#boat fishing tackle

[ryndws-photography]

[fishingaqualife]

Beautiful girl in swamp fishing with fishing rod

[timmurleyart]

The stormy sea. ⚓️💨⛈️💦🎣 (Mixed media on canvas)🐟

[cheerfulfisherman]

As the chill of winter gives way to the warmth of spring, anglers eagerly await the arrival of rainbow trout in the lakes and streams.

[fishingadventure]

Multifunctional Fishing Scissors

Versatile and reliable, these scissors are designed to handle a variety of tasks on the water. From cutting lines to trimming knots and even removing hooks, these scissors are an essential addition to any angler's gear collection.

Explore the product

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley go fishing 

warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence 

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection

notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know 

Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe

word count: 6.5k

| masterlist | ix |

January, 1987

She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college. 

Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did. 

Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with. 

Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room. 

He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure. 

She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind. 

That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home. 

She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway. 

He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort. 

The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer. 

But he didn’t want to wait. 

Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals. 

She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do. 

He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand. 

It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones. 

So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him. 

He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy. 

He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms. 

It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique. 

He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning. 

She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan. 

“We missed the entrance to the dock.” 

“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.” 

She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window. 

It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January. 

He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed. 

She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies. 

He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in. 

They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice. 

Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work. 

“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes. 

He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.” 

He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth. 

“Close your eyes, hun.” 

She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now. 

“Open ‘em.” 

She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped. 

“Ta-Da!” 

“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her. 

“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them. 

“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her. 

She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles. 

He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important. 

The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold. 

They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute. 

“Then he asked me if they were extinct!” 

“What you tell him?” 

“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind. 

“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage. 

“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.” 

She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other. 

There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly. 

“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear. 

But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front. 

“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear. 

“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole. 

It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward. 

Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands. 

The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder. 

Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact. 

“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still. 

He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp. 

She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her. 

It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still. 

They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole. 

“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark. 

She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does. 

She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths. 

A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole. 

Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.

It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature. 

It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it. 

She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs. 

She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband. 

He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast. 

The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck. 

It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water. 

Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes. 

A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel. 

He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up. 

She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later. 

A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again. 

She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways. 

He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all. 

It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while. 

She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat. 

“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning. 

“What?” 

“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. 

“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys. 

“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway. 

She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled? 

He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss. 

She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in. 

She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears. 

She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side. 

She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins. 

He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath. 

She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature. 

She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him. 

“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once. 

He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body. 

She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.

He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water. 

“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up. 

She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room? 

She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath. 

She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door. 

She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone. 

Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose. 

She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table. 

She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line. 

She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation. 

Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion. 

The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him. 

He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water. 

She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her. 

Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his. 

“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands. 

He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken. 

“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.” 

He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands. 

“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again. 

“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.” 

Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables. 

“You’re mine, too.” 

His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten. 

She forgot about the pots and burners. 

[raisunomii]

seijoh 4 fishing trip its hanamakis idea. they drive out at 3am, iwaizumi drives, matsukawa navigates, oikawa and maki are asleep in the backseat. by 5am theyre awake and paddling out to the middle of the lake in a very small boat. it's cold. they're all cold. maki's having the time of his life.

tooru and iwa prepped the bait last night and theyre baiting the hooks when mattsun asks if anyone saw the very big thing that just moved beneath them and oikawa says "dont joke about that, mattsun." because oikawa's prone to freakouts and so is maki. but maki looks overboard and sees something very big and very dark moving under them and he screams and stands up and starts rocking the boat and iwaizumi is looking on in despair.

mattsun is grinning too widely for anyones liking and filming oikawa and hanamaki on his phone as iwaizumi shouts at them to calm down when the boat flips. theyre swarmed by fish instantly. the bait is everywhere. oikawa looks like he's going to cry but he's the first to try to flip back over the boat and maki's the first to climb back in. mattsun stays in the water for a while because "it's nice!" and he knows as soon as he gets out he'll be freezing his balls off like the other three are (maki's shivering so hard they can hear his teeth clacking).

he swims around for a little while while the other three glare at him until matsukawa's suddenly gone and oikawa's up and screaming and iwaizumi dives back into the water, very closely followed by maki, but oikawa doesn't join them because honestly? they've got it. three's a crowd. until mattsun resurfaces with a shit-eating grin and goes "got ya" and maki tries to drown him

they make it back into the car by like 7am from their failed fishing trip (luckily iwa managed to save his dad's tackle box, but nothing that was inside it) and pile in while they're completely soaked. their towels are still damp from the lake despite them having wrung them out like 20 times. iwaizumi gets back home with maki mattsun and oikawa in tow and mrs iwaizumi asks "what happened to fishing?" and hajime just groans.

[raayllum]

bc s7 might have cute rayllum boat date and i'm no one if not booboo the fool

Callum's big surprise involves a boat of all things.

Rayla isn't sure what she expected when her dorky handsome mage had excitedly taken her hand and tugged her out here to a more secluded part of the forest with a river and everything—a picnic or private place to make out, or both, maybe—but...

The boat itself was done up very nicely, with roses and Stella waddling over to plop the Baitlings over in their place. It must've taken time and magic, as she clambers in with only a slight queasiness and Callum's hand steady in hers. It feels nice that it's so easy and natural to accept his help, after so many walls and so many years apart. That he offers it as freely as he ever has, his eyes bright when he looks at her and they lean against one side.

The river is gentle, at least, the boat moored so she isn't really getting seasick. Stella juggles adoraburrs and the Baitlings sing a tune that's pretty on key for glow toads.

"All this for me?" she only half-teases, looking at him.

Callum grins back at her, rubbing the back of his neck a bit bashfully. "Yeah, well—I knew I had to do something pretty special to get you on a boat."

"Very true," she plays along, bumping his shoulder with hers.

They stare the calm green water, a few fish swimming by the riverbed. She can feel the moment his gaze turns to her, though she doesn't meet it—this is a new part of the forest, and she wants to look around a bit longer.

"Do you remember the first time we were on a boat together?" he begins, teasing and charming.

In spite of the water then and water now, she smiles. How can she not, when it was the first day she saw him in a new light? In his truest light—sweet, attentive, understanding. "Ugh, don't remind me."

Callum scoots closer and wraps his arm fully around her shoulders. "Oh come on," he trills. "it wasn't all bad. You liked the five questions game."

Rayla snorts. "I did." Then, more ruefully, "Can't believe you remember that." His memory is amazing, but it was close to two and a half years ago—a lifetime ago—and there are spells and runes has to look up on occasion. She gave him good reason to want to bury those memories too, deep inside if not burned to a crisp. He'd kept them all instead.

A soft sigh of contentment and just a tinge of melancholy escapes her, as Rayla leans further into him. His scarf is soft against her cheek.

"Well," Callum replies, his voice a tad shy, "I never did get to ask the other three questions."

She raises her head enough to look at him, close enough their noses are nearly touching. "Oh?" Her lips twitch.

Instead of leaning in for a kiss, though, or eagerly asking a question about Xadia she'll more than oblige him for, Callum pulls back from her. Takes something out of his pocket as he moves down from the wooden plank seat in the boat to the base.

"There's kind of only one that matters, though," he continues, smiling sweetly, his eyes shining. There's a horn cuff in his hand. Rayla's heart sticks in her throat. He can't be... "Marry me?"

Moon above, he is. She covers her mouth with her hands, staring at him. "I..."

Callum shifts, a tad uncertain. "I know we're young," he amends. "And the future is uncertain. But I also know you, and I love you. You're my truth, and my path and light, and I never want to be separated from you ever again, and—whoa!"

She almost sends them capsizing from the way she tackle hugs him and knocks them both down, laughing and crying all at once. Her arms wind around his neck as Callum catches her (because he always will) and keeps one around her waist, his other hand still holding onto the engagement horn cuff; the green gemstone embedded in it matches his eyes. It's perfect.

"Gods, yes, dummy," she laughs, tears spilling over. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. "Of course I'll marry you."

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 71 (Back to the Brindleton Light)

NOTE: I'm taking a posting break until the 16th for Canadian Thanksgiving since I'll be spending time with family. Still planning to read and comment but might be spotty, and after that I've got posts queued every other day until November.

The every day schedule is too much for the length of my posts, I see that now (both for readers and for me!) and I want more time to read simblr stuff I haven't been able to thanks to my current output! I like where we leave them with this one, and I like even more what's queued up for the 16th, so it feels like a good time to pause the plot.

Conrad hadn't shaken his belief that someone - maybe a ghost, maybe not - was using the Brindleton Light as a home. The station was always taking reports from locals about strange sounds at the lighthouse, but most of the other detectives dismissed them all as overhyped ghost stories.

cw: skivvies I didn't realize we're sorta, um, thin. Sorry! They love that lighthouse what can I say?! 😂🌶️

He'd engrossed himself in the The Green Lady's Lost Tome since their meeting with Grim, reading it whenever he had free time at home.

With Ash in the city few months after Hazel and Nicola's wedding, Conrad invited Heather to join him and Gord on Deadgrass Isle after she'd finished her monthly accounting. He hadn't forgotten the old man and his offer to show Conrad around the lighthouse after hours, but they made a quick circle through the museum and didn't see him. "He must not be working tonight, but I still want to check the lighthouse."

Heather followed him up the dirt path from the museum to the point, where white paint peeled off the old gatehouse at the base of the tower. Curious, he picked up a candy wrapper and showed it to Heather and Gord.

"Anyone could have dropped that," said Heather. "A candy wrapper isn't proof that someone's living in here."

But the light inside the gatehouse flickered on again as she spoke. "Stand back here," said Conrad before he knocked.

"Shouldn't you wait for backup?" she asked. "What if they're dangerous?"

A blond figure in a jacket raced into view. "He climbed out that window!" cried Conrad. "Stop right there!" The man hesitated enough for Gord to catch up with him.

He cowered, and Conrad approached him carefully. "It's alright," he said. "I just want to talk."

"Screw you!" the man shouted, tackling Conrad as he reached for his badge. He never liked to carry his gun around when he wasn't on duty, and with everything he'd experienced lately, he sincerely expected a ghost, at most - not a squatter. Conrad fought him under the shadow of the lighthouse, as Heather watched helplessly from several feet away.

"Be careful!" she screamed. But Conrad was stronger than his target and subdued him without much trouble. The blond man whimpered, holding his face with a grimace.

"Why don't you start your story by telling me your name."

"John Brindleton. My ancestors founded this town, and I'm the last of my stupid name. I moved into the lighthouse after my family kicked me out. Said I was lazy and needed to make something of myself. But they wanted me to join one of the fishing boats and I...I hate fish!"

"So you thought you'd just live in an old dusty lighthouse until...?"

"Until I figured out a way to override the electrical and shut off the lighthouse. If there's no lighthouse the boats can't come in late. And if boats can't come in late, I can kill the fishing industry in this town. Then I'll never have to work it!"

Conrad offered a pitiful sigh to the wannabe criminal. "So you weren't just squatting, you were plotting destruction? I thought I'd be able to get through your criminal report on Monday morning in about five minutes, but now you're a felon."

"No! I mean! I just wanted to take revenge on the other boats who put my dad's fleet out of business! He'd be too busy working to worry about me if not for them."

Conrad clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Well, now you can think about your failed attempt at revenge from a cell."

"I'm not going to jail!" cried the man, racing down the path toward the museum. Conrad took off after him, with Heather and Gord following close behind.

With the man subdued on the ground, they waited for the Brindleton PD speedboat to pick up the perp, handing him off to the weekend patrol crew to process the late-night booking. "Give him a weekend in the cells and make sure he talks to a lawyer."

The patrol crew gave their senior detective respectful nods, and Conrad watched the boat speed back to the mainland as Heather wrapped her arms around him.

Even with a cool drizzle in the skies, they both wanted to feel the breeze from the tower, to calm their nerves at the observation deck. The lighthouse was cordoned off with police tape, so they knew they were alone.

"You were kind of incredible down there," Heather gushed with a coquettish grin. "You were right. Someone was in the lighthouse the whole time...But they're gone now. Is the observation deck part of the crime scene?"

"No, he said got electrocuted by the fuse box once and thought it smelled like wet dog up here."

"It's a little dusty, but it's not that bad."

Conrad grinned as Heather's hand slid gently down his back. "Ms. Nesbitt, are you trying to seduce me?"

She smiled. Returning to the electrical room, they made love over the dingy old blankets - untouched since their last visit - until both were completely satisfied.

When they'd finished, Heather nuzzled against his shoulder in the dark old lighthouse. "We've really got to stop doing this here," she said. "After how hard I pushed to end the free love action plan in town, if anyone caught us up here...And really, should a man as close as you are to making sargeant be found with his pants off inside the lighthouse?"

Conrad let out a playful groan. "Your logic is sound, but I don't have to like it," he said, pulling her in for one last embrace before they moved to get dressed again.

Conrad watched Heather's silhouette in the quiet darkness. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world," he said. Heather blushed.

Arf!

They both looked toward the sound, like it had come from inside the room. "You heard that this time?"

She nodded. "I heard it. That's definitely not Gord. Do you think it's a stray? Maybe that weird squatter had a dog?"

"The squad checked over the place and didn't find anything. I think that's the old lightkeeper's dog."

"All the strays in Brindleton Bay and you're sure it's a ghost?"

He knew it sounded ridiculous. "Maybe not," he sighed. "I want to talk to that old man the next time he's working."

"The one you said reminded you a little of your dad? What's his name?" She pulled out her phone to look him up.

Conrad searched his memory but came up short. "I didn't ask. I had a lot on my mind the night we met..."

"Maybe he was a ghost, too," she teased after they'd finally dressed, but Conrad stopped in his tracks down the lighthouse stairs. "I was kidding! I'm sure he doesn't work every night. But I'll make you ambrosia treats to bring next time you bring Gord to run around. If the barking dog is really a ghost, maybe the treats will coax him out, finally."

Joke or not, Conrad's curiosity over the mysteries of Deadgrass Isle had hardly been sated by the evening's events. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Gord is an adventurous dog and that unlocks these little CYO-adventures that are fun and cute but have no graphics. So this was my attempt to semi re-dramatize one of the adventures at the lighthouse where they catch a vengeful squatter, while ALSO trying to conceive a baby in a lighthouse to get a very specific 'lighthouse baby' moodlet if their kid ever comes back to the Brindleton Light. Heather does love to woohoo in inappropriate places (alleys, friends' couches, observatories...), but if you're thinking 'too clean, too weird, why didn't Conrad go to the station with the perp?' just ride the wave of trying to get those weird little gameplay bonuses with me lol.

[howldean]

they said hey baby 😏 then i whipped out the Pellor 360°Adjustable Padded Fishing Fighting Belt Offshore Tackle Boat Fishing Rod Holder

[steviewashere]

Want to Go Home With You (Bring Me a Home)

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change With Future Chapters) CW: None, at least for now Tags: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Took Canon Out Back And Pulled an Old Yeller, Mer!Steve Harrington, Fisherman!Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Confused Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Wants to be Loved, Mermaids with Animal Like Instincts, Future Propositioning, Lowkey Might Involve Some Omegaverse Aspects in the Future (Not Sorry)

This is chapter one of ????. Also this takes place in Oregon because that's what I know and the idea of a merman living in an Indiana lake-beach is odd to me. So...bear with me. This is my first like actual alternate universe, completely separate from Stranger Things, so be nice.

Also, I've written Steve here as a merman who's had no contacts with humans—his English is choppy and his understanding of basic human communication is weird. If that's a turn-off for you, turn back now.

Read Part Two Here

Can also be read on AO3

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ Fishing wasn’t the ideal career to be going into after high school, but Eddie had to do something while he waited for his dreams to kickstart. Granted, going into this business was easy because his uncle owned the local bait shack. But it didn’t make the job any more appealing in the end. Not even the many beaches he had the chance to truck out to. There was Cannon Beach and Seaside’s, but he stayed close to home in Newport’s.

The beach wasn’t anything super spectacular. Sure, there were parts of it inhabited by the native seal population, some of the areas overloaded with crab shells. And it was damn near majestic during the summertime. Eddie, however, didn’t see the gist of spending time there, though. Maybe it had to do with how every single one of his work days would go, the hours spent sitting in the serene stretches of water. But nothing was intriguing or worthwhile about spending his time there.

That is, until one particular early summer day.

June isn’t a busy summer month for Eddie and his uncle. It was the right temperature, but there was still the risk of storms. Heavy duty kind of storms. Business didn’t stop, though. He woke up at 5:30am, when the sun was still acclimating to the baby blue sky, and readied himself in coveralls, thick and tall rubber boots, and a bucket hat that protected his lopsided mop of curls. His hair remained back in a bun and his skin was doused with paste-like sunscreen. In one hand he carried a red fishing rod and in the other, an old black lunchbox transformed for tackle.

He went out to the docks. To the few run down boats. And climbed aboard his uncle’s tried and true, S.S. Lenore—a tiny thing, made for up to four people, overrun with nets and crusted muddy footprints, and equipped with a singular cooler. The engine always took a few pulls to start up, jostling and crunching like food run through a garbage disposal, but it did the trick. And then he was off.

Eddie always took the chance to float out for a handful of minutes. Sometimes fifteen. Sometimes ten. Set himself up stagnant in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nobody, with no chance in hell he’ll be interrupted. Today he just needed to get a cooler full of trout. Rainbow trout, to be more exact. They’re easy fish to gut and debone, good for baking in the oven, and stuffing full of herbs for marinated fish stew. He’d gone out previously to hoist in mackerels and herrings. This was the last trip he’d need to take for a good two weeks, but he was going to do a damn great amount of work for it.

“This should be good,” he mumbles to himself, just barely breeching the edge of his boat. The ocean underneath him moves in subtle pushes, rocking him lightly against itself. Its color is bright and shining—bluer, somehow, than the last time he visited just a few days ago. He can see schools of trout idling underneath the sheen of the water. And so he rigs one of his nets, tosses it over the side of his boat, and slowly sinks it into the water.

And he waits.

It isn’t until half past when he came out that the net begins to rustle. Tugging and splashing, but it doesn’t settle the way it does when it’s some regular trout. No, this threatens to topple Eddie straight into the cold depths of the water below. To sink his boat and turn it over of all its resources.

He grips to the ropes holding the damned thing up. Pulling at it hard enough to give him the starts of burns on his soft palms. And he heaves. Groaning with it. Panting unrelenting in the face of this thing trapped inside his net. Whatever he caught is surely not some common fish for his soup, this is something more—maybe even more dangerous. And he hadn’t thought to bring anything with him to ward off danger.

There had been one time where a shark got caught. Eddie happened to have a knife on him that time. He gave in, cut the ropes on the net, and let it free—which cost him the equipment, but luckily saved his life.

This is a time where having that knife would be spectacular. But as he hefts the net, he realizes that this creature caught is no ordinary thing. It’s not a shark. Not a seal. Not a school of fish. However, through the floundering waves around him, he catches on a fish-esque glimmer. Scales of some sort shifting with the catch of light breaking through.

He wrestles with the net for a few minutes more before eventually getting a good enough grasp to tie it down. Pulling up the rest with his hands, he’s met face to…tail with this creature. It has scales—pearl white and baby pink and pastel yellows—they shine iridescent in the high rise of sunlight. The end of the tail sports two fins, both of them crescent shaped, thicker towards the base of the tail, and spindly where it faces Eddie. Before he can stop himself, he’s poking at the scales, where they taper into absence at the creature’s fins. It’s then that the creature really notices him.

In one fell motion, grand and heaving, the boat rocks. Teetering into flipping. The creature turns its head to him and…hisses. Like the guttural bubbling hiss of a harbor seal. It rocks in the net again, as it lunges towards Eddie.

Immediately, Eddie pulls his hands away and steps as far back as the boat will allow him. Granted, it’s only four feet in width, but that puts space between him and this thing. The thing that he calculates slowly with his eyes. Tail—yeah, he already knew about that. But then he rakes up to the torso of the fish like creature, where his tail is ombre with the glistening, golden skin of a nude torso.

“That—That isn’t right,” Eddie finds himself stuttering, surveying the torso once again. Sure enough, there’s skin. Dotted with moles and freckles. Dark brunette chest hair that could almost be mistaken as black. Toned arms and big, veiny hands. At the ends of this creature’s fingertips are short, curved towards the palms, white claws. Gills where its ribs are. And then Eddie goes to its head. Square-ish jaw, more freckles and moles, smile lines and baby crows feet. Thick eyebrows, triangular nose with a bridge that angles slightly to the left. Ears that threaten to point at the tops. Brunette hair that swoops to the right, falls to its collarbones, wavy and stringy with saltwater.

And its eyes.

Human eyes. Hazel, glowing honey in the sun. Long eyelashes. Drooping eyelids. Pupils that are pinpoint small, dilating with every hiss that leaves the creature’s throat.

A mermaid.

Eddie Munson is looking at a fucking mermaid.

Or…merman? It doesn’t have the seashell bra like all the mermaids he’s heard tales about, but maybe that’s just fable. He’s played all kinds of fantasy games, but he never thought what he described would be looking at him. Wild eyes and baby shark-like teeth, though without the second row. Hissing.

It struggles in the net again, lunging. Wrapping its hands on the edge of Eddie’s boat, squeezing at the metal material. The force of this merman’s grip enough to cause the edge to creak. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“Woah! Alright, okay!” He exclaims, hands up and placating. Briefly, he wonders if it has a good sense of smell and hearing. Like it can scent the excretion of his sweat even in the cold air. Or how his heart beats like the galloping of a race horse. “Easy! I ain’t—I’ve got no reason to hurt you!”

It seems to know what he’s saying, as it relaxes in the net for the first time. But it shoots him a pitiful, pleading look. Petulantly whining at him, though the sound is gargled.

Eddie wipes his sweating palms on his coveralls and takes a tentative step forward. “Easy,” he murmurs, “I’ll free you, but you have to stay calm.”

But the merman shakes its head. “No,” it croaks, “No free.”

Okay, so the guy speaks. It knows English. Even as choppy and awkward as it sounds.

“No free?” Eddie questions, “You don’t want me to free you?”

It shakes its head again. Whines, gargling again in the back of its throat. Its hands grip to the boat again, this time lugging some of its weight. As if it’s trying to…climb in.

Eddie startles back once more. “Hey, no,” he barks, “no climbing in. You can’t come onto my boat.” Though he wants to take it all back the moment he locks eyes again. If it didn’t have scales and gills, Eddie would almost think it was a sad puppy hybrid. He can almost imagine the droopy tail paired with the glistening, fearful, and pleading eyes. “Why shouldn’t I free you? My boat isn’t your home and I can’t take you back with me. You belong in the water.”

“Home,” the merman echoes, croaking. “Your home…warm?”

“Uh—“ What the fuck, he can’t help but think, exasperated. “—uh, sure. Home is warm. My, uh, home is warm. I live by the sand with my uncle, selling worms and cooking fish. The sun hits my skin every morning.” He doesn’t know why he’s answering the guy, but something in its stare, the broken words—Eddie’s allured. “Can you please answer my question? I’d like to go home. So, why shouldn’t I free you?”

The merman points a clawed finger at itself. “My home not warm. Cold.” Eddie nods along because—of course, duh, the ocean is cold. But it murmurs, “Love.” And now Eddie’s confused all over again.

“Love?”

Its voice is soft and sweet, curious. “You have love?”

Eddie shouldn’t be indulging this. He shouldn’t. But maybe the merman is a siren with how he’s drawn to answer. “I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you’re asking. But my uncle loves me. And I love him. That’s—I have love like that.”

It nods like it understands. Looks away over its shoulder, to the cold, salty water. And visibly shudders before facing Eddie again. “No love,” it says, pointing at itself again. “I no have love. No warm.” It tries to climb in again, even as Eddie’s moving to pry its hands away, but it holds tight and hisses again. “Want warm. Go with. Want to go. Go now,” it demands in a low timber.

And even as pretty as this merman is, Eddie has to refuse. He shakes his head softly. Gently, he says, “You can’t. I—I don’t know you. And…I don’t have an ocean in my house. You’ll die if you come with me.”

“Steven,” it mutters.

What? “What.”

“Know me—Steven,” it says. “Know you? Name?”

Tentatively, Eddie relaxes again. Realizes that this won’t be an end all conversation. “My name is Eddie. It’s short for Edward,” he answers, “but I like Eddie more.”

It hums, observing. “Eh-die,” it sounds out. “Eddie,” it whispers. Without warning, it trills at him. High pitched, chirping and bubbling from the back of its throat. Smiling with the sound, squinting its pretty honey eyes. Something in Eddie stirs. “Like that,” it chirps. “Short and easy. I want.”

“You want a short and easy name, too?” Eddie clarifies. It nods at him, squeaking an affirmative thing. “How about…Hm, what’s a good name for Steven?” He ponders as the merman continues to look on at him, eyes bright and curious. “How about Steve? Is that good enough for you?”

“Steve!” It crows. Trilling again, higher pitched than the last, squirming again in the net, closer and closer to heaving itself into the boat. “Easy, easy, easy,” it says at him.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. “So…Steve, am I able to call you a he? Like…His name is Steve?”

He nods at Eddie. Wriggling again as if he can’t contain his excitement.

“Well, now I know you, huh? It’s a shame I still can’t take you to my home.”

And now Steve frowns, eyes saddening again. “But…My home is cold. You have warm,” he says solemnly.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, “but I don’t have space for you, Steve. Your home is in the water. If I take you out of the water for too long, you’ll die. You need the water.”

“I will see you again?”

Eddie shrugs. “If you see my boat again, you can visit me. How about that? And…what’s special about that, is that I can bring you things that aren’t in the ocean.”

“Man’s stuff?”

Befuddled, Eddie asks, “What are man’s stuff?”

“Stuff I see from up here. From Eddie’s home,” Steve answers. “I find and I keep and I hide. Nobody knows. Just Eddie. Eddie is nice, though. You make me happy.”

Humming, Eddie assesses Steve again. Smiles softly. “You’re nice, too, Steve. Even though you scared me earlier. But you were scared, too, huh? Caught in my stupid net.” He takes a careful step closer, standing over where Steve rests in the net still. He places a hand on one of Steve’s, tentatively, but purposefully. “But if you see my boat again, you can come visit. Maybe next time I’ll bring some fish soup? Do you eat fish?”

“Fish are tasty,” Steve says as a response.

Eddie chuckles again. “Okay, Steve. I’ll bring you fish soup. Tomorrow, though. I have to free you and go home, okay?” He reaches down for the ropes that he tied down earlier. Tugs on one of the knots and frees one side. Steve yelps.

“Promise you come back?” Steve meekly asks.

“Promise,” Eddie murmurs intensely, unraveling the last of the rope. “Look for Lenore. She’ll bring you back to me.”

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. Taglist for this is open <3

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Back Forty View (On Our Piece Of Ground)

1 - First Cast, When The Waters Glass

Pairings: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: Nothing spectacular just mentions of pregnancy and lots of swearing (as usual)

A/N: Here it is! The crossover that (maybe) you've all been waiting for! I'm so excited to bring this to y'all! As always there will be mature themes so please read at your discretion and please leave comments, likes and reblog as it's always appreciated! If you haven't read the other two parts, check them out as they give you background on both Tyler/Georgia and Jake/Sam's relationships. There will only be the link to the playlist on the masterlist. ALSO! I will be continuing to write parts for the other two parts in conjunction with this but it will not be as frequent as this for a bit. These chapters will also probably be slightly longer than what I normally write. Hope you enjoy! If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know! I added anyone who was tagged on the other parts, already! Also, also, if you read on A03 there are spoilers in the character tags.

Tags: @djs8891 @mrsevans90 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03

Tyler sat in the bass boat, leaned back against the motor, his fishing line cast far out to one side, Jake’s to the other. Their dog, Dixie, was sitting smack in the middle of the boat, next to the cooler, watching birds land in the trees along the shore. Every once in a while she would twitch, as if she was going to launch out of the boat and swim back to shore to try to climb one of the trees for a bird snack. Jake had joked after the first time Kenny took them shooting that they should let Dixie be a bird dog too, but she just preferred to bark at shit more than retrieve stuff. 

Jake’s line bobbed and he began to reel his line in slowly. At the end was a brilliant, large bass, at least thirty pounds, plenty of meat on it for dinner tonight. He high fived Tyler, whose line had begun to bob soon after. 

“What the fuck is that? Bitch is heavy.” Tyler said, struggling to reel in what was on his line. Jake glanced over his shoulder and was about to grab the rod from his brother, which was one of his worst habits. Tyler had tackled him more than once trying to teach him to not do that. Jake was bubbling with excitement as Tyler reeled in his catch. He grabbed Tyler’s shoulders and shook him. Tyler laughed and cursed as the fish at the end of the line thrashed as it got closer to the boat. Tyler tried with all of his might to pull it in. Jake reached over the side of the boat and grabbed it, helping to get it into the boat.

“That’s a fuckin’ alligator gar you sonofabitch! Kenny’s gonna be fuckin’ siked!” Jake exclaimed as he pulled the hook from the fish’s mouth. It was almost double the size of his own fish. He gazed at its serrated teeth and Tyler opened the cooler to put both fish inside.

“Bruh, I think we’re done for the day. Any more weight and we’re gonna sink.” Tyler joked and Jake nodded in agreement. 

“I know usually we catch shitty little fish. What the fuck happened today?” Jake asked and then he glanced down at Dixie, whose long tail was pounding on the bottom of the boat excitedly.

“We brought Dixie! Our good luck charm!” Tyler chuckled and he reached over to scratch behind her ears. She whined as Tyler started the motor and Jake packed away their gear. Once he was done, Dixie hopped into Jake’s lap for the rest of the ride back to shore. They headed home with an excellent cache of fish and enough time and light to go practice roping some steers when they got there.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Jake was a ball of anxiety as he and Sam pulled up to the farmhouse. It had been too many months since his deployment, since being taken as a prisoner and tortured, and not enough since he’d met Sam. It had felt like such a long while away that Tyler had called him freaking out about Georgia maybe, possibly being pregnant. It had been exactly seven months since Tyler said “I wanna come visit.” And then Jake decided against that because he had been about to start his special detachment and all hell broke loose with Tyler’s life. No matter how long they were apart though, the boys always gravitated back to each other. It was Jake though who needed this more than anyone.

I need to see you, Ty.

The words echoed in his head as he stepped out of the rental truck, Sam climbing out of the other side. They’d landed in Little Rock and took the one hour drive toward Dardanelle so that Sam could meet his parents. From there, another four hours in the rented F-150 and a gas station stop or two later, they’d arrived in Stillwater, Oklahoma, at the cute farm that his brother had purchased not too long ago. 

He heard the squeak of a screen door that Tyler hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet, and Sam watched as her fiance’s eyes filled with tears for the second time that day. He nearly ran up the porch steps and slung his arms around his older-by-a-few-hours brother, Tyler Owens. A literal carbon copy with some exceptions. Tyler was about the same height, maybe slightly taller than Jake, give or take a half an inch, and his hair was a darker blond, almost brown. Tyler had a decent amount of fuzz growing on his face, not quite a full beard yet, but it was on its way. Tyler’s eyes were the exact same shade of sage green, but they were tired and his face looked much more sun worn than Jake. 

“Tyler, this is Sam.” Jake said, motioning for Sam to come up onto the porch. She does, and Tyler can only smile and hug her, not surprised at who Jake picked to be his wife. Equally as pretty as Jake, she looked nothing like a country girl, but she could if she wanted. She could definitely fake it and the surety in her steps told Tyler that she had given Jake a run for his money, and the challenge he needed to stay interested for life. Sam smiled up at Tyler and noticed that same warmth in his features that Jake often exhibited. Tyler just didn’t hide his.

“Come in, come in.” Tyler said and ushered them both in the house. It was cozy and a beautiful open floor plan had Sam planning for her future. From the hallway, a figure appeared, followed by three rambunctious puppies. As the figure came into view, Jake stepped forward and Tyler took a hold of his shoulder. He squeezed and Jake could feel every emotion in that one gesture. 

“Jake...this is Georgia.” Tyler said, as Georgia flashed a warm smile at the man who stood next to her husband. Jake stepped over and carefully hugged Georgia, noticing just how pregnant she was. He introduced Sam and she stepped forward and hugged Georgia as well. 

“You’re gonna have four babies real soon.” Jake mused and Tyler clapped him on the back.

“Funny, Jake.” He said sarcastically and Tyler led his brother toward the kitchen.

“Mind if we go get our ‘children’?” Sam asked and Georgia went with her to help. Sam carried Rocco, and Ballast and Muster followed her faithfully. They were excited to see Georgia and as they bounded into the house, it became apparent how big they had gotten in a very short amount of time. They were taller and lankier than the heelers, but in the open floor space between the living room and the kitchen, they exchanged face and butt sniffs and settled easily as if they had always lived here with the cattle dogs. Rocco looked out of place but as usual, he courageously walked into the middle of all the dogs and plopped his little red butt down in a sit, looking up at Sam expectantly. The little red dog exuded confidence that all of the other dogs couldn't put a paw to.

“Well, that was easy.” Georgia remarked as she motioned for Sam to follow her to the kitchen. The ladies joined their significant others in there, where Tyler was regaling Jake of the last big chase. The one where Kate’s barrels flew. Even with her being very pregnant, Georgia was still a good host. “Anything to drink?” She asked, placing a glass of iced tea in front of Tyler. Jake asked for the same and Sam just requested water. Georgia then went to sit in the chair next to Tyler, but he pulled her into his lap instead. Jake smirked, finally getting to see just how much Tyler loved this girl. Jake knew she broke his brother’s heart, but he also knew that the commitment she was making now was more than enough to make up for that. This was exactly what Tyler had always wanted. The life he dreamed of was right in front of him, and he was now sharing it with his brother. 

“So, how long do you think you’ll wanna stay with us for?” Georgia asked as Jake sipped on the tea. 

“Well, we wanted to stay through Christmas and into January. I wanted to see some snow again. I was hopin’ we would be able to be here for the birth though. I wanna see my nephew before I'm back up in the air.” Jake said, glancing at Sam. She smiled and nodded. She didn’t have a timeline in mind and she was fully remote for her work anyway. Jake was able to take some remote work too and Cyclone suggested he make the most of his medical leave. Take all the time he needs. Don’t rush to get back up in the air. He needed to get back in tip top physical condition and he wasn’t quite there yet. Jake was also still seeing a therapist once a week, so he'd be on Tele-Health calls while he was out here. He would continue to talk to Ryker regularly through text too.

“They're thinking March-ish is when he's due. Tyler and I are hoping he's a little early and healthy.” Georgia said and Jake watched as his brother nuzzled against his wife's neck. Tyler had always been the lovey dovey one of the pair so it wasn't surprising to see him like this. 

“You want him early?” Sam asked, the thought of labor weighing heavy on her mind. It was a thought that scared Sam a bit. She wanted kids with Jake but the whole thing unsettled her. It made her feel entirely too vulnerable. But as she gazed at Georgia, she thought maybe it wouldn't be as terrifying as she thought. 

“We'd love that. Tyler would be around longer.” Georgia said and Tyler nodded.

“Yeah but I've already got plans in place for the chasin’ season. Gotta be here for the little guy.” Tyler explained and that made Jake smile. They had similar thoughts on being away from their significant others. Jake didn't want to be deployed while Sam was pregnant, when that happened, because he wanted to make sure he was taking care of her. He also wanted to be there for the first few months because he figured those would be the hardest. 

“I'm excited for you guys. We're really gettin’ somewhere in life, huh T?” Jake said and Tyler could do nothing more than smile at his brother. He was right. Jake had matured more than Tyler ever thought he would. To even be thinking about marrying a girl would've been out of the question for Jake not too long ago. It was a whole other commitment that Tyler had always wanted, that Jake would always say up and down that he never did.

“How about all your pups? You're gonna have scary dog privilege.” Tyler mused and Jake glanced at Sam.

“It was Sam's idea. After the mission went south...a friend of hers offered them. And she already had Rocco, who's liked me from the start.” Jake touted, and Sam gave him a look of annoyance. 

“Having the dogs has really helped Jake with everything.” Sam said softly and Jake's brows furrowed. Suddenly, his outspoken and fiery fiance, was shy. It was a side of her that he was surprised, maybe even a little worried to see. He took one of her hands and squeezed. Her eyes locked with his for a moment and then she looked away. 

“We had a dog when we were in high school. She passed away last year from old age.” Tyler said and Jake straightened a little in his seat.

“Yeah, Kenny said he kind of regretted getting her as old as she was. But she was a good dog. We had a lot of fun with her. Got into a whole hell of a lot of trouble too.” Jake said and Tyler let a chuckle escape his lips and he shook his head.

“Not a bird dog.” Tyler said and Jake nodded. 

“Never.” Jake laughed a little and then there was a comfortable silence that filled the house. It made Jake take a deep breath and what felt like months, maybe even years of built up tension began to melt away. It had been too long that they'd been apart. Jake made a vow to himself, in his own mind, to never go that long without seeing his brother ever again. 

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

“R’member when we used to do truck pulls?” Tyler asked, as he and Jake shared a glass of whiskey and a view of the paddock from the porch. Georgia had brought Sam for a tour of the barn, so the brothers were left to their own devices for a little while.

“Fuck if I don’t. Damn. That was wild shit we did.” Jake laughed a hearty laugh then and Tyler couldn't help the smile that reached his eyes.

“Member that rusted ole green Ford you picked up for five hunnit bucks? Fuckin’ thang was a tank.” Tyler's twang came out even more when he was in the presence of his brother. He was comfortable, in a different way than with Georgia. With her, there was a deep intimacy and an understanding for such primal things that went beyond any other bodily bond that Tyler had with anyone. Jake and Tyler’s souls were intertwined, in an out of body way. Something in the aether of the world connected them, giving them what seemed like super powers, but it was just that they were two halves of a whole entity. Nearly identical twins, they just felt things between each other than no one else did.

“Yeah it was. Shit. And I can’t believe you pulled with that square body. Whatever happened to that thing?” Jake asked, sipping on the whiskey. The burn seeping down his throat felt heavenly.

“Tornado got her. Rolled her the first chase Boone and I ever went on. We drove around in this crap Dodge Dakota for the longest time before the channel took off. Then I bought Ole Red.” Tyler explained and then motioned to the red dually, almost lovingly.

“They got sanctioned shit now. Take that big bitch and pull with it. You’d win for sure.” Jake said, making Tyler laugh again.

“Nah. Gotta keep it good for chasin’.” Tyler said, waving off the suggestion.

“You still gonna do that with a kid on the way?” Jake asked.

“Course we are. Well...I don’t know that Gee will. She’ll probably stay home with the kid and the pups. I won’t go out as much. Wanna be here to watch him grow up, y’know? And I don't think this'll be the last either. Gee is really willing to give me anything, Jake.” Tyler's voice sounded unsteady then and Jake examined his brother with concern. 

“Yeah...are you scared?” Jake asked, finishing off his whiskey. Tyler poured him a little more and poured himself more as well.

“Fuckin’ terrified, but...it’s all okay ‘cause I got her beside me and I got my wingman when I need him, right?” Tyler reached for Jake, taking a hold of his shoulder with a strong grip. Jake reached up and placed his hand over his brother's. Tyler's hands were rough and worn, just like Jake remembered them being. There was always a steadiness In Tyler's hands, even when he was going through it after Georgia left. Jake, for a moment, felt like a kid again, ready to go start some trouble.

Meanwhile, Georgia and Sam walked around the property together. They connected initially over having horses albeit very different types of riding. 

“You used to show the big fancy jumping horses?” Georgia asked as they stepped into the barn. Sam felt a grounding sense of comfort, smelling horse hair and hay. They stopped at the first stall, as all the horses were in and eating their dinner grain. Twist, as usual, walked away from her grain, hoping Georgia had a carrot or an apple for her, as she normally did. Georgia pulled a peppermint from her jacket pocket, unwrapping it and giving it to Twist. The mare crunched happily and nickered softly, as if she was thanking Georgia. 

“She’s gorgeous. This is the one that you went to the NFR on?” Sam asked as she reached up to rub the mare’s forehead. Twist leaned into Sam’s touch, closing her eyes. Georgia nodded.

“We did everything. The paint mare too. We even did a hunter under saddle class at the Quarter horse Congress.” Georgia said and Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Wow, you did some serious competing. Was Tyler with you for all of that?” Sam asked and Georgia shook her head.

“No, we had parted ways at that point. Tyler had a bull riding accident that ended his career and I couldn’t stay with him. I couldn’t stay at home either, so I went on the road for nearly five years. It was hard. It sucked and I don’t wanna do it again. I almost regret leavin’ Tyler, but at the same time, I’da never done everythin’ I did, and Tyler never woulda startin’ chasin’ storms. And then we probably never would’ve reconnected.” Georgia explained, as they continued down the line of stalls. 

“Jake hasn't told me much, but I know he was there for Tyler through all of that. It seems like the two of you were meant to find each other again. And you two seem to really love each other.” Sam said, as they passed Rascals's stall and he stuck his nose out to say hi. Georgia gave him a mint and rubbed his muzzle. They headed out the back of the barn and Sam looked out over the property and then she nervously turned to Georgia. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Georgia placed her hand at Sam's back and ushered her toward the arena. They stopped at the fence and Sam took a deep breath.

“Jake and I have talked about having kids...but I'm honestly terrified. I've never wanted kids. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about. I just cant't imagine growing a little human inside me and then having to push it out nine months later. It sounds like hell, but...despite all of that, I want to raise a family with him.” Sam explained and Georgia rubbed Sam's back gently. Sam gazed out over the arena and then turned her head to look at Georgia, who had an understanding expression. 

“So are you asking if this is every bit as terrible as it sounds or if it's all worth it? Yes...the morning sickness sucks, the cramps and not being able to do anythin’ sucks...but knowin’ that Tyler and I are going to get to raise this kid together and try to do it better than our parents...that does make it all worth it. I am a little scared of giving birth because I know it's gonna to be painful, but I know once we see Jaycen for the first time, all that pain is just going to melt away. And we're gonna love the shit outta that kid.” Georgia's point of view put Sam at ease then, more than she thought it would. Georgia had conviction that Sam admired. She was confident in her beliefs too, which made Sam feel a little less concerned about the entire prospect. Georgia pulled her into a tight hug that Sam didn't know she needed until it was happening.

“Thing is though, Sam, you should tell Jake how you feel. I have no doubt that he'll understand and I can tell by the way that he looks at you that he loves you a whole hell of a lot. Just talk to him.” Georgia motioned for her to follow and they walked back toward the house, where the boys were a couple whiskeys deep and feeling good. All the dogs had elected to stay on the porch with them, so they greeted Sam and Georgia excitedly. 

It was well through the afternoon at that point, so they all retreated to the warmth of the house for dinner. Tyler and Georgia made a Shepherd's pie, while Jake and Sam entertained the dogs and set the table. They lit the fireplace, the house warming up quickly. The nice thing about the living room was that there was no TV, only the couches and the fireplace. Tyler's laptop sat on the coffee table, as he mostly worked from there when he had to post videos, but other than that the room was a place of peace and quiet. 

Slowly, Georgia's sister had come in, here and there, and taken hers and her husband's belongings, so the house was beginning to empty, making room for Tyler and Georgia's possessions. There were now several more empty rooms in the house, which was great for Jake and Sam. They were able to take up a room, and Tyler would eventually set up an office inside for himself. He had plans to make an office space for Georgia too, even though she insisted she didn’t need it. The first order of business before all of that though, was to make a nursery for Jaycen, and Sam was very willing to help with that. Georgia didn’t want to do anything crazy, just to put the crib in there, a changing area, and a chair for her to sit in while she was nursing him. Tyler wanted to get as much done before Jaycen was born. 

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

“Samantha...we shouldn't...” Jake said softly, as her lips touched his and then traveled down to his exposed collarbone. He was right, they definitely shouldn't be making out on his brother's couch, while he and his wife were just on the porch, enjoying the quiet of the newly minted morning. Jake knew immediately being here was going to ease a lot of tension that he and Sam were carrying, but it was also going to bring up other issues that they needed to discuss. 

“Oh come on, Jake, they're busy. We could just...” She chimed as her fingers reached under the hem of his shirt and tickled around his belly button. He sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed her wrist gently. 

“Sam...you're bad.” Jake's voice grew deeper, his eyes darker with lust as he let go of her wrist and gave in and over to her a little, running his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, to cup her cheek and pull her steady for a kiss. 

“You shouldn't have made me this way.” She mused, their warm breath mingling together. Jake sighed and smirked, his other hand wrapping firmly around her hip.

“You should learn some manners.” He growled, digging his nails in and making Sam moan softly into their kiss. He could feel her lips turn up in a naughty grin, one fit to make the devil jealous.

“Hey, seriously. Stop.” Jake said softly, no malice in his words, but they stung Sam all the same. She drew back and her jaw tightened. She folded her arms across her stomach and Jake immediately reached for her. His eyes filled with regret and his nose scrunched slightly, his mouth thinning. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry that I want you so bad.” Sam murmured as Jake tried to gently pry her arms from her body. She let him, her hands traveling to either side of his head. She smoothed over the hair behind his ears and let her thumbs run across his cheek bones. His eyes fluttered closed and he swallowed hard.

“Nah, that’s not it. I love you and I know by now you wanna tell me something when you’re like this. We both do this.” Jake said, as he crawled over the top of her, pushing her down against the cushions. She let him, feeling safe underneath him. Feeling like she could tell him. He was right too, that the most intimate conversations they’ve had were when they were making out or after they’ve just had sex. They both felt safety in the vulnerability.

“I...I...was...talking to Georgia...about them having a baby...and...I told her how I’m...terrified of that...but I want to do it anyway. Because of you.” Sam explained, her eyes leaving his and focusing on his lips. He spread Sam’s legs with his own, one of hers hanging off the couch with her foot resting on the floor. Jake settled there and leaned down to press his lips to hers before speaking.

“Why are you scared of that? If it scares you that much we can wait...” Jake said and Sam shook her head.

“It just seems so uncomfortable, and stressful, and I worry about you getting deployed again...but I also know falling in love with you, I signed up for all of everything that comes with you being in the Navy. Those are my insecurities...” Sam tilted her head away, offering her neck to him, but before he could move she looked back at him. “I don’t want to wait. The older we get, the more there’s a chance of...complications. And if we’re going to have kids, I want enough years with them. I didn’t get enough time with my father..and I’m fucking everything up with my mother...”

Tears filled Sam’s eyes and Jake breathed out, his brows knitting as he felt a heavy sorrow wash over him. His first instinct was to capture her lips once again and hold her close, which he did. 

“Sam...honey bun...it’ll be okay...I understand what you’re saying. I get it. But I think we need to take everything day by day while we’re here. We still have to talk about the wedding. I’ve still gotta get all better. Let’s enjoy some of this down time during the holidays. Let’s talk about this when you’re a little less upset. And if we’re gonna have a kid, let’s just let it happen. I think if we over plan for it, it’s only gonna make your concerns worse. Maybe we just keep it at the back of our minds. And whatever happens, you just know that I will fight to take care of you as hard as I have to. You know I would do anything for you.” Jake’s voice was comforting as his hands traveled over her body, down to her waist and under the hem of her shirt. He was so gentle and his touch nearly grabbed a hold of all of her fears and worries and brushed them away, at least for a little while. There was a lot they had to do, and a lot for them to think about, but for right now, they would enjoy the change in scenery, and this new feeling of family in Oklahoma.

[hoodjam]

coastal love

a/n1: hey babies, I missed you all so much!! I’ve been so busy but I’m here with an actual story! this is something new for me so I hope yall enjoy 🩷

warnings : tw: death, nudity, very short

The lone sailor waded in the waters, desperately fishing for the deep sea fish that was rumored in the area.

“Damn, fish! I almost had it on the hook when it swam off on me,” the man pouts, slightly sour he blindly follows the fish into the deep blue ocean.

“fuck me, it’s gettin’ dark too, damn, fuck shi-“

“HELP ME!” A woman screamed, sending shivers down the sailor's spine. “SOMEONE, PLEASE.”

A sudden feeling of heroism fell over the man, sending him to stand in his tiny boat looking for any signs of a distressed woman. Scanning the area he saw her, hair wet, clothes tattered, as she clung to a rock with her last strength.

Adrenaline raced through his body, beginning his paddling to rescue the lady.

During your frantic screaming to be saved, you noticed the man rowing towards you, and your heart was filled with relief. “Thank you, sir,” you coughed out, showing him your pearly teeth.

“No worries, but what’s a lady like you in waters like this?” The sailor questions, after stopping his boat near the rock.

You stay silent, watching the man reach his hand towards you to help you into the boat.

“Oh, I was in a bad shipwreck nearby. The storm swept me and my mates away. I’m the only survivor.” You explain, reaching your hand to meet his.

But he pauses, “Hm? A storm? There hasn’t been a storm in a few weeks,” He stares at you, slowly reaching his spear, “there’s no way you swam for that long.”

The sailor grips his spear, mind reeling that more than just deep sea fish is real.

In an instant, your eyes flicker black, as you leap out of the water tackling the man into the ocean. Your tail bright blue, shimmering in the sun was the last thing the man saw.

Deep hunky laughter fills the air, men scattered across the deck, as the vessel they ride on glides on the sea.

“Men! Tonight we celebrate a successful loot of the ocean’s treasure,” the captain of the crew states. His shoulder was broad with years of experience, mouth curled in a smirk not even his scar could taint.

“Once we port, we’ll enjoy the lands’ women! But tonight we drink!”

“Aye!” His men exclaim, mugs already filled with the golden liquor, which makes them light on their feet.

However, before the festivities could start, a drop of rain landed on the captain’s face. Frowning, he looked around his vessel seeing the swirling clouds heading in their direction.

“Men get into positions, we have a storm to bear.”

Without any questions, his crew stationed themselves throughout the ship, with Toji at the helm.

“Gojo! String up the sails, Geto strap down the loose food and drinks, and Sukuna, be ready for any repairs.” Toji barked more orders to his team, a team he trusted with his life.

Heading to the helm he turned the wooden wheel away from the storm, bracing himself, preparing for the worst.

Underwater, you smiled with glee, “What a feast,” you thought.

The storm was a beast, bigger and angrier than any sea creature they’d fought. With all his might he kept the stern face opposite of the storm, but his strength was failing.

“Prepare to “ the captain was interrupted, feeling his gravity shift as his boat capsized. The last thing he seen was his men flipping before his head hit a beam, knocking him unconscious.

The storm ravaged the pirate's ship, throwing bodies and debris across the darkened sea. Eager for your first bite, you greedily swam through the waters dodging everything except the lone barrel that fell from the sky.

Toji woke up on some sandy shore, the back of his head throbbing in pain from his injury. Getting up with a stumble, his eyes burning from the bright sun hinting at a new day.

He walks the coast, looking for any hints of survivors from his crew, “Is that?”

The captain gasps, seeing you lie on the same beach he washed up on, unconscious, naked, and shimmering with a blue hue.

a/n2 : I hoped you guys enjoyed, feedback is always appreciated.

a/n3 : also, no shade, but I’m so tired of the short ass fics!!! let’s get back into long stories 😩 anyway lmk if yall want a part two

[timmurleyart]

Moon fishing. 🌙🎣 (Mixed media on canvas)🐟

[cheerfulfisherman]

When it comes to offshore fishing, having the right equipment can make all the difference.

[weministertomonsters]

The Näcken

This story is dedicated to House_Sparrow on Wattpad, who gave the suggestion. <3

➤ Wordcount - 1.8k

Nøkken/Nykkjen/Näcken is a sinister male freshwater spirit from Norwegian and Swedish folklore, his first mention dating all the way back to the Viking age. He is said to dwell in dark ponds, lakes, or rivers. Nøkken is a shapeshifter but is most known to take the shape of a handsome man with long hair (Swedish), a monster of twigs and seaweed with glowing eyes (Norwegian), or a white horse.

Nøkken plays a fiddle, or in some stories a harp, and he is said to be the best musician in the world. In many stories, Nøkken uses his beautiful violin music to put people in a trance to lure them into the water and drown them. In other stories, Nøkken may play a more active role in pulling them into the depths.

───────────────────

"Papa is back!" Your six-year-old niece, Eloise, announces as she comes barging into the tavern with a big smile.

She's been playing outside and has a smudge on her button nose and two dirty spots on her skirt from where she's been kneeling in the dirt, digging for worms. She pauses to pet the ginger cat asleep in the corner and skips up to you, proceeding to slingshot her body against your leg, nearly knocking you off balance. Her chin digs into your thigh as she looks up at you adoringly.

"What are we having for dinner?" She asks.

"Vegetable soup, and the bread I baked fresh this morning," you reply, giving the counter one last pass with your dishcloth to make sure it's all clean for the busy night.

"And fried skipper?" Her eyes grow wide.

"Why don't you go see if your Papa caught some?" You suggest.

You can't help but smile as she goes charging outside to give her father the same tackle-treatment. Usually, he laughs and grabs her and spins her around, but you don't hear any laughter today. You hang the dishcloth out to dry and walk outside to find them.

Eloise is gaping up at her father and although you can't see her face, you know she's never this quiet unless something is wrong. Your barrel-chested brother is soaking wet, standing with his head low and hair plastered to his face, clutching an empty net in one hand. There's no fish. Even the worst fishing days still turn out a small catch.

"Eloise, how about you go inside and clean up for supper?" You tell her.

Surprisingly she goes the first time you ask, wide-eyed as she scampers inside.

"What happened?" You ask, and then you spot what he's holding in his other hand. "Is that... A fiddle?"

"Yeah." He drops the net and rolls his shoulders.

"You didn't buy that with your fish, did you?" You ask suspiciously.

"I wouldn't do that," he huffs and starts into the little cottage beside the tavern that you share.

"It wasn't long ago now that you spent your entire day's worth of fishing on beer," you remind him, but your tone is gentle.

You both know why he drank so much. When his wife died he'd shut down, and it took the power of god and one very determined little girl to dig him out of the dark hole he'd retreated into.

"I didn't buy this," he says, setting it on the kitchen table with a thump.

"Be careful of that, will you? It looks well made," you murmur, eyeing it. "Will you tell me what happened then? And tell me why you've got a fiddle."

"I was out fishing by the river when I heard music," he begins, peeling off his vest and hanging it by the fire to dry. "It was coming from the middle of the river, where that big willow grows. I was curious, so I got my boat closer."

"Change first, you can continue after you're dry," you tell him, beginning to warm up the vegetable soup and slice the bread.

He heads upstairs to change and comes down a few minutes later with Eloise. She clambers into a chair, thanking you when you give her a bowl of soup and a generous slice of bread. She's a real trooper and doesn't complain about the lack of her favorite fried fish.

"I thought they were things of legend, but there it sat," your brother picks up the story from where he left off. "A Näcken. Would've thought it was just some man off his rocker but he had this air to him. And he was naked as a baby and pale as a river stone. Hard to unsee that."

"Ahem." You raise your eyebrows and gesture to his daughter, who is so engrossed in the story that her bread is going soggy in the soup.

"Did it have big teeth, Papa?" She asks. "Did it try to eat you?"

"I wouldn't know, Pumpkin. I got pulled in the water 'fore I could get a good look," he stares at his bowl, frowning. "I'm a good swimmer, but there I was, about to drown in just a couple feet of water."

"Then what?" Eloise pipes up. "Did you scare it away?"

"Shouted at him to stop playing the bloody thing but he just kept at it. So I grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as I could. Bam! I got him right across the face." He smacks his hand against the table and the dishes rattle.

Eloise laughs in delight and looks adoringly at her father, the "monster slayer" but you're far from impressed.

"So you thought taking his fiddle would fix it, did you?" Your voice is cool as your eyes narrow.

"Well, it means he can't play," he shrugs. "Serves him right for trying to drown a good man, I say. Let's see him try his tricks now."

For Eloise's sake, you drop the matter, but your gaze keeps turning to the fiddle leaning against the wall, dripping water to the floor. Once dinner is over and Eloise is tucked into bed, you confront him.

"Brother, that creature is going to be very unhappy that you took something of his. What do you think will happen the next time you go out to the river?"

"Let him try. I'm taking my hunting knife with me tomorrow," he says, his huge body lit by the dancing flames from the fireplace.

Your brother is a sturdy man and can take care of himself. But the look in his eyes... It's been a long time since you've seen him look like this.

"But—"

"Relax, sister. I'll give the damn thing back eventually," he rumbles. "You know, I... I thought I wasn't going to make it back today. All I could think of was you and Eloise ending up on your own."

You squeeze his shoulder and settle down to knit for a few minutes before it's time to open up the tavern. You're making a new coat for Eloise to wear on cold days. As you knit, you keep glancing at the fiddle, its gleaming surface reflecting the flames from the fireplace. You have some doubts, but you trust your brother when he says he'll give the instrument back, so you let it be.

A few days go by, and you were correct in your assumption that the näcken would be displeased. Your brother doesn't catch a single fish and comes home each day, seething. One afternoon, you decide you've had enough.

"I'm sending it back," you announce as you hang the last of the laundry. "I can't contend with your sulking."

Your brother is sitting on the porch, drinking his third tankard of beer.

"I used to be one of the best fishermen, sister. Now look at me. Reduced to a lout who can't catch a fish to save his life," he groans.

"You can't hope to battle against the supernatural and win," you reply. "I say you're lucky he hasn't drowned you yet."

"I've seen him a few more times. Just sits on the rocks and laughs at me. I ought to—"

"You stay put." You grab the fiddle from the shelf where you had placed it to keep it safe.

"I can give it myself, you know," your brother says, but he doesn't move from his spot.

"Ha, I doubt you can walk in a straight line, insufferable fool." You ruffle his hair like you're kids again. "I'll be back."

"Be careful, sister," he calls after you. "If he tries to lure him in, hit him with a rock. It worked for me."

You roll your eyes and start for the river. It doesn't take long to reach, even on foot. The water is framed by grassy banks and spotted with lily pads that float on the surface, brightening the scene with their pink flowers. You can see the willow growing on the small island in the center of the river, but there's no water spirit in sight. You stand at the bank of the river and look around.

"I brought your fiddle back," you call out. "My brother was wrong to take it."

The quiet hum of nature answers you. Birds chirping in the trees and the soft sound of running water. You lift your skirt and wade as far into the water as you dare, clutching the fiddle tightly. The water comes up to your shins and you pause.

"I'll just leave it here for you. Please let my brother fish in your river. My family needs the extra income."

You wait another beat, but you don't see or hear anything out of the ordinary, so you place the fiddle in the water and give it a little push, so it floats away from you. As you turn to trudge out of the river, something rises out of the water right next to you. Your shoe slides on the slimy rocks and you tumble into the water with a little scream. For a moment you don't know up from down—the water is suddenly so deep—but then you're pulled up by a firm grasp on your elbow.

"Thank you," you gasp at how cold the water is, your teeth already beginning to chatter.

The Näcken stands before you, tall and thin, with stringy green hair so long and plentiful that it covers his nakedness. His eyes are the color of bracken water, a murky blue. You can see your surprised face reflected in them.

"Thank you," he says simply. "For bringing back my fiddle."

"It's no trouble. My brother should have never taken it," you reply a little breathlessly.

After all, it's not every day you speak with a supernatural being. He backs away from you and you hastily reach for his forearm. His skin is slippery-smooth and your hand just slides off. He looks at his arm and then at you, his hair falling in his face.

"Can my brother fish again?" You ask timidly.

"I'll think about it," the Näcken replies, tucking his hair behind one pointed ear.

"Well, all he did was take your fiddle, and I have returned it in one piece," you say slowly.

"He threw rocks at me," the Näcken says. "I do not abide any harm attempted on my face."

"I'll tell him to apologize," you say desperately. "Please?"

"Hmmm. You should go now," he says, sinking halfway into the water. "I am about to play."

You know not to press your luck, so you turn to leave. You're already out of the water when the Näcken calls out to you.

"Come back tomorrow, and I will give you my answer," he says.

You turn to look at him, but he's disappeared. You can hear the beginnings of a tune, and it's an alluring sound. But the effect is dampened because he keeps stopping to twang at the strings and tune them. You leave before he can begin to properly play.