#Captain Hook sculpture

[doingdisneywithmark]

Latest Updates from the Disney Treasure: Disney Treasure Celebrates Float Out at Meyer Werft Shipyard

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

Taylor and Travis look so Grown Up in those pics, which idk what that even means, and maybe I’m just bi, but Travis will wear his 40s, 50s, 60s Very Well. (So will Taylor, as most people do!) idk I’m just watching a lot of people age in my life; neighbor kids, cousins graduating, my parents getting towards their 70s, my self starting to Look Different as I approach 28. Idk! Humans are so cool

[h50europe]

Tommy Kinard - post mortem

Minear thought of bringing Tommy back for FOUR episodes. He should have stuck to that plan. Because of the huge fanbase these two garnered since their first kiss, he hastily wrote Tommy into more episodes (it shows) and developed a shitty love story for them. Obviously, he did not know how to handle it because he saw himself forced to diverge from his original plan. His interviews about them were nothing but smoke and mirrors. Saying what fans want to hear to keep their hopes high. And we all fell for it. Since OS said he knew from early on in season 8 about the breakup or even earlier, it means, for Minear, he was done with them by the end of season 7.

Funny, wasn't that what the haters always said? That's why he wasn't included in Epi 1 - 3 because Minear stuck to his original plan, in which Tommy was long gone. More smoke and mirror interviews followed. Telling us bullshit like Tommy and Buck were a couple and thriving, well knowing he was done with them. And all the while, the haters knew about it. Fueled by hints of certain journalists. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I don't believe in coincidence. A journalist usually gets the episode a few days ahead of its airing. And often, they don't get the final cut. And then one of them "guesses" the title for episode 8.06 and part of its content? Yeah, sure. To me, it almost looks like Minear is dropping hints anonymously.

He blindsided BT fans from the get-go. I wondered why they shot 8.06 BEFORE 8.05. Then we got the answer when he explained that 8.05 happened to give the breakup "more shock value." Bullshit! 8.06 was a zombie episode from start to finish, with the cut emergency from season 7 and a plot about a boy in a drain (also a repeat, only with his brother as the hero). The scenes around Buck/Tommy felt like someone tried to put a square into a hole. In hindsight, even Josh's Glee speech gets a shallow taste. Madney's pregnancy felt like an offer of reconciliation to the audience. Hey, look, we have a breakup, but someone's having a baby again, hooray!

As we know, the breakup was written horribly. Again, it shows nobody had a plan (square, hole).

Tommy reminds me of an unfinished sculpture. We know he longs to belong somewhere and is jealous of the family the 118 has become. We know his former Captain Gerrard reminds Tommy of his dad, but that's about it. This is another proof that Minear didn't lose a second thought about Tommy Kinard when he brought him back.

So everything he told us in his interviews was a blatant lie, which he formulated when he saw how the audience appreciated Tevan and their genuine chemistry. Nobody thought that they were taking off like they did. And because it doesn't fit in Minear's concept, they had to do the shitty breakup by retconning Tommy and giving him the even shittier exit.

Sending Buck on his baking spree and watching Tommy "bubbling" him is nothing more than to console the audience and give them a "feeling that Tommy is still around." The general audience isn't as informed as the fans are. They hardly ever read interviews or talk about the show like fans do.

This explains why the plots around "Brad" were fully developed and executed. Minear stuck to his original concept. For my taste, the focus on this character was over the top, and he was never much appreciated among the audience and fans.

I wonder if Minear is even considering bringing Tommy back. I've seldom seen such inconsistent writing about a relationship or a character. Instead of appreciating the welcome and integrating this character into the show, he was treated worse than any other of Buck's LI. What did Minear think when he brought a character back that was part of the show in season 2 and hooked him up with one of the mains? The way this "bi awakening" was handled is cringe-worthy. "I wanted to get Buck off the hamsterwheel" - only to throw him back in. This could have happened a lot less complicated by making Buck drunk and having sex with a random guy. Show him now "suffering" when Minear says he will find a new LI that isn't meant to last, translating into "I made Buck bi although I haven't thought it through and have absolutely no plan what to do next."

An idea would be to bring Tommy back, integrate him, and make him part of Buck's life. It worked with Tarlos.

Someone just told me something very true (and I am allowed to share it): His (Tommy Kinard) season 2 exit was perfect. He showed positive growth, made good friends who threw him a lovely farewell party, and then he went away to pursue his dream career. I know we didn't care about him that time the way we do now, but the stark contrast between the two exits breaks my heart even more.

On a side note, get a grip on Eddie's storyline. From what I know, a half-naked dance through your apartment never solved any problems or had a healing effect...

[jhilsara]

Tie Me to You/Chapter 12

Chapter Summary: A group of family mini golf and a nap at the beach.

Word Count: 3.8k

<Last | Next>

Chapter Warnings: None

This fanfic will explore heavier emotions and will have eventual smut. Minors DNI

Can also be found on AO3 X

'Cause you could be the one that I love

I could be the one that you dream of

Message in a bottle is all I can do

Standin' here, hopin' it gets to you

You could be the one that I keep, and I

Could be the reason you can't sleep at night

Message in a bottle is all I can do

Standin' here, hopin' it gets to you

Message in a Bottle-Taylor Swift

Mika’s standing underneath the arch of the mini golf she’s dragged the boys to with a triumphant smile on her face. She throws her hands up with a touch of extra pizzaz as she displays the course behind her.   

The paint is chipping away and a sickly pale pastel, not by choice but sun damage. The few animatronics or sculptures that are displayed have an uncanny valley feeling to them. The water features that are visible are spewing like a fountain. Not to mention the run-down excuse of a pirate ship that has a fake cannon going off every fifteen minutes on the dot.   

Mika’s looking at the place with stars in her eyes and the pure excitement of a child.   

The only shared excitement is from Matthew who’s already claiming his putter and bright blue golf ball. He stands next to Mika already pointing out all the things he finds amusing and Mika nods in agreement. They find this place disgustingly charming. The others seem less than enthusiastic. It was her one request from this little vacation. One cheesy family activity. The incubi agreed but were already cringing at the thought of what was to come.   

“C’mon it’ll be fun! If anything, we can poke fun at it!” Mika says trying to twist it in a brighter light for them.   

She’s practically vibrating in excitement and already is taking a photo of the strange pirate at the entrance whose face has a thousand percent seen better days. He’s a weird mix between Captain Hook and Jack Sparrow. It’s undsure who he’s supposed to resemble the most, but his skin has been bleached by the sun so much his plastic is tinted yellow. Mika is cackling in laughter as she calls him Jaundice Jack.  

Erik crosses his arms clearly unamused by the odd statue. He cringes away as he passes it.  

“I mean, it looks like it’s pretty popular.” Damien softly agrees, grabbing his own club and black golf ball.   

“It just looks... grimy.” Erik says, cringing as he grabs a red golf ball. He almost physically recoils looking at the number of children running around and touching things.   

“That’s part of the charm!” Matthew adds helpfully, elbowing Erik playfully.   

“I suppose there must be a way to win this game?” James questions as he grabs a yellow golf ball, score sheet, and tiny pencil.   

“What, ya wanna make this a competition?” Sam jokes, but his tone suggests that he would be more than happy to participate in a friendly competition.   

Knowing those two, it would be anything but friendly. Erik sighs at his two brothers.  

Mika nods, grabbing a purple ball for her and hands a green one to Sam. “Well yea, I mean it functions by golf rules. The lower your score the better you’re doing.”   

Sam tilts his head, “The opposite of every other sport?” he questions.   

Mika smiles and shrugs, “Yeah but the point of mini golf is to have fun and that it’s cheesy. It’s not about the competition.”   

“Sounds like something a loser says.” James rebuttals quietly as he checks the clubs trying to find the perfect one.   

Mika freezes mid step and whips her head around to James. Feeling the irritation prick at her under her skin. She feels her own competitive nature pulling at her.  

“What was that?” She tries to get him to say it again.   

“Nothing, I just meant that usually people who are bad at games tend to only focus on the joyous aspects of it.” James says nonchalantly with a glint in his eyes that challenges her.   

She snatches her own putter off the rack and glares at the taller man, “Game on.”   

Sam lets out a loud guffaw and Erik sighs dramatically at the whole ordeal, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

Mika marches them out to the first hole and decides that this game is about pride and rightful bragging rights. Her only goal is to beat James after that backhanded statement. Nothing else matters to her besides making him eat his words.  

The first hole is a basic one with a small hill in the middle before the hole at the end. The whole course was pirate themed and had small signs that read out a storyline about Blackbeard and Davy Jones, but the text was so faded no one could really decipher it.   

They decide to rock paper scissors on the order they go in. They go in the order of Erik, Damien, Mika, Sam, Matthew, and lastly James. James kept the paper to keep scores, being the least likely to cheat on paper.  

Almost every single one of them played a dirty game though, except for Erik. Who, while trying to have a good time, just wanted to get this over with as soon as humanly possible. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with his family, it was just going through the motions of dealing with loud children running around and being disgusting. There was a family one hole ahead of them and Erik watched as the child eating ice cream rubs the melting chocolate on the bench they’re sitting on.  

Erik grimaces and notes to not sit anywhere.  

Erik goes first, not even trying to aim his ball at all, and sends it close to the hole. He steps aside to let Damien go next. Damien tries to aim and much like Erik gets his ball close to the hole. Mika goes next and takes her time, lining herself up with the ball and the hole. Usually, these courses were a little deformed and not perfect, but she wasn’t going to be outdone by James trying to be a smartass. She easily gets a hole in one and triumphantly turns to look at them with a smirk.   

“Perfect first try.” She says as she goes to pluck her purple ball from the hole. She’s in a short tennis skirt and she pauses before bending over. She squats to grab her ball and bounces back up trying to not flash her friends.  

As she bounds off to the side, she notices Damien shooting Sam daggers with his eyes. Sam’s face is red as he sets up his ball and his eyes flash up to her briefly.  

Was Sam looking at her when she bent down? He seemed so flustered.  

 A rotten thought passes through her mind. She might as well have fun with it and test her theory, she’d purposefully try to bend over in front of him. See if she’s correct.  

Sam shrugs his shoulders and brushes off Damien’s gaze. He straightens up and aligns himself. He swings his putter but doesn’t think about his strength. He shoots the ball way too far and it skips over past the next hole and into the small manmade lake that the pirate ship sits in.   

“Maybe not so hard Sam.” Erik sighs and rolls his eyes at his brother.   

“If this wasn’t minigolf, that would have been great!” Matthew says, trying to be helpful.   

“Wasted one swing...” James marks down on the score sheet, looking up at Sam with a mischievous glint.   

Mika tries to not laugh, and she just walks by Sam, patting his back, “I’ll go grab another ball... or two.”  

Once Sam attempts again, he still over shots it. This time it stays inside in the green way. Sam shrugs and steps over towards Mika off the course.   

Matthew goes next, and he doesn’t line himself up or even really look at the hole. He swings and immediately gets a hole in one.   

“Are you kidding me?!” Sam exclaims.   

“Wow! Are you sure you’ve never played Matthew?” Mika asks.  

Matthew practically skips to the hole and grabs his golf ball. He just shrugs but sends a bright smile toward her.   

“Nope! Maybe I’m just naturally skilled!” Matthew says happily.  

James closes them out and goes last. He takes his time, lines up his putter, and immediately almost gets a hole in one. He does hit Sam’s ball away from the hole and Mika almost thinks that he does it on purpose.   

Sam’s eye twitches and he grits his teeth but doesn’t say anything.   

The group finishes the hole, and the score places Mika in first and Sam in last. It took him another three hits, all of which he overshoots, to finally land the ball in the hole.   

“And that’s five in total. Rough start Sam.” James says with a small smirk.   

Sam’s irritation grows and Mika bites her lip trying to stifle her laughter. It’s a rinse and repeat as they play through the course.   

Mika consistently goes before Sam, and she obnoxiously takes her time and bends over in front of him, flashing the curve of her butt. She doesn’t feel great about trying to fluster him, but it works every time. She turns to look, and his eyes are glued to her, and his face is red.  

Five holes in as she steps next to Damien and he’s giving her a disappointed look. Damien’s side eye is intense.  

He leans over while Sam’s taking his shot and he whispers, “You’re awful . I know what you’re doing.”  

Mika whips her head to look at him and her jaw drops. Her face flushes, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”   

Damien gives her a deadpan look and shakes his head.   

“It doesn’t take a mind reader to see you purposefully distracting Sam dear.” Erik responds with a chuckle.   

“Oh, piss off...” Mika finally mumbles and crosses her arms at being caught.   

During the course of the game, Sam does the worst. He’s broken at least two of the plywood decorations and lost another two in the water near the pirate ship. Matthew just started conjuring up golf balls for him so they wouldn’t have to walk all the way back to the front after the third ball.  

Erik is begging them to finish. He is dying to go to the local boutiques, and while he’s here to support a family activity, James and Sam’s competitive nature is grinding on his last nerve.   

Damien’s just about sick of everyone and is just ready to end it. If his nasty looks to Sam or Mika aren’t a big enough indicator, he also decides to cause chaos. He starts announcing everyone’s thought process as the line up to hit the golf ball.   

“Matthew isn’t thinking a single thought. He just hits the thing.”   

“Mika’s trying to do the math to see how many more hole in ones she needs to try to get to beat James.”  

“Erik is over all of us.”   

“Sam, hitting it super hard isn’t going to help you. We already owe this place for the previous two things you’ve broken.”  

“James every hole is actively targeting Sam’s ball to ruin his game.”   “I knew it! You prick!”  

It’s a hectic day to say the least.   

Matthew and Mika are maybe the only two having a genuinely good time. Matthew makes Mika take some photos while they’re waiting for the others to finish the hole on the pirate ship.   

The weird pirate animatronic keeps glitching out and his sound box sounds like gargled static. Matthew thinks it’s hilarious. Mika and Matthew play their own game of finding the weirdest thing on the course and taking photos with it.   

“What are you two doing? We’re moving onto the next hole.” Sam shouts to them while they're trying to recreate the scene in Titanic .  

“Creating memories Sam!” Mika shouts, grabbing her phone to look through the pictures.   

“You could join us if you weren’t so bad at mini golf.” Matthew adds with a wide smile. Sam just slugs Matthew in the arm. “You’re just a freak at this game Matthew.”  

James, when he isn’t harassing Sam, is actively keeping track of everyone’s score. He’s taking a sick pleasure in watching Sam fumble around, and while he teased Mika about being a loser, James never was intending to win this game.  Especially after seeing Matthew’s score. Matthew really was uncannily good at this. He just wanted to rouse them and add a little competition.  

By the time the group is at the final hole, they’re exhausted. Erik swings first, sending his ball into the pit and almost throws his putter back into the return rack. Begging them to just finish already, he just wanted a nap.  

Damien and Mika follow easily behind him. While it was an interesting evening, Mika could also go for a nap. She definitely had fun, even if it wasn’t mutually shared.  

Sam, finally, realizes he doesn’t have to hit the ball very hard for it to travel far. The last hole he finally doesn’t struggle with and it’s a surprising feat. He does, like Erik, almost throw his putter back into the return. Mika pats his shoulder reassuringly.   

Matthew and James just as easily end the final hole and it’s over.   

James stands there tallying their scores and he sighs handing it over to Matthew.   

“No surprise, but Matthew is a clear winner today.”   

“Finally! Something I’m good at!” Matthew cheers looking over the scores. His face turns into a frown quickly.   

“Oh, wow Sam, this is bad. Like genuinely bad.” He grimaces looking at Sam’s score.   

Sam whips his head to glare at his brother. “I get it. I was by far the worst. Keep going and I’ll drown you in the ocean tomorrow.”   

Mika claps her hands together before Matthew can respond, “Let’s go grab something to eat and head back to the hotel yea?”   

It’s their last day of vacation and Mika is laying out in the sun again. She has no plans besides laying there and day drinking. She’s been listening to an audiobook and has no plans to move anytime soon.   

She’s baking in the sun rays, and is roughly five seltzers in. She hasn’t really eaten much besides the breakfast she made that morning. She’s the only one really watching the group’s belongings. Well, as well as anyone who’s tipsy midafternoon can.  

Matthew and Erik are off in the water with Damien trying to teach him how to swim. They’re not more than knee deep in the water. Sam’s with them, more for moral support than anything else. He doesn’t necessarily have the patient skills for teaching, but for Damien he’d make an exception.  

She thinks she can see the silhouette of James off in the distance, but that’s wishful thinking. He went out immediately to hunt for more sharks' teeth. Mika thinks that he probably made it halfway to the pier she can see off in the distance.  

Mika feels a presence next to her and she opens her eyes to look up. It’s Sam. He brought a towel this time and laid it out next to her. He sits down and leans back using his arms as support. Letting the sun bounce off him.  

Mika readjusts her position after Sam settles down. She flips herself over onto her stomach and uses her arms as a pillow as she lays herself across Sam’s lap. He lets out a small laugh.  

“Comfortable?” Sam teases one hand running through her hair.  

All Mika does is mumble something that sounds like an agreement and press herself more into him, using him like a pillow.  

Sam ruffles her hair trying to get her attention. “Hey doofus, I’m talking to you.”  

Mika lazily smacks his leg and moves to look up at him, squinting at the bright sun, “I heard you I’m just resting my eyes.” She pouts at him.  

Sam pushes her hair back, and sees a glint reflect from the grocery bag they were using for trash that they brought with them. He sees the accumulation of seltzer cans and looks back down at Mika with a raised brow.  

“Are you drunk?” He asks through a laugh.  

Mika’s frown deepens, “Noooooooo.” She drawls out. “I’m just a little tipsy Sam. I just need a nap.” She shoves her head back down into her arms and snuggles against him. Trying to get comfortable again.  

Sam just scoffs and rubs soothing circles up and down her back. He spots Erik coming over to them and he pats her shoulder, “Well you’re going to take a nap inside.”  

“Nooooooooooooo.” she whines out, “but you’re so comfortable.”  

Sam rolls his eyes, “It’s much comfier inside. On your bed.” He reassures her.  

Sam stands up, helping Mika stand with him. “Can you walk?” he asks her.  

She nods sleepily but immediately stumbles on the soft sand. He catches her quickly with another shake of his head, “That’s a no then.”  

He moves to stand in front of her and crouches down, “C’mon, piggyback.” He tells her.  

She doesn’t hesitate and wraps herself around him easily. Her legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, his large hands holding her thighs easily. Her arms are wrapped around his shoulders and her head rests against his shoulder.  

Sam takes a few steps and lets Erik know he’s taking Mika in. The sun and booze are getting to her. Erik just waves them off with a knowing look over his sunglasses.  

“Will you nap with me like last time?” She murmurs against his shoulder.  

If Sam didn’t feel her move, he would have thought he hallucinated the request. He just shakes his head.  

“I’ll shower first and if you’re still awake I will. How’s that?” He talks to her like she’s a child and she pouts in response.  

“Nooo, you’re just going to trick me into passing out without you!” she scolds him.  

He snorts, “Caught me red handed.”  

Mika shoves her face into his neck and whispers, “Please Aomaris .”  

Mika feels Sam shake through a body chill as his grip on her thighs tightens. He’s gritting his teeth and freezes briefly. He lets out a deep sigh, “Yea. Alright. You win.”  

He swallows hard, his mouth feeling too dry.  

“Thank you!” She drawls out happily and leaves a soft kiss on his cheek.  

“Whatever...” He scoffs out.  

Mika knows better though; she can feel how flustered he is. His heartbeat almost doubled in speed as she nestled against his neck.  

He carries her into the hotel room and plops her down on the bed. Mika bounces slightly and giggles, more to herself really. He turns and smiles at how content she looks as she giggles on the bed. She looks up at him and flashes him a wide grin.  

Sam feels himself melt at her reaction. The way she smiles is so bright, it’s like the sun. She makes him feel warm and safe that’s different from the red hot furry of anger he’s much more accustomed to.  

He prefers this feeling.  

Mika demands his attention quickly as she raises her hands up, opening and closing them quickly. Telling him she wanted him to come closer. He just shakes his head and crosses his arms.  

“What are you? Five?” He teases her.  

She groans and frowns at him, “Would you just get in the bed already, I’m tired.”  

He listens to her requests and shoves her over, “Fine, you’re so pushy!”  

His light joking tone has her giggling as she rolls over making room for him. As soon as Sam’s in bed Mika basically lays on top of him. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls herself closer to him pressing her face into his neck to get comfortable.  

Sam goes rigid under her.  

The two of them are still in their swimsuits and Mika’s string bikini is leaving very little between their bodies. As she presses herself closer, her breasts rub against his chest and Sam tries his best to not blatantly stare down at her exposed chest. He keeps his hands to his side, afraid to move too suddenly.  

Mika picks up on his sudden stillness and she moves to look over at him. His face looks like he’s short circuiting and Mika tilts her head in confusion.  

“You know you can hold me, right?” She asks, a little disappointed he’s not moving.  

Sam visibly chokes before he responds, “Uh yeah, just uh, didn’t want you to think I was being handsy cause you’re drunk.”  

Mika removes herself from Sam and sits up straight looking at him her face soured, “Sam, I’m not drunk , and any buzz I did have you just ruined.”  

She sighs and looks at him earnestly, “I’m genuinely asking you to lay with me and cuddle. Okay?”  

Sam’s face flushes as he blinks a few times letting her words settle in his head. “Yea, uh yea. Got it.” He rushes out, voice cracking.  

She lays back down, placing her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his torso. Sam hesitantly wraps his own arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. He presses his face into the crown of her head.  

She takes a deep breath in contentment. It lasts for a few seconds before her eyes shoot open and she bolts back up and looks at him frantically.  

“Unless you don’t want to and I’m totally forcing you to do this, oh my god.” Her words come out rushed as she looks mortified at him. Mika’s eyes are wide, and she shoves her face in her hands to hide from embarrassment.  

Sam blinks at her and immediately his face cracks as he snorts. Full body laughter rolling through him as he looks at her. He grabs her hands to move them away from her face as he tries to stifle his fit of cackles rolling through him.  

“This isn’t funny Sam!” She whines as she looks at him, face bright red.  

He moves to sit up, facing her directly, wraps his arms around her waist and falls back onto the bed. He pulls her to lay on top of him. Sam smiles up at Mika and gives one last chuckle.  

“It’s fine Mika.” He reassures her, his grip tightening a bit as she relaxes against him.  

“You just made me so nervous! Wasn’t expecting you to throw yourself at me.” He jokes looking down at her smugly.  

Her face heats up and her blush darkens. She scowls at him and snacks his chest, “I did not throw myself at you!” she cries in a pitched voice.  

Sam just laughs, keeping a firm hold on her, “I’m just teasing you calm down.”  

“ Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam! ” She groans in irritation. She tries to hide her face in his chest, but he won’t let her.  

“Calm down doofus,” he pulls her hands up to his lips and kisses them gently. “let’s just take a nap now alright?”  He whispers softly to her.  

Her face is still burning, but he lets go of her hands, flips them onto their sides and throws the blanket over them. He grabs her waist and pulls her closer to him. Mika sighs and moves her arms to wrap around his torso, settling into his chest.  

“You’re such a dick.” She mumbles into his chest.   

Sam scoffs but leans down to kiss the top of her head. “You like it.” He holds her a little tighter and it doesn’t take much longer for them to fall asleep like that.

[chakjoe]

A Pinteresten szinte naponta kapok figyemeztetést ,hogy olyan képeket teszek fel ami sérti a közizlést!A képet most láttam először,őszintén megmondom,hogy tetszik és közszemlére adom!Napokig rá sem nézek a Pinterestre,és ha odakapcsolok mindig megrónak ÁRTATLANUL!Remélem,hogy nem vagyok egyedül!

[sciencestyled]

Oscillating Octaves: A Sonic Soirée with Science and Art

Yo, fam! Strap in, because I’m about to drop a beat on the wildest party ever—the bash where acoustic science and visual art collide like avocados and toast at a millennial brunch fest. It’s not your grandma’s tea party; this is where learning science with art gets lit!

Picture this: an oscilloscope and a spectrum analyzer walk into a bar. No, it’s not the start of a nerdy joke; it’s our classroom, baby! These gadgets are like the DJ and VJ of our science rave, showing off what those sick beats look like when you throw them down in a lab instead of a club. When we crank up tunes, from Beethoven to Beyoncé, these tools don’t just listen; they show us the music. We’re not just rocking out; we’re watching the very anatomy of sound—visualized!

Now, let’s geek out a sec about what’s really going down when the bass drops. Every thump, every tweet, every sick harmony you can bust a move to is just a bunch of air molecules vibing hard. But with our techy plus-ones, the oscilloscope and the spectrum analyzer, it’s like having X-ray glasses at a dance party. You see, sound travels in waves, and these waves have all the ups and downs of a Kardashian love life—full of peaks and troughs.

Each musical note is like a different character in the Marvel Universe. Imagine hitting a middle C on a piano—it’s like summoning Captain America. Solid, reliable, totally heroic. Crank up the pitch to a high C, and now you’ve got Spidey swinging in—lighter, quicker, scaling skyscrapers of frequency. The oscilloscope traces these vibes in real time, showing us a live feed of sound waves faster than your Twitter feed updates.

And what about that spectrum analyzer? It’s the ultimate gossip columnist for sounds. It breaks down every note into its own juicy story, telling us who’s who in the harmonic get-together. It’s like those color commentary guys at sports events but for music. This device spills the tea on which frequencies are crashing the party and which ones are just wallflowers.

Let’s crank up a track and see these tools in action. Say we fire up some classic rock—Led Zeppelin’s "Stairway to Heaven." The guitar solo kicks in, and it’s like Thor going ham with Mjolnir, each note striking with cosmic power. On the oscilloscope, it’s a visual thunderstorm—waves going wild. And the spectrum analyzer? It’s mapping out every note, showing us a rainbow of sound frequencies, each color blipping in and out like lights at a rave.

But wait, there’s more! Ever wonder why some tunes just feel different? Why does listening to Billie Eilish feel smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy? It’s all in the waveform, baby. Billie’s beats are sleek, her bass lines clean—on the oscilloscope, they’re flowing like the River Styx, smooth and uninterrupted. Meanwhile, heavy metal is more like a Game of Thrones battle scene—chaotic, intense, with waves crashing like swords.

Now, let’s flip the script and get interactive. Imagine using these visual tools to create art. That’s right—turning science into sculptures and sound into splashes of paint. We hook up paint to speakers and play different genres. Hip-hop might throw up bold, aggressive splatters, while classical music paints a precise, orderly mural. It’s like each genre has its own brush style, and the canvas reveals the personality behind the playlist.

In the grand scheme, this isn’t just about jamming out to tunes or getting an A in physics. It’s about seeing the invisible, hearing the untouchable, and learning the unthinkable. It’s about breaking down barriers between disciplines like a Kool-Aid Man meme—oh yeah! We’re not just students or artists; we’re modern alchemists, turning vibrations into visuals, and classrooms into crucibles of creativity.

So next time you plug into Spotify, remember, there’s a whole other show going on beyond those earbuds—a visual concert, where every track is a brushstroke, and every beat is a burst of color. Who knew science could be so dope?

And that, my friends, is how we ride the waveforms—surfing the sonic seas, visualizing vibes, and throwing the ultimate learning party where art meets science in a symphony of sight and sound. Oops, I mean a wild, wacky wonderland of sight and sound (symphony is so last semester).

So keep your eyes wide, your minds open, and your playlists ready—because in this lab, every discovery is a drop, and every experiment is an encore. Welcome to the jam session of the future, where education is electric, and art is acoustic. Turn up, tune in, and rock out!

[classicpirates]

OFFICIAL: LEGO House Exclusive Set "40504 A Minifigure Tribute"

If yer been keeping pace with the Classic Pirates yer should know we intercepted a rumour regarding an upcoming pirate-themed set which was about to be announced. Well, by thunders it's been officially announced on the LEGO House website and now we can confirm the images circulating earlier were indeed the new 40504 A Minifigure Tribute set. We can also confirm the set has 1,041 pieces and retails for 599 DKK ($85 USD / AU$126) exclusively at the LEGO House store from March 1 onward. The set features Captain Redbeard as a brick-built figure approximately 30cm/11.811' tall, holding a treasure map which contains cryptic references left by the product designers. And if yer look closely, you'll find a blue LEGO House wristband behind the hook.

Captain Redbeard as a LEGO House Exclusive set: 40504 A Minifigure Tribute Aye, we know there be many a LEGO Pirate fan with hands clasped to their face, wailing in frustration; "why can't we have a classic-style set like a ship or fort? WHY LEGO Group? WHY?!?!?" But let's rejoice for them who genuinely be interested in this fine sculptural piece.

Here be the front of the box - would yer like to see it unboxed?

And on the back of the box we get some really clever alternate buil... ahhh.. we get a history lesson The LEGO Group Announces: LEGO® House Exclusive – A Minifigure Tribute This year marks the 45th anniversary since the LEGO Group launched the very first LEGO minifigure in 1978. Since then, more than 10 billion minifigures have been produced in more than 8000 variants. You can take part in celebrating the legendary minifigure by building the iconic Captain Redbeard, this year's LEGO House Exclusive set. The finished figure, complete with a peg leg, pirate hat, and hook, is approx. 30 cm. high and consists of 1041 bricks. This exclusive set is sold from 1 March 2023 and is only available in the LEGO store in LEGO House, Billund, Denmark. Each year, the LEGO House Exclusive sets pay tribute to the most iconic LEGO Group stories. 'A Minifigure Tribute' is the fourth set in the series. These special sets can only be bought in the LEGO Store at LEGO House. Want to Meet the Designers? Be out the front of the LEGO House LEGO Store between 4 and 5PM CET on the March 3rd or 17th. There, you can meet and greet the LEGO designers responsible for this product, Stuart Harris and Markus Rollbühler.  Concept models will on display and you can even chat with the designers and "get your box signed". The official information doesn't specify which "box" though. Did you know 10 Billion Minifigures have Been Produced? It's hard to imagine LEGO play without the minifigure. Who is the tiny LEGO minifigure really? The answer may surprise you because the minifig was created to be you. With the minifigure, you can magically become part of any LEGO build. You can sail the oceans like Captain Redbeard, the model you can build in this year's LEGO House Exclusive box, just to name one example. He was originally part of the 6285 “Black Seas Barracuda” box, a large pirate ship with two masts, sails, a crew, and of course a real pirate captain. Now he has become his very own LEGO set - with 1041 bricks and lots of building fun! The minifig was created to be me?  Then why did yer trademark me so I can't reproduce meself elsewhere? Special Events which YOU Can Attend In Person Get out and meet people in the real world! Aye, the real world of little plastic people. You can attend in person on March 1st at 4:15pm CET at LEGO House. You shall witness Redbeard being presented live by the designers, along with the background information on how this set was developed. The ticket price will be a paltry 799 DKK per person and this includes the Redbeard set exclusive valued at 599 DKK... so the event only costs 200 DKK - a steal, really... Book yer tickets here. Online Or you can watch online on March 2nd at 3.00pm CET live at Instagram which will be the same thing, just cut short after the Q&A ends (no play time for you!), only with a camera pointed at the designers. So follow LEGO House on Instagram or you won't know where to watch. Wait!  Who IS Captain Redbeard? If yer a youngin' who's just enrolled in the Classic Pirates crew, Captain Redbeard was the original LEGO Pirate captain who debuted along with the LEGO Pirates theme back in 1989 - aye, between 50 or 60 years ago, or something... He was originally included with 6285 Black Seas Barracuda, 6270 Forbidden Island and 6251 Pirate Minifigures.

The evolution of Captain Redbeard Over the years various other pirate captains have appeared, including the infamous Ironhook and Brickbeard, but Redbeard has prevailed, undergoing various design updates. Conceived by Niels Milan Pedersen (aye, that his papa), Redbeard is the first LEGO minifigure to sport a beard and deviate from the standard minfig mould to include piratical features like a hook and pegleg. The official press release also offers a rationale for the enlargement of the good captain: The original Captain Redbeard minifigure from 6285 Black Seas Barracuda was created by Niels Milan Pedersen, and we chose to recreate this iconic figure in large scale for this year’s LEGO House Limited Edition set. Niels has been involved in the development of many popular LEGO sets during his long but still-active career as a LEGO designer. However, of all his many sets, his favourite set is still 6285 Black Seas Barracuda from 1989. Captain Redbeard is an intricate design with lots of fun details such as a hook for hand, peg leg, epaulettes on his shoulders, and a black captain’s hat with the ‘Jolly Roger’ emblem. All of that is meticulously recreated in this new set. The build stands 30 cm tall and consists of 1041 LEGO bricks and as a little extra detail, the pirate has a LEGO House bracelet on his hook hand and a treasure map in his hand with a secret reference to the designers behind the product! They seem to have forgot to include a parrot! Who Are These Designers, Anyway? A handful of aspiring reviewers have already received a preview of the set and a presentation of its development from Stuart Harrisand Markus Rollbühler, along with a special appearance by Niels Milan Pedersen. Here are some stills...

This be "Master Builder" Stuart Harris... thinks we seen him in that other Instagram video

Here's Niels Milan Pedersen  Unboxing Video If yer curious about what's included in the box and the figure's articulation be sure to take a gander at this: Spoiler alert: the map is actually a sticker! Alas, there be no gigantic printed map tile. What Do Yer Think?

Captain Redbeard with Stuart Little on his shoulder - yarrrhaaaa, could resist, mates! Does this announcement warm the cockles of yer piratey heart? Will you attempt to procure your very own 40504 A Minifigure Tribute? Or are you seething with disappointment because yer hopes were held high for a classic-style LEGO Pirates set? Share your thoughts with the Classic Pirates in the LEGO Pirates Forum or on the Facebook Post so we can cheer together... or console you, if that's what you need. Read the full article

[wonderland-alice]

[hannahhook7744]

Since Harriet, Harry, and CJ are half fae, their children are one-quarter fae. What, if any, fae powers and tendencies do they have?

Well, they all have fae tendencies. That is to say, Never fae/fairy tendencies. But they really aren't that noticeable.

They've also inherited certain physical traits from them.

(Captain Tremaine's kids):

Tommy has the never fairies' pointy ears and glassy looking eyes.

Katie has the wings.

They both get cold easily.

(Cevon's kid):

Carter on the other hand, has all three but he also has very, very pale skin and very light blonde hair. But unlike his cousins, he gets overheated very easily.

(Hooked Princess/Haudrey's kids):

And then there's Harry and Audrey's kids (going with Audrey cause while I also ship Huma, I feel like their kids have already been explored by others. And I already have ocs for them. So that's what's happening here) who are all over the place.

Alex takes after the Autumn fairies in the looks department. Mordermore takes after the spring fairies. Jesse takes after the Winter fairies. And Annie takes after the summer fairies.

Alex, Annie, and Mordermore get cold easily while Jesse gets sunburnt and overheated easily. And out of them, only Mordermore has wings.

And each of them have their own style that is both a mix of their parents' and of the respective fairies they take after. Even if they don't know it.

As for their powers... well, as I said, they really aren't that noticeable.

Tommy is suspiciously good at gardening.

Katie is good at alchemy. Mainly Dust alchemy.

Carter never seems to get cold and always seems to find the most interesting snow flakes. And is great at making ice sculptures.

Mordermore is great with animals. So much so that none ever hurt him. Much to everyone's confusion.

Jesse is good at telling stories and lying. Ridiculously good.

Annie can look right into the sun without burning her eyes and the room gets darker when she's angry.

And Alex can get water to do whatever he wants it to do, though no one really noticed it at first.

🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️

In case your curious, this is how they look:

Tommy has short red hair, freckles, pinkish skin, glassy blue eyes, and pointy ears. He's also short, though no one knows how considering his parents are both ridiculously tall.

He takes after the summer fairies in looks and style.

Katie is of an average height with short, brown hair and bright brown eyes. Wings wide, long, and shiny.

She takes after spring fairies in looks and styles.

Carter is taller than both of his parents. Hair cut into a Mohawk, hair a very light blonde. Eyes like his dad. Freckles sprinkled on his nose. Blue streak on his hair. Skin pale. Scar over his right eye.

He took after the winter fairies in style and looks.

Mordermore has his mom's skin tone, his dad's hair and his mom's eyes. Wings large. Bird egg earrings. Flower crown resting on his head. Hair long. Tall and lengthy. Thin.

He took after the spring fairies.

Alex looks like an exact mix of his parents. Short hair slightly darker than his mom's but skin lighter than hers. Eyes a mix of brown and blue. Tall and lean but muscular.

He took after the Autumn fairies in looks and style.

Annie has her mom's hair, though hers is curlier and her dad's eyes. She has her dad's nose and her mom's face. Though she also got freckles from somewhere, like her aunt Harriet before her and her cousin Carter.

She took after the summer fairies in looks and style.

And Jesse?

He has long, wild black hair that can occasionally be found in a braid. His eyes are brown like his mom's, he has her nose and his dad's ears. He wears eyeliner in the way his dad does.

He takes after the winter fairies in looks and style.

I hope that answers your questions.

And if anyone ever draws them, send me the pics! I'd love to see it!

[doingdisneywithmark]

Latest Updates from the Disney Treasure: Peter Pan & Captain Hook Stern Character Sculptures Installed

🚢 Welcome to the official ship's log for the Disney Treasure! Follow along for an exclusive look into the shipbuilding milestones. 🌟 Peter Pan and Captain Hook sculptures are adding Disney magic to the ship! #DisneyCruise #DisneyTreasure #DisneyDream

Welcome to the official ship’s log for the Disney Treasure! Follow along for an exclusive look into the complex ship building process as we document all the important milestones of the Disney Treasure’s journey. The Disney Treasure’s story began with the start of construction in January of 2023 and has continued to evolve ever since. Return here for the latest developments in the Disney…

[gruesomejack]

Seeing the small smile spread across the android's face brought on one of his own. As strange as this whole thing was, it was hard to not see ARLO as a sort of.. victim. It wasn't his fault he ended up this way, stuck in a spot between a program and the ghost of a dead man. And now that Felix was essentially his guardian, he hoped Captain Lyczek would get in touch. He felt responsible for fixing this mess.

Felix pushed himself up and jogged to the door, pulling a jacket from the hooks on the wall and throwing it on. "I think getting outside will be good for us both. I feel bad for keeping you cooped up here or dragging you back to the warehouse." He told him, his eyes sweeping ARLO's face. "Do you like art? There's a path we could detour on the way home. It's got a bunch of murals and sculptures." Instructing him to follow along with a nudge of his chin, he held the door open for him and waited until he was out to lock it behind them. "Honestly, if I hadn't gotten into this field, I probably would've went into video game development." He told him as he started to walk, "I love the arts, but I couldn't ignore that I was better suited for math and tech. Then my dad told me getting into the military school he went to would put me closer to my NASA dreams and I didn't even hesitate." Felix wrinkled his nose then and scrunched the side of his mouth in a grimace, "I should've hesitated. That was.. hell on earth."

Felix hopped down the apartment stairs and through the door to the outside. "After being discharged, I used my uniform to paint and help my sister renovate her house. Threw a bunch of pins and patches on it and now it's... something I can't ever wear around my father." He said, laughing a little. "Sorry. I hope you're not the type to think that's disrespectful, but I understand if you are."

Captain Lyczek,

My name is Felix O'Shea and I work for Genesis Artificial Intelligence and Technology. In the recent past, my company bought and acquired decommissioned technology from the now grounded Hermes. We intended to study it in depth to see if there was anything we could direct towards both public and private use, but after being booted for only an hour, our project manager immediately decided it was best to keep it decommissioned. However, such chances come only once in a lifetime and NASA tech is unparalleled when it comes to learning opportunities, so I took it upon myself to continue the endeavor.

And it seems, I may have misplaced my confidence. Not in the tech or in learning pursuits, but in my readiness to tackle... Well, I'm sure you're more than aware of ARLO'S condition. Just to make it clear, the AI developed for the Hermes is currently in a state of mental disarray. As I type, I'm a week deep into dancing around the bizarre fact that this computer is convinced it's the deceased astronaut Nolan Reynolds. In ARLO's brief moments of lucidity, it knows very well who it is and what it's intended to do, but it's main state seems to be... delusion.

I'm writing you because I'm trying my best to untangle this, but I'm afraid I'm missing pieces of information that could be vital. What we recovered of your unit is essentially just the physical CPU and ARLO's mechanical body. If you could spare anything at all, it would be more than appreciated. I hope I can look forward to hearing from you and discussing this in depth.

Thank you,

Felix

Glancing up from his laptop, Felix nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and watched his roommate for a quiet moment. The android was the strangest thing. Dressed in his clothes, wandering around his apartment like he was living and breathing-- In a way it almost reminded him of playing dolls with his sister or a game of Sims, but even in their soapy attempts at drama and suspense, they never reached the sort of depressed and demented scenario this was.

"...You up for a walk, Nolan?" He asked, setting the computer on the couch cushion next to him. "I could go for a coffee."

@purposefully-lost

[asset35-maya]

.When the party’s over.

>REINITIALISING…

>ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE

>WIRELESS CHARGING: 69%

>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: STABLE

>24H FILE RECOVERY: 45%

Nines slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his side and everything around him was quiet.

>ENVIRONMENTAL SCAN IN PROGRESS…

>THREAT ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

Layers of fabric covered his body and something soft and warm was pressed against his face. Eyes still shut, he nudged it gently with his nose and it emitted a low vibration.

>2% THREAT DETECTED: FELINE SUBJECT

The cat sprang upwards and hopped off the surface that Nines was lying on. It was ostensibly a bed, but Nines didn’t own any furniture apart from a couch and work table. The logical conclusion was that he was not in his own apartment.

>RUN LOCALISATION PROGRAM: Y/N?

>Y

>ERROR: PROGRAM FAILED TO EXECUTE

>ERROR: MEMORY FILE CORRUPTION

Nines had no absolutely recollection of his whereabouts or how he had arrived. He had not been compromised as his system health was stable, so there was probably another reason for being completely disoriented. It was voluntary.

He had gotten the android equivalent of blackout drunk.

It was not the first time and he feared it would not be the last. Such were the hard-partying ways of his friends and colleagues. They were all terrible influences. He loved them dearly, but they were terrible.

At 6PM every Friday, Chen and Miller would start things off rather innocently. “Hey there’s a new brewery downtown.” Or “My bartender cousin just hooked us up with a thirty percent discount!”

From there it wouldn’t take long for the DPD’s resident frat boys Connor and Gavin to gather a steady crowd of officers and check out the venue. If the vibes were good (which they almost always were), Sixty would get wind of things. Then the rest of the frat house would descend and total chaos would reign until the break of dawn.

SWAT Unit 32 was famous for its particularly destructive brand of revelry. Skinny dipping in private swimming pools, scaling skyscraper rooftops and causing media scandals were all par for the course. The day after Captain Allen’s birthday, the DPD crew spent the entirety of their bonuses to repair the collapsed ceiling of the Eden Club.

Nines couldn’t remember how he exactly he was coopted into the madness. Probably peer pressure. Connor insisted that he try thirium alcohol. Sixty said that he would regret being a loser and not joining them. Gavin had just held out a hand and double-winked. That did the trick.

One night blended into another and soon Nines had worked up quite a reputation of his own. He was the Casanova of the homicide department. The handsome devil… the hunter… the sex god. People would actually come by his desk and congratulate him on Monday morning.

Nines hated it but he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same thing over and over. Perhaps it was the appreciative clap on the shoulder from Gavin the morning after Sixty posted photos of a high-end Traci model giving Nines his very first lap dance.

Life at the DPD was the epitome of work hard, play hard. It seemed like one big party but deep down Nines knew they were all just slaves to their compulsions. He wondered whether it was because they needed to celebrate every demon they vanquished or whether they needed to wipe the troubling memories of doing so.

In Nines case, there were definitely things he needed to kill within himself. Some were nightmare inducing crime scenes, but some were memories so heart-wrenchingly sweet that he thought he might self-destruct if he were to dwell on them too long. There were things he couldn’t have and things he needed to erase from his brain.

Something touched his face gently.

>PERIPHERAL OBJECT DETECTED: HUMAN HAND

>THREAT ANALYSIS: NON-COMBATIVE

The hair on his forehead was brushed aside and fingers ran over his features. A thumb swept over his bottom lip and caressed his cheek.

Nines couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and come face to face with his most recent conquest. He lay still, frozen with regret as the hand continued to stroke his face.

The hand travelled down his neck and fell upon his chest. Nines caught it abruptly. It wasn’t even the month-end and his savings were badly depleted. He couldn’t afford round two. He retracted the synth skin down to his wrist and prepared the electronic payment credentials.

Fingers merely intertwined with his.

“Just take your money and go. I’ll tip extra if you delete everything from your hard drive.”

“What the phck are you talking about?”

Nines eyes flew open. Steel blue met storm green.

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP OVERLOAD

“Fuck!”

“Wow that’s flattering.”

Nines pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what had led to this absolute, unmitigated disaster.

“What the hell happened last night?”

Gavin looked affronted.

“You ruined our housewarming for one.”

>MEMORY ARCHIVE SEARCH: housewarming, Gavin

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “G.REED” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:33 18 JULY 2040: Assholes. Party at our new place. Next Friday. From seven till LATE. Bring booze, bring bitches. Nah. Actually, don’t. Our landlord’s a bastard and we already got three noise complaints.

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “CONMAN” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:34 18 JULY 2040: Yeah we should keep this one PG. Bring food if you wanna eat. This mf can’t cook and I don’t care to. See y’all!!

Oh right. Fuck. Gavin’s housewarming. Gavin and Connor’s housewarming. His two closest friends who were somehow even closer to one another. Nines hadn’t realised until it was far too late and there was nothing for him to do but smother the bitterness with his favourite coping mechanisms: android alcohol and paid sex.

The circumstances definitely explained the state he was in, but things still didn’t add up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did we… did we…”

“No. Nothing happened between us. You were completely shitfaced. I just put you to bed to stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling, struggling to put the pieces together. His system offered him no useful prompts. The fermented thirium had done its job of code corruption extremely well. He looked back down and met the green eyes focused on him with deep concern.

“What did I do?”

“Sixty has videos, but I don’t think you want to see them. God, Nines… why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I’m really sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean to ruin your night… and Connor’s.”

“He’s fine. He and Sixty moved the crew to Hank’s place. Which is what we should have done in the first place… there’s really no point throwing a party in this shoebox and telling people like Tina Chen to be quiet. Honestly if it wasn’t you it would have been her bringing the house down. Good thing they had all of Michigan Drive to tear up. Hank’s neighbours can sleep though a bombing.”

“What did I do?”

Gavin put his hand back on Nines’ face, his expression unintelligible. The human touched him often enough, but never like this. Never so intimately. Nines forced down the twisting sensation in his torso. He couldn’t get his hopes up. This was pity.

Nines braced himself to hear the worst. He prepared for the shredding of all his dignity and the collapse of his falsely extroverted and confident identity.

What came though was a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“It wasn’t pretty and I wish it hadn’t happened like that, but I think it was a long time coming… I’ve never seen you so emotional before. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything all this while.”

“Gavin, please.”

“I’m going to focus on the positives, because really… there were a LOT of negatives. Oh boy. You… uh…”

“Gavin.”

The detective dipped his head and looked away.

“Phck, I shouldn’t be so embarrassed…

You told me you loved me.”

Nines closed his eyes. That was it. He should quit his job and move to another state. Hell, he should go to Cyberlife and request a factory reset on compassionate grounds.

“I’m so sorry. I… I should leave.”

He made to sit up, but was pushed back into the mattress. Gavin curled into his side.

“Nah. You’re good.”

“What?”

“You threw up on my plants and smashed Connor’s RA9 sculpture, buuuut you’re good.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gavin wrapped his arms around Nines and edged closer until the android was forced to turn on his side and reciprocate.

“What do you think, genius? If a guy like me doesn’t throw a guy like you out of the house after all that… what does it mean?”

“That you have a high tolerance for toxic friendships?”

“It means I want you to stick around, dipshit.”

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP RATE FLUCTUATIONS. OVERLOAD IMMINENT.

“You mean you like me?”

“Of course I do! I always have, but it never seemed right to bring it up. We’re actually really good friends. I didn’t think it would be possible when we first met but we have so much in common.”

“Bad habits for sure.”

“Come on, Nines. We’ve had a really great time together. Some of my best memories at the DPD are with you. Don’t ever quote me on it but you’re a phcking amazing partner. Can’t believe you thought I had something going with Connor when it’s always been you.

So yeah, I do like you. And I’m willing to try… I dunno… being with you. Like for real.

Stop drinking like that, though. I know I’m a hypocrite but you really scared me last night. I lost my Dad and I nearly lost Hank to the bottle. You might be this super advanced android, but that liquid courage shit is a death trap, man.”

>SYSTEM ERROR: THIRIUM PUMP AT MAX FLOW RATE. PUMP OVERLOAD. REDUCE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY!

Nines nodded quickly and blinked away the tears that welled up in his eyes. Gavin grasped the android’s chin and tipped his face down gently. Their eyes fluttered shut simultaneously and their lips met.

>SYSTEM RECOVERY MESSAGE: THIRIUM PUMP FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED

They broke apart after several golden moments and Gavin hugged Nines tightly under the sheets.

“What am I supposed to say to the others? I don’t think I can look any of them in the eye ever again.”

“Are you serious? You got nothing on the insanity that bunch is capable of. Sixty thinks he’s hot shit with his blackmail material, but I got receipts that’ll glue his mouth shut for decades. Anyway, that’s what friends are meant to be like. You have dirt on each other but you’re not meant to use it.

The same applies to us too, by the way. Don’t feel like you gotta be… apologetic about what happened last night. Yeah, you better replace my fancy new plants but I’ll never judge you for what happened. I want you to know that I’ll always be in your corner, Nines.”

Nines hummed thoughtfully and ran a hand though Gavin’s hair, marvelling at the fact that he could now do so whenever he wanted. He didn’t say anything in response, and just settled for cuddling closer to the human.

>>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: EXCELLENT

[mothandpidgeon]

Ok but since you are writing a Regency piece...could you imagine having Din Djarin and Marcus Pike fighting over you? Each of them is so different and you can't help it because you're attracted to both of them because Din is the brooding yet kind introverted man that quotes to you poetry and takes you on long boat rides (with someone else of course because he cares about your image) and you're head over heels in love but then Marcus comes along and he's dashing and sweet and a little introverted but mostly talkative whenever he has to be and although he doesn't read to you poetry, he does gush about how none of the Greek and Roman and Etruscan sculptures and Italian works of art come close to your beauty and he takes you on long walks in gardens and even invites you to go to Versailles one time with him and then the three of you run into each other during one of the balls and the two are begging just for a moment with you and you're dancing with no one else but them during the entire night and when you try to go to the garden to get some fresh air, you're bombarded by the two men and they get into a heated argument to the point where they say that they will duel for you but you stop them both because you don't want either of them to get hurt and then...oh my sweet lord...and then, you take each of their hands and kiss their knuckles and fuck you shouldn't be doing this because what if someone sees and your reputation and no no no...but they both grow even more shy and you smile at them and-

"How about you invite us over to your estate Captain Djarin? I'm sure we can all...come to an agreement. Right?"

And the two are so confused but when they look at each other and return their gaze to you, they finally realize what it is you're talking about and they're both appalled by your offer but their shock slowly subsides because they fucking crave you and they nod and you throw each one of them a wink and-

"I'm looking forward to the invitation, good evening gentlemen."

And AHHHHHHHHHHH I DIE!!!!!!!!

Ok, Maggie, you went SO HARD on this one. Phew. You really know how to torment me!!! You are always welcome in my inbox. Considering the tale you wove, I really hope this lives up to it and you’ll have to forgive me I could go on but I was already approaching 1.5k words!!

Also I hope you don’t mind (and apologies to Regency!Din) but the mention of Versailles just screamed late 18th century (an important distinction in my nerd brain) so…

A/N: 18+! This ribbon bit comes from Barry Lyndon so apologies to the ghost of Stanley Kubrick.

It was a shame that Misters Djarin and Pike detested one another so when they had so many similarities. Both of them were kind and sweet and terribly handsome.

Mr. Pike accompanied you to the opera on more than one occasion. In the privacy of your box, he would whisper sweet words into your ear and nudge the soft skin of your neck with his nose. Mr. Djarin was more of an outdoorsman. He took you riding on his estate. When you were far enough on the grounds, he would help you down from the saddle and recite poetry to you beneath a shady tree.

And yet seeing them side by side now in Mr. Djarin’s parlor where you’d just shared a very awkward tea, tension straining the air between them, they couldn’t be more different. Mr. Djarin, so reserved, dark and modest. Mr. Pike, flirtatious and warm, cheek always dimpled with a smile.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the wall between them but you’d been wise enough to plan for it.

“It seems I cannot force an accord between you but I know how men like their sport. I propose a wager. Nothing like a friendly competition to encourage affection,” you said.

Marcus cocked his eyebrow. He had wanted to win you since he’d met you last summer, pursuing you endlessly and yet this other man still stood in his way.

“I wonder which of you is a better hunter,” you said.

“And how would we prove that?” Mr. Pike asked. Din’s brow creased. He didn’t know how hunting had anything to do with your ludacris proposal, the one that they had both scoffed at at the ball. He wouldn’t have agreed to contemplate the thought if he hadn’t been so afraid of losing you.

You rose from your seat and both pairs of brown eyes watched you intently.

“I have devised a test. I’ve hidden a white ribbon somewhere on my person,” you said, trying to bite back your smile. “The better man finds it first.”

Both men looked at you in a stunned silence. Your heart was racing nervously but you were savoring their expressions. Mr. Djarin collected himself first.

“You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the ways in which women amuse themselves but I hardly find such a suggestion to be entertaining,” Mr. Djarin said, his cheeks turning pink.

He couldn’t pretend that the idea of undressing you didn’t make his heart pound but he hated how easily you would give yourself over to Mr. Pike. He disliked the way Pike flirted with you so openly. Of course, he knew some of it was envy— he had never been a charmer.

“I do not speak in jest, sir,” you told him.

“That is what you want?” Mr. Pike asked, his soft eyes already slipping lower. He was already thinking of places to explore.

You watched Mr. Djarin look away from you when he nodded.

“And the better man, does he win something?” Pike asked, enjoying how flustered the other man had become.

“My highest regard,” you answered coyly.

Marcus chuckled.

“Then the lady should get what she wants, don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Djarin.

Din cleared his throat.

“Very well,” he said.

Pike came to your side and took your hand to escort you to the couch where you sat between him and Mr. Djarin.

“Perhaps you should take the first turn,” you suggested to Mr. Djarin who was looking at you with a mix of fear and yearning in his eye.

He’d been so careful with you, always so cautious not to overstep or do anything at all that might invite scandal save a few soft kisses. And here you were laying yourself out for him. He swallowed dryly and met your eye with a shrug of surrender.

“Is it in your hair?” he asked, eyes darting up to your coiffure.

You smiled at him, nearly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. That protective nature was what drew you to Mr. Djarin in the first place. You knew what he really wanted, you could see it in his eyes, but he was too polite to take what was being offered. Not without convincing.

“I believe this requires a more thorough search, Djarin,” Pike said from over your shoulder.

He cupped your hands and turned them over as in a playful inspection, then lifted both of your arms. “No. Not there.”

You laughed and the noise made his heart jump. He’d found that he would make himself a fool if it put a smile on your face. Marcus was happy to take the opportunity to move in closer, to claim you with his touch. He brushed your neck so gently, his fingers tracing a ljne from your jaw to your shoulder where the bodice of your dress began. Goose pimples broke out on your skin and Marcus put his lips against your earlobe.

“I wonder,” he mused, leaning your back into his chest.

He hooked a finger under the fabric and followed the line down from your shoulder to the swell of your breast and you gasped. He had so often admired the rise and fall of your chest, Marcus couldn’t help but caress your skin with his thumb. Din felt himself stiffen as he listened to the soft moans Pike was drawing from you as he put a kiss on your skin. Watching your lips part, Din was frozen in place.

Marcus moved his hand down the straight front of your bodice and you felt yourself pulsing beneath your skirts.

“Perhaps under here?” he asked.

You allowed him to work the front of your gown open, the silk parting to reveal the creamy ivory stays below. Din felt twin aches in his chest and his groin as he saw the other man slide the bodice off of your shoulders.

Neither had seen you in such a state of undress before. Marcus took a moment to steady himself, admiring the figure below and sliding his hand across your middle. You were hardly naked, still clad in your stays, shift, and skirts but your underthings made his cock twitch.

“Now you see how the game is played and that Mr. Pike has been so far unsuccessful,” you said to Mr. Djarin, your voice more breathless than before. “Would you care to try, Mr. Djarin?”

You encouraged him by bringing your foot to rest beside his knee, leaning back into Mr. Pike. Din licked his lips, staring at the floral pattern on your delicate shoe for what felt like a century. Finally, he gave in to his longing.

He ran his fingers up your ankle over your silk stocking, revealing the smooth line of your leg. His large hands encircled your calf as he inched your skirt up further. You let out a shaking breath, squeezing your thighs together. You could hear Mr. Pike’s jagged breaths in your ear as he watched with anticipation. He had half a mind to release himself from his breeches to relieve the torment building there.

Din was careful not to reveal any of your skin, stopping just above the spot at your knee where your stockings were tied with thick ribbons.

“These are blue,” he said, running his thumb over the bow.

You were looking down at him flushed and breathing heavy and it took everything in his power to stop from taking you then and there.

You leaned to him, putting your lips against his and letting your mouth fall open to invite him in. You heard him whimper and he clutched onto your leg. Then you turned to Mr. Pike who kissed you hungrily, his wide palm kneading at your breasts.

“I’m quite disappointed in the both of you,” you said once you could speak again. Your whole body was thrumming with arousal.

You raised your skirts up around your hips and felt both pairs of eyes lustily watching. There, tied around the thickest part of your thigh was the white ribbon. But they only noticed the slick shining between your thighs.

“We shall call it a draw. But I’m afraid that means you’ll have to share me, gentlemen,” you said.

And from their twin growls, it was clear that they didn’t mind.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Abel the Asrai, Chapter 2 (lemon)

Tags: pegging, masturbation, dom reader/sub fae

Faebruary prompt:

To be honest, you were expecting to spend your first day on land inside a sex shop, after all, you had promised to help Abel find something he could use to find some relief. You did not, however, expect to be the expert consultant in the matter.

The little boutique is tucked away in the recesses of this island's designated red district, curious bystanders and sexually frustrated crewmen alike flocking to witness its various wares. The windows are high and open, letting a steady stream of sunlight filter through the hundreds of different phallic-shaped sculptures lining the shelves. It's the largest and most dependable store in your experience, and you plan on doing your own shopping once Abel is distracted. Or when you gather enough courage to do it in front of him.

He seems positively fascinated with all the different options, face turning a strange shade of teal as one of the clerks lets him hold the so-called Destroyer of Bussy, the damn thing as long as his forearm and as thick as a mast rope. It makes his long fingers look nothing more than a child's, swallowing up his fist and palm. You put an end to that debacle, knowing full well he needs to start out small and go up from there.

As you drag Abel away from the dragon-sized dildos, he seems to quickly forget about them in lieu of the far more decorative selections. Some of the more expensive examples are secured behind display glass, locks magicked against thieves. Cock rings embedded with pearls, handcuffs made from gold, the kind of objects that can't be used for much more than a show of opulence are snuggled in red velvet for the sake of being ogled at.

"What about this?" He asks, pointing to a maroon, glass blown object, one that's curled with bumps protruding on one side, suspiciously akin to a tentacle.

"That's a little too advanced for inexperienced hands," you suggest, "let's try to stick with a basic shape for now."

"And your hands are not advanced?" Abel asks, arching his eyebrows.

You try to brush him off, your own face heating up with embarrassment, "my hands are plenty advanced, but you can't tack this one to the wall to pleasure yourself with."

"And that's what I'll be doing?" He dares to ask. "I thought you were supposed to help me with my little problem."

"I'm helping you right now," you say, reaching over his shoulder and pulling down a rubber dildo. It's not the same size as the positively enormous Orc Cock Delight (trademark pending), far from it, but given Abel's slim frame and inexperience, it would be a decent start. "Here, this one's probably best."

As though inspecting its shape and sculpture like an art authenticator, he takes it from your fingers and holds it in his palm. Then, to check for its plasticity, he flicks his wrist, watching it wiggle with the movement, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. "Well," he remarks at last, "I trust your judgement on the matter."

"We can get the tentacle one too, if you like," you offer, "these are your wages you're spending."

Abel has also only recently been made aware of how money actually works when you're not some pampered prince living up in a tower. After some… hazing, you think, from the rest of the crew about some misconceptions of how one can't just go to the bank and withdraw a large deposit, he's a lot more thoughtful about what he says. And definitely more frugal, too.

You see his lips purse with frustration as he has to mentally tally what he has versus what he wants to spend, but you see a breakthrough moment where he relents. "Alright," he says almost sullenly, cradling his dildo like it's an infant, "this one will do for now."

"Good," you say, glancing over the selection of glass sculptures yourself to see if anything catches your eye, but you're mostly happy with what you already have. "Now we need to get you some lube."

"What for?" He asks, following close behind as you slowly make your way to the other side of the store.

"Trust me, you can't just shove something up a hole without a bit of lubricant. Ever had carpet burn before?"

By the way his face twitches, the answer's yes.

"Same concept, but inside your body." Glass vials decorate the shelves, some small, some large, each advertising a different benefit for its use. There are various massage oils, lube, and other select liquids that claim to aid with libido and arousal… Mouth pursed, you run your fingers over the labels, trying to decide which one you'd like to use on yourself as well. "This one says it's coconut and rum flavored."

"Why is it flavored?" Abel is also looking over the bottles, brow furrowed in thought.

"Sometimes your mouth goes where the lube is, and tasting honey lemon is more palatable to some." How does one get the taste of champagne in lube, you wonder, trying to figure out if you even need something infused with flavoring.

As though reading your mind, Abel asks, "which one would you prefer?"

Oh, fuck him, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Why?" You ask, testily. "Do you think I'm going to be licking it off your poor little cock?"

Abel sucks his breath in, but you see that the barb did none of the damage you wanted it to. Instead, he seems…. Excited? Aroused? "Only if you want to."

Everything inside of you ignites, but you tamper it down. Sucking your breath in to ground yourself, you gesture vaguely in his crotch direction, "wouldn't be that great for you if you can't even cum from it."

"The long row of chastity belts seem to disagree." He points to the shop's opposite side, furthest from the windows, multiple mannequins showing off the various different styles available for purchase. "Might as well see what the appeal is since I'm stuck with one."

You don't want to admit he's making sense here… but he is. Wordlessly, maintaining eye contact, you aim your finger, watching him grasp the bottle without being told twice.

"You know," you say, walking leisurely over to the apparel section of the shop, "there's a lot of flack that comes from being the captain's special whore."

"Is that what your crew thinks of me?" He asks, running his fingers over a leather whip.

"You're not particularly subtle about it."

"Only because you weren't paying attention to my advances."

"Only because I didn't want you to think I only brought you aboard for the pleasure of wrecking your virgin ass."

He snickers but doesn't say anything in response, now looking over the different options to hook his dildo onto. Though, since it's really your decision, you begin poking around the mannequins yourself. Even though you wouldn't necessarily want something with all the bells and whistles, maybe one that's colored to set off your eyes? Some of the leather ones have been stained with various hues and tones.

"I just want you to know that I do already have a strap," you say, picking a new one out, "it's just not on my ship."

"So you're telling me," Abel says, almost completely serious save for that slight twitch on his mouth, "that you don't fuck every single damsel in distress you come across?"

You sigh loudly, heading towards the front of the store to purchase your tiny collection of pleasure toys. "Not all of them, just the ones that ask me so nicely."

Abel hums, and you sense a trace of jealousy aimed towards your previous bedmates, but he doesn't say anything more. Once the both of you complete your purchases, hiding them in your respective satchels, you hop down the steps out of the shop. It's just the afternoon, with plenty of time left in the day, but you know that Abel is quite literally aching to try out his new toys, so you let him drag you back to the docks.

"Where are we going?" He asks in protest as you take him down to the lower decks instead of your private room.

"Do you have any idea how many people probably ran their hands over that thing before we bought it?" You're relieved to see that no one's occupying the kitchen, especially since the cook isn't a fan of people using the giant kettles to do what you're about to.

There's a barrel of water already sitting to the side, mostly for washing dishes and scrubbing the floor. You find a clean pot and fill it halfway full of the seawater, setting it on the still lit wood stove to boil. With little ceremony, you rummage through his satchel, pulling out the dildo, and plop it into the water to boil.

In the meantime, Abel seems to struggle over what he should be doing with his hands. Nervously, he folds and unfolds his fingers, weaving them together and pulling them apart, only occasionally looking you in the eye.

"Are you okay?" You ask, and he jumps.

"Y-es," he mumbles, "just excited."

"We don't have to do this today if you're-"

"I am literally begging you," he interrupts, face blushing, "to help me now. Please."

Steam begins to curl up from the pot. You nod, poking at the rubber cock with a stick, as though that will somehow speed the process. "Just a few more moments, Abel."

Once the thing is done sanitizing, and in the safety of your cabin, the door firmly locked, you can hear his breath quickening as you pull out the different objects to start experimenting with. Slowly, you pull at the front of your leather fest, loosening the laces until it's wide enough to pull off. Your nipples rise, not from cold, but from arousal, hard at the promise of shoving that false cock up his ass.

"Abel," you direct, calmly, "you need to take off your clothes."

He obeys without question, pulling his shirt up over his head and throwing it on your chair. His body has filled out slightly with muscle, no longer a wiry frame of skin and bones, but he's still not nearly as stocky as you or the rest of your crew. Anyone on this ship could lift him over their head and toss him across the deck like he weighs nothing.

Already, he's so excited that he's erect, though the head of his cock is swollen with unspelt arousal and pleasure.

"Did you ever touch yourself after the spell?" You ask, coming up close, resting your hands on his bare hips.

"Yes," he whispers, eyes almost ashamed.

"It's alright," you rub your thumbs in soothing circles right over the bump of his bone, "I'm just wondering how this works." Pause, let him think. "Did you ever um… leak precum at all?"

He blinks. "I don't understand."

You try to rephrase the question. "When you touch yourself, sometimes before you finish, a clear liquid will come out. Did that ever happen, or no?"

"No, nothing comes out." His voice is slightly raspy, you aren't sure if it's from embarrassment. "I've always had to use lotion or oils, and it would feel good for a little while. Then it would just hurt."

"And you would have to wait until it went away," you nod, as though this isn't the first time you've dealt with such a stupid, controlling and abusive curse. "But the wording is going to be our friend, here, and many males cum when being penetrated without the use of hands."

"Thank you." There's an awful lot of hope in his eyes, so you bite your lip and pray to whatever god that might hear for your success.

"Help me out of my clothes." You gloss over his adoration, feeling a tightness in your stomach.

He gets on his knees, watching you for any twitch of approval you might give, and begins to unclasp the straps on your boots—one by one. When you step out of them, you don't even have to tell him where to go next, because he's lifting your shirt up and kissing your stomach as he works your belt. Carefully, he undoes the buckle, sliding it out and opening up your waistline.

Down go your pants, then undergarments, and you take the initiative to remove your shirt yourself. Now you're also naked, standing before Abel, just two bodies open for mutual exploration. His breath quivers as you reach up and brush some hair away from his face, dragging your fingers down to cup the side of his face. Slowly, as though you both have all the time in your little shared infinity, you press your lips up against his.

This isn't the first time you've kissed. The first time was after a particularly brutal sword fight that you had managed to win with only a few scratches, Abel practically jumped on you once you had kicked your opponent overboard. That one was quick, numb with relief and over faster than it started. Now there's time, locked away from the prying eyes of your crew.

Abel has kissed before, that you can tell by the way his lips move and adjust to where you lead them. You wonder if he had done it in some hidden nook somewhere in the palace he grew up in, under cover of darkness, all hormones and drive without the promise of relief. The practice has paid off, you decide, leading him back to your bed, gently setting him down, legs spread.

"Alright," you breathe, "show me where you touch yourself."

His face is dark and blue, mouth half-open, his tongue swiping over his lips. You get the bottle of lube out, pouring some onto the palm of your hand as he slowly begins to trace the outline of his cock. Propping one of your knees up on the bed, with an arm wrapped around his shoulder, you begin to mimic his movement, rubbing the lube up the shaft and over the head. Abel winces and whimpers at how cool it is.

For encouragement, you press your mouth onto his neck, gently nipping at the skin. "You're doing so good right now, baby, it's okay."

Slowly, you cover the entirety of his cock in the lube, pumping your wrist and watching it throb and pulse between your fingers. Abel was right, nothing seems to bead out from the slit at the top, his stones even quicker to puff up and become swollen. As he arches his back, leaning towards the mattress, his hips quake and shake, but where you might expect a ribbon of white to burst out of the head, nothing happens.

You suck in your breath sympathetically rubbing the tip with your thumb to see if you can't tease anything out, but whatever cursed him is concrete and binding. When you retract your hand, he almost whines, face bright with blood, tears threatening his eyes, lower lip swollen from his teeth biting down. At this point, you think, impotence would have been the kinder option because the brief sensation of pleasure would quickly be overruled by the misery of being unable to actually spill.

"Good boy," you whisper as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, "that must have hurt, but you're so strong for me."

He lets out a little whimper, one you swallow away with a kiss. Slowly, he lays back against your blankets, letting you straddle his waist as you nip his lips far gentler than you usually would.

"There are two ways I can take you," you say, your tits pressed up against his chest, "like this, with your legs spread out, or from behind, while you're on your hands and knees. Since this is your first time, you may pick."

He squirms beneath you, his cock painfully hard and delightfully present against your stomach. As you drum your fingers right by his ears, you can see the gears running circles in his head, carefully weighing the pros and cons of each position while so aroused his entire pelvis must feel like it's being crushed.

"Whatever you don't choose, we can do next time," you offer, hoping that might motivate him to choose a bit better.

"I-" his face becomes more flushed than it already is, "I just want to look in your eyes."

Oh, he’s sweet, the little fucker. If he keeps this kind of syrupy attitude, you might just end up falling in love.

You slide back off the bed, planting yourself firmly between his legs. "Like this?"

"Yes… please." He adds the last bit like an afterthought, but he's learning at least.

"Good boy," you purr, gently rubbing his thigh. "I'll put on the strap."

He watches you like you're a prized prostitute putting on a strip show for the ages, irises locked on your hands as you begin to pull at the various buckles and buttons. Carefully, you loop his choice dildo through the metallic ring centered right in front of your pelvis, tightening the straps to secure it in place. Once you're satisfied it won't fly off once you start thrusting, you grab the bottle of lube and bring it over to where Abel lies.

Pouring some out into your hand, you warn, "this is going to feel a bit strange at first. Since you're not used to it, I will move slowly, but you need to tell me if it hurts."

He nods sharply, his breath quickening as you start massaging his ass with the lube. You're careful here, wondering if it might be easier on him if his legs were restrained, one hand firmly on a thigh while the other experimentally prods at his hole.

"You're doing so well," you tell him, pushing your thumb up into his asshole while he whimpers. "You're going to take this cock so good, Abel, it's going to slide right in."

After adding a touch more of lube, you push your index and middle finger in together, making a gradual scissoring motion to stretch him out further. His breath quickens, his hands clawing at your blankets, but he doesn't say anything beyond a soft, wordless moan. Satisfied with how his body seems to be adapting to the intrusion, you add a third finger, and begin to pump in and out in a sort of thrusting motion.

"How does that feel?" You ask, watching the way his cock twitches and shudders.

"Good," he manages to choke, his eyes begging you for more.

"I think you're ready," you nod, taking the bottle of lube from the bed and tantalizingly rubbing it onto your fake cock. "Are you? Do you want me to start thrusting into you, baby?"

"Yes, please," his breathing accelerates, his face wild and pained.

You stretch his ass out, careful with the head of the dildo as you slowly push it in. Just to make it easier on him, you pull his knees up, spreading his legs out further and holding them steady while he quivers. Then, inch by inch, you keep moving forward until you've buried it to the hilt, your hips brushing up against his innermost thigh. You stay like that for a moment, allowing him to get used to the object's size and intrusion, petting his thighs right where your hands rest to offer some comfort.

"Does it hurt much?" You ask soothingly.

"Just a bit," he murmurs, wiggling a little as though trying to get comfortable, "not as much as I thought it might."

"Good," you bump your hips a bit, just so he knows what you're about to do. Still moving without a bit of urgency, you move back, pushing your hips away, watching his face as the pain transitions away into pleasure. Then, repeating the previous movement, you thrust forward, a bit quicker this time.

"Fuck," he curses, "that feels… that feels nice."

At that behest, you pick up the pace slightly, still going significantly slower than usual, but still maintaining a structured speed. "You like it, baby?"

"Yes," he breathes, "I like it."

"Good," you keep going, watching his body struggle to stay still as you begin to up the speed of your thrusts.

He raises his hands to his mouth, biting down, so he doesn't cry out. You feel his thighs spasm and shake beneath your fingers, his body rolling up against yours as though silently begging for more. His eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed, a strange expression twitching at his face like he's experiencing a sensation that he doesn't know is positive or negative.

"I think," he gasps, his hips thrusting in their own accord, "I- It's-"

A thick, white spray of liquid shoots out of his cock, flying high and landing on his stomach. It doesn't stop there, though, seemingly a lifetime's worth of unspelt cum trying to escape while it can, a thick, hot layer erupting out and dripping down on his waist in tandem to your thrusts. You don't stop, either, especially not when he cries out, holding his legs firmly in place as he squirms and sobs with pleasure. Only once his cock falls limp do you stop, pulling the dildo out, and a river of lube drips down his ass.

He's shaking, as though experiencing some kind of awakening. As he props himself up on his elbows, he looks down, noticing the ribbons of cum that have accumulated on his chest and pelvis, then at you. After he sees some on his hand, he licks it, not to be coy, not to be sexy, but with the general curiosity of someone who has never tasted cum in his life.

"It's salty," he says, blankly, voice void of either dashed or met expectations. Like he legitimately has no idea what he's supposed to think.

And then he begins to cry.

You're so shocked by the action that you just stand there, dildo still in hand, as tears fall out of his eyes and dribble down his cheeks. Then you snap into action, wiping your sticky fingers on an available towel before threading them through his hair, pulling him close in an embrace, ignoring the cum that's now on your skin. His face is wet against your chest, his arms wrapping around your torso in a tightening hug, chest shuddering.

"You did so well," you say soothingly, petting his hair as he tries to get himself under control, "I'm so proud of you, Abel, you really did so wonderfully for your first time. You can cry if you need to, I know this was probably very difficult."

Before you know it, you're laying down with him, his body pressed up against every single curve and crevice of yours. His face is up against your chest, arms around your waist, and you hold his head in the crook of your elbow. While his chest shudders and shakes, you whisper and murmur a myriad of encouragement and praise, but you think that's only adding fuel to his emotional fire.

So you let him process his state of mind, remaining present throughout so he has someone to lean on. After a while, he quiets down, but he makes no motion to either sit up or start round two. To be entirely honest, both of you are probably done for the day, especially with how he's handling it, but you can't walk around with stale cum on your body. Once his breathing evens out, you untangle your limbs from him, waking him up from a shivering nap.

"Hey," you say softly, poking at him, "we need to clean off."

"R-right," he sniffs, rubbing his eyes, "I-I'm sorry, that was-"

"Don't apologize," you say, almost sharply, "that must have felt very intense, and you have a right to express your emotions."

He kisses you, slowly, lazily, and you cradle his face in your hands.

"We only need to wipe off a portion of this gunk," you say, unbuckling the strap from your waist, "I think that tonight we can spend some extra money and time in a bathhouse."

"What do you mean?" He asks, glancing down at the mess he spilt on his skin.

"There's this absolutely incredible bathhouse up the mountain, right where a hot spring is. The water is supposed to be three times as effective for cleaning and rejuvenating your skin or whatever, I think you deserve a little extra pampering tonight."

"Really?" He looks like he's about to cry again.

"Come on," you pull him up until he's sitting, "let's first get marginally cleaner, so it doesn't look like we've participated in a street-side orgy."

As he pours a bit of powdery soap in your tub of scrubbing water, you begin to unbraid his hair, brush in hand, running your fingers through his green tangles to smooth out the evidence of sex. He sponges his chest and torso clean, using smelling oils to hide the scent of cum as you begin to twist and knot his hair again.

"You handled this size very well for the most part," you say, using a pick to sharply part a section of his hair away, "I think that you might be ready to upgrade in a few months, we could get that little glass one that you wanted so bad."

"I would like that," he rasps, face just as flushed as when you bottomed out inside him.

Once you clean yourself off, you dress and leave, Abel in tow. The bathhouse is a large building, overtaking a fair amount of the presumably dead volcano that overlooks the bay. You've been there before, most of your crew has, but it's the sort of place that's so far from the docks that it's a hassle to get to. By the time you're up the cliffs, Abel is panting like he's never walked this far before.

You pay the teller, not bothering to make Abel take care of his own entrance fee. A wave of wet, sticky heat hits your face when you walk into the large marble atrium, the steam from the hot springs thick in the enclosed area. There's a convenient marble map on the wall, the building's outline labeled with thick letters.

"Where do you want to go first?" You ask, mentally wondering how they make the currents for the so-called wonderous whirlpool.

He points to one of the private pools, the side of his mouth twitching up.

"Those costs-"

"I can pay," he says, patting his satchel.

Okay, he wants to play games, you can get on that level. So you shrug, and follow him down the hallway, down the stairs to the long row of private rooms. After paying the attendant down there, you pick out a random section and close the wooden door behind you for some much-needed privacy.

Abel is already stripping bare, throwing himself in the water once naked. A window lets a small amount of light through its wooden blinds, only bright enough to see his outline. Once you're also undressed, you slip into the water, sighing with relief at both the heat and the scent of the oils. You settle on a curved section, probably explicitly built for laying on, and slowly begin to scrub at your skin with a bar of pumice you brought.

Oh, and Abel seems to be enjoying himself a lot, floating on his back, face staring up at the ceiling. He looks like he's in a faraway place, mouth in a soft, genuinely content smile. You let him be in his own little world for as long as he needs to be, satisfied with cleaning the last remaining hints of sex off your body while waiting for him to come back to you.

"You know," he says finally, rising out from the water and coming close, "despite everything else, I was very spoiled as a prince."

"No," you deadpan, "really?"

"Yeah- wait," he sniffs out your sarcasm much better now, "I mean, yes, it's probably undeniably obvious."

"Supremely so," you say, remembering how another captain asked you if you were holding Abel hostage because he was too goddamn refined compared to the rest of your crew.

"I was always told that I wasn't in a place to complain," he angles your body so he can play with your hair, "and I suppose in some aspects, that was true, but now I know that everything that happened beneath that roof, golden gilded or no, was… not healthy."

"No, Abel, I can't say that it was anything remotely so." Every time you hear about some aspect of his childhood, you're filled to the brim with murderous rage on his behalf.

"But at least now I can say that after living in the quote real world, I most definitely prefer this to that." You feel his fingers twist your hair into braids. "For example, your crew doesn't follow your commands because they're afraid of what will happen if they don't, they follow your commands because you've proven to them that you're a trustworthy and capable leader."

You open your mouth, but he interrupts you.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, either. I saw you dive after a freed slave in open water because she couldn't swim. That's not luck, that's courage, and those are the kinds of actions that your people take to heart."

"I guess," you don't like accepting heartfelt compliments, especially when you think you don't deserve them.

"Which is why," he finishes, pulling you closer, "I trusted you enough to ask you for help."

"And are you satisfied with the help I provided?" You ask, remembering how much cum he had spilt from that one single session.

"Oh, yes," he purrs, seemingly completely recovered from his near mental breakdown. "I'd give you a five-star review, but I don't think I like to share."

"Really? I garner that well of a reputation?" You ask, watching his hand slide between your legs.

"I want to thank you," he says, mouth on your ear, "but I need you to show me how. Teach me where to touch you?"

You suck in a lungful of steam, watching his long, elegant fingers slowly draw little circles on your thighs. "You're going to be walking all the way back with an erection."

"But you would like that," he accuses, entirely correct, "watching me walk back while so fucking hard I may start crying."

You believe you will, realizing that the idea of him trying to keep his fucking shit together while out in public does has some kind of appeal. So you remove yourself from his lap, hauling your body up onto the cool marble floor. Trying to seem enticing, you spread your legs for him, bringing your fingers down to offer up a clearer view of your entrance and clit. Breathing harder, you say, "Remember when we kissed?"

He nods solemnly.

"Similar concept, but here. Use your tongue and mouth."

With reverence, he places a hand on both your thighs, sinking down to his knees. Of all the things you've noticed about him, one of his better qualities is how he's such a fast learner. He kisses your lips as instructed, eyes flickering up to make sure you approve of his actions. When you nod encouragingly, he continues, opening his mouth to start licking at your pussy.

You lean back, pushing your weight onto your hands, lifting up a leg and placing it on his shoulder. "That's good Abel, just like that."

He presses his face further into your slick skin, kissing and sucking on the dark puckered flesh. While his tongue is only slightly rougher than you would have expected, it's not… painfully so, no, it's more like an added texture you didn't know would feel good. Up and down, he licks, capturing a bit of your opening between his teeth and gently pulling, if only to see your reaction.

To help him a little more, you push two of your fingers between your legs, finding your clit. "Here, Abel, lick me here, baby."

The obedient little thing, he does, finding it with ease now that you've directed him. He kisses it with reference, like it's a thing to be worshipped, taking your clit between his lips and sucking. When you hiss with pleasure, his eyes turn elated, like the two of you just shared an intimate secret, and he does it again.

"Fuck, Abel," you gasp, trying to find words of encouragement, "you lick my pussy so good, baby, it's like you were made for me."

"Does that make me your little whore?" He asks, voice thick with arousal.

"That makes you my special little whore," you correct, tucking a flyaway hair behind his ear.

He smiles lazily, pressing his mouth back between your legs, returning to work with more enthusiasm than before, flicking his tongue against your clit. Then, as though mimicking how you had opened him up earlier, he slowly presses a thumb through your slit, rubbing your inner, slick ridges. Fuck, he's a clever little bastard, and by the way you buck in his mouth, he's going to know it, too.

The pressure in your stomach grows, a wave of warm arousal dripping out of your core. Abel licks it all up like a seasoned prostitute, pulling you closer to the edge so gravity shifts your body down. He presses up, mouth and nose grinding up against your clit, now, adding far more pressure than before. You swallow thickly, trying to find the words to praise him, but thoughts start escaping your mind, replaced by pleasure.

"Good," you manage to croak out, "that feels good."

You can feel the smugness emanating off of him from making you speechless, his boldness only growing as you further spiral. As your hips start jerking, your thighs shaking, he continues to eat your pussy like he's a starving animal, the sounds from his open-mouthed sucking driving you positively mad.

It doesn't hit you all at once; instead, your orgasm comes in waves, each more volatile and pleasurable than the last. Abel must have sensed its arrival, locking his arms around your hips to hold you in place as you buck into his mouth. Nor does he deem you worthy of mercy, either, showing you every amount of vigor and determination you offered him barely hours before.

When you've ground it out, only plagued by a few aftershocks, he pulls away, a long trail of saliva and cum connecting his mouth to your core. And he smiles, he smiles, heaving for breath, lips flushed and swollen.

Slowly, you slide back into the water, legs weak and still shaking, right onto his lap. True to your prediction, he's hard, cock upright in the water, but he doesn't seem too bothered as you straddle his waist. You kiss him, taking things nice and slow, tasting the scented oils and sulfuric water along with your pleasure on his tongue.

"Did I do good?" He asks, digging for more praise.

But you give it to him, he deserves it after this kind of day. "Yes, Abel, you ate my pussy like a fucking slut."

His breathing quickens in excitement.

"I don't think the whores down in the red district could eat me out like that, and you did it on your first try." You pet the side of his face, running your fingertips over his pointed ears. "My clever, sweet little prince."

He nuzzles his face between your breast as you play with one of his braids.

"I think I'm going to keep you," you muse aloud, "would you like that? Would you like to be my bedmate from now on?"

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. "Yes."

"Good," you whisper, tracing the path of his spine, "I think I can buy you that glass dildo, after all."

[thepartyresponsible]

For the wip ask (they all sound very interesting ngl it was hard to pick just one!) LostSteve

lost steve! yeah, so. what if shield defrosted captain america, and he broke out and just...kept running? what if they lost him? what if he ended up hiding out in tony’s tower, away from the fight for long enough to get his feet underneath him?

this fic is mostly about steve and tony finding each other first, so they can form the heart of the avengers, instead of the fault line that splits the team in half. here’s the first part of it.

                                                          —  

There’s an alert from Nick Fury that Tony chooses to ignore, for the sake of his convenience and Fury’s ongoing character growth. JARVIS announces its arrival and then diligently reminds Tony about the message twice before Tony tells him to mute it until morning.

“If it’s really that important,” he says, “they’ll just send someone to break in anyway.”

Which is why, on some level, he’s not at all surprised to find a man sitting on a couch in his penthouse twenty-seven hours later. He will admit to being caught somewhat off-guard by the specifics of the situation, though, because Steve Rogers has been dead for longer than Tony’s been alive.

“Zombie?” Tony asks. “Hallucination? Oh, clone? Are you a clone?”

Steve Rogers looks at him the way people look at wax sculptures. Like he’s interested in the details of the creation in front of him, but doesn’t believe for a second that what he’s looking at is real. “Mr. Stark,” he says, politely. His voice is deeper than Tony would’ve guessed.

“Robot,” Tony theorizes. “Sexbot? Updated Trojan Horse? If I let you inside me, are you gonna--”

The man’s brow furrows, and his mouth twists down, and his eyes are too sad for circuitry. No one would code that kind of grief.

Tony pauses for a moment, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. He studies this intruder carefully. Someone sent him a Steve Rogers lookalike in a white t-shirt and stained khakis. He’s hale and healthy, built like a god, but his feet are bare and dirty.

Bloody, too. There are bloody footprints on the carpet.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Wait. Who the hell are you?”

There’s a long beat of silence. The man on his couch just stares at him, eyes tracing over Tony’s face, his shoulders, looking at him like he’s starving for something. He’s quiet and small, somehow, in a way that doesn’t relate at all to the amount of space his body takes up.

And then he stands, light and graceful on his bloody feet. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders pull up, and he’s an American Hero, suddenly and decisively, like he’s made some kind of choice about it.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, again, “I’m Captain America.”

And he is, Tony thinks. The same way that he’s Iron Man. Because once you put on that kind of armor, whatever else you used to be is irrelevant.

                                                           —

He’s Captain America, and he’s back from the dead. SHIELD had him and lost him, and Nick Fury wants Tony to go looking for him. That’s the message he left with JARVIS over a day ago. And Tony can’t imagine he was the first name on their list, which means Steve Rogers has been alone in the wrong century for an unknown but considerable amount of time.

“Hey,” he says, calling out from where he’s slouched against the kitchen island, watching Captain America dutifully eat through every scrap of leftovers Tony had in the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

“I was born here,” he says, through a mouthful of fried rice that he hides behind a napkin. He chews, swallows, and jabs his fork over Tony’s shoulder. “In Brooklyn.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that. He memorized everything about Steve Rogers back when he thought he could become enough like him to make Howard consider him worthwhile. “No, I mean,” he says, waving his hands, “in this century. How long have you been--- Jesus. I dunno. Awake? Aware? Unfrosted flakes?”

Steve blinks at him. He stares for a second and then ducks his head, stirs his fork through the open takeout box in front of him. “Spent a couple days,” he says. “Looking around.”

Looking around. Steve Rogers, unwitting time-traveler, barefoot in New York. What had he been looking for? Why did he come here?

“Why didn’t you get any shoes?” Tony asks, instead of any of the more complicated questions.

Steve tucks his feet under his chair. He washed them half an hour or so back, walking uneasily into the bathroom Tony showed him and then locking the door behind him, like he thought Tony was some kind of pervert who would bodyslam through the door to catch a glimpse of him sudsing up his bare ankles.

“Didn’t have any money,” he says, surprisingly mulish about it.

“You couldn’t smash and grab a pair of Sketchers?” Tony shakes his head. “If you get lockjaw, you’re gonna have to tell Fury you caught it from somewhere else. Fuck’s sake, when was your last tetanus booster? 1943?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t seem concerned. He’s busy eating his way through enough calories to keep your average winter-starved grizzly happy.

It’s hungry work, coming back from the dead. Tony remembers the unholy things he would’ve done for a cheeseburger.

“Didn’t have any money,” he repeats, scraping his fork around the sides of the takeout box, diligent and serious, like it’s the very last scrap of food he’ll ever get.

Tony clears his throat, hip-checks the counter to heave himself to standing. “I’ll get you some cash.”

                                                           —

There’s a weird moment, when Tony gives him the money. It’s just a few hundred dollars. He’s not Tony’s problem, not his project raised from the dead, but he still doesn’t want to give Steve Rogers the means to get himself truly lost in a world he doesn’t know.

Five hundred dollars will get him some food and somewhere to sleep for a few days, but it won’t get him far enough out of SHIELD’s orbit to get himself in trouble.

He looks up when Tony gets close. There’s a well-worn wariness in his eyes. He watches him the way a dog from a bad home might watch him through the bars of the shelter’s kennel. Resigned instead of hopeful, like he knows how this goes, like he knows he can survive it.

“Here,” Tony says. He leaves the money two chairs away from him, within easy grabbing distance. “And I have shoes your size, if you want to borrow them.”

“I don’t need that,” Rogers says, pointing at the money.

Tony lets his mouth tip up sideways, smirks like this is the part of the whole situation he finds truly unbelievable. “You’re going to come into my house,” he says, “uninvited, unannounced, and then you’re going to refuse to accept my hospitality? Rogers, what would your mother think?”

There’s a stall point in Roger’s stare, like watching a bird fly into a window. There’s a moment, right around the word mother, when those blue eyes blank out, and Tony’s just staring into empty space.

“She didn’t,” he says, and it’s fascinating. He’s stitching himself up right here at Tony’s dining table. Tony can practically see it happening, vertebrae stacking up, pulling him taunt like a needle tugging on a thread. “She never liked charity.”

Tony is familiar with pride. He has something of an overabundance himself, although he comes by it honestly. He knows hurt pride hates an audience, so he looks away.

“I imagine she hated the idea of you starving, too,” Tony says. “Probably worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Going to waste all her work now, Rogers? Seems ungrateful.”

He’s half-taunting by the end of it. He’s not sure why. He finds weak points like a magnet finds iron. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s pulling on until after he’s accidentally ripped out someone’s heart. It’s not one of the traits he’s proud of, but, like his pride, he knows where it came from.

Rogers glares at him, but he hooks the next takeout container over anyway.

“I’ll get those shoes,” Tony says. JARVIS has already measured; Rhodey left some boots that should fit.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but, when Tony comes back, the money is gone, and so is he.

                                                           —

Tony doesn’t tell Fury a damn thing. If Fury lost a national icon, that’s his problem. And anyway, Tony’s still not completely convinced that the blonde who materialized in his penthouse was actually Steve Rogers and not some kind of really confused, really well-built homeless man. Or a stripper.

Tony’s never actually met a stripper who showed up in khakis, refused to disrobe, and then ate ten pounds of takeout before silently disappearing, but he’d be willing to pay another five hundred dollars for a repeat performance.

He figures out how the maybe-Steve got into his penthouse. He upgrades the security, but he tells JARVIS to let him in if he ever comes back. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s too curious to lock him out.

                                                           —

There’s a bit of nothing that kicks off in New York, some Hammer tech that goes haywire. Tony puts it down like the cheap knockoff that it is, but he gets stuck in debrief with Phil Coulson afterwards, because he’s not quite quick enough to abandon the scene after the fight’s over. In his defense, he was holding a car above a partially-trapped bicyclist, and Coulson caught him before the EMTs could finish disentangling her.

He makes it back to the Tower after an hour of mostly-wasted time. Steve Rogers is sitting at his dining table. Tony bites back the ludicrous urge to “honey, I’m home!” him.

“Hey,” he says instead, as he steps in from the balcony, stripped down to the skintight suit he wears under the armor. He didn’t expect company. “You get something to eat?”

Steve seems somehow offended by the question. “I didn’t break in here and steal anything,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says, moving past him. “Well, that’s a gold star and an empty stomach for you, Rogers. We’re all very proud.”

“It’s not my food,” Steve tells him. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. Tony wants to pat him on the head, but only because he’s always had a sort of neurotic tendency to see how hard people bite before he decides whether to trust them.

“Yeah, and a twenty-dollar grocery bill is really gonna break me,” Tony says. He takes a smoothie out of the freezer. “You want pizza? I’m gonna order pizza.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. “I could eat,” he says.

“Great,” Tony says. He has JARVIS order three pizzas, because he wants at least half of one for himself, and Steve Rogers is a human garbage disposal.

Steve takes a shower while they’re waiting. He asks first, which Tony supposes is the polite thing to do, and he takes his backpack with him, like he’s worried Tony’s going to steal his wallet.

“You know,” Tony says, when Steve remerges, wearing another knockout set of some grandpa’s Goodwill khakis and button-down shirt, “you keep showing up like this, and it’s gonna get harder for me to lie to Fury about having no idea where you are.”

Steve flips open a pizza box and carefully selects a slice. His hair is wet and neatly combed back from his face. He’s handsome from a distance but damn near devastating at close range. Tony takes another bite of pizza, hopes it’ll help swallow back the urge to sink a few grand into war bonds.

“Fury’s the guy with the eyepatch?” Steve doesn’t settle into a seat. He takes his pizza and wanders over to the window, stares out at the skyline.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Tony says.

Steve makes a face. Tony can see it, dulled and faded, in the reflection on the glass. “He’s persistent,” he says, slowly. Not like it’s a compliment.

“Yeah,” Tony says, again, “that’s him.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Tony finishes his slice of pizza, eats another one. There’s an ache in his right shoulder from being wrenched around by Hammer’s ridiculous creation, and he should be icing it, but he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve Rogers here.

He’s never liked looking human in front of an audience. His problem has always been that he couldn’t figure out how to stop. At least, not until he built his armor.

Steve comes back when he’s out of pizza. He’s catlike in his wariness, in the way he seems pissed at Tony for daring to exist in his proximity.

“That fight,” he says, apropos of approximately nothing at all. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” Tony says, rising out of his chair and moving toward the bar, giving Steve the room to loom over the pizza like he’s defending his kill. “You see that on the news?”

“Saw it on the street,” Steve says. “Heard the screams.”

Heard the screams and came running. So he’s still in the hero business. Fury will be happy to hear it.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Steve tells him. He sounds angry about it. At Tony, not the situation. “Where’s your backup?”

“Backup,” Tony repeats. “Cap, c’mon. Read a newspaper. I work alone.”

Steve Rogers looks up from his pizza perusal just long enough to roll his eyes. It should feel like a slap across the face, and maybe it does. However it feels, Tony likes it. Wants more of it. There’s always been something grounding in being dismissed, like Tony’s never known where he stands until someone shows him how he doesn’t measure up.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Steve asks. “Men who work alone die alone, Stark. And they’re not very effective when they do.”

Tony knows he’s meant to be offended. He is, probably. But he couldn’t bite back his smile for anything. “I think I liked you better when you called me ‘Mr. Stark.’”

“Seems to me,” Steve says, “you want everyone to call you Iron Man these days.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says, “surely they had that line about glass houses in the ‘40’s?”

Steve frowns at him. “I never asked anyone to call me Captain America.”

“And yet,” Tony says, tipping a bottle of whiskey his direction, “that’s how to introduced yourself to me.”

Steve gives him a look like he thinks Tony’s being deliberately obtuse. “That’s who I am,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and flips a tumbler right side up. “But when I start using a stage name,” he says, “suddenly I’m a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t--”

“Do you think,” Steve says, looming up suddenly, shifting gears like something mechanical, going battle-ready with more decisiveness than a faceplate clicking down, “that anybody spent years, spent—I don’t know. Millions of dollars? Do you think anybody did that for Steve Rogers?”

Tony’s caught wrong-footed. He did it again. Drilled until he found the nerve, cut until he broke the skin.

“I think you don’t get one without the other,” Tony says, trying now to soothe. But he’s not very good at it. His instincts don’t run this direction. His whole life, the only things he could ever repair were machines.

Steve shakes his head. He steps away from the pizza. He looks around, eyes zeroing in on his backpack.

“Stay here,” Tony says, sidling out from behind the bar, whiskey now in hand.

Steve straightens up like a cobra, like he’s going to spit venom in Tony’s face. Tony wants to put his mouth on him, which is probably only half because he’s always been hellbent on his own destruction. The other half is that Steve Rogers is beautiful like something made in a lab for aesthetics alone, carefully designed for universal appeal. Tony likes to tell himself he has a taste for the exclusive, but the reality has always been he wants exactly what everyone else does.

“You don’t want SHIELD to find you,” Tony says, “then stay here. Trust me, this is the last place they’d think to look.”

He’s not standing between Steve and the exit. He was careful about that. Whatever SHIELD might think about him, he doesn’t have a death wish. And also, when he’s thinking about it, he’s not usually deliberately an asshole. It’s just that, most of the time, he’s not thinking about it.

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. Hell, he has no idea. “Why’d you come here? The first time. When SHIELD lost you, you came here. Why?”

“I went home,” Steve says, argumentative, all squared shoulders and tight jaw. “I went to Brooklyn. But it wasn’t there anymore. None of it was—I couldn’t find…”

He trails off, shakes his head, sharp and agitated, a horse bothered by a fly. It’s hard to look in his eyes. There’s something in them that Tony doesn’t want to see. It’s like watching a statue bleed.

“I heard there was still a Stark in New York,” Steve says. “I read about you. I thought maybe you’d--”

“You thought I’d be like Howard,” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I thought you’d be like me,” Steve says, which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You,” Tony says. And then, a little helplessly, “What?”

Steve looks away. He shrugs, looks back. “I saw the suit,” he says. “On the news. I saw what it can do. I didn’t think--- things have advanced a lot. I didn’t understand. I thought Howard had…”

Tony squints at him. “You thought Howard did a Rebirth redux and tested it on his kid?”

“I thought a lot of things,” Steve says, snappy. “It was a very confusing couple of days.”

Tony can imagine that it was. “So you thought I was Rebirthed, and you wanted--”

“I didn’t want anything,” Steve says, and there’s that flash of exposed nerve again, that look like a sinkhole in the backs of his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Tony takes a sip of his whiskey. It settles, warm and sweet, into his stomach.

I didn’t want anything.

I shouldn’t be alive, unless it’s for a reason.

Tony holds the tumbler out. Steve needs the warmth more than he does. “Here,” he says.

Steve takes it, seemingly on reflex. “I can’t get drunk,” he says.

“Well,” Tony says, circling back toward the bar, “not with that attitude.”

[mheerdraws]

Pirate AU - Cast intro II

Kakashi Hatake

Lone wolf

A renowned pirate but has been off the radar for a very long time

No one, apart from a select few, know his whereabouts

Previously, the Captain of Temari's ship while she was his First mate

Has the reputation of a philanderer when he is, in fact, a virgin (No one knows, except for Temari - she's sworn to secrecy). He finds the situation very funny and exploits it.

Keeps the lower half of his face covered, unless he wants to use it for distraction.

Frequents the town pubs for intel but never gets drunk (Fears people will see him become a blushing mess)

Is attracted by anything that has two legs and a human brain.

Gaara

An Earl

An adoptive son; presumably found starved in the docks by the family's butler at the age of 3

Pretends to be an airhead but has the mind of a tactician

Peruses the family library as often as he can and has a keen interest in genealogy (go figure)

Finds his father's business dealings a little shady and tends to use his reputation of being 'slow' to get information from every nook and cranny

Has very little memory of his past but often dreams of teal eyes and a girl's laughter

TenTen

Brothel owner by day and weapons’ dealer by night

Works for Temari and runs her spy network in town, is always aware of Kakashi's whereabouts, much to his dismay

Hates Kiba's guts

Keeps multiple daggers strapped to her body; specializes in long-range shooting

Has a mean right hook

Single? She has nightly adventures with an anonymous man but keeps her private life, well, private - no one knows his identity

Was tasked with a mission by Temari when she joined the crew 10 years ago and is doggedly trying to find the missing links to wrap it up

Sasuke Uchiha

A sought after shipbuilder who does sculpture on the side as a hobby

Reminds people of a cat

Doesn't care who commissions the work. Gotta get that bread.

Was not amused when Kiba approached him with the idea of Temari wanting a figurine made at the bow of her ship with the likeness of a certain commander - He's tired

Has worked in multiple mansions for long periods of times and knows quite a lot about the going-ons of the elite

Cast intro 1 | Cast intro III

The fic: Part 1 | Part 2