a shiver down his spine. He had seen eyes like that before.

Lars Sorensen however, was famous. He was convicted almost 5 years before of heinous murders. He’d killed at least a dozen people, probably more realistically. But now, he was standing in front of Enjar, even bigger and uglier than his photo made him out to be.

Enjar’s hand found the small shovel used to clean coals from the fire. He gripped the it, shoving the shovel into the hot ash and scooping some up. He flung them at Lars who put up his arms in front of his face. He was wearing a cheap, nylon jumper that the few small coals went straight through, as well as the prison jumpsuit he had on underneath. They bounced off his heavy boots, before Lars lowered his arms, stamping out the glowing embers. “Oh, you’re going to regret that.”

He lunged again, Enjar using the shovel to move the chair into his way. Lars picked it up and threw it at him, forcing him to duck. Enjar swung the shovel back at him, the hot metal landing on Lars’ pale face, making him yelp in pain. He knew Lars was cold and he couldn’t keep up fighting for long, but then again, neither could Enjar. He had to end this now. The door shook as the wind blew against it, causing the embers to flare and then fade.

In the darkened room it was already hard to see, but the loss of the one source of light made it nearly impossible. Enjar heard a heavy footstep behind him but couldn’t move out of the way in time. A large, meaty hand landed on his shoulder, crushing it and pulling him around to face the man holding him. Enjar gasped in pain as both shoulders were grabbed, and he was thrown back hard against the wall.

The walls were made of exposed stone, great for trapping heat, not so great for a soft landing. Enjar felt his head crack against it, sending a bright, sharp pain through his head. The hands met his shoulders again, pulling him forward. “Where’s that brat Nils? I know he’s here.” Enjar looked up, feigning confusion. “The only Nils I know is the pharmacist in town. So… the pharmacy I guess.” Lars threw him against the bricks and he felt his head crack against the stone again. He felt dizzy now. 


“Don’t play smart with me, keeper. I know you know who I mean. Little bastard left footprints leading right to your door. I followed them right here.” He pointed at the muddy footprints scattered across the floor. “Those? They’re mine. I leave the house you know, I’ve got stuff to do. I’m a lighthouse keeper not a hermit.” Lars threw him against the wall again. The world began to sway and Enjar’s legs felt a bit weak.

“That’s a lie. I tracked them myself.” Lars lifted a small torch from his pocket, turning it on and shining it in Enjar’s eyes, forcing him to squint. “Nice scar. Think I’ll add another one if you don’t tell me where that son of a bitch is.” Enjar glanced up at the convict, panting as he tried to stay awake. “I have… no idea… who you’re talking… about.”

Lars bristled. “Liar!” He screamed, pulling Enjar forward, before slamming him back one more time. Enjar heard a ringing in his ears as the weight lifted off his shoulders and he groaned, sinking to the floor. His head felt like it had exploded, it was pounding as he came to a stop on the floor, slumped against the wall. Lars chuckled, patting his head and trudging off into the cabin. “Oh Nils, where are you? Nils? NILS?!” He hollered into the cabin, which was the last thing Enjar heard before the world went dark.

Lars heard the lighthouse keeper sigh. Tuning around, he saw the man go limp, slumped heavily against the wall.

He wouldn’t be an issue now.

Walking to the sagging, pathetic sofa, he bent down, looking under it. There was nothing there except dust. The door swung noisily on its’ hinges, annoying and squeaky. Lars groaned, walking to door and slamming it shut. It rattled, shaken at the force at which it was pulled shut, but was enough to make the small glass window shudder.

Opening all the cupboard doors in the kitchen Lars peered in, unable to see much. Feeling around he couldn’t grab anything, until his hands came to rest on a container. ‘This bastard eats almost nothing. Unless he’s fed it all to that weasel.’ He though to himself, opening the container and smelling the pleasant smell of dried meat. Grabbing a handful of dried meat, he shoveled it in his mouth. It tasted quite good, causing him to lift his eyebrows in surprise at the pleasant mix of dried herbs and salt. Swallowing the meat he continued to the bedroom.

Ripping the blankets from the bed, then checking under it, he sighed in frustration. He tore open the closet door, being met with with a few musty smelling quilts and blankets. A moth fluttered out of the space and into the room. Moving to the bathroom, he flicked on the light, listening to it buzz. The room was small, a toilet, tiny sink and a pitiful shower. He found it hard to believe the keeper man chose to live like this. Lars had a better bathroom in prison. Then again, this was almost a prison in and of itself, in a way. ‘Damn lighthouse.’ He thought to himself.

Leaving the bathroom, he made his way to the main room, stumbling around in the dark, until he spied the light switch. He fumbled his way over, turning it on. In the dim, flickering light he observed the scene before him.

The lighthouse keeper was crumpled on the floor, blood flowing down the back of his neck, over his ear and onto his shoulder. There was a smear of blood on the wall above him too, where his head had been slammed and sank.

As he walked back through the kitchen, he noticed the shoes and socks tucked away. They were way too large to be the keeper’s shoes and Nils had been forced to grab a large pair… Lars smiled to himself. He opened the closet by the door he hadn’t noticed in the dark and laughed with glee at the sight. Rope. Lots and lots of rope. Picking up one of them from the closet, he walked over to the lighthouse keeper. He grabbed the chair he had thrown at him and sat it up. Picking up the body of the man, he dragged the lighthouse keeper into the chair. ‘For a man a lot smaller than me, he’s a heavy son of a bitch.’ Lars thought, dropping the limp keeper in the chair with a thud.

He tied the man’s arms to the back of the chair, noticing the scars. ‘Gotta be careful with this one. Must be a fighter.’ His mind flickered with annoyance at this, the small burns on his own arm throbbing a little. Soon the keeper was all tied up, so at least enough so that if he woke, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. 

Lars noticed he was quite still, but he could hear the tiny sounds of his breath going in and out, so he knew he was alive. It was better that way, at least for now.

He turned and stared at the door leading to what he assumed was the tower. “I wonder what the views are like from up there? Well, I’d better go see for myself…” he muttered in the keeper’s ear, stroking the man’s long hair. He pulled the hair tie from his head, sliding it around his own wrist. “Might come in handy.” He muttered, thinking about his own head of hair or what was left of it. He was nearly bald, but his beard was as bushy as ever. Gathering it up and securing it with the band, Lars made his way to the door, grabbing the handle. He held his breath for a second before rushing in.

The bottom of the slim, steep metal stairs was barren. An old set of skis was leaning against the wall, clearly not used in forever. Next to that was a can of fuel for a car. Nudging it, Lars huffed in frustration. It was empty.

Beginning the climb he marveled at the design of the tower. It wasn’t stairs all the way up, instead there was a floor halfway up the tower. He’d never actually been inside a big one like this, he’d only ever seen the little ones that no one even lived in, not the traditional red and white striped ones. Upon reaching the floor, he observed the scene.

There was a workbench and some tools, probably for maintaining the light, and a large closet. Grinning he crept over to it, the cold tower making his skin prickle, with the added excitement of the chase already making him giddy. Pulling open the closet, he sighed in frustration. It was full of oil and grease and a huge light, probably a replacement for the big turning one. There was also a flat thing covered in a soft sheet. Picking at the sheet, Lars realised it was a mirror. Pulling it forward, he checked behind it.

No Nils.

Maybe the keeper had taken his shoes and passed him on. The bastard did steal a pair that were way to big for him. He had paid for it though, when he had to walk over the rocky beach with no shoes because he kept tripping. He slowed them down more than the other two had, not that they were much better. Then again, they weren’t a problem anymore anyway.

“Nils…” Lars softly called out. He listened, waiting for any sound. Nothing. Continuing his climb to the tower, he reached the final floor with a low ceiling. He had to crouch a little, as he noticed the trap door and small, iron ladder. He walked up to it, pushing the door open and stepping up into the light room. It was smaller than he’d imagined it to be, the light humming slowly as the machine rotated lazily in circles. Stepping up into the room, he watched for any sign of the ratty little man, but to no avail. Stepping back down, he pulled the heavy trapdoor shut, turning to leave.

He noticed the door.

Half the room was bricked off, turned into a large closet, presumably to store stuff… The perfect hiding spot. Lars took in an excited breath, walking to the door and pulling it open. It squeaked loudly on its’ rusted hinges. Lars noticed a small, old fashioned light switch beside the door frame. He pressed the button and a barely functioning lamp flickered to life, humming louder than all the others in this damn lighthouse.

Inside the closet, well it was really a small room, was a shelf with an old gas lantern on it, covered in a few decades worth of dust. Old, rusted metal parts were stacked against the wall, long forgotten. There was a grey blanket huddled in the corner covering something. That… that wasn’t supposed to be there. Sure the blanket looked ratty and old, but it wasn’t covered in the layers of dust that everything else was. Stepping forward, he approached the blanket, before his hand shot out and he ripped it off. Underneath was a shivering little man, wrapped in a quilt, who looked up in horror with the widest eyes Lars had ever seen. “Found you.” He growled.

Nils yelped in pain as the large bearded man’s hand grabbed his arm. He squeezed it so hard, Nils though it would snap like a twig. Wincing as he was dragged from the closet, Lars pulled him down the many stairs, back towards the cabin. Nils cringed at the thought of Enjar seeing this. The guy seemed nice, Nils knew that he would be upset when he realised he had lied, but he probably would have turned him away if he had told the truth, any sane person would. After Lars had pushed Neil off the cliff and drowned Hugo in the stream, Nils knew he wouldn’t be safe for long. The sooner he could get away from the maniac the better… and now, he was royally fucked.

Re-entering the cabin, Nils gasped. Enjar was slumped in a the chair, head and neck covered in blood. His arms were bound tightly behind him to the chair, his legs each strapped to a chair leg. He looked to be in bad shape as he took small, faint breaths, Nils’ gut telling him they were almost too small and faint. “Like what I did with the place?” Lars joked, holding out his other arm and swinging around, as if he were showing off a freshly renovated home.

Pulling another chair from the table, Lars sat the quivering Nils down, picking up more rope from the table and tying him up too. Nils knew better than to fight. At least then he might have a small chance of getting away. The wind had died down a little, and the shortwave cackled to life.

“Tower 4. This is Base. Respond immediately. Repeat, respond immediately.”

Lars laughed, “Nah, they won’t be getting any response any time soon…”

Matthew turned from the radio and ran his hand through his hair anxiously. Enjar was always quick to respond. He was always by the old short wave in his tower and when he wasn’t he had his hand held. Matthew’s stomach sank at the thought of what might have happened him.

A search team had found Neil Larson at the bottom of a cliff and Hugo Andersen drowned in a little stream, closest to Tower 4. It looked like they had been murdered, there were injuries on their bodies from what looked like a fight.

Perhaps the storm had cut off contact… but he was getting through to the rest of the towers, Tower 9 was the closest to Tower 4 and they could talk fine. “Tower 4. Please respond. Do you have a light?” Once the coded phrase for distress went unanswered, Matthew swore, picking up the radio and speaking with shaking words into it. “Base to Search Team Beta. We have a situation at Tower 4. Please investigate, ASAP. Base over and out.”

“Copy Base. Search Team Beta over and out.”

“Come on Enjar. Pick up damn it…” Matthew stared at the radio, willing Enjar’s voice to come out of it. He was met with a deafening silence, only broken by the chatter of the radios from other lighthouse keepers who were beginning to clue in to the situation by now.

Enjar groaned, lifting his pounding head. Nils glanced at him, watching his eyes open and letting out a breath he hadn’t reailsed he was holding. Enjar glanced at Nils, dazed. “Nils?” Nils shook his head, “Shh, it’s okay. He found me… You need to stay still okay. You’re hurt pretty bad. Lars went to piss, so we’ll be alone for a minute or so more.”

Enjar’s head dropped, as the world swayed. He had experienced his fair share of bad concussions before, but this was something else. He was fighting to keep his eyes open as he tried to move, only to realise his arms were stuck. Pulling on them again, he saw he was tied up. “Fuck…” He groaned quietly, sinking in his chair. He glanced at Nils, who was going in and out of focus. “You… you’re not his escaped hostage… are you? You’re not even a guard…” he grimaced as a wave of pain rocked his skull. “You’re one of them…”

 Nils looked away ashamed.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice shook. “Lars was so nice to me… he protected me from the other prisoners, big guys who could snap you in half with ease…” A tear fell down his face, “But when we escaped… We grabbed what we could. He couldn’t fit into any of the guard’s clothes we stole, but he took a jacket. We all stole stuff… shoes, clothes and- and radios…” His voice hitched as the tears began to stream down. “Hugo and Neil got frustrated when we ended up out here. Lars left a cache around but we couldn’t find it. He was obsessed with finding it… it was all he could think about, talk about… dream about. We all got in a fight… He pushed Neil off a cliff and drowned Hugo and- and I just ran. When I saw the light from the lighthouse, I just hoped you’d let me in and… I didn’t want you to turn me away… so I- I lied…”

Nils looked over at Enjar, who was staring at him, he looked mad, which was understandable, but also a little sympathetic. “I wou-ldn’t have… t-urned yo-u away…” He mumbled, his words catching in weird places. Nils felt a little pang of worry. “I wouldn’t hav-have left you in that storm to… d-die.” Enjar’s eyes became distant as he suddenly began staring into space. “Enjar?” Nils’ voice rose in panic as he watched the man’s eyes roll back in his head. “Enjar?” He squeaked, glancing around. Lars would be back soon. Enjar seemed to sag as he sighed, passing out completely. Something told Nils that was very, very bad.

Lars chose that moment to storm back in. He was adjusting his jumpsuit. “Damn. That was a nice piss. I wouldn’t have had to hold so much in if I wasn’t looking for you though.” He glared at Nils. “Did he wake up?” He nudged Enjar’s shoulder, watching as he drooped in the restraints. “No.” Nils lied, looking up at the man.

“Weird, I could of sworn he’s moved... and that I heard you talking to him, pipsqueak.” He grabbed Enjar by the jaw, lifting his head. “I know you can hear me, keeper man. Quit the act already.” Enjar remained limp and silent, Lars huffed and removed his hand, watching the man’s head drop heavily forwards. “Well if he’s faking he’s doing a damn good job of it.” He kicked Enjar’s right shin. “Eh, whatever.”

Wandering over to Nils, began to untie him. “You’re gonna come with me Nillsy. We’re gonna go on a little ride in keeper man’s little boat.” As soon as he was free, Nils leapt forward, grabbing the knife beside the weird skull. He held it in front of him, shaking. “Oh,” Lars exclaimed, laughing. “What, are you gonna take me out with that toothpick? Come on pipsqueak, you couldn’t fight to save your life.” Lars began to untie Enjar, “What do you think, he’d make a nice human shield for me wouldn’t he?” He hoisted up the limp man, holding him under his arms. Enjar twitched, coming around. “And here he is, back in the land of the living at last.” Lars mumbled in his ear. “Welcome back, lighthouse keeper.”

Enjar lifted his head, confused at the scene before him. The last thing he remembered was being tied up, so why was he standing? He realised he was being held up when the man, Lars mumbled in his ear, “Welcome back, lighthouse keeper.” He glanced at Nils, who was holding his knife out at them both, quivering like a leaf. “Let me go…” Enjar growled as he felt the adrenaline kick in. His survival instincts were still intact, especially after last time…

Survival instincts took over. He shoved his attacker, the machete flinging itself away as Viktor fell backward. Enjar’s fists met Viktor’s face, over and over until the man lay limp below him. His arms and face were bleeding profusely and his head felt thick as he stood. The world tilted as he heard a distant yell, and then he hit the ground, his head hitting a rock and sending him into a black void.

He had retired after that. The flashbacks were too much. The anxiety of being around people, any of them could be monsters. When he had heard an old lighthouse keeper of one of the most isolated lighthouses in the country had retired, he jumped at the chance to go. 8 years later, he was happy, content with his life of solitude. Sometimes it was lonely but it was safe, it was free. That was the sacrifice he had made. And now.. that was broken, by this bastard, by this murderer. A murderer like Viktor… 


Enjar’s body seemed to almost explode. Despite his injuries, he was still quite powerful, thrashing against the much bigger Lars. He managed to slip from the man’s grip, and jumped on him. Lars staggered back, crashing into the table behind him as Enjar attacked his face. He screamed and raised his arms in defence from Enjar’s fists, only for him to shove the smaller man off. Enjar staggered, leaning heavily on the wall. The dried blood on his neck, was beginning to drip in some places as sweat formed on his skin. Lars lifted himself off the table, running at the man, when Nils screamed out loud, thrusting the knife at the man.

He felt the blade sink into the man’s arm, and Lars howled, ripping the small knife from his arm and clutching the wound. “Little shit!” He screamed, raising the knife to attack the little man. A weak hand caught his wrist. Enjar was gripping it, arm shaking with the effort. “You don’t wanna do that.” He growled, watching the killer with his own, cold eyes. Lars felt a shiver go down his spine as he turned to the weakened man. He had the eyes of a killer too. “Maybe I should finish you off instead.” He raised the knife, thrusting it at the man who could barely stand.

Nils leapt forward, shielding the injured lighthouse keeper. The knife sank into his chest, just below his collar bone. He fell to the floor, dazed and in shock. Enjar shoved Lars back, stepping over the bleeding convict at his feet and eyeing down Lars. He was panting with the effort, his mind focused on one thing:

Taking. Him. Down.

A yell from outside distracted the tall man, Enjar taking that exact moment to tackle him. A bright light filled the cabin as Enjar wrestled the man to the ground, managing to get on top of him and hold his arm behind him. A swarm of people in tactical gear filled the cabin, someone rushing to Nils’ side, whilst another pulled Enjar off Lars.

Enjar felt an arm pull him back as three people in tactical gear jumped on top of Lars. He heard a far off voice say something, but he couldn’t tell what it was. He suddenly felt empty, his head feeling light and his limbs heavy, watching as the world blurred and went dark.

Nils watched Enjar stumble, before collapsing. The person who pulled him off Lars caught him, slinging his arm across his shoulder. Nils realised he was being carried by two people, out of the cabin towards flashing lights. His shoulder felt weird as he was loaded onto a stretcher, listening to the voices of people around him. Someone shined a light in his face and he blinked confused.

Enjar sat on the sofa, sipping strong coffee and staring at the cabin. It was spotless, like that night had never happened. Weirdly, he didn’t feel anxious like he had after Viktor, still felt secure here. Matthew brought him another blanket, wrapping it around his friend’s shoulders. “You with me Enjar?” Enjar blinked, realising he had been staring into space again. “Yeah, yeah… I’m here.” He looked at the man beside him, sighing and leaning back.

“I’m just confused. Why don’t I feel like I did before? The therapist was worried that I would go back to how I was 8 years ago, but I feel fine… I keep waiting for it to hit but it never does. It’s been months…” He rubbed the scar on the back of his head, beneath his freshly washed hair.  Matthew sighed, staring at the flames. “Maybe it’s cause you don’t blame yourself this time? I know you blame yourself about Viktor.” Enjar looked into his coffee swirling it with a quiet groan.

“I guess… That kid, Nils, sacrificed himself for me too… That gave me the chance to take Andersen down… Dr. Dall said that because I have a completed scenario in my head my brain can handle it… I don’t know…” He glanced at Matthew, curious. “How is that kid?”

He had often wondered about the criminal who had jumped in front of that knife that night. Did he even survive?



“He’s fixed up pretty well. He got moved to a different prison, away from Lars’ buddies. From everything I heard he’s happy, even with an extended sentence.” Matthew smiled, patting Enjar on the shoulder. “He’s lucky the knife was so small, it missed everything important by a hair.” Looking at his watch, he sighed, standing from the sofa. “I’d better get going, it’s already pretty late. Let me know if you need anything, Enjar, any time.” He glanced at the man who nodded, curled up on the sofa, already sleepy and warm in front of the fire. Taking the cup from his hand and placing it next to the short wave, Matthew bid Enjar goodnight and left the cabin.

For the first time in a while, Enjar sighed, falling into a restful sleep, lulled by the hush of the waves beside his home. He still felt secure. He still felt safe. Even after all this time, after everything… he hadn’t had a bad dream in ages.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

MerMay 2023 Day One Wake-Up Call

Chase wasn’t usually a light sleeper. But that had changed in the last few weeks. He began to wake up whenever he heard the slightest sound, or felt the tiniest shift. Which, when one was living in the ocean, meant he was waking up frequently. There were frequent currents, after all. And it didn’t help that he slept in a giant anemone. The tentacles were constantly moving.

When he woke up this night, he assumed that it was another case of the anemone brushing against him while he slept. But that wasn’t entirely true. The anemone tentacles were moving... because of the strong current that had suddenly whipped through the waters.

His eyes darted around. There wasn’t much to see from his laid-down position. So he slowly rolled over and lifted his head up, just barely peeking out over the anemone tentacles.

The waters were dark. It was still night. Chase couldn’t see much, but he could make out faint shapes of fish and waving sea plants. Nothing larger than some strands of kelp. Nothing to worry about. But he couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling.

Cautiously, he raised his head further, scanning the area from the seafloor to the distant surface. And that’s when he saw it. A large shadow overhead, blocking out the faint light that drifted down from above. That shape was distinct. A boat.

His heart pounded and his gills fluttered as his breath hitched. Chase had lived here for years now, and he’d never seen a boat in the area. It was far away from human shipping lines, there were no nearby fishing grounds, and there wasn’t much to see on the surface. Why? Why was there a boat here now?

Could it be TridentCorp?

Chase didn’t want to think that. If he thought it, then it was more likely to be true. That was a completely ridiculous sentiment, but he couldn’t help feeling that way. But he forced past that feeling to look at the facts. TridentCorp was becoming more and more active on the seas. They were an international company, so no part of the ocean was safe, except, perhaps, the deeps. It was completely likely that they were out here. No matter how much he wished they weren’t.

But he didn’t know that. Maybe it was just some human who’d gotten lost while night sailing. Maybe he should swim up to check it out. But if it was TridentCorp, he really didn’t want to get closer. That was risky. If they spotted him, they could catch him. He’d seen the sort of places where TridentCorp kept the merms they captured, back when he and Stacy infiltrated one to rescue Jack. Chase had no desire to end up in a glass tank.

The boat wasn’t moving. Chase stared at it, silently debating, then silently working up the courage, then silently calling himself a useless coward when that didn’t work. Finally, he braced himself for the worst and swam upwards. Not directly upwards. At an angle, one that would give the boat a wide berth. The anemone tentacles seemed to cling to him, wanting to keep him safe.

It took a few minutes to get to the surface. Chase was in no rush, and he half-hoped the boat would go on its way. It didn’t. So, eventually, he found himself poking his head out of the sea. Water dripped down from the brim of the old human-made cap he always wore, temporarily blocking his vision.

The boat was... certainly a boat. Not a big ship, not a small speedboat. Just a plain metal boat. Chase swam to the side, slowly inching around it. The boat was almost entirely enclosed, more cabin than deck. Some lights shone down from open windows, indicating there were people inside, but nobody was out. He scanned every inch of it, being as in-depth as he could from this distance. The light from the windows helped with that. He was looking for any indication that this boat belonged to TridentCorp. Surely their logo would be visible somewhere on it, a blue circle with a white trident and a circle of fish.

A while passed before Chase circled back around to where he started. Well, he couldn’t see any logo. Not painted on the sides, not flying from a banner, nowhere. That was a relief. It was still weird that a boat was out here, but at least it wasn’t TridentCorp’s. Some human must’ve gotten lost. Though he still felt uneasy, Chase ducked back under the water, careful that his orange-and-white tail didn’t breach the surface as he did so.

He returned to the anemone, lying down with his head sticking out so he could watch the shadow of the boat. It felt like hours passed in the darkness, but eventually, it went on its way, sending a current through the water as it left. He waited until it was out of sight. Then a few minutes more for good luck. Until, finally, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

In the cabin of the boat, two humans were talking. “I’m just saying, we should know what those corporate bosses want with this weird data we’re getting,” one of them said. “What even is this instrument?”

“I don’t know, something to scan the ocean?” the other guessed. “Either way, I’m not questioning it. We complete the contracts we’re given for whatever company comes to us. We’re not paid to ask what their science-y stuff is.”

The first one grumbled something about hoping they used it right, and the other shoved him. Neither one knew what had been right under their boat.

[xtruss]

Fly fishers walk toward a stream in Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming, as the jagged mountains for which the park is named rise in the distance. Grand Teton draws both adventurers, for activities like mountain climbing and backcountry skiing, and leisure travelers, for boating, hiking, and fishing. Photograph By Aaron Huey, National Geographic Image Collection

How to visit Grand Teton National Park!

With Soaring Mountains and Braided Rivers, this Wyoming Park Epitomizes the American West. Here’s What You Need to Plan the Ultimate Trip.

— May 09, 2023

Fast Facts:

Location: Wyoming

Established: February 26, 1929

Size: 310,000 acres

Annual Visitors: About 2.8 million in 2022

Visitor Centers: All four are open from spring to fall; check the website for specific dates. Every center except the Laurance S. Rockefeller Preserve Center issues backcountry and boat permits. Flagg Ranch Information Station is a helpful trip planning stop, when entering from the south end of Yellowstone National Park.

Entrance Fee: Per vehicle and individual; annual passes available

Sharpened by glaciers, Grand Teton National Park’s snow-etched mountains erupt above Jackson Hole valley, composing one of the most iconic views in the country. “The Tetons rise to over 13,000 feet in a matter of miles. Just seeing that makes you feel humble,” says Vasu Sojitra, a professional athlete and disability access advocate, who completed the first disabled ascent on crutches of the Grand Teton in 2014.

The towering granite crags of the Grand Teton range have drawn mountaineers, hikers, and photographers to this Wyoming park. Photograph By Jimmy Chin, National Geographic Image Collection

Left: Clouds drift above a herd of bison grazing in a valley in Grand Teton National Park. Visitors can also spot moose, bald eagles, ospreys, and pikas. Photograph By Barrett Hedges, National Geographic Image Collection. Right: In the fall, quaking aspen trees bring golden color to Grand Teton National Park. Photograph By Tom Murphy, National Geographic Image Collection

Some 200 years ago these majestic mountains were called Pilot Knobs by fur trappers because they could be seen from miles away. One of the Tetons’ tallest peaks, Teewinot, meaning “many pinnacles” in the Shoshone language, references the region’s ancestral roots. The 1800s homesteading tradition in the nearby town of Jackson gives the valley its moniker “The Last of the Old West.” Gazing out at verdant plains, towering crags, and fields of lemon-yellow balsamroot blooms, visitors understand why the park has become an emblem of the American West.

Why Go

Adventure athletes travel to the park to climb historic mountaineering routes, backpack into wildflower-strewn basins, or ski down advanced backcountry slopes in winter. But the park is also ideal for leisurely activities like biking, photography, and canoeing—set against the backdrop of the meandering Snake River, numerous lakes and streams, and the Grand Teton range.

Although a fraction of the size of nearby Yellowstone National Park, Grand Teton offers equally dramatic mountain vistas and impressive wildlife viewing. Outdoor photographer and Jackson local Steven Shelesky says it’s common to see wildlife, including elk, moose, pronghorn, and bison, while simply driving through the park.

Best Views

Shelesky says getting up early to catch a sunrise in the park is well worth the effort. “The entire Teton range is east facing, which makes for an amazing spectacle,” he says. Located about 350 yards from the parking lot, Schwabacher Landing offers particularly memorable views of a beaver pond off the Snake River. “You can see beautiful reflections of the Grand Teton on the water’s surface,” says Shelesky.

Sunset casts a rosy glow on the Snake River, in Grand Teton National Park, where families can go on scenic rafting tours. Photograph By Keith Ladzinski, National Geographic Image Collection

Nearby, the Snake River Overlook is another vista Shelesky recommends. The famous viewpoint captured by photographer Ansel Adams in 1942 highlights the curving river framed by the towering Tetons. Look for the Snake River Overlook turnout sign off Highway 191/89.

Best Hikes

Beginning at the Taggart Lake Trailhead on Teton Park Road, Taggart Lake is an easy hike that leads to a gorgeous lakeside picnic spot, where the Tetons reflect in the water. The three-mile round-trip trail rises just over 300 feet as it crosses bridges and weaves through a grove of quaking aspen trees, whose leaves tremble at the slightest breeze. For a more moderate hike, it’s well worth the extra steps to tack on the Taggart Lake-Bradley Lake Loop, which takes you 5.6 miles to both lakes. Both trails are also popular snowshoeing routes in winter.

Hikers looking for a more challenging route can follow the roaring Cascade Creek up the Forks of Cascade Canyon trail, where the glacially carved landscape leads to numerous viewpoints, including Inspiration Point and Hidden Falls. The 9.8-mile out-and-back route can be made more challenging during the day or as part of an overnight trip (permits required), by trekking 14.1 miles to Lake Solitude. You can book a round-trip ticket on the Jenny Lake Shuttle Service to avoid hiking an extra four miles roundtrip.

Best Drives

Teton Park Road and Highway 191/89/26 make a 42-mile loop that takes you to several pullouts and viewing sites in the park. Signal Hill Mountain Summit Road winds to the top of Signal Hill (nearly a thousand feet), where you’ll find two overlooks of the plunging Jackson Hole valley. The narrow road is five miles long and closed during winter.

Wildlife Spotting

Whether you’re on the slopes of Mt. Moran or canoeing Jackson Lake, wildlife abounds in Grand Teton National Park. Find elk and pronghorn in the sharp sagebrush of Timbered Island, just south of the Jenny Lake Visitor Center. Bison and moose roam the woods near various overlooks including Oxbow Bend along the Snake River, while bald eagles and osprey circle the sky.

Climb up the glacially carved Cascade Canyon trail and look for yellow-bellied marmots as you listen for the high-pitched chirp of pikas, a small lagomorph related to rabbits and hares. You just might see them collecting wildflowers and grass, which they store in hay piles for cold, snowy winters.

One of the park’s greatest attributes is its wildlife. To ensure your safety and theirs, obey the law requiring visitors to stay at least a hundred yards from bears and wolves and 25 yards from all other wildlife, including bison, moose, and pronghorn.

Posted speed limits are especially important in Grand Teton, which has seen increased wildlife collisions since 2000. Park officials advise extra caution during the fall, when animals migrate, and during low-light hours at dawn, dusk, and nighttime, when the speed limit is 45 miles per hour.

Visit Like a National Geographic Explorer

Wildlife biologist and National Geographic Explorer Autumn Iverson recommends getting an early start in Grand Teton. “Early in the morning is when birds and other wildlife are going to be more active,” says Iverson, whose work focuses on Brewer’s sparrows, a small songbird with a distinct call that lives in sagebrush. During her many field trips at dawn, she often saw elk, moose, and pronghorn, the second fastest land animal in the world.

Top: Researchers count lodgepole pine seedlings near Flagg Ranch, where the 2016 Berry Fire—the largest in national park history—burned forests that were about 150 years old. Photograph By Sofia Jaramillo, National Geographic Image Collection. Bottom: Ski mountaineers trek up the crest on Mount Owen in Grand Teton National Park. Outfitters such as Exum Mountain Guides and Jackson Hole Mountain Guides lead visitors up into the Tetons in winter and summer. Photograph By Jimmy Chin, National Geographic Image Collection

Jackson Lake glimmers like a black-and-white photograph in the winter. The lake is a popular spot for ranger-led programs, wildlife spotting, and canoeing. Signal Mountain Lodge is located on these shores.

Jackson Lake glimmers like a black-and-white photograph in the winter. The lake is a popular spot for ranger-led programs, wildlife spotting, and canoeing. Signal Mountain Lodge is located on these shores. Photograph By Michael K. Nichols, National Geographic Image Collection

Iverson says she particularly enjoyed paddling one of the many lakes. That’s when “you get this whole expansive view of everything around you,” she says. Visitors can rent canoes or kayaks from Signal Mountain Marina and the Colter Bay Marina, among other outfitters. Paddling is generally recommended in the morning before afternoon winds arrive.

Activities and Excursions

The Tetons are a steep mountain range that have attracted mountaineers and climbers like Irene Ortenburger and Yvon Chouinard. Because of their steep pitch and high elevation, many of the park’s high-altitude trails may be inaccessible for the first-time hiker.

Experienced hikers are drawn to the park for its challenging backpacking routes, including the sought-after Teton Crest Trail, which follows the range’s spine through wildflower-filled peaks from Teton Pass to String Lake. Totaling 40 miles, the trail generally takes backpackers three to five days to complete. Apply for a permit six months in advance on Recreation.gov.

Ambitious hikers and mountaineers may opt for a multiday trip in the backcountry to make summit attempts on the coveted 13,775-foot Grand Teton. Exum Mountain Guides and Jackson Hole Mountain Guides lead visitors up the lofty peaks in summer and offer ski mountaineering trips throughout the winter.

Best For Families

From mid-June to September, the park puts on various complimentary interpretive programs, which generally occur at Jackson Lake Lodge, Colter Bay Village, and Headwaters Lodge and Cabins. Jackson Lake Lodge’s naturalist programs illuminate the world of wildlife in the park, including birds of prey, mountain lions, and grizzly bears. Ranger-led hikes, wildlife viewing, and campfire talks occur daily in the summer throughout the park at its many visitor centers. Check the event calendar for the latest listings.

Outfitters like Solitude Float Trips or National Park Float Trips guide families on scenic rafting tours on the Snake River. Rafts generally put in at Deadmans Bar and take two to three hours to float 10 miles to Moose Landing, passing through a mellow stretch of the river. Knowledgeable guides educate guests on the park’s history and point out fauna, including white pelicans, beavers, and bison. Fall can be particularly picturesque, when rafts float by quaking aspen trees studded with golden leaves and stately Colorado blue spruce.

Where To Stay

There are eight campgrounds and seven lodges within the park’s boundaries. Stay on the glimmering shores of Jackson Lake at the upscale Signal Mountain Lodge or find a more rustic option at American Alpine Club Grand Teton Climbers’ Ranch, which hosts communal cabins popular with climbers and other outdoor enthusiasts. The National Park Service lists more options on its website.

Campers have over a thousand sites to choose from, ranging from $10 to just over $100 per night. Book six months in advance through Recreation.gov. Colter Bay Tent Village has 66 “tent cabins” with wood walls and canvas tent roofs. The small cabins include covered porches, bunk beds, and wood-burning stoves.

Note that all lodges, cabins, and campsites within the park close during the winter, but there are plenty of options in the bustling town of Jackson. About 13 miles from the park’s Moose entrance, Jackson has numerous restaurants, historic hotels, and live music venues.

You can also find lodging in Teton Village at the base of Jackson Hole Mountain resort. The charming area is just under two miles from the park’s southern Granite Canyon entrance, making it a great basecamp for skiers.

The Milky Way glitters over the Grand Teton mountain range, in Wyoming. Photograph By Babak Tafreshi, National Geographic Image Collection

Need to know

The park is located in northwest Wyoming near the border of eastern Idaho, accessible via three entrances: Granite Canyon, Moose, and Moran Junction. Since Grand Teton is connected to Yellowstone National Park by the John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Memorial Parkway, most visitors tack Grand Teton onto a multiday trip to Yellowstone.

July and August are the most popular times to visit Grand Teton. May, September, and October see fewer crowds and cooler temperatures. Although wintertime shuts down many amenities and roads, it’s a great time to experience the region by snowshoe, cross-country skis, or snowmobile.

Spring can be an especially nice time to visit when portions of Teton Park Road open for a short time to cyclists, inline skaters, and other recreationists before cars are permitted in May. Before your trip, check the park’s alerts and current conditions page for road closures.

General Tips

Weather changes quickly in the Rocky Mountains, especially in the summer. Always pack extra layers and a rain jacket on all outdoor excursions. When venturing into the high country, start early so you can get below the treeline by noon, thereby avoiding afternoon thunderstorms, which can be violent.

Grand Teton National Park is black and grizzly bear country. The National Park Service recommends hikers carry bear spray, a non-lethal deterrent that’s EPA-approved.

Accessibility

While some visitor centers, campsites, and lodges are accessible, there aren’t many trails for wheelchair and other medical aid users, says Vasu Sojitra, the disability access advocate. He notes that the North Pathway, a 20-mile paved trail that connects Jackson, Wyoming, with the park at Jenny Lake, is one of the more accessible areas in the region. “It is a really great way to experience and make a bigger day out of visiting the park,” he says.

[seabreeze2022]

2023 Bahama Cruise, March 7. Part 2

We arrived in Morgans Bluff at 1530 on March 6. While we were anchoring, I called the Harbor Master on VHF Ch. 16. She said the Immigration officer was at the dock but would be leaving in 30 minutes. While Nancy finished anchoring and diving the anchor, I dropped the dinghy in the water without the engine and rowed to shore. Luckily we were close by and I had very little wind to deal with. I caught the Immigration Officer before he left and filled out all his forms. The fee was $50. This was all done outside at a picnic table in the shade of an Australian Pine.

Tessie is the Harbor Master. She was a delight to talk to while waiting for Customs to show up. She showed me photos of her new Key Lime grove of 150 trees. She is also growing pineapples in pots. Her house had 4 ft. of water inside during Hurricane Mathew.

Customs showed up he handed me our preprinted Cruising Permit, which cost $300 for 3 months and our Fishing Permit. He was finished in 5 minutes. Super easy clearing in here in Morgans Bluff.

Nancy had raised our yellow Quarantine Flag, or “Q-flag”. Once I rowed back and we were officially cleared into the Bahamas. She exchanged the “Q-flag” with the Bahama Courtesy flag, which we will fly from the starboard spreader.

Shortly thereafter 2 cruisers showed up in their dinghy. They had met a local who gave them an entire crate of ripe Egg plants. They were going boat to boat delivering them. So we took four.

Just before daybreak on the 7th. an Island Freighter backed up to the Government Dock and off loaded some containers. He was here and gone in an hour. That is why you have to beware where you anchor.

We were the eighth boat in the outer harbor. Above is the mostly full moon setting over Andros and one of the sloops in front of it. A very peaceful harbor.

After breakfast we placed the engine on the dinghy and went to shore for fuel. I took 8 gallons of fuel from two of our jerry jugs in the main fuel tank. Then filled them on shore with 10 gallons of diesel. Nancy had started talking to an American who lives here. He gave her a ride to the ALIV store where she bought a Hot Spot and unlimited data. Two months for $140 a month.

Meanwhile I took the 10 gallons to the boat. After running the boat for 27 hours at 2,000 rpm, it only took 18 gallons to top off. That gave us a burn rate of 0.666 gallons an hour, doing 6 kts. Nancy arrived with the hot spot just as I was about to take the 2 jerry jugs back and place them back on deck with 4 gallons of fresh diesel.

We went to shore for a late lunch. I had the cracked crawfish and Nancy had the Crawfish salad. Both very delicious and reasonably priced, $20 for the cracked Crawfish and $15 for the salad.

After we returned to the boat with bloated bellies, we broke out the snorkel equipment. Running a couple of hundred yards up wind, we both drifted back towards the boat, with Nancy towing the dinghy. I was able to walk the anchor back to a small hole anticipating a harder blow coming. Stay tuned to hear what happened in the harbor when the winds picked.

Two locals were going boat to boat selling Crawfish and conch. Nancy opted for the Conch. We paid $2.50 each for 8 fresh conch. The Captain is Bob, he volunteered to clean the conch. That alone is worth $2 a piece. His mate is Arthur. Both of these guys were very tall, Bob stands 6 ft. 3 inches. Arthur was almost as tall. This seems to be a common trait on Andros.

They asked if we were not afraid of the sharks in the bay? They say large Tiger Sharks and Hammerheads frequent the bay hunting turtles. I had noticed that the turtles were very shy while we were snorkeling. A defense that a turtle will do when a shark approaches is tilt their wide shells towards the shark and putting a hard turn into the shark. A classic fighter pilot maneuver, to get inside an advisories turn radius, while keeping them in sight at the same time. It also makes their shell too big to bite. Several of the turtles that swam by me were doing that. Everyone of them had a large Remora or two attached to them. The remoras were actually longer than the turtle.

Deer flies are an issue in Morgans Bluff. We killed a dozen during the day. The locals call them “Doctor flies” they come to give you an injection. Pretty good description of their bite.

We met “Patrick” at the fuel station. Another 6 ft. plus local. He is in charge of the local Bahama sailing regatta. I asked him what color the Andros boats are painted. Although not mandatory paint schemes, most if not all of the boats from each family island will be painted the same. Then when they are competing against another island, everyone knows which boat is which. The Andros colors are white and yellow, the color of the famous Andros “Chickanniys”.

Local legend is the “Chickanniys” live in the trees and will hex anyone who cuts down one of their trees. Different descriptions abound since no photos exist. They are pixie like black men with red eyes, 3 toes on their feet and 3 fingers per hand. The Englishman, and former Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain. Grew up on Andros working on his uncle’s 20,000 acre sisal plantation. Against advice from the Foreman, Neville cut down a tree with a “Chickanniys” nest in it. His life was hexed from then on and world history was changed.

On the morning of the 8th, the outer harbor waters were glassy calm. I could see our anchor just to the side of us. Something was a bit strange looking. Then I realized that a Green Turtle was on top of the anchor and a large remora was attached to the top of his shell. He rooted around for 20 minutes, coming up for air every now and then. When they surface, it seems the remoras let loose and then reattach as soon as the turtle dives. Considering the sucker part of the remora is on top of his head, when it is attached to the back of the turtle it is upside down.

This harbor is known for poor holding, the sand is pretty shallow. With winds out of the north it is completely exposed to wind and waves. We could see darkening skies to the north. The breeze was picking up. We all had a leeshore behind us. Leeshores are what stop you when the anchor drags. Then the boat is pounded on the rocks. Fiberglass boats just don’t stand up well to that kind of punishment.

I was on the foredeck closing hatches as a light rain started. Nancy was pulling in the dry clothes pinned to the lifelines. Taking a quick glance around the harbor, I noticed one of the smaller and older mono-hull sloops was sideways and dragging.

No one was on board, the gust front was on us and this boat was not slowing down. I called for Nancy. Picked up the VHF mic checking that it was on the local boaters net channel of 72.

“BOAT IS DRAGGING, BOAT IS DRAGGING, MORGANS BLUFF!”

Nancy and I were the first ones to the sloop. Crew of a large Catamaran downwind of the sloop came up on deck. Now we had two issues. First stopping the runway. Second keeping it from getting caught sideways on the bow of the catamaran. Besides doing damage to both boats, that much more drag on the catamarans anchor could loosen their anchor. Then both would in peril of the leeshore.

Nancy and I grabbed the bow of the runaway on its downwind side. I wanted to put out as much chain as I could. We were now within 25 feet of the catamaran. The catamaran Capt. told us to push the boat back so it would miss his boat. We attempted to do that, and may have nudged it just enough to miss the cat. But to hang on to the runaway and power up the dinghy was futile. By luck as the bow of the runaway came by the Cat, they grabbed it with a boat hook.

Meanwhile before we got crushed between the two boats, Nancy pulled our dinghy to the runaways stern as I climbed the rail. I had pulled several yards of chain out of the chain locker while I had been in the dinghy. Now I switched gears and secured a coil of line supplied by the crew from the cat, to the bow cleat of the runaway. Everyone was busy getting fenders between the two boats. I paid out all the chain from the boat. Not sure why any chain was every left in the locker? It really doesn’t do any good there.

Two more cruisers showed up in one dinghy. The one guy swim out and set the sloops anchor over to the side, away from the cat. One of their wives had called the young couple who owned the boat to come back from shore. They had been helping out the track team in town. Dropping off several sets of running shoes. They got there just as both boats were secured to each other. Drama was over for the day. The boat owner is traveling with three other boats. Who all refer to the runaways owners as, “The Kids”. Living and learning, while on a budget.

They reanchored and dove their anchor. The front blew by a couple of hours later. Above is the catamaran and the runaway sloop while retrieving the anchor. Never trust a “plow anchor”. Unless you need to plow a furrow!

The sun came out, I swam around the boat and checked the anchor. Then Nancy and I took the dinghy to the nearby beach, in search of Morgans Cave.

We stumbled onto Henry Morgans cave a short distance down the paved road. Supposedly the site of his buried treasure chest.

We were prepared with a spot light, but did not bring mosquito spray. This is a dry cave with several entrances and lots of small openings in the ceilings. If you want to go very far back you would need to crawl. No bats were within sight but are probably in there.

When we got back to the beach we could see the next band of showers approaching. Unfortunately our dinghy motor failed on the way back to the boat. One of “The Kids” rescued us, towing us back to our boat.

Dinner is fresh cracked conch and sautéed egg plant with garlic and cheese.

S/V Sea Breeze, Morgans Bluff, Andros, Bahamas.

[rishgih]

puyallup river fishing

The Puyallup River is a popular destination for fishing enthusiasts in Washington State, known for its diverse aquatic life and scenic beauty. Flowing from the foothills of Mount Rainier to the Puget Sound, this river offers a range of fishing opportunities throughout the year, making it an ideal spot for anglers of all skill levels.

Fishing Opportunities

One of the main attractions of Puyallup River fishing is its healthy population of salmon, including Chinook, coho, and pink salmon, which can be found during their respective spawning seasons. The best time for salmon fishing typically runs from late summer through fall. In addition to salmon, anglers can also target steelhead trout, which are prevalent during the winter and early spring months. The river's varied habitats create perfect conditions for these fish, attracting both seasoned anglers and novices alike.

Fishing Techniques

Fishing in the Puyallup River can be done using various techniques. Drift fishing, float fishing, and using spinners or spoons are popular methods for salmon. For steelhead, many anglers prefer fly fishing or bobber fishing with bait. Each technique has its benefits, and local tackle shops often provide valuable advice on what works best for the current conditions.

Scenic Beauty

Beyond the fishing opportunities, the Puyallup River is known for its stunning natural landscapes. Surrounded by lush forests and majestic mountains, fishing here offers a peaceful escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Whether you prefer wading into the river or fishing from a boat, the scenic views enhance the overall experience.

Access and Regulations

The Puyallup River is easily accessible from various points, including public parks and fishing accesses. Before heading out, it's essential to check the local regulations and obtain the necessary fishing licenses. Washington State has specific rules regarding fishing seasons, catch limits, and gear restrictions to protect the river's fish populations.

Conclusion

Puyallup River fishing is an adventure that combines the thrill of the catch with the tranquility of nature. Whether you’re casting your line for salmon or steelhead, the Puyallup River offers a rewarding experience for all anglers. With its rich aquatic life, beautiful surroundings, and accessible fishing spots, it's no wonder that this river is a cherished destination for fishing enthusiasts in the Pacific Northwest. So grab your gear, hit the river, and enjoy a memorable day of fishing in one of Washington’s most picturesque locations!

[amarresorrt-3144]

NJ Fishing Report

The NJ fishing scene continues to attract anglers from all over, offering a diverse range of opportunities for both seasoned and amateur fishers. Whether you're after saltwater giants or freshwater favorites, New Jersey’s waters provide plenty of action year-round. This NJ Fishing Report brings you the latest updates on the most popular spots, techniques, and species currently being caught.

Freshwater Fishing Highlights

In New Jersey’s inland lakes and rivers, bass fishing has been heating up. Anglers are reporting excellent catches of largemouth bass, especially in lakes such as Hopatcong and Greenwood. The cooler water temperatures of early fall have stirred up activity, making this a great time to head out. According to the latest NJ Fishing Report, anglers using soft plastics and topwater lures have had the most success, particularly in the mornings and late afternoons.

Trout fishing remains strong, with the Pequest and Musconetcong rivers offering solid action. The New Jersey Division of Fish and Wildlife continues to stock these rivers with healthy, sizable trout, ensuring there's plenty to catch. Fly fishers are reporting solid numbers of rainbows, especially in shaded sections of these rivers. For the latest on where the action is hottest, the NJ Fishing Report is a valuable resource for planning your next trip.

Saltwater Fishing Updates

The New Jersey coastline is teeming with activity this season. Striped bass are beginning their annual migration, offering great opportunities for surf fishers and boat anglers alike. Reports indicate that trolling bunker spoons and live eels has produced some of the biggest stripers so far this season. If you're looking for more detailed tips, the NJ Fishing Report is an essential tool for keeping track of the latest trends along the coast.

In addition to striped bass, the fluke bite has been productive, particularly in the southern parts of the state like Cape May and Atlantic City. Anglers drifting squid and spearing baits are enjoying consistent action, and it looks like the fluke season will remain solid for a few more weeks.

Final ThoughtsWhether you’re a saltwater enthusiast chasing trophy stripers or a freshwater angler targeting bass and trout, the NJ Fishing Report provides all the insights you need to stay on top of the latest trends. Be sure to check in regularly to maximize your chances of success on your next outing.