#lower decks plot twist

[departmentq]

How the Lower Decks finale should end for Bradward Boimler:

With all of the lower deck four each making Lieutenant Commander, Brad is ecstatic, as he's received orders back to the USS Titan.

Excited to be working with the Rikers again, stepping off the shuttle, he rushes to the captain's ready room to report to his former/new again CO.

Chiming to enter, he hears an unfamiliar growl, “...come...”.

The door slides open...

It's Captain Liam Shaw, eating a blue steak dinner...

Art by @foodcu-be

[smileyobrien]

STAR TREK: LOWER DECKS — 4.09 "The Inner Fight"

[wolf-spiders-blog]

A gamble.

Aventurine x afab! Reader (No specific pronouns.)

Tags: Mdni!! Smut, Slight praise, unprotected sex(please use a darn condom), doggy style, fingering, squirting, soft sex?, character might be OOC, porn w/ plot, I guess?

A/n: Heyy, finally finished this fanfic. I hope I did okay at writing Aventurine's character, anyways enjoy!

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One scarlet night, you and Aventurine had chose to have a small game of cards. Nothing too special, if one loses, they would have to do anything the winner says. Very simple.

Even though, gambling and playing a cards with Aventurine was an risk. He was a good gambler after all, major luck on his side while he does so. Which makes your stomach twist and turn nervously.

One would think other wise if you'd say that your not nervous. Cmon, what's the chances of winning against someone as good as him? Though, there's always a way, but this is all about chance.

You huff as you looked at your cards, having a terrible hand. Again, you wondered if Aventurine was cheating. But he couldn't have been, you watched him shuffle the deck of cards a few good times already.

You tossed your cards down, only a sense of hope that he would somehow was a lower hand. But no, he hand a much higher hand and smirked. Before pushing the pile of chips towards himself, leaning his cheek and his hand as his elbow rests on the table. A cheeky smile plastered on his lips.

"Losing again are we now? I might say, your pretty bad at this." He teased, his violet irises meeting yours as his eyes narrow slightly. As if he was challenging you to continue, and finally lose the bet against him either way.

A frown spreads across yours lips as your slowly realized that you had no more chip to bet off. A sigh comes out quietly from you, before you close your eyes in defeat. "I have no more to bet on more of, the winner of this bet goes to you... Aventurine."

You grumbled slightly in annoyance, knowing anyways that you were going to lose one way or the other. You crossed your arms over your chest, opening your eyes once more as you meet gaze with his eyes.

That slyful smirk on his face was frustrating you, always so cocky with his smiles, you hated by how much it made your stomach flutter with butterflies.

"So... you chose defeat you say? Hm, I was hoping to have a.. longer game with you. But oh well, I'm fine with this either way." Aventurine shrugged, before flashing you with a wider grin. If that was even possible...

"Hm, anything I want... And you would do as I say?" He asked, his eyes wondering over your body. Obviously checking you out, having some ideas in mind. But not voicing them out justtt— yet.

You nodded your head in such defeat, you didn't wanted to bail down so fast. But at the same time, you didn't want to go into a dept that you very much didn't need at this very moment.

All aventurine did was kept that smirk on his face before opening his mouth. "Where's that pretty little voice now? Cmon... let me here you say yes, if not then we'll simply just continue the game without the little bet." Aventurine he said with a smug smile, though, his tone was as soft as a feather.

"Yes, that was the bet... the loser would have to do anything the winner says. And, I'm okay with that." You mumbled out, though still remaining eye contact with him either way.

Aventurine nods, hearing your verbal consent. That was all he needed before you asked you, for such favors... but he was silently happy that you trusted him.

"All right then, can you please come over here? Hm?" He questioned, with a tone filled with lust to the brim. But also with a touch of passion. He pats his thigh, singling for your to come and sit on his lap.

You felt heat raise to your cheeks, but you brushed it off and walked over towards him. Nervously. You gulp down the saliva that was building up in your mouth, before taking a seat in Aventurine's lap.

Shivers going up your spine as he wraps an arm around your waist. Holding you in place on his lap comfortably. "No need to be nervous sweetheart, I won't bite... I promise." He whispered into your ear, before placing his face into your neck. Taking a nice wiff of your scent, making himself melt just from the smell and weight from you.

"Hm, you smell delightful gem..." Aventurine mumbled out before wrapping his other arm around your waist. Enjoying the warmth of the embrace.

You then melt into his gentle touch, it calmed down your nerves as you hugged back. Enjoying his embrace as well, that was until you felt something poking your butt.

You knew what it was, it was obviously Aventurine's hardening cock. You let out a small chuckle before grinding your hips. Softly creating friction between your ass and his clothed dick

He groans out as his hands wandered down, gripping your hips firmly. As he tries to suppress desperate moans, already egar to feel you.

"Not feeling so shy are we now? Hmph... fuck, need you so badly." Aventurine mumbled out desperately, his hands helping your hips to grind back and forth. Both of you liking the small friction being created, but then, you liked how he wasn't just flat out controlling on what you want to do. Letting you have the freedom to pleasure yourself too.

You grip onto his shoulders for support as you hump against his hard on. All you could let out was soft whines and pants, from the nice feeling of grinding your clothed cunt against his clothed cock.

Aventurine let's out soft groans, and he's a type a guy to not hold back his sounds of pleasure. His lips press soft kisses against your neck, before sucking on the skin. Creating a hickie.

His left hand wanders up and cups your tit gently, foundling with it as his thumb brushes against your hardened nipple. Making you let out a sigh of pleasure, yes, it was like a slow burn. But it felt amazing by his hands.

"Hmm, can I take this shirt off of you? Please?" He asked, his right hand on the hem of your shirt as he waits for reply.

"Yes, Aventurine.." You replied with a small whine, which causes Aventurine to have a shiver go up his spine. They way you spoke his name in that honey tone, Aeons he needed you so badly.

Aventurine leans back a bit, before he takes the bottom of your shirt and pulls it up. Not too long before it's on the floor and he's kissing all over your neck. Mumbling how your doing so good for him, 'such a good gem.' He would say as he kisses down your collarbone.

His hands would wander around your body softly, but firm. He would then start nibbling at your neck, becoming a lil rough, but not too rough to make you uncomfortable.

Your hips would twitch as he slide his hands to your pants, waiting for you to say no or to stop him just in case. Only for you to whine for him to continue, which causes him to smirk.

Pulling your pants along with your underwear, you then kick the extra clothes off of your ankle. Letting out a small gasp as Aventurine's right hand came down further down. Cupping your cunny softly before his middle and ring finger found your bundle of nerves.

Aventurine started to rub small and slow circles on your clit, teasing you as your hips buckled up from the sweet but so, so far away pleasure. Just wanting more, he was treating you so nicely. And now he's teasing? And still clothed? Unfair.

He let out a chuckle before speaking out. "My, my... you are so wet my dear. All of this because of me?" He teased, before picking the pace, rubbing circles on your clit faster. Which causes you to wail out a moan.

You've always hated for when he teased, but you also loved it. Your thighs become shaky as you felt the knot in your stomach blooming more.

"How about you be a good little gem and cum for me, hm? You can do that right?" He would tease, while rubbing faster circles on your poor clit.

You felt like your were about to burst. That knot in your stomach becoming looser and looser, before it hit you.

"Ah—! Aventurine— I'm gonna...!"

You wailed out as you came on his fingers, gushing all over his trousers and your thighs. It felt so good that you were seeing stars.

"Holy fuck..." Aventurine whispered out as he continued to rub at your clit, but gently so you could ride out your oragsm.

"Looks like I got myself a squirter... heh," he teased as his fingers slowly came to a stop. A wide smirk across his lips as he looked down at your panting form.

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"Fuck... you feel so good." Aventurine groaned out, while he pushed himself slowly into your cunt.

You were no longer in his lap, and now was bent over the table. The cards you two were playing with were now all scrabled everywhere.

Neither of you cared though, only wanting the sweet pleasure of sex. Feeling him slip into your pussy perfectly, you squirting earlier helped out with him sinking his cock into you.

Both of you sigh out in pleasure as Aventurine finally bottoms out inside of you. His head resting against your shoulder as he waits for you to fully adjust to him.

He wasn't grithy, but he was long. Probably about 6 inches or 6 in a half inches long. At least.

"You can move now..."

You mumbled out softly, your hips twitching with need.

Aventurine nods before placing his hands firmly on your hips and lifting his upper body up from your back.

Pulling out a little before slamming his hips back, causing both of you to moan out in the pleasure forming between you two.

"Fuuck, you are so tight my gem stone..." He murmurs out along with a grunt, his cock sliding in and out of your gummy walls.

All you could do was moan and drool by how much pleasure he was giving you. Aventurine's cock was literally felt like it was perfect for you.

You wail out as you felt his tip brush gracefully against your g-spot, hitting it sooo sweetly it made your toes curl.

"R–right there! Fuck! Mmm,"

You moaned out as your back arches from the pure bliss you were feeling, tears swelling in your eyes from the way he hit your cervix so perfectly.

The room was filled with plaps as skin hit one against another, as well as the sounds of your cunt gushing around his cock. And finally both yours and his moans would fill up the room as well.

"So good f'me, ah– ugh fuck! You feel so good." Aventurine praised as his hips picked up the pace, his hips slamming against yours.

His cock now rubbing against your sweet spot everytimes he re-enters into your body. At this point, you were fucked dumb. It's felt all too good that you couldn't think straight anymore.

His grunts were growing louder as his pace became more punishing, hips and pelvis slamming right up against your ass.

Everything was a wild blur, you couldn't think straight as Aventurine's cock rubbed against your soft walls. Over, and over again.

You were taking him so well, that his mind was driving up the wall. Thrusts becoming sloppy as he felt you clench around his grith.

"Cum for me,"

Aventurine grunted, wanting you to cum before he did. Wanting to satisfy you first before he came.

Your eyes rolled back, letting out a strangled moan as you creamed around him. Cumming around him as he hisses at the squeeze.

Sloppy thrusts continue, desperately going faster as you whine out at the overstimulation.

"Ugh, gonna cum— fuck!"

He groaned out before you felt hot, gooey substance fill your insides up. Nice and full of it.

His hips still against yours as he pants out, making sure you take it all. All of his seed before he pulls out from your warn pussy.

"Did so good f'me, good gem..."

He whispered into your ear before your eyes closed, going into a blissful sleep after the turn of events...

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A/n: Hey!! I just wanted to say that this might be out of character for Aventurine but I tried. Hope you guys enjoyed!! Stay safe and reblogs are appreciated.

[bowieandqueen11]

Not Just A Trinket / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: hi! ur writing is EVERYTHING btw. ur an amazing writer. you mentioned you wanted to write for izzy hands again and i have a request– feel free to ignore if it's not what ur looking for :) maybe izzy hands x reader where the reader has a small gift for him (a little trinket, a beaded crystal bracelet– something they made for him) but they're WAY too anxious to give it to him because they're scared he won't like it so they end up just carrying it around, trying to build up the courage to give it to him pfft

AHHH thank you so much my lovely, that's so sweet of you, and so is this idea!!! :3 Also I know I'm a little early in the timeline mentioning Davy Jones but I like to think of Izzy as a trendsetter ;)

Warning: mentions of fighting/ injury and strong language, some sexual innuendo!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @nadsdraws.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands was beginning to detest feeling like this.

He would rather charge sword first at a horde of raging Englishmen: would prefer to scrabble and scrape and scratch through the eye sockets of thousands of the Spanish with naught but his bloodied fingernails. Hell, even grovelling under the sole of the snivelling wreck that now possessed his former boss like a twisted nightmare, a horrid regret, would be preferable. If his hand wasn't too firmly attached to tangled rope of one of the shrouds in a death grip, if his glove wasn't close to bursting at the seams with how tightly he was gripping, he had half a mind to draw his dagger out of its scabbard and gouge his heart out right there and then.

He looked furious. So much so, that Roach was quick to side step him as he hopped down the steps with fresh sewing materials in his hand, giving a final look back at the intent man who only bared his teeth at the cook in response. Valuing his life, or at least the ability to keep all his fingers, if the sight of the keen blade being twisted between Izzy's free fingers told him anything, Roach is quick to recoil back and raise a concerned eyebrow in Wee John's direction. He in turn just rolls his eyes and lowers his head back to his sewing, but the rest of Stede's crew are astute enough, from where they're lingering around the deck, to notice the thick tension brewing like cold shivers of electricity in the air. Even Jim and Oluwande were giving each other side eyes, pausing their hammering at the helm to dart their eyes to their side and trace the path of Izzy's line of sight.

It never wavered. Every time they looked, it never changed. He had spent the last two hours gaping sourly towards the edge of the quarter deck. Gawking solely at you, without a single movement, without a single flicker outside the bubble where you hunched.

You thought he was angry at you for arranging a special outing for Ed and Stede at Datura Grotto, finally indulging in finding a way for them to spend some time alone after your Captain had begged and hounded you for days; he had become so accustomed to bursting through doors trying to find you and ask for your help, that the poor daunted man nearly burst into tears when he smashed your bedroom door into your nose and nearly broke it. The rest of the crew believed he was plotting something: trying to pick out the quieter members of their friends first, as payback for being stuck on this so called 'straight out of Davy Jones' arsehole' of a ship for so long.

Izzy, though. Izzy knew he was smitten. And he fucking hated it. He hated feeling so vulnerable.

Out of all the crew members still pretending to mill about, only Lucius was daring enough to purse his lips and look brazenly back at Blackbeard's first mate. Only Lucius, in fact, was feeling equally brave, and equally vexatious that fine afternoon to muster up the courage to slide up beside him. 'Someone in a bad mood today, are we?'. He taps the ships railing with the point of his nail, the broom he had been pretending to sweep splintered pieces off the floor a moment ago soon forgotten about as he leans it against the side of the ship. He replaces the loss by dropping his hand to his hip, cocking his head and smiling at an increasingly agitated looking Izzy. 'Would it have anything to do with that fine young sea farer over there by any chance? How romantic, Dizzy Izzy. Oh, I do love a good fix-me-up-'

Oh, he was enjoying this.

Izzy's quick to snap, not even bothering to look in Lucius' direction. 'Fuck off, before I do you a favour and cut that little seducing tongue out of your mouth for you.' Lucius watches Izzy's fingers tighten into leather clad black balls on the rope ladder, and doesn't need a second warning to trot off back towards his friends again. With a final wide eyed look of shock, he turns back to Black Pete and shrugs, holding his hands up as if to say that he tried his best.

All the while, you just keep your gaze steady out and onto the brewing horizon of the sea, watching as foam shook out like reaching hands around your ankles as they across cut through the wave crests, only the salty sting of thrumming silence keeping you company underneath his watchful gaze. The beaded necklace you had spent the last week or so threading together, carefully crafted by trembling fingers and a bit tongue during long evenings spent in your hammock, was beginning to feel like an anchor weight in your pocket. You tried to distract yourself with mundane, idle chit chat with a very thankful Lucius, who had swung over to your side after Pete convinced him to go scouting out for some more gossip. Swinging his legs between the latches of the port quarter, he merrily took the hammer you were idly holding from your hand and began to 'fix up the ship', his wrist barely moving as he turned to you with a scheming smile.

'So, do you know what's going on then? Why Izzy's acting like this? I swear, that man. If he doesn't bend over right now and try to get that stick out of his arse, he's going to be a miserable sad sack of repressed irritation forever. He's like a jack in the box. I swear to god, I'm just waiting for him to burst.' The tone of his voice sounds almost worried, but Lucius is smiling and waggling his eyebrows the whole while. 'That would be kind of funny, actually. I've always imagined him as a stamper. Or maybe a screamer-'

You have no idea what to say, not understanding Lucius' oh so unsubtle hints, so you just run your fingers over the bulge in your pocket once more and chime in to his rant from time to time with a disinterested 'hmm' or distracted 'oh, yeah. Definitely.' It really didn't help that you were beginning to blush the same champagne hue as the bubbles between your toes with how gravely Izzy was staring at the side of your face. It was growing increasingly harder not to give into the temptation: to not just swing your head around and meet his hard-set eyes head on.

Once he realises you're dead set on staying right there, away from him, hiding in the corner all day, he sighs and let's go of the sails, marching off to do another impromptu inspection of the boarded vessel. It's an easy distraction: yelling orders at Wee John, spitting insults at Roach as he scurries out of Izzy's way, stealing the Swede's cup out of his hand and spraying beads of coffee around Buttons' feet. All of it was a Grade A fantastic distraction, and Izzy was hell bent on forgetting just how quickly time had gone by that day: Ed and the moronic, sappy, massive twat of an arse Stede would be back from their foliage constitutional any minute now, and Izzy was acutely aware that he was running out of both minutes, and chances to ask you to take a walk with him on the island himself. He had spent far too much of the morning wasting away, leaning his back on Stede's antique armoire and watching you with crossed arms: like a weathered statue, the growing umbra he cast somehow seeming to reach its tendrils out and blanch the fringes of the doorway. Even Fang and Ivan had been too terrified to come near him, and so he had been left alone. A silent sentinel, trying to figure out why the fuck his heart was cracking against the cage of his ribs and tearing their ligaments to shreds.

You hadn't exactly made things any easier for the man: feeling so intimated, you had spent the whole morning begging your friends to whisk you away from him at the first sign of danger. Whether that meant ducking behind Frenchie's lute like a crab, or hiding like a bulky turtle under the large bit of crimson cloth Oluwande was fiddling with the tassels of, you had used any form of escape to save you from the embarrassment of having to be near him. To let him see how flustered you became just at the overwhelmingly intense pressure you felt in the air any time he swaggered over to your side: to hide the fact that your eyes would widen in abject horror, your breath hitching any time the back of his gloved hand would 'accidentally' brush against your wrist as he went on his merry way, pretending it was all by accident. That it was all just a little game to him.

Little did you know, that he was feeling exactly the same way. The one time he had dared to come over to you that day had been an unmitigated disaster. He thought he was being... well, as kind as he possibly could be by slapping you on the shoulder and saying 'how good of a job you're doing.' He was nodding his head between every word, that jilted, simpering smile on his face as he supplemented his sentiment with an incredibly heartfelt 'at least Y/n knows how to do a fucking thing on this ship, not like you lot of useless fucking fuckers they have to work with. The rest of you are embarrassing, really.' He went to walk away, the side of his wrist glancing against the back of your hand as he finished with a breathless 'you lot could learn a thing or two from Y/n.'

He had staggered away from you as if mortally wounded, tongue bitten between his teeth as he tried as nonchalantly as possible to make his way back to the stern of the ship. While you were busy trying to bury your head down into your chest and avoid the smirking faces of Lucius and Pete, you happened to notice from the side of your eye that with each step Izzy was ringing out his hand. To your surprise, he used his teeth to rip his glove off, tucking it under his armpit as he wrangled with his fingers; he couldn't stop every cell burning as if it had just been reeled under the bottom of the ship. Couldn't understand why his fingertips wouldn't stop shaking as he flexed them.

Lucius was right. He was about to erupt, and he wondered if he'd ever be alright again.

It took until the sun nearly bowing over the jaded unicorn surmounting the anterior of the Revenge for you to find the courage to finally slink away from your convenient hiding spot to go over to Izzy. Well, that and the feel of Lucius literally dragging you up by the wrist and giving you a well meaning shove in the back towards the helm.

'Oh, fuck me', Izzy hisses as he watches you approach, turning his back to you to hide how flustered he was becoming with each tugging step at his heart you take towards him. He nearly jumps high enough to fall face first off the side of the boat when he feels your hand tentatively tap his shoulder, but he manages to inhale sharply and compose himself as best as he can before he flicks his eyes to look at you.

'I-uh-', you swallow thickly, shakily drawing your hand away from him and tucking it behind your back. 'I-, uh. I, I mean, I-'. The two of you, a far change of pace from usual, can barely keep your eyes on each other.

You feel like throwing your shoe at Lucius when you register the all too familiar sing song-y chime of his voice murmuring 'say something!' from behind your back. 'Or I swear to god, I'll kiss the man for you!'

'Well, I-', you start again, shooting the most vicious glare you could strangle out of you back at your friend. With a final sigh, you continue: 'I saw your necklace, and I don't mean to pry- but since you're always wearing black, which of course is incredibly cool, I just- well, I thought it needed a burst of colour.' Without a second thought, you scramble to pull your makeshift necklace out of your trousers, and shove the glistening glass emeralds and burnished pearls into his fist.

'It's just a silly thing, really. I saw Stede fixing Ed's red fabric and I just thought... well, you don't have to wear it. It's just a trinket, it's stupid. Really, you don't have to wear it. I'm sorry-'. After a pause, the burning sensation is enough to make you turn on your heel and bashfully start to make a break for the Rec Centre, just to get as far away from him as possible.

'It's not just a trinket.' The softness of his tone, despite how harshly he sounds out the letters makes you swivel back in surprise. He takes the opportunity to take a step forward and grab onto your wrist. He tugs you closer, until you're standing dangerously close to him: if he were to inhale deeply now, to puff his chest out just a tenth of an inch, your belly buttons would be tightly pressed upon each other. You can already feel his buttons strain against your shirt as he whistles out through bunched teeth, the breath sharp and warm against the side of your jaw. 'Don't say that. Never say that. It came from you, so it's not-... just, don't say that.'

He blinks, slowly releasing his viper grip.

'I like it. I really do. Thank you.' He motions awkwardly with a flick of his fingers to the side of his neck. 'Would you mind? With the gloves, I'm... not very good with clasps. Haven't, haven't used one in a long time.'

You can't stop your head from nodding, feeling like a wound up spring toy as you unfurled his fingers again and took the gift back. With a final swallow, you try not to turn cerise as you gently roll down the collar of his shirt. It folds easily down over his vest, until your bare fingers are dragging over the naked line of skin on his neck, just teasingly hiding the tense muscles of his upper back.

'You really didn't have to do this for me, you know.'

'Yeah... but I wanted to. You're not as much of an arsehole as Stede tries to make out.' You manage out a giggle, before you're back to biting your bottom lip in concentration, brushing a few strands away from the back of his head.

He wants to say more, but his voice chokes in the back of his throat like rifting water, his mouth trembling as your fingers brush over the coiled grey hairs bristling at the nape of his neck. It feels like a red hot poker is being dragged across his skin; he shivers at the feeling, a tight coil rolling across his limbs before settling uncomfortably heavy in the pit of his stomach.

He looks like he's about to weep when you take a step back, reaching up with a final pat to make sure the little metal swallow that adorns the centre of your necklace is lying perfectly against his breast. You may have lingered there a little longer than necessary... long enough for your palm to begin burning against the firm muscle of his pec, and for Lucius to draw out an enunciated wolf whistle, but it was definitely worth it. Even the sound of Frenchie snickering from the barrel he was perched on down on the deck was drowned out by the thrumming toll in your ears: by the sound of Izzy's sharp breath piercing your ear as he wavered uneasily on the spot. He didn't want to move away from you, not yet. He could barely even hear them. For the first time in his life, he didn't even fucking care. All he could focus on, over the bridge of his nose - through the gentle curls of his tired eyelashes, was you.

He was intoxicated - but even worse, he was finally beginning to understand. By god, he wondered. What the fuck had you done to him? Could this really be what Edward feels? Could anyone, really, feel this much?

'I hear swallows are meant to bring good luck', you state with bated breath, fingering the charm you had picked up from a market stall at the Republic of Pirates for a final time. It had reminded you almost immediately of Izzy: a hidden treasure, glistening white-gold, like fresh sunlight flitting across the glitter combs littered across the sea beds. It had been well buried within piles of muck: old straw, rotten bits of moulding fruit, bloodied bones twisted into odd shapes that you could barely recognise, but it had been lying there. Waiting just for you. A needle in the haystack. The final piece of the puzzle.

Izzy's breath draws in sharply as you absentmindedly begin to brush your pointer finger up and up: tracing the edge of his jaw line before rolling over the same bird tattoo lacing his neck, your eyes still drawn to the gap between his shirt where his Adam's apple lay tautly.

'Yes. Very good luck', he states, amazed he even found his voice. Surprisingly, he doesn't even try to pull away. He lets you trace your finger over the beak, gliding across the round belly until they're dancing teasingly over its tail. In fact, without his wonderous, dipped eyes looking away from you, he seems to be tilting his head in time, allowing you easier access to brush against his skin and steal his soul with every movement.

Before he has time to think of the repercussions of what he was about to do, the leather of his gloves flex around your cheeks and Izzy Hands has bowed his back down over you, lips knocking against yours. It's terse, and rather urgent in its forcefulness; it was both a slip of outrageous passion, and a terse reminder of his years out of practice feeling any sort of physical affection, and yet you couldn't help but brush up even closer to the man. He welcomes you eagerly, even though this eternity lasted only a moment: with his thumb, he tilts the jut of your chin up so he can lick his tongue against your bottom lip all the more easily. His knee slides forward until it knocks against your own, lurching you forward and saving him the embarrassment of having to voluntarily admit to his weakness and slide his other hand around the pulse point of your neck, until he was cradling the bone of your shoulder.

He finally draws back, his tongue darting out to lick along the edge of his top lip. 'Yeah, very lucky indeed.' He seems sorrowful to be letting go of you, but the loud whistling and snorting that begins to bounce back and forth between Stede's crew snaps Izzy back to himself. With a final glance back down to your lips, he struts off to pick up Lucius' long abandoned broom and starts chasing him across the ship with it.

[the-lady-general]

Chaos Theory was insanely good so far, it was SO GOOD, I barely think about Ben reusing his piss jar for unwrapped snack storage at all. The plot was just that good! Dinosaurs! Mystery! Lower Decks cameo! Mind breaking plot twists! Ben has a piss jar now! I DON'T THINK ABOUT IT.

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

Thinking About Love [hangman PT. 6/?]

PART OF MY “WHATEVER THIS IS” SERIES WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE

PAIRING: JAKE ‘HANGMAN’ SERESIN x Female Plus Size Bartender!Reader

NICKNAME: Sunshine

It goes without saying but I do not give permission for anyone to use my work or copy it somewhere else.

Want to be added to the tag list for this character, all stories or another character? let me know here :)

PLOT: Penny Benjamin's niece works at The Hard Deck, saving the money she earns to get out of the west coast and put herself through Graduate School. What happens when a pretty boy pilot ends up as her fake boyfriend?

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / PART ELEVEN / FINAL PART

You grumbled as you wrapped another strand of hair loosely over the large barrel of the curling iron, finishing up and flicking the off switch. Your dress is lacy, form fitting and white with a high collar matched the worn leather of your vibrant green riding boots. You tuck the costume cowboy hat over your hair lazily before touching up your lipstick.

It’s been a few nights since Jake was top of you, his strong body pressing yours into the soft plush material of your couch, but you still felt ever since inch of his weight. His large, strong hands roaming over the soft flesh of your hipbones and his fingertips twisting into your hair as he devoured you. You smooth your hands over yourself, hoping for a taste of his touch but nothing comes close to soothing the burning in beneath your skin.

The doorbell rings though and anticipation is gone as you rush quickly down the hallway to pull the door open. One look at him pulls every gasp of air from your lungs, eyes racking over his frame with a new found hunger. He’s dressed in all black, his button up matching his dark jeans and his heeled boots. His Stetson hangs low on his head over his eyes and a toothpick dangling from his smooth lips. His scruff is grown in more and he looks at you like you’re his prey for the night, his catch for the season.

It makes you wet.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he’s embraced his southern accent for the evening, thickening it purposefully to a lower tone. It sends a shiver up your spine, “Aren’t you looking like you stepped out of my dreams.”

“Careful now cowboy,” you mused, stepping back to twirl, “Those are fighting words.” You can feel his eyes burning into the exposed flesh of your legs, the supple curve of your ass.

Jake steps into the house, his hands held behind his back. You stare at his accusingly, suspicious of the way he moves until he finally reaches up and knock the shit hat off. His other hand comes out from behind his back and pushes a new hat down onto your head slowly. The brim of the Stetson is perfect, the curve stylish as he smiles with glee at your appearance.

“Is this a Stetson?”

“Hell yeah, darlin’,” Jake grins, palming your jaw and his thumb stroking your cheek sweetly.

“Jake,” a pout forming on my lips as I search his eyes. “What the fuck?”

“What?”

“This is your Stetson?” I ask.

“No.” His answer is distant as he tilts the dark brim of his Stetson and his lips brushing against your exposed shoulder.

“Jake,” I push his forehead so that I can see his green eyes, twinkling with amusement, “Tell me you didn’t buy me a Stetson.”

“I’m not going to lie to you Sunshine,” Jake murmurs deeply in your ear, my eyes slowly closing to relish the sensation of his wet kisses along the column of my neck. “That’s not in my nature.” You let him kiss up your neck and to your temple, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back.

“We should get moving before you do something you’ll regret, cowboy,” I say, kissing his jaw before stepping back from the intoxicating warmth of his body. He groans, scanning you over with a lick of a smile before interlacing your hands. He tugs you through the door, locking it behind him and leading you out to his silver Chevy truck.

“Are we taking the truck?” you ask slowly as his fingertips pull you along passed the truck’s bed and onto the street.

“I figured we’d both drink too much and I’d rather leave the truck here,” Jake muses, eyes sparkling as he turns to stare at you. “Gives me a reason to take you home.” Jake’s been bold before, his words confront with their impact as he compliments you but there’s a different air around him tonight. Waves of electricity race through you at his thick drawl, his brazen gaze. There’s a new level of confidence in his step while he strolls along in his Stetson. Never did you think your kinks included a southern man, but you’d save a horse any day of the week at this point.

You swallowed down the nerves as Nat’s house comes into view. This is Jake you are talking about and so you swing your hips, step ahead of him slightly and call over your shoulder in the best southern belle accent you can muster, “Who said you’ll be takin’ me home tonight?” You pick up your pace slowly but surely as Jake’s heels slam against the pavement as he speeds up. Jake’s arms circle around you, his biceps bulging as he swings you around. A giggle rolls off your lips at the motion and suddenly, you’re staring into his forest greens again.

Jake chews one last time on his toothpick before flicking it away onto the grass, pulling you in by the neck to press a searing kiss to your glossy lips. You let out a high-pitched moan as your mouths move feverishly against each other. When he finally releases you, his chest rising and falling as he doesn’t leave your personal space. His hot breath fans over your face as he growls “I’m the only man to take you home tonight.”

His words have you mindlessly nodding, reaching up to slide your nails over the nape of his neck. You scrap slowly before tugging him back in for another kiss. “You’re disgusting,” you hear from a distance and when you pull back, Rooster is shaking his head at the two of you. His disgruntled face matches his old man from Up costume perfectly, his large frame hunching over a walker as he moves into the house slowly. You can’t help the giggle that ripples through you and before you know it, Jake’s face is buried in your neck as he joins in your laughter.

When you finally make it inside the house, the party of aviators is in full swing, and the music is buzzing as you shuffle through the door with Jake’s hands on your hips. You’re already swaying to the Billie Eillish music as Nat jumps up at the sight of the both of you, pushing you toward the makeshift photobooth of sheets and balloons.

“You’re such a hot couple, it makes me sick,” she pulls out her phone to snap a few photos as you and Jake pose together. On the last photo, Jake twirls you around, dipping you slowly as she snaps away. He’s grinning down at you, a Cheshire smile as he pulls you up right. “I’m stealing your girlfriend, go make her a drink. The liquor is in the kitchen,” she mentions before clenching your wrist to drag you away from Jake.

You throw a kiss his way before disappearing into the crowd where your friends and Jake’s coworkers are crowded around until she gets to the slider door. Outside, there’s a few heaters throughout the yard and a couple girlfriends are lounging over the patio couch. It’s then that I have a chance to take in Nat’s outfit. A fun chromatic alien look, her tousled hair is twisted up into two space buns and secured with an antenna headband.

“There she is, the smoking gun!” Aries squeals, tittering on her high heels as she rises to her feet and jumps on you. Her metallic, shiny material of her jumpsuit matching Nat’s. Her cute face is speckled with gemstones as she squeezes you tightly.

“You look so hot,” Gemini adjusts the hood of her Winnie the Pooh onsie as she takes another sip of her solo cup. “Is that a real cowboy hat?”

Nat goes to grip the brim of your hat and tug it off your head when a strong hand slaps her hand away. “You don’t touch a cowboy’s Stetson Phoenix,” he scolds her, fingertips sliding over the top of your ass slowly as he hands you a drink.

“Tequila sunrise for my Sunshine.”

“Thank you, Tex,” I take a few sips of his drink before leaning up to kiss the rough scruff of his jaw and landing a soft glossy kiss on his lips.

He pats you on the bum, twice. “I’m going to go have a cigar on the front porch if you need me,” he hums, lavishing in the taste of orange juice and grenadine before unwrapping himself from you. He tips his hat to the group with a strong “Ladies,” and disappears into the house.

The women squeal around you, dragging you around to the couch to settle down. “Oh my god, he is so in love with you,” Aries says and sighs, “It makes me sick.”

“Oh stop it.”

“He bought you a Stetson,” Nat responds, staring pointedly at you as she takes a gulp of her beer. They all lean in, waiting for your response but you only shrug. There has been a different air about what happened lately, the two of you moving in a different direction. Maybe there was a chance…

Later that night, Jake finds you on the dance floor. You’re spinning from the flowing tequila and when you taste his lips, there’s a smoky sweetness of bourbon smeared into his DNA. It causes a wave of heat run through you as his thigh slots between yours and his mouth finds your ear while the two of you grind to the bass of the music. You feel like you’re the only ones in the room underneath the brims of your hats, as you kiss his bottom lip and stare up at him through your lashes.

“Jake,” your voice is shaky as you step back when the song ends, searching his face as you step back slightly. He’s watching you with narrowed eyes, assessing you as another song picks up. “Jake, take me home.” The typically secure and bold man is still, his hands on his hips.

You step back into his personal space, manicured nails splaying out on his chest as you lean up to his cheek. “Take me home, cowboy,” you rasp, teeth grazing over the shell of his ear as you pull back. And that’s it. That snaps him out of this trance as he suddenly moves double time like he’s just been called back into the air, back into action. Jake clamps down on your wrist, not hard enough to hurt you but tight enough to make his presence a blazing reminder of the heat between the two of you.

You’re snaking through the house until fresh air greets you and you don’t even realize how fast you’re moving down the street until he pivots on a whim. Jake’s pressing you into the cool sage green metal of a lamp post as you kiss each other deeply, want seeping from your pores.

“Tell me to drop you off at home,” he grunts as you as his front pushes into your dress. You can feel the tight stretch of his jeans, the strain of his bulge against you. “Tell me not to come inside your home with you and send me home.” He’s begging now between licks of tongue and teeth, but the fire has consumed you, burning a flame only he can put out.

“No,” I taunt, the whisper so quiet it nearly escapes into the night. “I won’t.”

Taglist: 

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[fate-motif]

i love lower decks as much as the next chronically obsessed with the 90s show trekkie but i think it's time we admitted that the nick locarno plot twist was not well written

[thewomancallednova]

I have so many feelIngs about this weeks episode, I love it so much. Boimler and Rutherford's dynamic is great and I really love the inversion of the usual "new roommates hate each-other" trope that LD went with. Poor Lil' Boney though :(

I'm also sooo glad we get to learn more about Tendi, the romp through Orion was probably one of the funniest plots Lower Decks had so far. The "Mariner gets stabed joke", managed to have a little twist each-time making it still funny at like the fourth time it was used. T'Lyn also keeps proving that she's a great addition to the core cast, please can we keep her, the vulcan science directorate clearly doesnt deserve her

[trillscienceofficer]

I think attributing the Picard show's failings to nostalgia baiting is... missing the mark. The Picard show is bad because it's badly written across the board; even the first season, where there wasn't really that much nostalgia going on, was already terrible. The dialogue was stilted no matter what the actors tried to do with it (and they try. oh my god do they try), the plot was clearly cobbled together in a hurry and never properly reviewed for simple stuff like 'making sense', there were cheap twists left and right just to amp up the shock value which had absolutely no emotional payoff. The big threat was straight up ripped from Mass Effect 3 (something that in 2012 was mocked to hell and back for being too dumb!!!). From what I gather season 2 was like this, but somehow worse. All the other live-action Treks currently airing suffer from similar problems: it's the cheapness of the writing and the clear unwillingness to approach a story with more than minimal effort that make them unwatchable for me. For all the MANY issues that the previous iteration of spin-offs had, you could never accuse them to be this consistently half-assed, especially when it came to dialogue.

If the nostalgia bait came in a good package I wouldn't bat an eye, and in fact I like Lower Decks quite a bit. But the packaging of the Picard show is not even mediocre, it's straight up terrible in a way that should make any professional screenwriter ashamed of themselves. And SNW and Disco are not very far off.

[originalleftist]

Lower Decks Season 5 episode 2 spoilers:

The bit of Mariner and Boimler performing CPR on the "dead" ensigns* irritated me. I get why CPR is often performed inaccurately in live action (because performing CPR properly on someone who doesn't need it is dangerous). But there's no reason to have Boimler bending his elbows like that instead of keeping his arms straight in animation.

Love you Boims, but you clearly need a field medic refresher course.

*Nice double plot twist by the way, one of the highlights of a hit and miss episode, the other being the T'lyn and Rutherford bonding.

[daisychainsandbowties]

Hi Cas 🐸❤️ 1, 19, 40 pwease 👀

1. which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

see part of me wants to say star wars au because that’s the only fic that actually has a basic plot. 99% of what i write i maybe on a good day have some idea of how a particular scene will flow, but even that’s liable to get attacked by flashback ghosts at any moment and ripped to non-chronological shreds.

i don’t plan my fics out at all because that makes the act of writing… less interesting to me. usually what i have are some concept designs in my head or a few lines of dialogue or a little scene-hinge (these are the topics i end up researching for a given scene or a mote of information i want to slip inside, and the scene hinges thematically on that. all my poems are hinged like this and it has translated over into my prose, apparently).

still, i want to say star wars au because it was certainly supposed to be more direct and “paced”than it is now. i know that i could write a story like that but also that i don’t really want to. so, probably in truth i wouldn’t rewrite any of my fics, just as i would never scrap a poem and try to write the same poem again; it’s already a different poem. something something the small deaths that cannot be divorced from art change all future versions of that art. sentences are haunted by excised words. you can’t write anything except for the first time.

19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

Lilith rests her arms on the railing, heedless of splintery wood or the cold spray that ghosts up the hull to touch the inside of each palm. It’s hard not to think of her as beautiful, even with lichen growing down out of her hairline and that sand-tangled mass of dark hair falling down around her face, hiding one of her eyes.

She’s blinking at the sunset with the other and fiddling with one of her braids.

Bright fabric threaded through them, like a mockery of what she is; a leaky creature of moonlight always tucked up in the crow’s nest where nothing can touch her but the wind. Lilith’s odd like that – dressed in her usual off-white shirt all flea-bitten where the collar’s rucked up around her neck. She thinks it makes her look boyish, derring.

It does, and it’s wasted on her because she will not put one foot onto land.

Mostly the braids are done in orange and yellow, with here and there a twist of sea-green, unearthly blue. No black or grey or anything drab. Lilith likes to shine.

She’s put random objects in her braids again. Beatrice thinks she spends half her time up in the masts with her face angled toward the sky and her own hands in her own hair. Its decoration changes from week to week, port to port if she can beg seashells and pottery bits from the other sailors, but it's always some variation on noisy.

This week, she’s got a wick of terracotta hanging down near her collarbone, neatly tied up in split-ends. Her damp black hair is elsewhere tangled around the bleached-white of rat bones stolen from the sailors who supplement their diet with spitted rats. Beatrice pretends not to see their little fires in the lowers decks at night, so long as they're careful.

The tiny bones look almost fake to Beatrice, picked much too clean. She knows that real bones – the ones she’s seen from compound fractures and old skeletons hanging from the seaward gallows – don’t look like that.

Maybe she just never waits long enough, always tasting the whiplash of blood in her mouth when she climbs up the cliffs near the fort to reach the bodies strung up. Statement pieces still dressed in their dying clothes and the flesh dropping off them to spray apart on stones before scattering into the water far below. Ropes creaking, Beatrice underneath with her knife stuck between her teeth once or twice forgetting to make the blade face outward and almost cutting a fresh smile into her face.

Mostly she just nicks her lip as she grabs the handle, fingers slippery with saltwater and sweat, rainwater turning the blade to ice against her teeth. Sometimes there are soldiers watching, but it’s easy to snuff them with a spell for sleep, shrugging at the thought of one of them falling on the spears they carry to poke intruders off the rocks.

The climb isn’t easy. Not ever, no matter the kind of cliffs she scrambles up. Beatrice is not made for it or anything but the bad feeling of magic in her mouth, but she was born half-martyred, according to Mary.

“I think you like it.”

“What?”

“The opportunity to fucking fall.”

Her arms always ache during the climb, fingers stinging from small slices worked into the palms, scrimshawed across the knuckles from stuffing them into holds, ignoring the skitter of spiders running in confusion out onto her wrist when she disturbs their webs.

Muttering “sorry” into the wind so it’s carried up and over the creaking bodies with their flesh dripping down, sometimes a ribbon of rotten blood falling on her scalp as she climbs. Still, she is always half-tempted to lay a kiss on their rotten foreheads, smoothing aside the blistered flesh, the hair flattened against their skulls. Sometimes the hair lasts the longest out of everything.

40. Write a 9-word fic

thank you Daniel. but i would rather die actually :)

[phaeton-flier]

Star Trek: Lower Decks has a lot going for it, but they need to limit the "surprise anti-climax twist that gets immediately undone by the next plot beat" to like once a season, they are far too comfortable using it as a gag. It's hard to take any stakes seriously if there's a 30% chance it's all gonna get thrown away for a cheap joke.

[pageseo2022]

Back 4 Blood's Minimal Story and Basic Plot

Back 4 Blood is like the spiritual successor to the classic zombie shooter Left 4 Dead, and it’s made by the same devs. If you're a fan of the original and want to buy Xbox games that deliver a similar thrill, Back 4 Blood is definitely worth checking out. We’ve been waiting ages for a third Left 4 Dead, and even though Turtle Rock’s new game has a different name and some fresh features, it totally lives up to the hype, making it one of the top co-op games of 2021. The game’s story is pretty minimal—a crew of quirky “Cleaners” who are immune to infection team up to take on the Ridden. After a break, the zombie hordes are back in full force. The characters don’t grow much beyond tossing out cheeky lines, and the plot is pretty basic and unoriginal.

Unique Moments Set Back 4 Blood Apart: Innovation in Co-op Shooters

Back 4 Blood’s level design is top-notch, creating unique experiences in every run so the game never feels repetitive. If you’re looking to buy PS5 games with standout design and replayability, this one should definitely be on your radar. Unlike many co-op games where you’re just fighting tougher enemies while moving from point A to point B—like in Outriders, which can get old after a while—Back 4 Blood keeps things fresh. The game mixes up its core formula to keep you on your toes. One level might have you defending a diner from a zombie swarm, while the next has you manning an anti-aircraft gun to take out a mine. Even the simpler A-to-B levels present challenges that are anything but straightforward. Take, for example, a level where you need to cross a river on a wooden ferry to reach a safe room. I ended up crossing solo and got taken out halfway, forcing me to watch as my teammates fought their way across the lake to revive me. These kinds of moments, which you don’t see often in other games like this, are common in Back 4 Blood and are a big part of what makes it stand out. The game proves that the co-op shooter genre can still be innovative and doesn’t have to just copy Borderlands or Destiny.

Swarm Mode Falls Short: Zombie Control Lacks Excitement

Even though Back 4 Blood feels familiar to Left 4 Dead fans, it’s packed with unique features. The game mixes in a roguelite twist with its multi-level runs, where you only get one continue, adding a fresh challenge. To boost replayability and teamwork, Back 4 Blood includes a card system. You earn cards through levels and Supply Points, which you collect by completing stages. You then use these points at Fort Hope to unlock cards from Supply Lines, which you build into decks for your runs. Some cards are straightforward, like giving your character an extra 5 health for the run, while others are more complex, like healing you when an ally goes down. You can create various RPG-style builds with these cards—whether you prefer going all-out with melee and ammo-focused setups or want to focus on healing and support. Each character has unique abilities, so it’s crucial to strategize and pick characters that complement each other. The game’s AI throws Corruption Cards into the mix, adding tougher enemies, timed challenges, and extra bosses to keep things intense even on lower difficulties.

Intense Gameplay and Memorable Characters: A Perfect Fit for Xbox Game Pass

Back 4 Blood’s competitive multiplayer mode, where you control the Ridden, falls short. The levels feel like recycled versions of campaign stages, lacking much creativity. Plus, the wait times between rounds are painfully long, with zombies stuck upgrading and waiting while players pick their characters and scavenge. A proper invasion mode like in the original Left 4 Dead games would’ve been a better fit. Back 4 Blood delivers all the essentials for a great zombie game: intense gameplay, smart level design, variety in runs, and memorable characters in a fun story. It’s a perfect match for Xbox Game Pass, so if you’re craving something to scratch that Left 4 Dead itch, definitely give it a go.

[morns-fevered-dream]

Another live blogging Lower Decks this time despite attempting to not see spoilers I did I know Nick Locarno is probably going to be in it so proto Tom Paris should be entertaining and some Robert Duncan McNeil shenanigans is always welcome I suppose anyhow Spoilers 💫

Season 4 Episode 9

Ah back with classic outpost scientists

"I'm back to respecting these noble creatures" lol

Oh and it's good to see T'lyn again seems like it's been a few episodes since we've seen here

Thomas Riker mention?!

There Nick Locarno

Oh Mariner

Wait was that the Klingon lower decks guy? Oh my god it is

I knew their was a reason I said "we wouldn't see them again for a while" because I was sure they weren't dead also we saw them a lot sooner then I thought so can't always be right

I wonder if they are brainwashed or something

Is that red thing a shield or a portal?

Ok not a portal

I like the "lawless" planet has rules ha

I love the look of New Axton

Oh a gorn background character

Mariner and Sito Jax lore?? Woah

Mariner self destructive tendencies explained

Enemies to friends speed run

Balok puppet?

Oh shit Balok puppet was based on a real race?

Arkonian in the background spotted my favorites

Oh so the whole planet is the different ships from the alien lower decks

Oh that's the Orion captain lady

All the plotting lower decks are the ones on the ships

I thought the guy in the suit was Locarno

Billups appreciation

Boarding a ship from the outside I've always wanted that to happen in Trek

It's Nick?!

It's been Locarno this whole time?!!?!

Oh all the things I suspected this was not it

What if the ship and the logo on the jacket aren't evil

They might be idk

Or maybe a group like Mariner trouble causing lower decks forever types but that's just the guess I'm going with

This was a fun episode with a wild twist at the end but definitely good one

Note: I just realized the Sito Jax tied this show to the tng episode

Also another note I forgot to put in I'm loving the furthering of the Ship bridge crew from the captain to shax its been great

[livingauthorssociety]

Plot Twist: we finally get the Star Trek Section 31 series they keep threatening, but it’s a Lower Decks spinoff starring William Boimler.

[caranfindel]

Fic: Go on and kiss the girl

genre: het | length: about 3800 words | rating: pg 13? r? i dunno; sex happens but nothing explicit | characters: dean winchester, sam winchester, ofc

Synopsis: A few years ago, several of us plotted out an entire alternate season 12, which would take place on a boat. Go take a look, it is marvelous. (Oh, all those missing friends; it makes me sad.) Anyway. I wrote one of the stories I pitched, though I changed it due to the original idea being a little too noncon. So here's Sam and Dean and a mysterious woman they find at sea...

also on ao3

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

Sam's the one who spots her. They're sitting on the deck drinking beer, and Dean's not necessarily watching the sun set over the ocean, because he's not that kind of person, even after a month of aimlessly drifting around the Gulf of Mexico on a borrowed boat. But he's not exactly ignoring it either. Sam, on the other hand, seems totally into this gazing-into-the-sunset business, until he suddenly stands up, thrusts his bottle into Dean's hand, and walks to the edge of the deck.

"You see that?"

"See what?"

"Shit!" Sam grabs the top of the rail and vaults right off the boat, swimming with long, even strokes toward something floating in the water. Crap, it's a person. A woman. Sam hooks an arm around her and hauls her back to the boat, where Dean lifts her onto the small sunbathing deck.

She's unconscious. And completely naked. She's young, mid-twenties maybe, lean and muscled like a swimmer. At first glance it looks like she has seaweed entangled in her long platinum blonde hair, but it's actually her hair itself, with highlights of green and purple twisting through that give it an iridescent mother-of-pearl sheen. Peeking through her hair is the soft pink shell of her ear, decorated with a quartet of small pearl earrings. Another pearl nestles in her navel. A pastel tattoo climbs up the outside of one pale leg, the barely-noticeable undulating pattern inked in ghostly shades of lavender and aquamarine.

Sam pulls himself onto the sunbathing deck and kneels over her, saltwater dripping from his hair onto her fair skin. He presses his fingertips against her throat. "She's breathing. Strong heartbeat."

"Where did she come from?"

"I don't know," Sam says, frowning in confusion. "She was just floating out there." He stands up and scans the horizon. "I didn't see any debris, or a lifeboat, or anything. Just her." He bends down to gather her in his arms. "Let's get her inside somewhere."

Sam's cabin is the one with a single queen-size bed (stupid rock-paper-scissors), so that's where they take her, lowering her gently onto the mattress. Dean lifts her slightly so Sam can slip one of his t-shirts over her head. Her skin is cool and silky against his fingers. Sam digs out a pair of clean swim trunks, hesitates self-consciously, then covers her with a blanket and places the trunks on the bed next to her. He stows the few things he'd actually unpacked back into his duffel. There doesn't seem to be anything else they can do for her, so they quietly close the door and Sam drops his bag on the second twin bed in Dean's cabin (seriously, stupid fucking rock-paper-scissors; never again).

"What now?" Dean asks.

Sam contemplates the door of his former cabin. "Leave her for now, I guess. It'll be completely dark soon, and neither of us is experienced enough to sail this thing at night, so we should stay put. We can head back to shore in the morning."

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

Dean wakes just before dawn, silently climbing out of bed and slipping out of the cabin without waking Sam. He opens the door to the larger cabin, just a crack. Their mystery girl has changed positions and is curled on her side, looking more asleep than unconscious. That's a good sign. He gently closes the door with a quiet snick and slips into the small galley. A few minutes later he's sipping coffee on the deck, watching the horizon slowly turn fiery shades of pink and orange.

The faint click of a door opening and closing announces that Sam is up. Dean refills his own coffee and pours one for Sam, setting it by his chair. But by the time he finishes his second cup, his brother hasn't made an appearance. And it's not necessarily anything to worry about, but, well. Dean is Dean, so he's going to investigate. He opens the door of their tiny cabin and stops, stunned, his senses assaulted by an eyeful of naked back half-covered with a spill of mother-of-pearl hair, perfect heart-shaped ass, and a quick flash of a tramp stamp that looks like a… no, that can't possibly be right. And suddenly the tattoo is framed by a pair of huge hands gripping a narrow waist and oh, Christ, it's Sam's hands, she's riding Sam cowgirl-style, and Dean has never noped back out of a door so quickly in his life.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

The sun is fully up by the time Sam makes his way above deck. Without a word, he plops into the chair next to Dean's and takes a swallow of lukewarm coffee.

"Sleep well?" Dean asks.

Sam stares at the horizon. "Yep."

"Wake well?"

"Yeah." Sam smiles into his mug, not meeting Dean's eyes. "Yeah, I did."

"And I take it Aqua Woman is feeling better."

"Seems to be." Sam's lip twitches and he does not have the courtesy to look even the tiniest bit ashamed.

"Exactly how good does she feel, Sam?"

Sam grins. Big. "Pretty damn good, actually."

They're interrupted when Aqua Woman herself appears on the steps. She's wearing Sam's t-shirt, and maybe his swim trunks underneath — it’s impossible to tell, because the shirt is huge on her, slipping off her shoulder and reaching almost to her knees. She walks gracefully toward Dean, and the longer he soaks up her full lips, wide blue-green eyes, and thick dark lashes, the more he's convinced she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"Hello," she smiles. "I'm Alana." She holds out a hand and it's cool and soft, like her voice.

"Dean. I see you've already met my brother Sam."

"Yes, I have." She turns to flash a blinding smile at Sam and then slips her hand from Dean's grasp, resting it on his shoulder. "Thank you both for rescuing me. I would have been lost without you."

"No problem, sweetheart." He gives her his most seductive grin. Just making sure she knows what a mistake she made by picking the wrong brother; not trying to lure her away from Sam or anything.

Although. There really is something about her. Something kinda perfect.

"It'll take us a couple of hours to get you back to shore so you can get checked out at a hospital," Sam says. "Are you feeling okay? Do you remember anything? How did you get out here?" Asking all the questions now, since apparently they weren't talking much earlier.

She bites her lip, and Dean desperately wants to feel those perfect white teeth nibbling on his own lip. And other parts of him as well. "Do we have to go back to shore?" she says. "I'm really fine. And there's nothing for me there. I'd rather stay here with you."

Sam meets Dean's eyes and he's all furrowed brow and tight lips and something's not right here, and Dean knows what he's going to say, but Alana steps over to him and lightly plants a kiss on his cheek. "Please let me stay here with you," she says softly.

Sam's face softens into a dopey grin and he says exactly what Dean is thinking. "Of course. You should stay here with us."

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

They spend the rest of the morning doing nothing. Alana doesn't explain how she ended up in the water, but it doesn't matter. She's safe on their boat now; everything's fine. Everything's fine. She sits on Sam's lap and drinks his coffee and plays with his hair while Dean tries not to imagine her soft nimble fingers running through his own hair, she leans over the railing to watch the fish gliding alongside the boat and it turns out she is wearing the swim trunks Sam left her, rolled up high on her legs and riding low on her hips, and finally Dean decides he needs to go below deck and take a not-particularly-warm shower.

Everything's fine.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

When he comes back up, Sam's in the big fishing chair, facing away from him, and oh, for fuck's sake, they're at it again. Alana is straddling him, head thrown back, slender fingers twisted in his hair, moaning, and Dean desperately needs to step away but he's frozen to his spot - and then she opens those huge blue-green eyes and fucking winks at him.

Dean probably needs to hang out in his cabin for a while. Everything's fine.

Lying on his bed, it occurs to him that she never did answer the question of where she came from, or why she was in the middle of the ocean, unconscious. It didn't seem important enough to pursue at the time. But now it seems important. He should go up and ask her again. Yeah, he'll do that.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

By the time Dean's brave enough to get above deck again, Sam's alone.

"Where's Aqua Woman?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Alana is sunbathing."

Damn. Topless, probably. If he stretches just a tiny bit, he can see the sunbathing deck and yep, there she is, lying on her stomach, completely nude. Dean swallows. And tries to think about what was bothering him so much earlier. Something about Alana… something Sam probably doesn't want to hear. He can't really remember. He's too distracted by something else he wants to talk about. And there really is no way to say your girl oughta be banging me instead without sounding kind of churlish.

"You know what you're getting into?"

Oooh. Sam's face suggests this wasn't a good opening. "Yeah, Dean, I think I can handle it."

"Not exactly your type, is she?"

"In what way?"

"Come on, dude, the bad girls are my type."

"Bad girl?"

"Yes, a bad girl. You go for librarians and I go for bad girls, and this one is a naughty girl, Sammy. I mean, she's got a 69 for a tramp stamp, for fuck's sake."

"Okay. One, have you forgotten Ruby?"

(Yeah, she was a very bad girl; Dean's got to give him that.)

"Two, don't call it a tramp stamp; that's douchey even for you. And three, it's not a 69, it's her zodiac symbol."

"You're telling me there's a sign of the zodiac that's symbolized by a 69?"

"It's not a 69; it's on its side. It's Cancer."

"All right, but I swear, she winked at me while you two were hunting for Moby Dick."

"I don't care."

"Hey, I'm just saying, she may be regretting her life choices at this point. Did she say anything about me?"

If Sam rolls his eyes any harder, they're going to roll right out of his head. "What, you mean, while she was having sex with me, did she mention you? Sure. Absolutely. She climbed on top of me and then said hey, I like your brother too; why don't you call him over here and we'll have a threesome."

"Seriously?"

"No, you idiot."

"Because if she did… you know… I would be… if she was interested…"

"Dean. No, she did not say that. And even if she was interested in a threesome with you and me, I'm not."

"Oh. Yeah." Dean rubs the back of his head. "Wasn't thinking about the you and me part of that."

"Obviously."

"So… did she say anything about me when she wasn't having sex with you?" But Sam's giving him the are you shitting me? face and maybe he's got a point. "Yeah, you're right. This is an awkward conversation."

"Yes, it is. Let's stop having it. Please." Sam turns and walks away, probably heading for the sunbathing deck, probably to sit next to her and rub sunscreen over all of that smooth sun-warmed naked skin and… dammit all to hell.

Dean stomps below deck again, and halfway down the stairs realizes he had a completely different conversation from the one he meant to have.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

That afternoon he stands beside Sam at the railing and they watch Alana swim, if you can call it that. Because she doesn't just swim like a normal person. She's literally cavorting naked with dolphins, laughing and splashing with them like some kind of fairy tale creature.

"For someone who spends so much time naked in the sun," Dean says, "she sure is pale."

Beautiful pale Alana waves, then tumbles and twists out of sight, swimming to the other side of the boat. Sam’s forehead folds into puzzled creases as stares silently at the Alana-free waves.

"She doesn't have any body hair," he eventually says. True, Dean noticed the Brazilian when Sam dragged her out of the water, but he's kind of surprised his brother would consider that an appropriate topic of conversation. But before he can respond, Sam continues. "So maybe she's a competitive swimmer. Something long distance. Do swimmers shave their arms? Or wax, maybe? She'd be stubbly by now if she shaved her arms and legs," he muses. "Anyway. Maybe that's why she's out here."

"We should ask her about that. We should really, really ask her about that."

"Yeah… I just keep getting distracted."

"No shit."

Sam smiles. "You know, I didn't approach her. I just woke up and she was standing next to the bed."

"You complaining?" Dean asks, with a raised eyebrow.

"No. No, God no. It's… she's amazing. It's just…"

"Inexplicable?" Dean offers. "Inconceivable? Incomprehensible?"

Sam turns to him with a surprised frown. "Unexpected."

Dean shrugs. "Beautiful naked woman shows up out of nowhere and, of the two of us, latches onto you? I'm going with incomprehensible."

Sam can bitchface all he wants at that one; it's the God's honest truth. But he isn't bitchfacing. Alana is back in view, and he's staring at a flash of long leg and full breasts bobbing in the water, and there's that dreamy expression again, and oh, fuck this. Dean needs to go read a book or something. He turns on his heel and heads back to his cabin.

"And another thing," he calls over his shoulder as he heads below deck. "You two obviously don't need separate beds. I'm moving your shit back into your room."

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

Dean's alone in his cabin when he wakes up the next morning, but he doesn't have to wonder where Sam is. The walls on this boat are not particularly thick and he can hear murmurs next door. Laughter. Other things. And okay, maybe it's payback for all the times he brought a girl back to whatever shack they were hunkered down in, but Jesus. Sam always had the ability to at least take a walk and get away from it. All Dean can do is lie here and listen. Finally it occurs to him that this is a safe time to venture above deck, so he makes coffee and enjoys the breeze and the solitude.

When Sam and Alana emerge — him in swim trunks, her in another of Sam's t-shirts — Sam heads toward Dean. Alana pouts prettily and takes his hand. "Swim with me, Sam. You promised." He shrugs apologetically at Dean and lets her lead him to the sunbathing deck, where she pulls the t-shirt over her head and jumps naked into the water. Sam jumps in after her, still wearing his trunks, thank you baby Jesus.

Swimming was rarely a form of entertainment for Dean when they were young, not anything he normally did for fun or relaxation. Swimming was something he usually did with a monster in his sights and a blade clutched in his teeth. But Sam was always thrilled when there was a pool at their motel or crappy apartment complex, or a pond at their cabin or ancient farmhouse. He took to any body of water like a fish, dutifully swimming laps when Dad was around, playing like an otter when he wasn't, nose and shoulders constantly peeling from layer upon layer of sunburn. And now he's splashing with Alana like one of her goddamn dolphins and okay, he deserves this. It would be petty for Dean to resent it. It really would. He keeps repeating that to himself as he watches Sam and Alana frolic (there is no other word for it, they're fucking frolicking) in the water. And then as they climb onto the sunbathing deck and dangle their legs over the edge, with eyes only for each other. And as they come back onto the deck and Alana hops onto the rail, still as naked as the day she was born, shimmering in the sunlight.

Dean tries hard not to stare at her. She doesn't seem to care. She wears her nudity casually, as if a shirt were as optional as a hat or a necklace. But it still seems impolite, and Dean is nothing if not polite around beautiful naked women. He settles for grabbing quick glimpses when she's not looking. Which turns out to be pretty easy, since she spends most of her time staring at Sam. Right now she's pretending to be interested in whatever boring story he's telling her, something about almost falling overboard on their first day on the boat, whatever; it's hard to pay attention when she's right there, beautiful and wet and naked and happy, throwing her head back and laughing at Sam's stupid story.

"I remember that!" she says. "You were so funny. I was afraid I might have to come rescue you."

Sam stops, brow furrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, you remember?"

"Oh." Alana looks away and bites her pretty lip with her pretty teeth, then shrugs. "I have a confession to make. I've actually been watching you for a while."

Sam's alarm goes off first, because by the time Dean parses that conversation, his brother has stepped back from Alana and is already in hunter mode — narrowed eyes, defensive posture, a quick glance to confirm Dean's location.

"What are you?" he says.

Instead of answering, Alana strokes a finger down the faint tattoo on her leg and it darkens, deepening from lavender and aquamarine into purple and teal. The color spreads over her leg, then across both legs, and as Dean gapes in disbelief, her legs meld and extend into an iridescently-scaled tail. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. She's a goddamn mermaid? Suddenly, everything makes sense.

"Did you put a spell on him?" he yells, waving at Sam, who looks completely bewildered. "Is that why he can't think straight when you're around?"

"Of course not. I'm not a siren," she says, with a pretty little frown. "I don't take anybody against their will. I don't have to trick anyone into my bed." She turns to Sam and smiles warmly. "I'm just very enchanting. Difficult to resist. Sorry."

"Not complaining," Sam says.

"Good." She holds out a hand, beckoning him closer. "All I want is to make you happy. I've been watching you for weeks, Sam, ever since you arrived in my part of the sea, and I've grown to love you more every day." Sam's at her side now, holding her hand, looking at her like she's his everything. "And now we don't ever have to part."

"But I… this…" Sam stammers and falls silent, staring into her eyes.

"Come with me, Sam. Join me in my world. I know what your life is like, above the waves. I know it's cold and cruel and dangerous. You don't have to live that way any more. You can come live in peace, under the sea with me."

"Wait. No." Dean turns frantically to Sam, who isn't saying no. "Dude. You can't live underwater!" (Although what he really means is you can't abandon me. Please.)

"Of course he can." Alana doesn't look at Dean, her gaze still locked on Sam's dreamy smile. "Anyone who pledges their eternal troth to a mermaid can be granted the ability to breathe underwater, as we do. Will you, Sam? Will you come with me?"

Sam clasps Alana's tiny hand in both of his and her tail (her tail, she has a fucking tail) curls gently around his legs and oh, God, Dean can't watch, can't say goodbye, not like this. But he can't blame Sam for wanting to leave the pain of this life behind him, to escape to a world where he's not a hunter, to love someone again. He's not going to stop him. He's not.

But Dean goes weak-kneed in relief as Sam shakes his head. "I can't, Alana. This job we do, it's too important. I'm taking a break, but I have to get back to it. And I don't want to leave my brother behind."

Alana sighs a small, pretty little sigh. "I understand." She cups his face in her hands and pulls him down for a kiss. "I'll be here if you ever change your mind." Then, with a wink at Dean, she flips gracefully backward and plunges into the water. He gets one last glimpse of pale skin and iridescent tail, and then she dives out of sight.

The brothers stand at the rail in shock, staring at the empty surface, until Dean breaks the silence.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam sighs. He turns around to lean against the rail, facing away from the water. "I mean, she's great, she really is. But that whole thing, just. Not a long-term situation. No. I'm good."

"Good." The feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of Dean's stomach finally pulls up its anchor and drifts away. Everything's fine. Weird, but fine. Which is about as good as it gets for them.

"So, uh, I guess she was your type after all," he says. Sam frowns at him. "Because she's a —"

"I know what she is, Dean."

"Yeah. So. Cancer, huh?"

"Uh huh."

"I'd have guessed Pisces. I mean, Cancer, the crab, sure, that works too. Just seems like she'd be a Pisces. Because she's a — "

"I know."

"You're not gonna let me say it, are you?"

Sam rubs a hand down his face with a sigh. "Fine. Go ahead."

"Because she's a mermaid! Because you fucked a mermaid! Because Sam. Winchester. Fucked. A mermaid!"

Sam's glare suddenly turns into a grin. "And you're so jealous, you can hardly stand it."

Dean's thrown. "You're jealous." Dammit.

Sam laughs at Dean's lame attempt at a comeback, which is hardly fair. It's been a stressful day. "Got it out of your system?"

"Are you kidding? I am never, ever going to get the fact that you fucked a mermaid out of my system. I mean, you've had some inhuman girlfriends in your life, but this one's my absolute favorite."

"Well, save it." Sam turns and heads down the stairs. "I'm going to take a very long nap."

"I hope she didn't give you crabs, Prince Eric," Dean yells at Sam's retreating back.

Yeah, he's going to enjoy this for a while.