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Fisherman Bait
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Report User
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"Ryan Green|OC|Open, Romance, Horror, Suspense, Thriller, Gore, IKWYDLS, Psychological, Crossover|Mature/21+|Semi to Multi-Para|"
Male
45 years old
Southport,
North Carolina
United States
- 28461
Last Login:
March 05 2026
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View My | Pics | Home | Edit Profile | Add Me | Comment | Message
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Fisherman Bait's Interests
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Fisherman Bait's Details
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Status:
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Single
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Here for:
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,
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Orientation:
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Straight
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Hometown:
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Southport, NC
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Body Type:
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Athletic
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Ethnicity:
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White/Caucasian
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Smoke / Drink:
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No/Yes
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Education:
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High school
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Religion:
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I will let you know . . .
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Occupation:
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Former Fisherman, Owner of Ryan
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Height:
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6"1'
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Fisherman Bait is in your extended network.
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In the small, unassuming town of Southport, North Carolina, where the salty air mingled with the scent of rotting fish and the haunting cries of seagulls echoed over dilapidated docks, Ryan Green lived a life steeped in shadows. The sun dipped low over the horizon each evening, casting long fingers of darkness that crept across the water like ghosts rising from their watery graves. For Ryan, born into this world of fishermen and dreams deferred, dread was as familiar as his own reflection.
At seventeen, he found himself working on a weather-beaten fishing boat alongside Ray Bronson—his childhood friend who had once shared laughter under the sun but now seemed to wear a mask of anxiety. The two boys were joined by Julie—the girl with laughter like wind chimes—and their friends Helen and Barry. Together they cast nets into murky waters for fish that were all too eager to be caught, yet one fateful night would ensnare them in something far more sinister.
The ocean held secrets beneath its surface; dark tales whispered among fishermen about spirits lost to its depths. But none could prepare them for what awaited that night when they ran over Ben Willis—a man whose presence was never meant to be extinguished so violently. Panic surged through their veins as they dumped his lifeless body into the briny abyss, swearing an oath sealed with fear: silence at all costs.
But time has a way of gnawing at buried truths. One afternoon aboard their vessel while sorting through nets slick with saltwater and regret, Ray’s careless confession shattered Ryan's fragile sense of safety: “We killed someone.” The words hung heavy in the air between them—an unwelcome specter that twisted inside Ryan’s gut like a hook driven deep.
The weight of guilt settled over him like an oppressive fog until one night—a night drenched in memories—Ryan found himself alone in the warehouse by the boats. He was loading supplies when he heard it: a soft clink echoing against metal that sent shivers racing down his spine. At first dismissing it as fatigue-induced imagination, he pressed on until it came again—louder this time; insistent.
“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath before stepping cautiously toward the source.
What met him sent icy tendrils snaking around his heart—a figure clad in a fisherman’s slicker stood ominously before him, eyes glinting beneath shadowy brows like twin lanterns guiding lost souls homeward. In one hand gleamed a sharp hook; bloodlust dripped from its steel tip as if it thirsted for vengeance against those who dared disturb its domain.
Panic ignited within him; he turned to flee but stumbled over crates piled high with memories best left undisturbed. As he fell hard onto splintered wood, cold steel pierced flesh—the pain exploded through him like fireworks against midnight skies—and terror gripped him tighter than any net ever could.
Screams tore from his throat as crimson painted his side and pooled beneath him on grimy floors—his lifeblood mingling with years’ worth of forgotten sins. Desperation fueled his escape as he staggered toward salvation—the sound of sirens slicing through darkness heralded hope amidst despair—but even after they carried him away to safety and stitched together what remained of his body, nightmares became constant companions.
Years passed since that harrowing encounter marked by bloodshed and betrayal; yet each sunset reminded Ryan how easily life could slip away into nothingness—or worse still—into something monstrous lurking just beyond sight. He watched helplessly as Helen and Barry fell victim during what would later be known infamously as the Southport Massacre—a tragedy woven deeply into town lore—a reminder that some things refuse to stay buried beneath waves or silence.
Julie’s anger simmered quietly after Ray’s slip led them spiraling toward ruin rather than resolution; their marriage crumbled under pressure like aged driftwood succumbing to relentless tides until only ashes remained where love once thrived. Alone now amongst echoes filled only by rustling leaves whispering secrets long forgotten about innocence lost amid guilt-ridden hearts bound tight by fate's cruel hand—all left behind were fragments barely recognizable.
Ryan retreated further from those haunted shores where death danced among shadows—to open Ryan's Tackle Shop instead—selling supplies not just for fishermen but also offering solace for seasonal guests seeking adventure amid picturesque vistas hiding darker truths below sparkling surfaces forever tainted by bloodshed pasts unable ever truly let go completely…
Yet even here within wooden walls adorned with fishing gear lay remnants still clinging desperately towards freedom yet forever shackled by fear—from time-to-time locals would speak hushed whispers warning about hearing metal clinking softly at twilight hours or catching glimpses out near shallows where wading boots scuffed against sand...
Rumors spread thickly across town surrounding sightings involving hooks drawn forth from depths unseen threatening anyone daring enough venture too close…
And sometimes late at night when storm clouds rolled heavy overhead blotting stars from view accompanied only sounds crashing waves raged fiercely upon rocks below—it felt all too real—the sensation creeping back once more wrapping tightly around heart reminding him always: Some fishermen never die—they simply wait…
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