#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"

[alwayssassydreamer]

Fire Up The Night

A/N: usually i don't write for Marco but this was a gift for a friend (I don’t remember if you wanted me to tag you or stay "anonymous" 😅) actually meant to be posted on christmas but i f'd up sorry so here's your belated gift

Plot: during a sparring session with marco things take a heated turn

Warnings: smut, nsfw, p in v (implied), MDNI

Characters: Marco x F!Reader

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the training deck, the energy between you and Marco shifted.

You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your movements as you danced around him.

This time, however, there was no holding back. You were done playing it safe; it was time to take your game to the next level.

With a fierce determination, you feigned to the left, then spun around, aiming for his ribs. Marco anticipated the move and sidestepped effortlessly, but you were quick, pivoting to regain your balance and lunging at him again, your sword gleaming in the fading light.

“Not bad,” he admitted, a hint of challenge in his voice. “But you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to catch me.”

With a sharp intake of breath, you charged at him, forcing him to parry your blows with renewed vigor. Each strike was heavier, fueled by the desire to break through his defenses—not just in the sparring match but in the tension that simmered beneath the surface.

You could see it in his eyes—he was enjoying this just as much as you were, relishing the challenge and the way you pushed him to his limits.

In a sudden surge of boldness, you slipped past his guard, maneuvering your body against his.

“Let’s see how well you handle this,” you teased, leaning in closer, your lips nearly brushing against his cheek as you pressed your body against him.

Marco’s breath hitched for a moment, surprise flashing in his eyes, but it quickly morphed into something darker—something primal.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a challenge.

“I know,” you replied, your tone sultry and daring. “But a little danger makes things more......interesting.”

With that, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your level. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you and the heat radiating between your bodies.

Before he could react, you pressed your lips against his with a fiery passion that ignited the air around you. The kiss was bold and demanding, and Marco responded immediately, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

But this time, he was no longer just reacting. He took control, pushing you back against the wooden training post, pinning you there with a heat that left you breathless. His mouth moved against yours with a fierce urgency, a mix of desire and raw power that sent shivers down your spine.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the strength in his grip making you feel both vulnerable and exhilarated. The kiss became more frantic, more desperate, as you lost yourselves in each other, the boundary between rivalry and something deeper blurring with every passing moment.

As you broke away, panting, your foreheads resting against each other, you could see the desire swirling in his eyes—a hunger that matched your own.

“You’re not afraid to get rough, are you?” he asked, his breath mingling with yours, hot and intoxicating.

“Never,” you shot back, a playful challenge lacing your voice. "Are you?”

He grinned, the mischievous glint in his eye making your heart race.

“Oh, I think I can manage.”

Without warning, he grabbed your wrist again, his grip firm as he twisted you around, forcing you to face the post with your hands pinned above your head.

“Let’s see how long you can keep up this little game of yours,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

A thrill shot through you as you leaned into the pressure, feeling both restrained and excited.

“You think you can intimidate me?” you taunted, your voice low and sultry. “I’ll show you how resilient I am.”

With a swift movement, Marco released one of your wrists, giving you just enough freedom to turn slightly, your bodies brushing together in a tantalizing way. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the power he exuded sending another wave of desire crashing over you.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him again.

“But you’ll need to be careful. You don’t want to get burned.”

With that, he pressed his lips against yours once more, this time with a fierce passion that left no room for doubt. The kiss deepened, turning more demanding, filled with urgency and a wildness that matched the chaos brewing between you

Each kiss sent another wave of excitement through your body, a thrilling mix of pleasure and urgency.

Marco’s lips were like a fever, igniting every nerve ending as he deepened the kiss, pulling you further into this whirlwind of desire.

Then, as if sensing the tension escalating, Marco decided to turn it up a notch.

His hand slid under your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin with a careful yet possessive touch that made your breath hitch. You gasped into his mouth, feeling his warmth seep into your very core.

The sensation of his fingertips exploring your waist was electric, setting your skin alight in a way you’d never experienced before.You moved your hands instinctively, trailing them along his firm chest, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath your fingers. The heat radiating from him only intensified the thrill coursing through your veins.

It was thrilling to explore this side of him, and you relished the way he reacted to your every touch.

“God, you’re intoxicating,” Marco breathed against your lips, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and urgency.

His fingers continued their journey, tracing delicate patterns along your sides, igniting every inch of your skin where he touched.

"Maybe I should be saying the same about you,” you replied, your tone teasing as you leaned in closer, brushing your lips against his neck. The taste of him lingered in your mouth, and the raw desire swirling between you was palpable.

He tightened his grip on you, pulling you even closer as he tilted his head to give you better access. You kissed along the line of his jaw, feeling the hard contours of his body pressed against yours, making it hard to think straight.

The urgency of the moment made your heart race, and as Marco’s hand slid higher under your shirt, you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. The sound fueled him further, and he turned to press you against the wooden wall again, his body pinning you in a way that made you feel both vulnerable and powerful.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” he asked, a challenge lacing his voice as his gaze locked onto yours. The intensity of his expression sent shivers down your spine, the playful game now teetering on the edge of something much more profound.

“I’ve never backed down from a challenge,” you shot back, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you leaned in to kiss him again. This time, the kiss was hungry, filled with a passion that had been building between you from the very start.

As you pulled away momentarily to catch your breath, Marco’s fingers lingered just under your ribs, teasingly brushing against your skin.

“You’re playing with fire, you know,” he warned, his voice low and husky, filled with a mixture of desire and something more protective.

“And I’m not afraid to get burned,” you replied, your confidence surging.

You could see the flicker of approval in his eyes, the way his smile hinted at both amusement and admiration.

“Are you really sure about this?” Marco murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your lips

"I wouldn't be here if I weren't,” you replied, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. You could feel the warmth pooling in your core, igniting every nerve ending as you surrendered to the moment. With a determined glint in your eyes, you pulled him closer.

Every touch felt electric, and you couldn’t help but arch into him, craving more of the heat he radiated.

“I want to see how far we can take this,” you whispered, your voice a mix of challenge and invitation. There was something intoxicating about the way he looked at you, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Marco’s eyes darkened with desire, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Careful what you wish for,” he replied, his tone teasing yet serious.

His hands moved again, this time sliding lower, finding the hem of your shirt and pushing it up, revealing more of your skin. The cool air sent goosebumps racing across your body, heightening your awareness of every sensation.

“I could easily take you right here,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise.

The heat in his gaze made your heart race, the idea both thrilling and terrifying. You raised an eyebrow, feeling bold.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you teased, your voice laced with challenge.

The air crackled with tension, and Marco’s expression shifted from playful to serious, the weight of your words sinking in.

“You really want that?” he asked, his tone suddenly more intense.

“Maybe I do,” you replied biting your lip, the adrenaline coursing through you making you feel invincible

His gaze bore into yours, a mixture of desire and something deeper reflected in those vibrant eyes.

“Then let’s make it a night to remember,” he declared, his voice steady with conviction.

He led you to a quiet corner, where the stars twinkled above and the sound of the ocean filled the air. The moonlight spilled over the deck, casting soft shadows that danced around you.

he closed the space between you, capturing your lips again in a kiss that was both hungry and tender. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you melted into him. It was a dance of passion, an exploration of the uncharted territory between you.

Just as you thought things couldn’t get any more heated, Marco broke the kiss and trailed his lips down your neck, sending waves of sensation rippling through you.

“You feel amazing,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and intoxicating. The way he spoke, filled with desire, made your heart race even faster.

“Marco…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you tilted your head back, granting him better access.

The sensations were overwhelming, and you found yourself surrendering to the pleasure he was invoking within you.

Suddenly, he paused, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I could get used to this,” he teased, his gaze lingering on your flushed cheeks

You began to explore, your hands roaming over his chest and shoulders, feeling the taut muscles as you pushed his shirt off. Marco watched you intently, a mixture of admiration and desire in his gaze as you confidently explored this new dynamic between you.

But he wasn’t about to let you have all the fun. With a swift motion, he turned the tables again, gripping your waist and lifting you effortlessly, placing you against the railing.

Your heart racing as you kissed him again.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel his hands tightening around your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you of the strength he possessed. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him even closer as the world around you faded into insignificance.

In a single motion, he lifted your shirt over your head, exposing your skin to the cool night air, contrasting with the heat building between you. You gasped at the sensation, the thrill of vulnerability heightening your desire for him.

He took a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body, drinking in the sight before him.

“You’re breathtaking,” he breathed, his voice thick with admiration.

You felt a rush of heat at his words, a mix of pride and excitement swelling within you.

“Show me how breathtaking I am,” you urged, your voice steady and filled with anticipation.

With that, Marco’s lips descended on you again, exploring every inch of your skin, every curve, every secret that made you who you were. His hands roamed, gripping your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You could feel the heat building between you, a hunger that was all-consuming. Each kiss, each caress only fueled the fire until you thought you might explode with desire. The night air was thick with tension as you both surrendered to the moment, losing yourselves in the sensations that enveloped you

As you explored each other’s bodies, Marco’s touch was both gentle and commanding, igniting a fire within you that demanded to be fed

The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of salt from the sea and something uniquely him. The heat of your bodies intertwined, and every kiss ignited sparks of electricity that made your skin tingle.

His hands found their way back to your waist, fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants with a confidence that made your heart race. You gasped as he slipped them down, leaving you vulnerable yet exhilarated.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his gaze filled with lust.

You felt a thrill run through you at his words, a blend of shyness and confidence as you pulled him closer, pressing your body against his

With a grin, Marco wasted no time in lifting you off the ground, cradling you against him as he found a more comfortable place and position. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him as he maneuvered you with ease, pressing you against the soft, worn wood of the deck.

He took a moment to admire you again, his eyes roaming hungrily over your exposed skin, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow around you.

“You’re a temptation I never knew I needed,” he said, his voice low and filled with intensity.

The moments became a blur of heat and passion, the sounds of the ocean the only witness to your intimacy. With each caress and kiss, you felt the barrier between you dissolve, leaving nothing but the raw, unfiltered connection that sparked between you.

As the intensity grew, Marco’s kisses traveled down your neck, his warm breath sending shivers through your body. He paused to nibble at your collarbone before moving to your nipples, drawing a gasp from you, and you could feel the tension building within you, a throbbing need that only he could satiate.

“Marco,” you breathed, your voice thick with desire. “Please.”

His eyes locked onto yours, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice teasing.

"I want you" you whined

With a low chuckle, he obliged, his lips finding yours again as he shifted your bodies, positioning you just right. The night air caressed your skin, contrasting the heat radiating from both of you, and every touch, every kiss felt electric.

As the intensity escalated, Marco’s movements became more urgent, and you could feel the tension between you building to a near-breaking point. He kissed you deeply, capturing your breath as his hands began to roam lower, teasing you with tantalizing touches that made your heart race.

With a swift movement, he slipped your panties aside, leaving you completely exposed to his gaze and touch. You gasped at the sensation, the thrill of vulnerability mixing with the hunger burning inside you.

Marco took his time, exploring every inch of you, his fingers skillfully teasing your clit, coaxing soft moans from your lips.

“Marco, please,” you begged, the urgency in your voice growing more pronounced as the waves of pleasure built within you.

He grinned, his eyes dark with desire.

“Patience,” he whispered, leaning down to place soft kisses along your thighs as one hand played with your nipples the other circling your clit driving you to the brink of madness.

You felt yourself getting closer to the edge, your body craving more as he worked his magic, but just as you were about to tumble over the edge, he pulled away, leaving you gasping for breath.

“Marco!” you cried out, frustration lacing your voice.

“Just a little longer,” he teased, his smile infuriatingly charming. “I want you to remember this.”

With that, he captured your lips again, kissing you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he brought you back to the heights of ecstasy. As the kiss deepened, you felt him aligning himself against you, his body pressing closer, and you could feel the unmistakable heat of desire radiating from him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low and filled with promise. You nodded, your heart racing as you felt the world around you disappear once again.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips as he positioned himself against you.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he entered you, and you gasped at the sensation, the initial stretch igniting another wave of pleasure that crashed over you.

Your breath coming in shallow gasps as the heat within you grew.

Marco began to move, slowly at first, as if savoring every moment. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting every nerve ending in your body. You could feel the tension building again, the heat rising between you as your bodies moved together in perfect harmony.

The world outside faded completely, leaving only the sound of the ocean and your shared breaths. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, the intimacy between you deepening with every moment as you let out a loud moan.

Marco responded with a low growl, his pace quickening as he pushed you closer to the edge. The tension built to an unbearable level, and you felt yourself on the brink of madness, a wave of ecstasy threatening to pull you under.

“Marco!” you cried out, your voice rising in pitch as pleasure coursed through you, overwhelming your senses.

With a final thrust, the world exploded around you, and you surrendered to the ecstasy that enveloped you, your body arching against his as you cried out his name, lost in the sensation and not caring if anyone could hear you.

Marco followed soon after, his release washing over him in waves as he pressed his body against yours, their connection deepening as the two of you rode the high together.

In the aftermath, as the waves of pleasure subsided, you found yourself wrapped in Marco’s arms, both of you breathless and entwined. The world felt both endless and timeless, a perfect moment suspended between you.

“Wow,” you breathed, still reeling from the intensity of what had just transpired.

Marco chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with warmth.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect that either.”

You smiled, a mix of satisfaction and mischief dancing in your gaze. “Neither did I. But it was worth it.”

[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.

[avastrp]

𝖆𝖛𝖆𝖘𝖙! PLOT DROP !

It begins with the tide rolling in slower than usual. Ships are drifting off course in calm weather, barrels are floating differently. Then the nets return twisted with kelp no one recognises—pale, knotted, and slick with an oily film that clings to fingers and won’t wash off.

Within days, the harbour takes on a sheen. Not visible from the cliffs, but anyone walking the docks sees it: a faint, rainbow-like shimmer just below the surface, shifting like breath. The water smells sharper. The salt feels heavier. Dogs won’t go near it.

By the week’s end, the tide refuses to come in.

Boats sit lower; creak louder. The harbour reeks of stagnant salt and rot. Rats swarm the shoreline. And still, each night, that same iridescent sheen clings to the exposed stones like it’s watching. A hush falls over Tortuga, thick as fog. The sea has gone quiet.

And then it comes back.

Three days after the tide stopped rising, the silence shatters. At midnight, under a cloudless moonlit sky, a deep, resonant boom rings out across the harbour—low and hollow, like thunder trapped beneath the waves. Then the water surges.

It isn’t a wave. It’s a sudden, violent inrush, pulling forward like a noose snapping tight. Water crashes into the docks, flooding the lower harbour and ripping ships from their moorings. Crates and barrels are hurled through the streets, smashing into stalls and shopfronts. In minutes, the lower quarter is waterlogged and ruined; the docks upturned in the midst of it all.

When the tide finally recedes, Tortuga is left soaked, stunned and splintered. Wreckage is strewn like bones across the streets—crates split open, gear flung inland, bundles of letters and clothing tangled in seaweed or lodged in alley drains. Items once stored safely below deck now lie exposed or missing altogether. Some crew find their belongings half-submerged in mud; others find their cabins stripped bare. Nothing is where it should be.

Looters are quick to take advantage. They pick through the wreckage with quick hands, pocketing whatever the tide dragged out—and anything not claimed fast enough risks being snatched. Crews find their possessions missing, stolen in broad daylight while the town reels. Shouting matches break out on the docks. Blades flash in the wreckage. And already, there are whispers of stolen goods changing hands in back rooms and upstairs parlours.

The wreckage still clogs the streets, the damage far from cleared — and what began as chaos is turning quickly to fury. Tortuga is ready to bleed for what’s been taken.

welcome to avastrp's very first plot drop! the following information will help you navigate the way tortuga has been affected.

☠ a large amount of the port has been damaged by the tide. buildings were also affected, including locations on the list, but they still remain standing. ☠ it is up to you if any of your characters' possessions are missing, and who they are willing to blame for taking them. you can also plot if your character actually did steal anything. ☠ it is up to you where your character was at the time of the tide rushing in, and how this may have affected them. though please be reasonable, we can't have everyone saying their character was injured during the event! ☠ you may continue writing old threads. you can incorporate the plot drop into your current thread if you want to & it makes sense. ☠ those who have been with us a week are now allowed to take a 3rd and 4th muses ( a reminder that your 3rd must be bipoc if you first two weren't )

[queen-scribbles]

listening ear

Pre-relationship (voyage to Tir Fradi) Ves & Kurt, as I cross my fingers and hope nurturing a plot bunny will stave off the desire to replay her for the fourth(fifth?) time. ---

The thing about traveling by ship was that it got boring after a few weeks.

The thing about traveling by ship with Constantin was that when he got bored he started to talk.

Not much thought to the topic, or propriety, anything was fair game. Rumors, gossip, complaints, new things he learned, teasing. Vesper had heard all about his seasickness("it's unrelenting, Ves, I may die"), his unrequited crush on one of the Nauts("I'm doomed to pining"), the sailing vocabulary he'd picked up, and light-hearted ribbing about her choice of books.

Perhaps that was why, today, she sought an excuse to be preoccupied when he went on the prowl.

She found Kurt in one of the lower holds--half-full, large rings in the walls; maybe for securing cages with those creatures?--replacing the leather that bound the grip of his zweihander.

Absorbed as he was, he still spoke even before he looked up. "Need something, Green Blood?"

"I was hoping to get some practice." She rolled her shoulders. "With swordplay."

"Keepin' your edge or lookin' to improve something?" Kurt asked, giving the leather a twist as he neared the bottom.

"Both to an extent," Vesper said, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. "But I have been thinking about the day we left. My weak right guard? We could work on that, once you're done?"

"Whatever y' need, Excellency," he shrugged, starting to tie off the leather. "I'm yours to command."

"You can take the time to finish," she protested with a smile. "I'm hardly in a rush." She bit her lip. "I can even help if you need an extra hand."

Kurt gave her a keen look, grey eyes glittering with amusement. "Hiding from your cousin, are you?"

"Am I so obvious?" Vesper groaned, leaning against the wall. "I love him, and I'm loathe to hurt his feelings, but if I have to listen to another recitation of rigging vocabulary I may go mad."

She could confess these things to Kurt. He knew her, knew how she loved Constantin. He'd not breathe a word that, just once, she wanted a break from playing the listening ear, and he wouldn't judge, because he knew her cousin. She appreciated that a great deal.

He chuckled. "I do have the advantage of knowin' you a long while, Green Blood. Doubt it would be as clear to anyone else here."

"What a relief," she said drolly. "Hate to start a rumor."

Another chuckle as he eyed the zweihander grip. "As to your offer... I'm nearly done, but if you could hold it steady there" --he indicated a spot--"it would make the final binding a good bit easier."

"Of course." Vesper pushed away from the wall and rested three fingers in the spot. She watched his hands, methodical, confident, as he worked. "It looks almost like wound binding."

"S'ppose it is," Kurt grunted, tying it off at the end. He reached for a small knife to trim the excess.

""I suppose you have practice with that as well, then," she murmured absently, withdrawing her hand and eyeing how well done the wrap was.

"My share," he shrugged, then cleared his throat. "Ready to practice, Excellency?"

"Mm... oh. Yes." Vesper brushed at hair that wasn't really loose and glanced around. "Do you think here will serve? Or do we need to seek out more space?"

Kurt surveyed the hold. "If I'm gonna do my usual, a little more overhead might be wise." He reached up and tapped the rafters. "Don't think our esteemed captain would like me puttin' dents in his ship."

"Probably not," she laughed in agreement. "That means either the lower hold for a higher ceiling but darker surroundings, or up on deck."

"D'you have a preference?" he asked, arching a brow.

Vesper met it with a wry smile. "Do I mind having an audience, should you land me on my backside again, in other words. No, I do not. I just need.... practice. A break." She scuffed one boot against the deck, vaguely guilty for voicing the sentiment. "From indefatigable chatter."

Kurt nodded, understanding that bordered on amusement flashing in the grey of his eyes. "Everyone has their limits, Green Blood, that's no failing." He stepped closer, clapped a hand to her shoulder. "Below decks will suit just fine."

She flashed a grateful smile and they retrieved practice blades before heading down to the lowest holds. Best to not risk damaging anything with real weapons, no matter their respective skill.

She did need this, Vesper mused, blunted rapier in hand as she took up position. Even aside from--temporarily--avoiding Constantin, she should polish up her skills. Words had always been her preferred weapon, but they were heading to a new and largely uncharted island. She highly doubted any wildlife would respond to silver-tongued negotiation as well as Gacane gentry.

She couldn't always leave defense to Kurt. (Even if he would argue yes she could, it was his job.)

The thought of her bodyguard pulled her from her reverie, and Vesper found him watching her. "Sorry."

He didn't comment on her moment of distraction. "Your move, Excellency. Seeing as it's just us."

"Ah, yes, you don't have underlings to fling at me first," Vesper teased.

"I'll just have to make up the difference, won't I?" Kurt drawled. "One to one's better if you wanna work on a specific weakness, anyway."

She tipped her head in concession and tested the feel of the dulled rapier. "Always looking to improve." She missed the back-up of her pistol, but that would be unwise on a ship even if this wasn't just practice. She studied Kurt's stance, looking at feet, hips, shoulders for hints how he would defend. She made two strikes to his right side, then feinted a third before making the actual attempt left.

Kurt parried them all, though barely for the third, and shifted offensive even as he laughed. "Very good, Green Blood. Keep the hilt up more an' you'll be in a better position to guard."

He punctuated the words with a swipe toward her sword hand. Vesper instinctively dropped her arm to avoid it. This lowered her blade and left her vulnerable to his when he swung back. She only just corrected in time.

"I see why you want to work on it," Kurt said, pressing his advantage, "but your reflexes are quick enough to balances out most weaknesses."

As if if to underscore the 'most', Vesper's heel caught on something and she stumbled even as she deflected his strike. "You're very sweet, Kurt, but we both know swordplay isn't my forte." She regained her balance, but too slow to entirely avoid another hit. She winced as his blade caught her wrist.

"Adapting is, though," he countered, blocking her return strike and grinning when the follow up actually glanced off his shoulder. "You're better at rolling with change than damn near anyone I've met in my life."

"Hm, well, thank" --blocked--"you." --blocked. She remembered his advice and kept her hand in a better position. "It's a skill I've cultivated thanks to my dear cousin pulling me into ever-changing circumstance."

Kurt laughed. "He does that."

"Not that I mind," Vesper hastened to add. She wrinkled her nose as Kurt's blade tapped her hip. He was holding back and that wasn't what she wanted. "I love Constantin dearly, but-"

"He has a habit of gettin' you in situations," Kurt said, amused, and abandoned all pretense of sparring, leaning on the blunted zweihander instead. "Green Blood, I've helped you get him out of more of 'em than I care t' count. You don't have to pretty your words around me."

"Suppose you do know both of us well," Vesper said with a sheepish chuckle. "I've appreciated your backup on those occasions, by the by."

"Just doin' my job," he said with a shrug.

She believed that about as much as she believed in flying dogs. "On that note, are we done so fast?" she asked.

Kurt's smile matched her own mood. "Though you might want a breather."

"Considerate, but I doubt brigands or beasts will show the same courtesy."

"Well, then." He swung the sword back up into position. "We can continue, if you'd rather."

Mindful of overextending herself, Vesper still stepped forward to strike at his knees and then shoulder in quick succession. Her gamble on speed over strength half-paid off. She didn't hit his shoulder, but she did catch just below his elbow as he got the zweihander up to block.

Kurt nodded approvingly, then aimed two hefty blows at her right side--in almost as quick succession as she'd done.

Vesper didn't have time to dwell on the strength it would take to do so; she was too busy trying to keep her guard balanced and deflect at the same time. She blocked the first one. Hopped over a crate jutting out. Half-blocked the second, but it caught her enough to knock her off balance. She sat down hard, dropping her rapier in the process.

Rather than hold his sword to her neck or something too mark victory, Kurt offered her a hand up.

"Clearly I still need work," Vesper deadpanned as she accepted.

"You are improving, though," Kurt said. "And I think you're better than you credit yourself."

She opened her mouth to contradict, to tease he was biased because he'd taught her, but closed it again. Aside from being a skilled swordsman, Kurt had never once shined her--or Constantin--on regarding skill. Honest assessment, only and always. "Thank you," she said instead.

He tipped his head. "D' you want to go again, or are you satisfied for now, Excellency?"

"Perhaps one more?" Vesper asked, almost apologetic, her nose wrinkling.

"As y' wish." Kurt let go of her hand and stepped back to take his stance again.

Vesper mirrored the action, running scenarios in her head, trying to gauge adjustments. Kurt didn't wait for her this time; going on the offensive with several attacks meant to immediately overwhelm. Despite that, she did much better this time--she even hit him once or twice--before her back thumped the hull. Mind your surroundings.

Kurt and his blade pressed close enough to spell her end if he actually bore her ill will. But only for a moment, before the sword lowered.

"Fast learner, Green Blood," he said approvingly as he disengaged and took a seat on one of the nearby crates, signaling an end. "Always were; shouldn't surprise me."

Vesper raked dark brown hair out of her eyes and perched on another crate, facing him with their legs crowded together. "I have a good teacher, which certainly helps," she said lightly.

Kurt grunted and waved off the praise. "It still needs work, mind, but you're comin' along."

She hummed a laugh. "Well. Good I have you watching my back until I improve, then."

"That's my job." His gaze dropped to the crates and he snorted a laugh. "Well. There's irony for you." He shifted, giving the crate Vesper sat on a light kick.

"I saw," she said with a smile. The Coin Guard seal and bright swipe of colored marking had been hard to miss. "I'm glad to see they're safe, after the machinations it took to get them aboard."

She wished he wasn't so quick to deflect compliments, but she'd let him get away with it. For now.

"Aye." They both looked up as voices floated from above, and Kurt pushed to his feet. "S'ppose we should make our way topside, before your cousin works himself into a right fit at you bein' missin'."

Vesper laughed as stood as well. "You do know us well."

His eyes gleamed as he gestured for her to lead up the stairs. "Well enough to say I'm more than willing to distract when you need a break from the role of listening ear."

She paused on the stairs, sure her merriment showed on her face as she looked back. "A sacrifice most appreciated, noble captain."

Kurt gave a half-serious salute and Vesper laughed before resuming course for the upper decks. It had been nice to have someone play the listening ear to her, for once.

[crowsintheforest]

2024 is now over, for better and for worse. it's been a hell of a year: switching careers, leaving the academy, going back to uni in a fully different field, getting a fulltime job that I start on Monday, starting up my goodreads account again--

all of which means it's time for my annual top 10 of things that I enjoyed the very most out of the whole year! unfortunately I'd been using cohost to keep track of my weekly media usage, and well, that site went a lil bit kaput. hopefully 2025 I do a better job of keeping track of these sorts of things.

without further ado, thoughts etc. under the cut.

end of year top 10 tag

yatagarasu: the raven does not choose its master (pierrot): out of this whole list, if you only experience one thing, it should be this. a court drama set in the fantasy world of the yatagarasu, giant three-legged ravens who can also take human form, the first cour follows two interlocking stories: yukiya, a young man who's the adoptive son of a rural lord roped into serving the crown prince, and asebi, one of the four women in the running to become the prince's new wife. it's got twists and turns, a fully realized world, and spectacular character and plot. highly recommended.

alan wake 2: night springs dlc (remedy entertainment): yes, yes, I put aw2 on my top 10 last year, but see, this is THREE alan wake dlcs in one! which is chock full of remedy's wild-ass ideas, from rose the waitress's uh....unique take on mr. scratch (matthew poretta's line readings are best of the year), to the bonkers story starring Actual Real Life Actor Shawn Ashmore that needs to be experienced. also, makes me think that maybe integrated universes aren't totally lost? didn't think that was possible. also, one of the best bops of the year with the theme song. speaking of which...

brat (charli xcx): is it the best album of the year? no. is it my favorite? probably yes that's why it's here. "sympathy is a knife" is my favorite song of the year

worlds beyond number: this beat out dimension 20 for my favorite actual play of the year, and it wasn't even close. I adore this podcast so very much. come for the longform storytelling of "the wizard, the witch, and the wild one," stay for the balls-to-the-wall chaos of "space cram."

tidal creatures (seanan mcguire): middlegame is one of my favorite books of all time, and the third book in the series feels like a return to form, overlapping a murder mystery, the weirdos you meet around college campuses, and multiple mythologies around the moon. good stuff.

dandadan (tatsu yukimoto, anime production by science saru): just a few things in dandadan: aliens! ghosts! demons! kaiju! sex comedy! jumanji! true love! giant robots! ranma 1/2! and teenagers falling in love and making friends! the manga slaps, science saru is doing impeccable work on the anime, and I cannot WAIT for more.

dragon age the veilguard (bioware): this game feels like coming home to a warm bath after a really long and not always successful bathroom renovation, if that makes sense? sure, it's not top 5 bioware games, but it does have a strong plot, fun characters, combat that surprised me in not sucking horribly, and one of the best act 3s in bioware. also the best boys of 2024: assan the griffin and manfred the skeleton.

star trek: lower decks (paramount+): what an ending to lwd, my favorite modern trek crew, and it's not even close. cerritos strong.

witch hat atelier (shirohama kamome): these girls have done nothing wrong in their lives, I love the magic system almost as much as I love the gorgeous detail on the artwork, and I fear for when the anime comes out and the internet gets another Sad White Haired Anime Teacher Man to moon over.

genshin impact (hoyoverse): yes I'm just as mad as you that the weeb video game is on this list. damn you hoyo for making a game this good. anyways I gotta go get primos to try to pull mavuika now so bye

[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

[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.

[shastafirecracker]

Selkies!

This is one I really wish I'd been able to work through more of, but at some point I really had to pick between this idea and Wildflowers to focus a lot of energy into! This was also a dark fantasy epic, conceptually, but more Pirates of the Caribbean than big haunted Ghibli forest. Vash and Knives are selkies, and at some point (whatever event passes for July) Knives stole Vash's skin and hid Vash away in the ballast hold at the very bottom of his cursed ship, Ark. Everyone on the Ark is a creature in their own right and loyal to Knives (first mate Legato, bosun Elendira, quartermaster Zazie) or Dutchman-style drowned sailors cursed into indentured undead servitude (Midvalley, Hoppered, Wolfwood, etc). Wolfwood decides to risk horrific punishment to investigate the whale-song-like noises that come from the bottom of the ship, which the whole crew knows not to acknowledge.

Broad plot bullet points: finds Vash, gets to know Vash, finds out what he is, steals his skin back from Knives and helps him escape, can't leave the Ark because of his own curse, then switch to Vash now-free as he meets other main character allies like Meryl, Milly & Livio, and then there's a return & rescue second half where Vash confronts Knives and his ship of horrors to break all the curses. You can see how this was going to be a long fucking project! It's one of those WIPs I desperately want to read but still cower at the idea of writing it all down.

Here's a clip of Wolfwood discovering Vash!

The ballast hold extended the entire length of the ship; he didn't want to get too far away from the hatch, not on this first scouting visit. He could bring a length of twine with him next time to tie off at the hatch so he could find his way back even if his light got doused. He stopped again, deciding in that moment to try again another night. If he wasn't summarily executed by Bluesummers in the morning, he'd know he was safe from prying eyes and could revisit the hold as much as he wanted to.

But he wanted to give one more fair shot at finding the beast that haunted the ship's belly, so he quietly said, "If someone's there, I don't want to hurt you. Just want to see what you are."

His hand was hot from cupping the candle flame, but he kept the light dim so he could pick out any flashes of reflection in the gloom.

Another rock shifted. It sounded bigger. And then, a rustle as of something moving - maybe clothing. And, finally, barely above a whisper, rusted near-silent with disuse, a voice said:

"Hello?"

Wolfwood's heart sped up. He widened his eyes, searching for any visual sign. "Here," he said. "I brought a light."

He lowered his hand and cast more light out into the hold. He'd moved into an area where - he just now noticed - the stones were different. Cracked and flaked, laid out so they were more stable underfoot. At the far edge of the light, he finally saw it - the haint, the beast - coming into the pool of light, hunched but walking on two legs.

It was… a man. Just a man. Face partly covered by the huge swath of tattered, dirt-brown cloth wrapped around him, the person shuffled into the candlelight, hand held up to shield his eyes. "Hello?" the man whispered again.

"God," Wolfwood breathed. "How - who are you, why are you down -?"

The man reached up and pushed the makeshift cloth hood back from his face, freeing a long, ragged fall of pale hair. And he peered forward, and blinked his eyes a little wider, trying to make out Wolfwood against the light. His lips parted, barely, as though he was trying to find words.

And Wolfwood recognized him.

"Jesus, fuck," Wolfwood hissed, scrambling backwards immediately. He turned in the small space and banged his head on the deck above him as he fled for the hatch and safety, heart suddenly in his throat, hammering louder than the ocean just outside the hull. The candle dripped hot wax on his knuckles as he failed to hold it upright, so he dropped it. He slid and twisted his ankle but kept going, splinters in his fingers as he hunted along the deck for the hatch, the hatch, let him out, shit, he didn't want to die at those hands -

Behind him, he thought he heard another sound, but his hand suddenly met movement and he shoved the hatch cover out of the way. He extricated himself from the ballast hold like an eel, jammed the hatch cover down, and heaved the water barrels back on top of it with more strength than he'd used in years. He was flushed, hot, breathing hard, and his mouth tasted of copper - he'd bit his tongue.

That man - that - how -?

It was the captain.

[burningsolarsystem]

So I know the whole "would you choose the bear" thing kinda died down, and I wasn't going to post this vent, but recently a family member brought it up recently and he pissed me off so:

Tw: Vent, implied/mentions Sa/rape, etc (if you know the trend, you know what to expect)

Also, I use "you" a lot. It is either a general you target to a specific group of people or at the family member.

So the other day, my brother starts this conversation off with "You remember the whole if you were lost in the woods, would you rather come across a bear or a man? Well now there is a new one."

Which instantly set me on guard because last time we discussed this he told me that that trend offended him since women were choosing the bear. He said he found it offensive and tried to argue against the point. He didn't listen to any of the arguments I gave, basically just said "Okay, yeah but..." before arguing why it was wrong.

So anyways, I'm already on guard. He continues "Yeah its would 100 men or 1 gorilla win."

Okay. So guess I didn't have to be too worried. But since I was already on guard, I replied "Oh yeah, I've seen that one. How does that relate to the whole would you chose the bear or man thing though?"

He answered "Well they're both pointless internet trends."

What the fuck? Okay. So obviously I respond with "So do you think the message of the bear vs man was pointless?"

And he has the nerve to raise his voice and say "Don't" as if I'm the bitch for bringing up the fact that he called something with an important message a pointless trend. Like I'm the jerk for calling him out. Idc if I'm the bitch or being argumentative. This is an important topic. Why you acting like I'm the one in the wrong? Like I'm arguing just to argue. Based in that "don't" you clearly know I'm upset. Or maybe you're just mad because I'm calling you out and making you realize maybe your not as good a person you thought. Whatever.

So he argues "Can't you agree that it blew up and got blown out of proportion with everyone getting hurt and making it personal for no reason." No reason?

The problem wasn't the fucking trend. The problem were the people who missed the fucking point. It was the girls who turned it into "boy bad, girl good" and it was the men who took it as a personal attack for no god damn reason.

Because, fun fact, the question was would I choose a bear or a RANDOM man. Not you specifically dumbass. How many men are in the world? The percent chance of picking you specifically are fucking slim. So why are you making it personal? Plot twist: the world doesn't revolve around you. You are not only guy in the world.

I dont know the exact statistics, but...

If I put a handful of shot glasses in front of you with one of them being poison, then asked you to pick one to drink, you probably wouldn't like those odds. Especially if I told you that that poison would be a slow and painful death, and there is a chance you survive, but the effects of the poison will affect you for the rest of your life. Doesn't sound great, does it?

You'd choose not to drink one. What if I offered you a different option. Pull a card from the deck, if it's the Ace of hearts, then you get stabbed. Much quicker death and a lower chance of death. If you had to pick one, you'd pick the second, right?

Oh, but not every glass is poisoned. Why are you so overdramtic? Maybe you should have built up a tolerance to poison so that this wouldn't have happened. Then you would have been fine.

See how stupid that sounds?

Get over yourself. The option is a RANDOM guy versus a bear. Even without specific statistics, basic research makes it clear the bear would be a safer option, a quicker death, and a nicer aftermath if you survive.

I swear, this is why I don't trust opening up to my family. Because this is how my brother is. Because it doesn't seem likely to support me in that type of situation.

Great. I feel so safe. /sar

Fuck him.

I choose the bear.

[ayemkew]

So I'm just joining the lovely tumblr HP fandom from AO3, and I'm hoping to gauge interest in an Age of Sail/Pirates AU! I've started plotting and written a few short scenes for this fic, which will be longform and mostly gen (with a few canon pairings featuring). Marauders and Auror gang will be the main POV characters, with other POVs making appearances here and there. But I'm not well-read outside my usual pairings! Has this been done to death already? Am I missing out on pirate shenanigan fics?

Who am I kidding, I'm writing this anyway. Here's an excerpt, see you soooooon

-

The waters were calm under vivid magenta skies.

If Tonks had learned anything from her years at sea with the Ministry service, it was not to trust Muggle superstitions about harbingers of good weather. The ocean was a fickle thing.

The magenta was quite nice, though, and worth trying out.

It was just a moment later, with her nose scrunched up and her hair shifting from acid green to deepest pink, that something on the horizon caught her eye.

She gripped the wooden railing with one hand, fumbling inside her scarlet Auror’s coat with the other. Once the telescope was in her grasp, she aimed it across the water and peered at the offending object with a frown.

A smooth-sailing brig ambled along the horizon, her white sails set aglow by the radiant pink of the setting sun. From the stern staff, blowing gently in the patient evening breeze, a flag of crimson and gold was stitched with strange, unfamiliar designs.

“Captain!” Tonks called back to the quarterdeck, where her commander was stationed at the wheel. “A ship, on the larboard side.”

The step-thump, step-thump of Captain Moody’s approach echoed over the noise of Dawlish up on the quarterdeck, scrambling to see what Tonks had caught sight of before him.

“Bearing?” grunted Moody as he drew level with Tonks and drew his own telescope.

“Two points abaft the beam, sir. I don’t recognize their colours.”

“Hm.” Moody’s scarred lips pursed. “Whatever that daft flag is, it doesn’t look like any Muggle ensign I’ve seen.”

He switched the telescope from his regular left eye to the swiveling electric blue one, metal touching upon glass with a disconcerting clink. Tonks had always wondered how well the eye’s penetrating abilities functioned through the lenses and mirror of a telescope, but Moody had never given her a straight answer.

“Not a Death Eater flag either, though,” she said, peering through her own scope again at the strange ensign. It looked handmade, and overly complicated in design, like a futzy crest of arms overpopulated with creatures of some kind. Dogs, maybe, and…were those antlers?

“Their heading is the same as ours,” Tonks added. “North-east toward Founder Isle.”

“Porting in Rowena,” said Moody.

“Maybe with prizes in their chests,” said Tonks, nodding.

Moody snapped his telescope shut with a frown. “Not without running them past us. Admiral Scrimgeour’ll have a bloody fit if he sees any more pirate booty smuggled through our port.” He stomped toward the hatch that led down to the lower decks. It was habitual for him, whenever they encountered a new ship, to retreat to his great cabin so he could inspect his foe glass and at least one sneakoscope.

“Dawlish!” he cried, already halfway down the ladder. “Hail the vessel a-larboard. Tonks, set course to intercept.”

“If they make a run for it?” asked Tonks.

Moody paused, gnarled hands just visible around the edges of the ladder, and his face twisted into a frightening half-smile as he looked up at her.

“Then we’ll bloody well pursue them, won’t we?”

[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.

[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

[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.