#boat fishing tackle

[amandaanddonnie]

BREAM FISHING on Pickwick Lake during a MAJOR THUNDERSTORM

[timmurleyart]

Fish in the sea. 🐡💦🐟🐠🦈🦐🦀(Mixed media collage on paper 30”x80”)🎣💦

[fishingaqualife]

Beautiful girl in swamp fishing with fishing rod

[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.

[robinsgrl]

Rafe with weird girl is a bit more nonchalant and tame compared to JJ with weird girl. he WILL match your freak and that’s a threat and yeah you might be weird but he’s much weirder he makes you shy. YOU.

weird girl masterlist

MDNI 18+

you’re talkative. You’re never not talking someone’s ear off. Most people can’t handle it. Sometimes your own friends need a moment of silence. But never JJ.

you’re laid back on your bed, legs spread open as his face hides between you. “deb deserves so much better. her boyfriend is such an asshole.” you breathe out shakily as he laps at your cunt.

he hums into you, nodding. “she does, mama. much better.” he dives right back in, your fingers threading through his hair.

“yeah, and the weird thing is she doesn’t think she does,” a small moan leaves your lips but you continue. “we tell her all the time. oh! I forgot the worst part! when they were on a break, he came to the store and-and bought condoms. at her register.”

this makes him pull his face from your heat, eyes wide as he looks down at you. “no fucking way.”

You nod, just as exasperated. “yeah, i know, it was fucking crazy” you tell him as you push his head back down

you’ve gone fishing with him and you’re so damn bored. you came to tan but the suns slowly going down and you're sure you’re as tan as you can be. he adds bait one last time and throws it far into the water. your eyes trail on his strong arms that are flexing under the soft hue of the sunset.

you dont even question your thought. you lean over and chomp down onto his bicep. he’s not even phased. “what’s my sunscreen taste like?” he asks as he glances over at you with a pretty smile. it makes your cheeks flush.

“delicious. wanna try mine?” it’s a joke. but you should know better than to joke like that with him. he doesn’t hesitate to drop his rod and rush to you.

a loud laugh leaves you as he tackles you in a hug, making you land on him as he falls to his back on the boat. he’s nipping at your neck, biting and sucking on you. “jj!” you can’t stop the happy laughs that leave you.

“you taste so good, mama!” he trails his lips down to your chest and bites the side of your boob that’s pressing out of your bikini. it doesn’t take long for him to fully take your tit out and bite your pebbled nipple.

“JJ!”

you’re in bed with jj when you realize something. he’s butt naked. “bro, where are your pants?”

“bro, i like letting my balls get air”

“bro, are you clenching your cheeks right now?” You ask with a laugh as you smack his ass. He lets out a fake moan and pushes his ass to you.

“Bro, i loved that. Do it again.” He’s laying on top of you now, feeling his everything against you. Your hands fall to his butt and you easily squish his cheek. “Bro, im getting a boner.”

“Your bro is giving you a boner? Bro, that’s fruity.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck as you keep smacking his naked butt. “Your little butt is so cute” you comment.

“My butt is NOT small”

“Yes, it’s a tiny lil bubble butt”

“There’s nothing tiny about me, mama” you laugh as he rolls his hips into you.

“JJ! Oh my god!” You laugh and try and push him off of you.

Yeah, no one can ever truly grasp JJ’s freak— he leaves you miles behind. Moral of the story…… he wins.

[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

[buildthoughts]

Minecrafters Using Reference

Reference as in real world architecture, not other minecrafters' builds, though that's a fair way to learn too. Studying real world architecture gives insights about designing buildings, while studying other minecrafters would give insight into how to accomplish certain effects in Minecraft.

I didn't have more than passing interest in architecture before watching mcyt, but now whenever I'm outside, I'm evaluating the buildings around me. Do I like their shape? color? Any interesting details? Any wear or texture? And above all: How would you do that detail/shape/etc in minecraft? (please note: I don't even play minecraft)

Rendition and Inspiration

There's a minecraft project called BuildtheEarth that's replicating the earth in minecraft on a 1 to 1 scale. There's some fantastic builds on there.

On hermitcraft, Joe Hills is known for creating to scale renditions of real world places/objects. In season 10, he's tackled a project of massive scale with Bell Labs. He used a map from the library of congress to layout all the shapes!

These are examples of renditions/replicas/copies/whatever you want to call it (Although Joe's doubles as a community build area in place of massive parking lots).

Then there's using the buildings for inspiration. This may involve just taking bits and pieces. Or maybe you just take a color palette. Or maybe just the shape. Maybe you don't take anything but vibes. As a general rule, I think having multiple sources of inspiration is important so the new build doesn't end up feeling like a rendition instead of its own thing.

Bdubs in season 9 used the bakery from Kiki's Delivery Service as inspiration for his mud cafe. It can be seen in the wood framing, the stairs, the archway, the shape, the shed, the chimney designs. But the colors, the composition, Bdubs made changes that made it his own and combined the addition to his previous shop Moss o Menos.

The aesthetics of Geminitay's season 10 base is based on the video game Dredge. I feel like the most obvious influence is in her research castle and fishing boats. She used inspiration from the spooky sea creatures in the game to create a uniquely frightening angler shop.

In Pearl's Build a Day series, she did a week focused on real world places. Here's the one she designed after a countryside home in Australia (her home country):

Goodtimeswithscar in season 7, when starting Aqua Town, based his shop on old department stores:

I like looking at his Aqua Town builds in comparison to his Scarland Main Street facades, which draw additional inspiration from Disneyland:

I feel like, comparing the builds you can see how he's grown; he's learned new detailing tricks, found colors and textures that work better with the architecture style. The main street has a similar layout to Disneyland, but his buildings are all unique.

Mogswamp is working on a massive build that's based on architecture drawings from Renzo Picasso:

He's incorporating groin vaults from roman architecture too!

I think builders learning about existing architecture is so good. It can give them so many ideas to add into their toolbox. It reminds them of small details that give builds life, like small sheds, some pipes, porches. And the builds don't need to be realistic; My mind goes to work by Shovel and Joel. Or everything Mumbo has done in season 10.

[reasonsforhope]

"Evening is approaching at the confluence of two rivers in the Bay of Bengal — the Payra and Bishkhali. Still, the fishermen at the pier in Gazimahmud village are busy preparing for the next day’s work — every boat here is now illuminated by small solar-powered devices.

“Solar power is now not only in homes, it is also at our work. Now, there is no rush to return home when it is evening,” says fisherman Altaf Hossain, who is arranging fishing nets in his boat so that he’s ready for tomorrow.

Hossain is now able to work longer hours and boost his income, and he doesn’t have to worry about his wife and kids at home at night. The children sit under a solar-powered light to study, while Hossain’s wife, Roksana Begum, does various chores.

“The sun gives us light both during the day and at night,” Begum says. “It has made our lives much easier and has changed our livelihoods.”

Gazimahmud village is about 30 kilometres away from Barguna Sadar, the southernmost district of Bangladesh. A winding road leads to this village, where the sea and two rivers meet. The people of this remote community still remember the devastation caused by the powerful Cyclone Sidr in 2007, when 30 locals died. When the storm hit, it was difficult for many to reach safety as the entire area was dark. Now, thanks to most of the houses in the village having solar power, the community feels better prepared for future disasters.

“We have more faith in solar power, because, when a storm comes, the electricity connection may be disconnected or the power may be turned off, but solar power helps us to find a safe shelter by showing us the way,” says resident Monir Hossain.

Unprecedented success

Bangladesh has implemented the world’s largest off-grid solar power programme, with 20 million people across the country benefiting, according to the World Bank.

What began as a pilot project in 2003, involving 50,000 households, ultimately reached 14% of the population within 15 years, while some 200,000 rural businesses and religious facilities benefited from the Solar Home Systems (SHS) initiative as well.

The programme, which officially ran until 2018, was implemented in partnership with the private sector. Among other measures, the state provided generous incentives, such as tax breaks, for rooftop solar installers, and also focused on ensuring financing mechanisms were in place.

Together with 56 partner organisations, the government installed 4.1 million solar systems in remote areas by 2018.

According to the World Bank, the initiative has improved health and living conditions — including by reducing the use of kerosene lamps and thereby tackling indoor air pollution — and boosted school attendance. It also led to household solar becoming “a credible electricity source”.

“The Solar Home Systems programme has shown that millions of dollars raised internationally can be efficiently leveraged to provide loans of as little as $100 in remote corners of the country, enabling a rural household to purchase a solar home system,” according to Amit Jain, a senior energy specialist at the World Bank...

To clean up its power grid and contribute to the fight against climate change, Bangladesh plans to install 4.1GW of renewable energy capacity by 2030, up from around 1.2GW today."

-via The Progress Playbook, March 10, 2025

[bluewxrld07]

Heartbeat (Jack Hughes)

Cole Caufield gf! reader x Jack Hughes

Summary: Cole hasn't been the greatest boyfriend while staying at the Hughes' household this summer. What happens when the Golden Hughes boy gets you to himself? (Inspired by Heartbeat by Childish Gambino)

Warning(s): SMUTTTT, Smoking, Shotgunning, Spitting, fingering, p in v, unprotected (WRAP BEFORE YOU TAP), cheating (sorry Cole), choking, roughness, marking

"Get your fat ass off me!" Y/N laughed out with a screech, urging and trying her best to lift the youngest Hughes brother off of her body.

Luke was currently trying to tackle the girl after he's been convinced she cheated in another game of pool, not wanting to admit that she was actually pretty smart at playing the game.

"There's zero chance you just beat me. Twice! In a row!" he says, shooting her a playful pout and glare when she finally got herself out from under him.

"You're just too blinded by your ego to admit someone might be better at pool than you," Y/N chuckled, heading towards the kitchen. "Especially a girl."

Luke just groans and sends her his middle finger, earning a loud cackle from her lips.

She opened up the fridge to grab herself a High Noon for now, grabbed the package of fruit to stuff into the cooler for the boat.

"Will you sauce me a High Noon too?" Luke asks as he walks by her. She happily nods with a hum as she handed him his before shutting the fridge and followed him outside.

The sun was still shining bright, only a few clouds here and there seen in the skies above. It was almost mid-July, the heat now blazing in Michigan, the humidity levels also have risen due to a few rainy mornings at the lake.

Y/N and Luke made small talk as they made their ways down to the boat, seeing the group of boys returning from their little fishing frenzy.

She wore a plain black bikini with a pair of athletic shorts and her Birks, her hair flowed freely as it was still wet from the first trip out on the boat earlier that afternoon.

As the pair approached the boat, the boys all greeted them warmly. "Who won?"

Luke groans and shakes his head. "Don't even ask or it'll go straight to her head." he says.

Y/N rolled her eyes with a playful smirk. "You're just mad you can't learn my ways." she says, earning a swat in her direction as he hopped onto the boat.

Her eyes land on her boyfriend, Cole, the boy hopping up to grab the cooler from her arm. She happily takes the hand he offers her to step onto the boat, going and setting her towel and phone down on the seat. She takes her sunglasses from her head and puts them onto her face.

"Wow the fact that Luke might actually not be the pool champ in the house anymore is killing him," Quinn chuckles while backing away from the dock.

"I just choose to not believe she won so easily. Not once, but twice man! Twice!!!" Luke exasperates, popping open his High Noon.

Y/N settles herself onto Cole's lap per usual, his hand immediately finding her hips to support her as they pull out onto the lake. "I'm just too good, Moose. You should know this by now."

"Yeah, ok." he scoffs as he sips his drink.

"So when do the others get here?" Cole asks, changing the subject.

Y/N's eyebrows furrow. "Others? Who else is coming?" she asks.

Jack nods his head and speaks up. "Ethan and Duke are coming, and then a few of the girls from across the lake are joining. We're going to pick them up now."

"Ashley, Bridget and Mills?" Cole asked, and Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. She usually wasn't against other girls being there, she preferred it most days because the tester one could be insufferable.

It was because of these said girls they were going to pick up.

Especially Milly. Or Mills as Cole just stated.

There were three of them, and Milly was one of them she didn't get along with as she is one who always has her eyes on Cole. No matter the circumstance.

What makes her more annoyed is that he allows it, letting the girl flirt and touch her way towards him as if it meant nothing.

Each time she would try and call him out for it, he'd get all defensive and state she's "just being insecure". So she finally decided to ignore it, and not care anymore.

"This'll be fun." She mutters lowly, but Cole must've picked up on her comment because she received a slight pinch to her thigh. She turned to face him, seeing the look on his face. "Play nice. Don't start that shit." he orders, making her scoff and look away.

"When do Ethan and Duke get here?" she asks.

"They're gonna be here after sundown. They have a few last minute skate camps to do, and then they're coming out to stay for the week." Luke explains across the boat.

"Yeah, supposedly they're going to be bringing some more stuff too, so we won't have to worry about going to buy more till this weekend." Jack brings up, earning hums and agreements from the group.

Jack also finds Y/N's eyes, points and winks at her. "Also they're bringing you your goodies." he says, making her smirk and perk up in excitement.

Cole's face frowns. "No." he says and shakes his head. "You're not smoking with them."

Y/N's face falls, and she turns back to Cole. "Why? I do all the time, and it's not like I'm in a strange place. We do it all the time back at UMich."

"Dude chill she's in good company first off, and second we're not gonna let her go nuts." Trevor adds.

Cole rolls his eyes. "You're not smoking and that's final. I don't like how you smell afterwards."

"Funny, because I wasn't asking permission." Y/N bites back, earning a low howl from Trevor. Cole just looks at her with shock and annoyance on his face.

He drops the argument but pinches her thigh as if he was warning her, she jumps and sends him a glare. He gives her a look, and she soon just sits there not saying anything.

She listens to the boys as they all converse about the weeks ahead and how next season may go, only turning her head slightly to see Jack's eyes were already on her.

He stares over at her, running his fingers over his mouth as his eyes squint towards her like he is trying to say something without saying anything. She just looks back at him and shrugs slyly, hoping he will drop it and move on.

Before she knew it, she was slightly nudged off of Cole's lap and to the side of him, making her look over at Cole. His eyes were already set on the dock they were now arriving towards, seeing as the three girls were standing there happily waving.

Y/N lets out a huff, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue. She watches as Cole immediately stands when the boat arrives at the dock, greeting Milly and helping her into the boat. She doesn't hesitate for a second to kiss Cole's cheek, easily making Y/N's eyes harden.

She sits there silently as they get the girls onto the boat, the other two warmly greeting Y/N whom happily greets them back. "Oh," Milly says abruptly, seeing Y/N sitting there.

"I didn't know she was still here." she says innocently, making Y/N roll her eyes.

"Yeah. The girl who grew up Nextdoor to the Hughes' is here for her traditional summer trip. Shocker," Y/N retorts, earning a snort from Trevor and Luke.

Milly's eyes narrow, but soon is turned away from Y/N when Cole comes up next to her.

He guides her over to the seating where Y/N sat, Cole giving her a look. "What?" she asks.

"Can you scoot? Or go sit behind Quinn?" he asks, making her roll her eyes with an amused smirk.

"Seriously?"

Cole just shrugs. "You're gonna wakeboard anyways, so might as well save the upper half of the boat for those who want to chill."

Y/N's eyes widen at his remark, knowing damn well he would be wakeboarding today too. She scoffs. "You sure it's not because you-"

"Come on I'll help you suit up, Y/N. You can start us off." Jack interrupts, coming into view. Y/N looks between Cole and Milly, seeing the satisfied look on her face.

Her eyes find Jack's when she feels him softly grab her forearm, giving her a look as to say it wasn't worth the energy, making her look back at the pair.

"Fine." she says, letting Jack walk with her to the back of the boat as Quinn drives and turns up the music.

Y/N stands at the back of the boat, watching her boyfriend and Milly sit awfully close to one another, his attention entirely entranced by her.

Jack pops back into view with her lifejacket, turning her to face him. "Don't start." he chuckles while he helps her get strapped up.

"What are you talking about?"

"You look like you're going to kill her."

"Well do you blame me? You see how he acts with her, and how she acts regardless if I'm around. It's pathetic really." Y/N says with an eyeball.

Jack's eyes meet hers. "I may be a jerk, but your man is a real dick." he says low enough so she can only hear it.

Y/N sighs at his words, and just nods. "Yeah. Seems like it."

Jack lets out a playful scoff. "Did you just agree that I'm a jerk?" he asks, getting playfully offended. Y/N lets out a smile and chuckles and slaps his chest.

"You are you, so we know how you can be." she jokes, Jack sticks his tongue out at her.

"Yeah yeah whatever, pretty. Head onto the end of the boat so I can help you in." he says, shooing her over to the buttoned of the boat.

Quinn slow the boat down enough so she can sit down and get herself strapped onto the wakeboard. Jack is making sure the board is all in good shape, his tongue sticking out as he focuses.

Her eyes look up at him as she watches him focus on getting her all set in, before he finally looks at her. He smirks over at her. "You've got quite the problem, pretty." he chuckles as he stands up.

"What?" she asks, but she doesn't get a response. He just holds his hands out to help her up which she gladly takes.

He yanks her onto her feet, Jack pulling her awfully close when she's upright. His eyes dart down to her lips for the slightest second, if she blinked she probably would've missed it.

She feels her breath hitch as his hands leave hers and trail slowly towards her hips. She shouldn't feel anyway towards Jack like she does.

Before she can say anything he pushed her into the water, making her give him the finger when she came up. Jack laughs before tossing her the rope and the board.

"You ready?" Quinn calls out, and she raises her thumb up. "Ready when you are Quinny!"

He begins playing the music once again, Y/N making sure the board is secure underneath her feet as they take off slowly.

Once they begin to pick up the pace and she balanced out on the waves, she tosses Jack the rope back and surfs along the water.

This was the part she always looked forward to during the summer, being with her friends on a lake she's come to know so well. It felt like it was engraved into her no matter where she was.

Her eyes focus on the waves below her feet, trying to twist and turn as she rode, hearing chants and encouragement from the guys. She looks up with a smile.

Trevor holds up a drink for her and points at it. "You want?" he asks out, and she nods. "You know what to do!" he says as he tosses it towards her.

She wobbles a bit as she catches it, and nods at them. She puts a finger up to single to hold on, beginning to take off her lifejacket.

Y/N's eyes catch Jack's, telling him to catch it and he nods. As soon as he gets it she focuses back onto the can of alcohol in her hands, trying to create a good divot onto the edge of the can to shotgun.

Once she's got it how she wants, the group counts her down and then she opens the can. As she shotguns and downs the drink, she can hear cheers from the girls and boys.

Jack's eyes follow the drips that leave Y/N's mouth, watching as they trail from the side of her mouth, to the side of her neck and in between the valley of her breasts and down her stomach where her belly button piercing sat perfectly.

He bit his lip, adjusting his lower half as he snaps it back up to her face, watching her smile widely in victory while crumpling the now empty can.

Before she can do anything else, she sees Trevor making his way off the boat and jumps out towards her. "My turn!" he playfully says as he meets her body and they fall back into the water.

When they resurface, she splashes him playfully. Y/N lets out a laugh before flicking him off, the two watching as the boat makes its way around to grab them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was set fully, flames crackling and lighting up the darkness around the group that surrounded it.

Ethan and Duke had finally shown up with more goodies to get through the weekend, the group now sat with drunken conversations and dares going around the group.

Y/N sat by herself, Cole being incredibly occupied with Milly across the fire, hand on her thigh as they talked and flirted. Y/N was so over trying to fight over it, having earned looks from Cole when she made comments throughout the day.

She watched them with a stank look on her face, just frozen in her stare. Watching as her boyfriend just acted like she never existed.

"So," she hears Ethan's voice drag out next to her. She turns to face him. "Heard your little mans over there said no to it, but I hear you kind of need it." he says, holding up a couple of blunts in his hand.

Y/N laughs. "Who told you that?"

He shurgs. "Just a little birdie here."

Y/N smirks at him with a nod. "You know me so well. This is why we're besties Eddy." she chuckles and takes one from his hand to light it.

Ethan grabs the lighter from his pocket and holds it up to the blunt that rests between her lips.

Once he lights it, she takes a long drag from it and her eyes instantly roll to the back of her head in relief. She holds the smoke in her mouth for a bit before letting it fall from her lips.

"Fuck, yeah I did need it." she sighs out, passing it to Ethan who takes a hit. "Yeah I can see that." he says before his head nods over towards Cole and Milly. Y/N rolls her eyes as she watches Milly run her hands through Cole's hair.

"Why aren't you doing anything about it?" he asks, and she shrugs.

"If he truly wanted to stay committed to me, he would. I'm tired of the constant arguing and the backhanded comments he makes when I call him out. I don't want him, the girl can take him at this point." she sighs, Ethan seeing the sadness flash through her eyes as she watches her boyfriend act close with the blonde across the fire pit.

"You should get even." he suggests, making her eyebrows furrow and look at him.

"Even how?" she asks. Ethan hands her the blunt.

"The best revenge is getting even. Not getting mad, or sad or pissed. Even."

Y/N lets the smoke out of her mouth, and nods. "That's true. But at the same time I just want someone to appreciate me. I can't stand doing the one night stands. You know how I get." she chuckles as she takes another hit.

He nods and inhales another hit after her. "Who said it had to be a stranger?" he says, making her whip her head towards him.

She shakes her head and chuckles. "Eddy I love you, but no way do I see you like-"

He shakes his head. "Oh no I totally agree, I wasn't saying me." he adds. "But I know someone here who would happily help you out. Everyone sees it but you." he hints.

She furrows her brows. "Who?" she asks, and he just shrugs.

"You'll just have to pay close attention to find out." is all he says before he gets up and makes his way over to the cooler to grab a drink.

Y/N sits there confused, her attention going back to the fire as she smokes the blunt.

"Careful there, remember what happened the last time you took in a whole blunt in under five minutes." Jack's voice cuts in, plopping himself down next to her.

She scoffs playfully. "I'd much rather get crossed than have to watch that unfold," she motions towards the pair in front of her.

Jack nods slowly, the two sitting silently for a bit as she takes another hit. Jack looks over at her and raises his hand.

"Can I?" he asks, motioning towards the blunt. She nods before handing over to him. He takes one long hit and lets it sit for a moment or two. Then lets it leave his mouth slowly.

Y/N watched him, entranced by how easy he did it. Jack could feel her stare, making him smirk as he kept his stare on the fire in of them.

"You're staring again, pretty." he says lowly, making her shrug.

"Just intrigued is all."

"How so?"

"I don't know why, but it's attractive when a guy can smoke so smoothly like you did."

Jack's eyes flick over to hers, looking down at her lips for a second before finding her eyes once again. "Really?" he says softly, his voice rough.

She nods with a hum, her eyes droopy as she feels the high. "You trust me, pretty?" he asks, and she nods. "Always, J."

He nods back before he takes another big and long hit, turning his face towards hers. He raises his hand and grabs the front of her neck softly, pulling her forward. Y/N's sense heighten at his closeness, seeing his eyes flicker to her lips and stay there.

He takes his thumb and pushes her bottom lip down to open her mouth, slightly leaning forward so their lips were barely touching. He opened his own mouth, letting the smoke leave and travel into her own mouth.

Y/N's head felt so light in that moment, her eyes closing as she took the smoke in from his mouth. "Good girl. So good." he growls, making her insides quiver and a small whimper leave her throat.

Once it all left his mouth, he closes her mouth and backs his face away from hers and takes a sip of his drink as if nothing happened. Y/N stayed frozen in her spot as she blew the smoke from her mouth, turning her head back towards Cole and Milly.

Their eyes never left one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N couldn't sleep.

She had been tossing and turning all night, Cole sleeping soundly next to her as soft snores left his mouth.

It had been a couple days since the incident with Jack, if she should even call it that. She just hated how much she enjoyed it.

Enjoyed him.

It was the way he made her insides feel, it was something she wasn't used to feeling. He made her feel seen, the more she would think back about their history. How he was always the one there, and how forced it felt when Cole came around.

She sighs as she softly and quietly gets out of bed, not wanting to wake Cole, and opens the bedroom door. Once it shuts softly behind her, she makes her way down the hall and down the stairs.

She heads over to the kitchen and grabs herself a bottled water and one of the leftover blankets brought inside from the fire, before unlocking the sliding door and heading outside. Her eyes get used to the darkness around her, hearing the loud bugs and frogs around the lake, some of the neighbors music softly playing.

Once she gets to the dock, she steps out onto the boat and turns on the speaker system. Once she picks her tunes, she adjusts the volume so it's not loud enough to bother anyone around the area and sits on the back seating portion.

She wraps the blanket around herself, looking out towards the lake that sits as calm as can be, looking like glass.

Her thoughts begin to make themselves known, making her wonder why she let Cole treat her the way he does. Or how he thinks it okay to act how he did with Milly in front of her eyes. Or how he spoke to her when she stated she wasn't;t fond of how Milly acted with him. Calling her insecure and dramatic and clingy.

She tried to let it get to her, letting her thoughts ramble and jumble, soon getting to how Jack has treated her. How he made her stay distracted for the time being, so she didn't have to witness Cole and Milly. Especially with how Jack was making her feelings twist and turn and making her thighs tighten.

Y/N took a deep breath as she felt her face heating up from the thoughts entering her brain of Jack, letting her breaths become shallow as they grew more.

The way she would've let him kiss her hard when he shotgunned the smoke into her mouth. How she would've let him do whatever he wanted to her in front of their friends. In front of Cole. In front of Milly.

Her eyes rolled back when she thought about how he'd feel inside of her. Or how rough he could be. Maybe how he could mark her up so nobody else could have her. Especially the way how nice it would running her hands through his hair as his head ate away between--

"Thought I'd be able to find you out here." a voice interrupted her thoughts, causing her to jump.

Jack's hands go up in defense as he sees her jump from his voice, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. "Easy tiger. Didn't mean to scare you."

She rolls her eyes. "What're you doing up?" she asks.

He takes her legs that were draped along the seating, takes a seat and then props them back on top of his lap as he shrugs. "I couldn't sleep. Trevor's snoring was also pissing me off." he jokes, making her giggle slightly.

"Isn't he in the room next to yours?" she asks, and he looks at her.

"Exactly. It echos more than you'd think." he says, making her chuckle at him. He trails his hand up her thigh and squeezes. "Why're you awake?"

She sighs and shrugs herself. "Couldn't sleep either."

"Does it have to do with what happened?" he asks and she hums with a nod.

"Ever since that night, Cole has been really distant. Or he gets upset at the littlest things I do. He disappears a bit more, and I know he's not going to skate at the rink." she explains, Jack humming in response.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"It's whatever. I just wish he'd break it off already. But he is so worried about you all banning him from the lakehouse for breaking my heart." she shrugs.

"Well he definitely would not be allowed back for a bit, I'll tell you that much."

"Okay but that is also not what I'd want you guys to do. You guys have been friends for too long. Don't be petty." Y/N chuckles, earning an eyeroll from Jack with a smirk.

"He hurt you which isn't allowed here. That's always been our one rule. So that's his fault for not listening."

She sighs. "I supposed," she says. "I just can't stop thinking about what Eddy said."

Jack's eyes snap to hers. "What did Ethan say?" he rushes, making her laugh.

"Woah chill there Jack. Nothing scary," she says. "He just stated he thinks it's now my time to get even with him. No mad, or upset. Just even."

Jack's grip on her thighs tighten, raising higher up on her thighs. The feeling making her insides melt. "Even how?"

She hesitates for a minute. "Like getting even." she emphasizes.

Jack leans closer to her. "Would you? Want to get even I mean?" he asks lowly, and her eyes look deeply into his through the darkness. She'd do anything he'd ask at this point.

"Depends on who's asking." she says softly.

"What if I'm asking?"

Y/N's insides freeze completely. She knew he felt some way towards her, but hearing him ask that just made it ten times more real.

"What?" she stutters, watching as he breaks their eye contact.

"Nothing, forget I said anything," he says and shakes his head, leaning back against the seats. Y/N looks at her lap.

They were silent for a few moments. Y/N then builds herself up enough, and lets confidence take over. Her eyes look over at Jack, seeing his head back against the edge of the seat with his eyes closed.

She takes this moment to sit up, take one leg and place it on one side of his lap while the other stays on the opposite side as she is fully now sitting in his lap looking down at him.

Jack's head pops up looking up at her, eyebrows furrowing. Y/N's hands trail from his biceps, to his shoulders, and finally to the sides of his neck. "What if I want it to be you asking?" she says lowly, her head dipping down slowly to be close to his.

Jack's hands find her lower back, his head raising to lean his forehead against hers. His lips smirking. "Oh, pretty, you don't know what you're asking for right now." he says.

Y/N nods. "If I didn't know what I was doing, would I be be sitting here waiting for you to ruin me?" she whispers, letting her confidence come in.

Jack chuckles lowly, his hands trailing up her back and into her hair to pull her head back. She lets out a sigh at the feeling, his lips making soft kisses upon her neck. "If I ruin you," he starts. "I'm ruining you for anyone else."

She looks down at him. "You sure you want play that game?" he says.

She takes his face into her hand, and squeezes his neck to make him look at her, causing a low groan mixed with a sigh to leave his lips. "I'm all yours, Jack Hughes."

Those words were enough to make a switch turn in him.

He grips her hair harshly and brings her lips slamming down onto his. Their teeth clashing, tongues fighting, soft moans leaving her lips at how good his lips felt on hers.

Her hips get a mind of their own grinding down against the building erection in his sweats, making them both moan against one another at the feeling. Jack's hands left her hair as they kissed in sync, one traveling down to her ass while the other made its way to her throat. He let his hand come down hard onto her ass, making her let out a light squeak as his other hand squeezed her throat.

It made her head feel light at the feeling, causing her head to fall back, his lips attaching to her neck leaving marks in their tracks. "He's going to see how much better I take care of you," he says, biting her neck. "Of how much I can give you," she sighs. "Of how good I can make you feel," his hand comes down against her ass again.

"Fuck, Jack," she moans out and he hums. "Exactly. That's me Pretty."

Jack lets his hand leave her throat, traveling down to her breasts and squeezes them over her t-shirt. "Take this off." He says, helping her remove her shirt.

His eyes immediately fall to her chest, licking his lips as both hands find each breast. Y/N lets out a gasp as he pinches one nipple and caresses the other with his rough thumb. Her hips stuttering as she ground deeply onto him. "They're yours." she mutters out, Jack chuckles darkly.

"Oh pretty," he starts, his eyes looking up at hers. "I know."

Before she knew it, he was taking on nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing over it, causing her whole body to break out into goosebumps. "Keep making those noises for me pretty. Want everyone to know how good I'm making you feel." he hums against her skin.

Her moans and gasps become louder with each mark and bite Jack leaves on her breasts, running her hands through his hair and pulling.

He moans against her chest, his hands guiding her hips as she grinds over his hard erection. She can feel her wetness pooling between her legs, sure enough knowing there's most definitely a wet patch on her panties and his pants. Y/N takes his hair to pull his head up to look at her, slamming her lips back onto his.

When she pulls away she bites his lower lip, causing him to hiss and smirk at her. "Someone's taking the dominance a little bit." he jokes, and she smirks.

"Deal with it." she moans out, and before she knows it Jack grips her thighs to stoop her movements, earning some curses and whines from the girl above him.

"Can't have you thinking you're in charge right now," he says, immediately flipping her to lay down on the seat, Jack going to hover above her, blanket long gone. He uses one hand to pull his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side.

Y/N's eyes follow the shirt being ditched, only to have her jawline squeezed and turned back towards the boy on top of her. "You keep your focus on me." he states.

"Open that pretty mouth, baby," he says, and she obeys. Jack immediately puckers his lips, letting the saliva from his mouth slowly leave his mouth and slide into hers. Y/N happily sticks her tongue out as it slides down her throat, causing Jack to moan out and push his erection into her wetness.

"Swallow," he says, and she immediately lets it slide down her throat and bites her lip. "Fuck. You're such a good girl." Jack says with a smirk on his face.

"You're definitely mine now. Nobody else is going to have you. You belong to me," he says as he lets a hand trail down the valley of her breasts, her stomach and to the line of her pants. "You got that? Nobody else ever gets to see you this way. Cole had his chance." He states.

Y/N nods, causing Jack to take his hand from her pantyline and slap her pussy. She jolts at it, letting out a whimper. "Words, pretty girl." he says.

"Yes. Okay."

He smiles darkly. His hand makes its way back towards her panties, immediately sliding beneath them and finding her clit. She lets out a loud gasp, her head falling back against the seat. Jack's mouth opens at the feeling of how wet and warm she felt, his head falling back as his eyes fell closed.

His fingers slid back and forth between her folds, circling her clit every so often. "Ohhh you are so wet for me, Y/N. I can't wait to feel you around me, fuck." he sighs out, his head looking down to see her mouth open and soft moans coming out.

He can feel her grinding against his fingers, Jack chuckling darkly. "So needy baby now are we?"

Y/N nods, and Jack growls before pinching her clit harshly. She let out a large squeal. Her eyes open to look up at him. "What did I say?" he says lowly.

"Use my words."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't use my words." she moans, and Jack hums. "You do that again and I'm stopping. You got it?"

"Yes baby."

Jack moans, instantly going back to gliding his fingers over her slickness, playing around her hole. "Please Jack. Don't tease. Need you."

He lets out a pout. "I think you need to be teased a little. Especially since you didn't listen to me."

"Jacky please." Y/N begs.

"Fine. Only because I need to have you. Need to feel how tight you are for me."

"What-" before she can finish her sentence, Jack sticks two fingers inside of her. She let outs a loud moan, wrapping her legs around his torso. Jack's lips find hers as he pumps in and out of her roughly, not giving her time to adjust, his lips hiding her loud moans.

"Who does this pussy belong to?"

"You."

"Who?"

"Fuck, you Jack!" she gasps against his lips, feeling a burning sensation building up in her stomach. Jack can feel her hips beginning to stutter, sensing she is getting close.

He suddenly pulls his fingers out, causing her eyes to open widely and stare up at him. Jack gets off of her, ripping her sweats and panties off her legs, then stripping from his own.

He kneels in between her legs, taking in her naked figure in front of him while sliding his hands up and down her thighs. "Shit you're gorgeous, pretty."

Y/N feels her insides melt, her heart fluttering at his words. "Too bad I'm going to ruin you." he says.

She looks up at him. "Ruin me, Jack." she challenges, and it doesn't take him a second longer to decide.

He takes himself into his hand and slides in all the way deep inside her pussy, Y/N letting out a loud gasp followed by his full name. He smirks, before sliding out till the tip is just inside, then slamming back into her.

Y/N's eyes roll back along with her head, Jack sliding his hand up to her neck and squeezing it as he fastens and hardens his pace. Their breaths and moans mix together, Jack taking in the marks along her chest.

She definitely would scold him tomorrow for them, but it would be so worth he look on Cole's face.

Jack lets out a moan at the thought, then taking her throat tighter in his grip to make her head roll back to look at him and he slammed himself deep into her repeatedly. "This was made for me. You were made for me. All mine." he pants out against her lips as he kisses her hard.

"All" thrust "Fucking" thrust "Mine" thrust.

Y/N felt like her head was spinning. She felt like she was on cloud nine. She never wanted this to end.

Jack's free hand traveled down to her clit, rubbing harshly and fast. The sensation made Y/N gasp loud and moan into his mouth, feeling her high coming close. "Jack I'm gonna-"

"Hold it"

"Jack please I'm-"

"You're going to hold it pretty," he growls out against her lips and kisses her. "I'm almost there. Wanna finish with you."

"Finish inside me."

"Fucking shit baby, you're going to kill me." he moans. Her nails glide down his back once more, sure that the marks would be there tomorrow but she didn't care.

"Go ahead, pretty, let it go." He says, his moans and gasps getting more breathless, his hips stuttering as he feels his high reach, Y/N letting her climax finally reach its point. Her eyesight going white for a moment as Jack finished.

A few moments passed, and Y/N is still coming down. The pairs breathless pants being heard, Jack lifts his head from her chest and caresses her cheek.

"You back?" he jokes lightly, making her chuckle as her eyes stayed close.

"I'm back."

"How do you feel?" he asks softly, and she nods. "I'm good. Really good."

"I meant it," he says, his eyes finding hers. "You're mine. Cole lost his chance."

Y/N is silent for a moment and then nods, running a hand through his crazed hair. "I'm yours Jack."

Jack's smile widens and he kisses her softly. "Let's get you cleaned up. You're sleeping with me tonight."

[amandaanddonnie]

Pole Fishing for Catfish

[timmurleyart]

Fishing and sailing.🐟⛵️💦(Mixed media on paper)🎣

[leyavo]

The Hood

Sergeant!reader x TF141

Summary: it’s been nearly a year since the incident and you’ve been slowly grappling with the trauma of your first solo mission that went south.

Your team take you to the marines base so you can finally tackle the problem and fight your way through what went wrong. Training drill.

TW: violence? Longer than I thought it’d be. 2477words. [masterlist]

Captain John Price stood at the edge of the shore, hands tucked into his tactical vest. “Keep going Gal,” he shouted, chest puffing as his boot slipped slightly on the slick jagged rocks beneath him.

The wind nipped at your cheeks sending the salty spray of seawater into your face. Soap waded in the crashing waves beside you, head nudging for you to follow the captains orders.

“I got ya, don’ worry,” Soap said, teeth clinking together as he spoke. His gloved fingers wrapped around the crook of your elbow, stopping you for a second. “Thigh tap remember.”

How could you forget? You’d do everything in your power not to use the easy way out. Today and every other, you’ll need to fight. No different than before.

The only thing weighing you down was the full tactical gear strapped to your body, the gun on your back and the knife on your thigh.

Everything the men screamed at you whilst you crawled up the ranks went against you that day. You weren’t too short, but you weren’t as tall as some of your teammates something that worked in your favour when you needed to hide.

The weight or muscles you’d built wasn’t a match for three men and the sea. Something had gone horribly wrong, intel wrong and it nearly left you at the bottom of the sea, rotting away. Nothing but fish food.

A high pitch whistle sent a tremor down your spine. The waves pushing at your torso, not quite as high up against Soap’s body.

“Just a training drill, you can stop whenever you want.” Soap’s furrowed brows softened, hand landing on your shoulder as he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

No, this wasn’t that day. You didn’t have a bullet in your shoulder or a beat up body. Instead of being dragged through the shore, you were treading the water with Soap and overlooked by the others on your task force.

You didn’t want to torture yourself anymore. Didn’t want to let the past have so much control on how you felt or reacted. No, today you were taking it back.

“Don’t go easy on me Soap,” you said, gaze sliding to the boat bobbing by the concealed cave. The white of the skeleton mask standing out against Ghost’s face.

“Would never dream of it.” Soap smirked, he raised his fist signalling for the go ahead.

“Thigh tap remember,” you said, repeating Soaps words back to him.

The smile on Soap’s face fell, his fist jabbing towards you. You dodged it. Your knuckles connecting with his ribcage that he left open. His knee surged above the waves, hitting you in the jaw. You bit your lip tasting the metallic tang of your own blood.

No going easy eh, Soap.

You grabbed the back of Soap’s knee before he could lower it and pushed him under the water. His elbow came down on the crown of your head, not once, but twice. The impact making you let go of him, you shoved him back and stood up.

The sea pushing you back a few steps and birds cawing above you. So bloody cold.

Sucking in a breath, the air stung the back of your throat. The gear weighing you down, knees buckling. You kept moving, circling where you stood but couldn’t see Soap’s shadow through the violent waves.

The wind roared in your ears, throbbing pain pulsating at the crown of your head. You couldn’t think of that though, had to keep going. Soap yanked you under the water, wave curling over you as you kicked your legs free from his grasp. Your boot slamming into his shoulder.

Seaweed danced in the current, achingly similar to the fluid movements Soap had used to retreat. You had to keep going.

Your fingers traced your thigh, knife lost from its holster. Something seized the gun on your back, yanking you through the water. Your head dipping above the waves, sputtering water whenever you managed to get some air.

The birds cawing as if they were mocking you.

Two pairs of boots splashed through the shallow water, another set of hands going for your ankles. You let the two lift you from the jagged rocks, kicking Soap in the chest. He stumbled back, giving you the opportunity to twist in the second persons hold.

You didn’t get to see who though, the scratchy fabric shoved over your head as you turned. Darkness. The sound of your blood rushed in your ears, breath faltering as the hand at the back twisted the mask in its grasp.

No, no. You had to keep it together. No tapping out. It’s just a drill. Not real.

You needed to do this.

“Ready to kick it up a notch?” Ghost’s raspy voice drew a flinch out of you as his nose nudged the side of your face. He tugged the back of the hood, your hands scrambling to the hem trying to release the pressure around your throat. It dug in, skin burning as you thrashed against his hold.

The hood, the one thing that nearly ended your life. You grunted, your anger and frustration driving your head back, but it smacked into Ghost’s firm chest.

He chuckled at the attempt, dragging you back. The heel of your boots scraping along the rocks, slipping and sliding as you tried to find something, anything to push some power into and overthrow him.

“Fuck you,” you snarled, against your better judgement. The hood tightened around your throat, your mouth opening as you struggled to breathe. The itchy fabric scratching your lips, the salty taste burning your tongue.

Your heart hammered against your chest, body trembling. The cold seeping into your bones, you were trained for this. You’d done this before, trudged through the seas with your gear pulling you down. You’d done it then, you’d do it now.

The scars lining your body were proof that you had survived. That you could count on yourself.

Anger kept you motivated. Anger for yourself. For who ever set you up over a year ago. For the sea that created and destroyed whatever it held.

You just needed to pick your moments and reserve your energy. Hushed voices murmured around you, if Ghost was on your six, Soap would be four and Kyle at seven. Price at twelve, watching over you all. The clock ticking, you just needed to wait for an opening.

Ghost stopped, setting you up on your feet. Knot tightening at the back of the hood, cable tie circling your wrists in front of you. You’re lifted off the ground, the tactical vest digging into your stomach telling you that Soap had hoisted you over his shoulder. You took the opportunity to breathe, calm your nerves.

You’re dumped to the ground, thick netting brushed the exposed skin at the nape of your neck. The fishermen’s boat. You feel like you’ve just been fished out of the sea, ready to be gutted.

Something sharp dug into your thigh, you patted the area and picked it up, closing your fist around it. You don’t get a chance to scramble back before you’re forced to stand again.

Bringing your knee up, you send it right in between their legs. They groan, but you don’t stop. Your shoulder barreling into them with all your strength. You hear the satisfying sound of a splash, feel it against your bound hands.

“Use ya’ ears!” The Captain yelled.

Your head snapped to the side, distracted by his instructions that you missed the clashing of metal jingling together. You’re swept off your feet, back of your head knocking against the ground.

If death wasn’t calling, you don’t what is. There’s a moment where you just want to stay down, but your mind’s screaming at you to get up. Do anything.

It took you a second to react, your back sliding to the side as the waves pushed against the boat.

Ghost tugged you, hesitating for a second. The heavy chain wrapping around your ankle. “Tap out,” he snarled, but you shook your head.

The netting beneath you trailed along with you. You’d been biding your time, waiting for them to get closer and if you’d calculated right, you’d be able to get out of it alive. Training drill or not, there’s no giving up for you.

You’re forced to sit on the edge of the boat, tied hands resting in your lap. Ghost’s hand grabbing your throat, angling you over the side. You can feel the waves at your back, as if they’re trying to snatch you.

“Kyle’s waiting down there, you’re not alone.” Ghost’s fingers pressing into the side of your neck, as if he didn’t want to let go. Didn’t think it’d go this far, but he let go and flung your legs up and over the edge.

Lifting your arms, you pinched your shoulder blades together and drove your arms down. Breaking free from the cable ties, just as your body plunged into the cold water.

The fishing hook in your closed palm pierced through your glove. You flicked it in your grasp and sliced it through the hood. A line of red floating in front of you, the skin of your neck and jaw burning. The hood carried away by the tide.

The chain around your ankle kept going and going, the weight plummeting to the bottom, pulling you down with it.

Kyle’s figure off to the side monitoring your movement, the oxygen tank on his back in case you needed assistance. He hung back, giving you the chance to work it out.

You give him an ok. Swimming down to the bottom, the link of the chain padlocked to a weight. A marker that’s normally used to show divers where they’ve already searched. It’s easily removable if you know how. The spiralling padlock needing to be twisted free. You turned the padlock, turning and turning. Pushing up as soon as you’re free, the chain following behind you.

The shadow of the boat above you moved, anchor disappearing above the water.

Your limbs sore, one shoulder shuddering each time you pumped your arms through the water. The waves picked up, the sound of them crashing against the boat helped you break free to the surface without any attention.

Kyle stayed below the water, not giving away your position. Ghost at the wheel steering the boat.

Diving back under the water you made your way to the wooden platform near the boat. Soap’s back wandering down creaky boards, gun in hand as he swept the entrance of the cave. The first place you’re expected to go and rest up, or draw them in.

You hung back, hiding beneath the platform. Waiting for him to enter the cave. You trudged out of the water, twisting the silencer on the end of your gun. The barrel pointed at the caves opening. You gather up a bunch of pebbles in your fist and chuck them over the other side of the rocks. If you didn’t know any better you’d thought someone had fell.

Shrinking back into the shadows you wait. Soap waded through the water checking out the noise. He didn’t get a chance to scope out the whole perimeter, the rubber bullet from your gun shooting him in the back of his head.

“Soap’s dropped,” you whispered to yourself, a little reminder that it was just a training drill. No real threat.

Soap staggered forward, almost dropping his gun. He spun around, splashing through the water as he rushed to you. Gloved hands reaching out.

“Not over yet,” you said, shaking your head and retreating from his outstretched arms. His gaze flitted to your jaw and neck, but he understood.

“No tapping out now,” he said, palm slapping against his own thigh. Smirk playing on his lips.

One down, a bigger one to go. Surprise would be your best form of attack, but even that was difficult when it came to Ghost. When you exited the cave, the tide had rose. The wooden platform lost under the waves.

The temperature had dipped, sky deepened to an inky blue. The darkness being your best friend, the freezing water not so much. Numb tingles spread over your face, lips chapped and split.

Lanterns dangled from the trawler boat, yellow balls of light bouncing in the wind. You swam out, keeping close to the stern as you approached it. Your head half out of the water as you trailed along side it.

You wondered if the Captain was still on that rock, binoculars stuck to his eyeballs as he watched over the training drill.

Footsteps echoed the metal deck, your back pressing against the boat and your head tilted up in case the lieutenant peered over the side. The anchors chain was the only way up, the ladder on the other side too predictable. By the looks of it, they hadn’t pulled the anchor all the way up, you were able to reach the curved metal and hoist yourself up to climb the chain.

You’re nearly at the top, but you paused to check through the gap. During storms the water would be pushed back out of these missing panels. The only thing sinking should be the anchor.

Ghost paced the deck, finger hovering over the trigger of his gun. You counted his steps back and forth, climbing the chain as you counted back.

Just as Ghost turned back round, you shot him in the forehead. The rubber bullet bouncing off his helmet.

“Dead, LT,” you shouted, shooting his chest with another bullet.

“What the hell took you so long?” Price said, blowing smoke from his mouth. Cigar balancing between his fingers, “did good, let’s get you checked over.”

The boat swayed, Price sliding along the bench. You let the momentum take you, stumbling into Ghost’s arms. He caught you, guiding you to sit and lean against the side of the boat.

“Aye, knew you could do it lass,” Soap said, kneeling down beside you. “Got me in the back of the head, LT.” His gaze wandering Ghosts body for a clue on where he’d been hit.

A small dent in Ghost’s helmet and one still stuck in the tactile vest over his chest.

“A gamble, but you did well Sergeant,” Ghost said, lifting your arm and putting your hand over the gauze on your neck.

He didn’t look you in the eye though, busying himself with tending to your split lip. Soap helped you up, draping a blanket over your shoulders, guiding you to the cabin to change out of your clothes.

“Where’s Kyle?” You said over your shoulder, brows furrowed at the lack of diving gear and him.

“Fuck, get Kyle out now,” Price said, rushing to peer over the side. Cigar wedged between his lips and hat flapping in the wind.

Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it. This has been edited, but I am dyslexic so my work may have errors and spelling mistakes etc. - Leya

[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. 

[gilbir-t]

I have a secret gravity falls oc y’all don’t know about

This is Halibut “Hal” Fischer (yes fish guy)

I’ve been posting him on Instagram and he has such convoluted lore and I’m terrible at explaining it

Basically, he grew up in Gravity Falls as the middle child of 7 siblings; his dad was a fisherman and Hal followed in his footsteps. It’s not really a secret, his dad drowned after the (actual) Gobblewonker attacked their boat while he and Hal were on a fishing trip (Hal was 16). A piece of wood impaled his eye and he had to get it removed, that’s why he has a glass eye. He works at Tate and Backle’s Bait and Tackle, so Tate's his boss. They have a complicated relationship.

I’m working on a lore doc, so that’ll explain stuff

[cheerfulfisherman]

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

[sweetheartfaist]

NOW PLAYING ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. summerboy — lady gaga

summerboy!art, who keeps a disposable camera in his back pocket specifically to take blurry, overexposed photos of you when you're not looking—you squinting into the sun with a slurpee mustache, you mid-laugh with sand stuck to your wet shoulder, you asleep in the passenger seat of patrick's uncle's beat-up civic with your mouth open and your hair a disaster. he gets them developed at the cvs and hides the packet under his mattress like they're contraband. patrick finds them once and art tackles him so hard they both go through the screen door. "she's gonna think you're a creep," patrick wheezes, but art just snatches the photos back and mutters "shut up" while his ears turn red. later that night he slips his favorite one—you in your striped bikini, mid-cannonball, arms spread like wings—into his wallet behind his lifeguard certification card.

summerboy!patrick, who steals your cherry chapstick and then pretends he doesn't know where it went, even though you can literally see the waxy red smudge on his bottom lip when he's talking to you. he'll lean against the boardwalk railing, all cocky and sun-drunk, going "maybe you left it at the beach house?" while actively licking his lips. art calls him out every time—"dude, it's literally on your mouth"—and patrick just shrugs like he's been caught shoplifting candy. "tastes better on her anyway," he says, and then tosses the tube back to you with this shit-eating grin. you want to be mad but he looks so stupidly pleased with himself, hair bleached almost white from the salt water, freckles multiplying across his nose like connect-the-dots.

summerboy!art, who gets genuinely upset when you and patrick team up against him in the pool, even though it happens every single time. he'll surface, sputtering and indignant, pointing between you two like he's filing a formal complaint. "that's not fair! you can't both dunk me!" meanwhile you're clinging to patrick's shoulders, both of you cackling, and patrick's got this arm around your waist that lingers just a beat too long after you've stopped trying to drown art. art notices everything—the way patrick's thumb traces the tie of your bikini bottom, how you press your face into patrick's neck when you're laughing too hard to breathe. later, when you're all sprawled on pool floats, art "accidentally" tips patrick into the water and then offers you his raft with the kind of courteous sweetness that makes patrick roll his eyes so hard you can hear it.

summerboy!patrick, who absolutely loses his mind when you wear his Red Sox cap backward while driving his uncle's boat, even though you have no idea what you're doing and nearly crash into the dock twice. something about you in his hat, squinting against the sun with your hair whipping around your face, makes him forget how to form sentences. art has to grab the wheel because patrick's just standing there staring at you like you've grown a second head. "earth to patrick," art mutters, but patrick's already fishing his phone out of his swim trunks to take a picture. the photo's terrible—blurry and overexposed—but he sets it as his wallpaper anyway and then gets weirdly possessive about his phone for the rest of the summer.

summerboy!art, who memorizes your dunkin order (medium iced coffee, oat milk, two sugars, extra shot) and places it for you every morning without being asked, even though patrick always makes fun of him for being "whipped" and you insist you can order for yourself. he just shrugs it off, sliding the plastic cup across the sticky table of whatever diner you've invaded that day, still in your wrinkled hoodies and yesterday's swimsuits, sunglasses pushed up on your heads, trying to look less high than you obviously are. the waitress always gives you dirty looks—three teenagers in various stages of undress, reeking of chlorine and weed, giggling over shared pancakes at 2pm—but art tips her extra anyway because his mom raised him right.

summerboy!patrick, who gets irrationally jealous when the lifeguard at the public beach (some college guy with a perfect tan and a whistle he actually uses) asks for your number, even though you very obviously shut him down. patrick spends the rest of the day making increasingly ridiculous comments about "whistle boy"—how his tan is definitely fake, how he probably can't even swim that well, how his sunglasses are stupid expensive and probably don't even have uv protection. art tries to change the subject but patrick's on a roll, practicing his own lifeguard poses and asking if you think he'd look good in red shorts. "you already look good," you say without thinking, and patrick goes quiet for exactly three seconds before grinning so wide you think his face might crack.

summerboy!art, who always insists on being the one to put sunscreen on your back, even though his hands shake a little when he touches you and he takes way longer than necessary, fingers tracing the line of your shoulder blades like he's memorizing the geography of your skin. patrick watches from his beach chair, pretending to read some trashy paperback he found in his uncle's basement, but you can feel his eyes on you over the top of the pages. art's touch is gentle, reverent almost, smoothing the lotion in careful circles while you try not to shiver despite the ninety-degree heat. "you burn easy," he murmurs, but his voice sounds rougher than usual. patrick clears his throat loudly and art's hands still for a moment before he caps the bottle and hands it over. "your turn," art says, but patrick just smirks and says he doesn't burn, even though you've all seen him lobster-red after forgetting to reapply.

summerboy!patrick, who has absolutely no filter when he's stoned, which is most of the time, and says things that make art kick him under the table at whatever greasy spoon you've stumbled into after hours of swimming and sun. you'll be sitting in a corner booth, your hoodie strings pulled so tight only your eyes are visible, sharing a plate of cheese fries and trying not to look as obviously baked as you are, when patrick will just blurt out something like "you have really nice collarbones" or "your laugh makes my chest feel weird." art goes red and starts aggressively stirring his milkshake while you blink at patrick from inside your hoodie cave. "what?" patrick says, genuinely confused by the sudden tension. "it's true." the waitress refills your water glasses and pretends not to notice when you all dissolve into hysterical giggles.

summerboy!art, who starts leaving little gifts in your beach bag when you're not looking—a perfect seashell, a smooth piece of sea glass, those stupid temporary tattoos from the boardwalk prize counter that you mentioned liking once. you never see him do it, but you know it's him because patrick would just hand you stuff directly, probably while making some joke about how you owe him. art's gifts are always tucked between your towel and sunscreen like secrets, and when you thank him he just ducks his head and mumbles something about how he "saw it and thought of you." patrick rolls his eyes but there's something soft in his expression when he watches art watch you peel a dolphin tattoo off its backing and press it to your ankle.

summerboy!patrick, who gets weirdly competitive about the dumbest things when you're around—who can hold their breath longest underwater, who can shotgun a beer faster, who can do a better backflip off the pier—and then gets sulky when art inevitably wins because art actually played sports in school while patrick's main hobby is smoking weed behind the tennis courts. you always compliment patrick's attempt anyway, tell him his form was better or his technique was more creative, and he lights up like you've just told him he's won an olympic medal. art notices the way patrick preens under your attention and starts letting him win sometimes, which patrick absolutely does not catch onto but makes him insufferably smug for the rest of the day.

summerboy!art, who gets so worried about you when you're swimming in the ocean that he hovers like an anxious lifeguard, staying close enough to grab you if a wave looks too big or the current seems too strong. patrick makes fun of him for being a "mother hen" but secretly thinks it's sweet, how art's eyes never leave you when you're in the water, how he counts the seconds when you dive under and visibly relaxes when you surface. "she's not gonna drown in three feet of water," patrick says, but he doesn't move any farther from shore either. when you finally trudge back to your towel, hair dripping and skin gritty with sand, they both look at you like you've returned from some dangerous expedition instead of just bodysurfing for twenty minutes.

summerboy!patrick, who steals sips of your drinks constantly—your slurpee, your iced coffee, your water bottle, whatever—and always does it with a ridiculous grin like he's the cleverest guy alive. art groans every time and makes exaggerated gagging noises, but you know patrick's just doing it to get a reaction out of both of you. when you finally catch him mid-sip, you glare and he shrugs, saying "can't help it. tastes better when it's yours." later he tries to be sneaky and swipes a fry off your plate but art catches him and calls him out, so patrick dramatically pretends to drop the fry on the floor and mourns its loss like a tragic hero. you laugh so hard your sides hurt.

summerboy!art, who falls asleep on the beach every single day, sunbaked and exhausted, with the faint scent of coconut sunscreen and sea salt in his hair. patrick teases him for it, saying art looks like a baby seal wrapped in a beach towel, but art doesn't care. sometimes you lie down next to him and both of you just stare up at the sky until the clouds change shapes and the world feels quiet and small. patrick joins in sometimes, but he always complains when he has to stop talking. art just smiles and closes his eyes, the weight of the summer settling into his bones like a secret promise.

summerboy!patrick, who insists on taking you to the boardwalk arcade at least once a week, even though you hate the noise and the sticky floors and the way the lights make your head spin. he drags you from game to game, laughing when you accidentally win tickets on the claw machine or beat him at skee-ball, crowing like a little kid when he finally nails the timing on the basketball toss. art watches from the sidelines, arms crossed but clearly amused, occasionally stepping in to show off his own skills and steal some tickets for you. patrick ends up with a ridiculous pile of plastic prizes that he insists are "for you," even though half of them end up in his backpack and art is secretly amused by the whole ridiculousness.

summerboy!art, who texts you pictures of the sky at sunset—pinks and purples and oranges melting into one another—when you're not with him, sometimes with a simple message: "wish u were here." patrick sees the texts and rolls his eyes but you can tell it means something. when you finally meet up again, art pulls you aside and presses a cool hand to your forehead, smiling softly and saying, "you look like you need the ocean." and you do, more than you realize, because the sun is warm on your skin and the waves sound like home and art's hand is the only steady thing you can hold onto.

summerboy!patrick, who never actually learns how to surf properly but is always first to volunteer when the surf instructor calls for volunteers. he tries his best, falling off the board more times than you can count, face-planting into the water with a splash and a groan. art laughs but never mocks, instead cheering patrick on and helping him get back on the board. patrick gets this ridiculous look of determination on his face whenever he finally manages to stand up for even a second, like he's just conquered the world. you grin and take a million pictures because it's the most earnest, adorable thing you've ever seen.

summerboy!art, who gets shy when you catch him staring but then quickly tries to act cool, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and running a hand through his damp hair. patrick always calls him out, making some snarky comment about "sunscreen smudges on the lenses" or "the way his lip twitches when he sees u," and art just groans, burying his face in his towel. but you see it—the way his eyes light up, the way his whole body relaxes when you're near. it's like the sun breaks through the clouds just for you two.

summerboy!patrick, who sneaks off to the ice cream stand and buys you a double scoop cone of your favorite flavor when he thinks no one is looking. he hands it to you with a goofy grin and says, "don't tell art, or he'll make me share." you pretend to scold him but really you're thrilled, because nobody knows the way to your heart better than patrick does—even if his methods are a little childish. art just shakes his head but you catch a flash of something tender in his gaze when he watches you lick the ice cream, sticky and sun-kissed and perfectly happy.

summerboy!art, who always has a book in his backpack, usually something heavy and dusty that he reads by the water while the sun sets. he reads poetry mostly, or old stories about the sea, and sometimes he recites lines quietly to you, voice low and intimate like he's sharing a secret. patrick sometimes tries to join in, making exaggerated gestures and goofy voices, but art just smiles and rolls his eyes, happy to have you both there even if it's ridiculous. these quiet moments, with the ocean roaring behind you and the sky turning violet, feel like the only place you really belong.

summerboy!patrick, who laughs way too loud at his own jokes, which are usually terrible puns about the ocean or summer or your messy hair after swimming. art groans and buries his face in his hands, but you just shake your head and smile because patrick's laugh is contagious and it makes everything feel lighter, like the sun is always shining even when the sky is gray. when he looks at you with those bright eyes and that goofy grin, it's like the whole world is nothing but endless summer and possibilities.

summerboy!art, who stays up late with you on the roof of patrick's uncle's beach house, watching the stars blink awake over the dark ocean. you lie side by side on a threadbare blanket, shoulders touching, and art points out constellations he's learned from his grandfather. sometimes you talk quietly about the future—college, moving away, whether the summer will end or if you can somehow keep it alive forever. patrick joins you sometimes but mostly just listens, letting you two have your moments while he fiddles with his camera or scrolls through his phone. the night smells like salt and jasmine and promise.

summerboy!patrick, who accidentally calls you by art's name once during a kiss, and then immediately apologizes like he's confessed a sin. art just laughs and tells him to chill, saying "as long as you don't call me patrick, we're good." you roll your eyes but you can tell it means something, this tangled mess of affection and confusion and longing that makes the summer so unforgettable. and somehow, even with all the awkwardness and sunburns and endless teasing, you wouldn't trade a single second of it.