#luca the bear au

[callsign-fangirl]

Luca as your boyfriend

[superhoeva]

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

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⬩ pairing(s) sebastian "sebby" garvey (original male character) x musician!reader, carmen "carmy" berzatto x musician!reader, (brief) luca davies-bernardi x musician!reader

⬩ warning(s) language, toxic/emotionally abusive relationship, sad girl!reader (but it's okay bc it's gonna get better!), nervous!carmen, a hint of the crush on your professor trope, basically everything that comes with being a self-doubting music student, anxiety, mention of injury (burn), mean boyfriend alert :(

⬩ author's note super excited to post this. it's been in the works since july! special special thank you to my loves @nolita-fairytale and @arctvrvs! they've been down in the weeds with me as this story materialized, and should basically be seen as betas considering how much i was able to lean on them while creating this story. this one is near and dear to my heart, and i hope you all enjoy as much as i do writing it. a lot more to come, so stay tuned!

⬩ word count 4.7k

A stage is a hard thing to command. That fact is one of the first things you learn when stepping onto it. Just the sheer act of pretending like one is comfortable with doing so takes hours of preparation; late nights full of callous skin and cramping muscles; dry eyes from staring at the same two measures, listening to the same four beats; and more dedication than one ever thinks one can give.

But it is wonderful. And, God, does it make you feel alive.

That feeling one gets from knowing that you hold the attention of the entire room. The action of creating a sound or movement big enough to reach the very back wall of the recital hall. To reach and affect the furthest person in the furthest seat.

However, tonight is not your night to conquer those feats or enjoy that attention. Instead, you get to act as a member of the audience, residing in a plush seat near the very front of the stage. It’s a little uncomfortable, but the way Sebastian glides his bow across the strings of his violin more than makes up for it. He makes it look effortless, but you know it’s anything but.

No one can look away from where Seb stands at the left of the conductor. His movements are seamless–suave and mesmerizing. His playing even more so, the quiver of his vibrato touching enough to make Hilary Hahn shed a tear or two. Full of character yet seeped in control, it causes you to look at him like he hangs the stars.

You don’t even glance down to reposition the bouquet of red petunias in your lap. Tonight is Sebastian’s night, and nothing will stop you from catching every single note of the first movement of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor Op. 64. The piece ends with a high-energy tutti–every performer’s sound becoming one–and you’re the first one on your feet after the conductor cuts off the final note.

The rest of the room joins in your standing and clapping, several whistles of admiration filtering from the crowd to the stage. Sebastian, his smile as wide as it’ll ever get, takes his bow.

The roar of applause grows a little louder. Your hands hurt from clapping, but you can’t care.

It was wonderful. He’s wonderful.

A small grin tugs at your lips at the sight of Sebastian turning to shake hands with Abeni–the Concertmaster and one of your fellow classmates–and Dr. Hansen–the conductor and highly respected orchestral music professor. Your smile blossoms further when the entire orchestra (which mostly consists of orchestral performance majors) takes a final bow. The relief visibly lifts off his shoulders, into the air of the concert hall, and blankets right over you.

Although it squeezes and tenses most of your muscles, you’re able to keep a pleasant, proud expression. Smile unfaltering. Clap never breaking in rhythm. It takes you absolutely no effort to fake the dread pooling inside your stomach. You’ve gotten quite good at it, actually.

How’s the saying go? Practice makes perfect.

.・゜゜・

Sebastian’s been a magnet as long as you’ve known him. He easily attracts anyone within the near vicinity. Now is no different as everyone from professors to members of the orchestra surround and congratulate him. You stand and wait patiently a few feet away as Sebastian jokes with the principal cellist, Kenny, with light eyes. Your usual place, but you don’t mind it.

It isn’t until Kenny points you out to Sebastian that he turns to you. Face brighter than the sun, you drag your gaze over the suit you helped him pick out for tonight. He’s already loosened his tie and undone the top two buttons. And taken off his suit jacket, which you suspect is bunched up somewhere backstage. You’ll have to remind him to hang it up properly tonight. So it doesn’t wrinkle. Flicking your eyes back up, you’re heart speeds at the way he steps over toward you.

“That was amazing, Sebby,” you breathe out after traveling over, hand reaching to settle a hand on his cheek. “You’re amazing.”

Sebastian sends you a half smile. His hand reaches for yours. He gives it a small squeeze before letting it drop.

“Thank you, darling,” he rushes out, pressing an even faster kiss on your forehead. “Go fetch my things, yeah? Can’t be late to my own get-together.”

You blink and clutch the bouquet. He doesn’t even glance at the flowers before departing with an arm around Kenny, laughing to him and a few others about how close he was to fucking up a  measure in the middle of his first piece. You blink again. Bite the skin inside your cheek.

“Okay, yeah.”

Your attempt at an answer reaches nowhere near his ears and ends up trailing off into nothing.

It takes you all of ten minutes to gather Sebby’s belongings–both his violin cases, suit jacket, and music binder. The bouquet and your purse are still in your grasp as well, and you’re certain you look something foolish as you struggle toward the building’s exit. Balancing his items along with your own proves to be just as difficult as it sounds. You bumble and nearly drop one of the cases, but what makes your chest jump is the unexpected call of your name. A sigh of relief leaves you when you turn and see a familiar pair of warm, brown eyes.

Dr. Henry Solano. Department Chair of Composition at the Royal Danish Academy of Music. Your trusted advisor. And the only reason you haven’t gone completely insane during your recital preparation.

“Need some help?” It sounds like a question, but he’s already over and lifting the violin cases out of your hands with a knowing grin before you can answer. You give him a small thank you and sheepish expression. He nods at you and holds open the door. It isn’t until both of you are outside and several steps away from the building that Henry clears his throat.

“While I wanna ask what kind of guy leaves his girlfriend to carry all his shit, I think my time would be better spent asking you about how you think your recital prep is going.”

You sigh. “He’s just inside saying goodbye to a few people. And it’s going good, I’m actually really excited.”

There’s a wobble in your answer that you hope Henry doesn’t notice.

“But?”

The single word pulls another sigh from you.

“...I’m really fucking nervous,” you release with a laugh and Henry has to chuckle alongside you. “Probably more nervous than excited, if I’m being honest.”

“If it makes you feel any better, what we went over a few days ago sounded great,” Henry tells you. “You might not think you’re ready, but I know you are. Wouldn’t let the program happen if you weren’t.”

Something in his voice allows you to breathe easily. For now, at least. His deep, steady tone has been a sense of comfort, a place of ease ever since you moved to the City of Spires. He’s always been there, whether your problems have to do with a tricky rhythmic passage or with your family back at home.

“This is you, right?”

You nod as Henry points out your nearby… something. You don’t bother to remember the name of the make and model. It’s somewhere on the registration papers stuffed in the glove compartment.

“Yep,” you tell him, fishing the keys out of your pocket and popping the trunk. “I really appreciate it, Prof.”

Henry shakes his head as he slides the violin cases into the vehicle. He even grabs Seb’s suit jacket and binder, placing them neatly in the back before shutting the trunk.

“It’s no problem, hun” he promises and you can tell he means it. “And I was serious about what I said earlier. You’re gonna kill it. I’m certain.”

A warm feeling blossoms throughout your chest. You bite the inside of your cheek and glance down at the flowers still in your grasp. Before you can even realize what you’re doing, you hold out the bouquet with a small smile.

“Here. As a thank you.”

Henry huffs out a laugh, scratching the back of his head. He purses his lips, eyes softening at your action.

“No, I couldn’t–”

“I insist,” you nod, pushing them closer to the now bashful professor. “As an extra thank you. Not just for this, but the entire semester. And the four others before that.”

Henry sighs at your words, staring at you. Then the flowers. Then back at you. Finally, he takes them delicately, and your face brightens in victory. It’s the least you could do.

“Thank you.”

His words are quiet but moving. He observes the flowers with a meaningful intention and you blink when he carefully removes one from the bouquet and hands it back to you. It takes everything inside you to force away the wave of wetness that wants to pool at your eyes.

You grab the single petunia, so bright and red, and take a moment to treasure how pretty it is.

“I’ll see you on Monday. Three, right?”

A nod from Henry.

“Uh-huh. And do me a favor and don’t look at any of the music until tomorrow evening at the latest. Give your brain a little break.” He wants to laugh at the way your eyebrows pinch together but doesn’t. “I’m serious. Don’t need you overanalyzing shit this close to the performance.”

A breath blows from your lips and you lull your head to the side. Well, there go your plans for tomorrow morning.

“Fine.”

“Good,” Henry winks with a kind hand on your shoulder. “See you Monday.”

With that, he’s gone. Whisking himself away further into the parking lot and making sure to hold his gift from you upright. You nibble at your bottom lip, looking back at your flower. Raising it, it just about reaches your nose. Only a hint of sweetness meets your nose before a loud hoot cuts through the silence, startling you.

The flower drops from your hands, onto the hard cement beneath you. You hurry to try and pick it back up but the flash of a familiar face prevents you from doing so.

“There you are, come on!”

A sloppy kiss presses into your cheek and you just barely conceal a frown at the unpleasantly wet feeling it leaves behind. You’re suddenly surrounded by a rowdy group of Kenny, Emil, Lars, and Seb. The latter with a heavy hand around your arm as he pulls you to the driver’s seat of the car.

“Need you to drive. You’re the only one who knows the way to Anya’s place from here.”

You know for a fact that that’s not true, but Sebastian shoves the keys in your hand before you can remind him. You’re promptly shuffled into the driver’s seat, Lars who called shotgun settling in next to you. Through the rearview mirror, you see your boyfriend, Emil, and Kenny clamber into the back seat.

The four young men continue their hollers as you pull out of the parking space. You drive as they talk loudly, slapping the seats, full of post-performance adrenaline. There’s an attempt from you to laugh and joke along, but the flower from Henry sitting sad back on the pavement clouds your mind in a haze that lasts all the way to your destination.

.・゜゜・

Carmen’s head hurts. He’s been staring at the table of scribbles and drawings of potential dishes for hours now, and his head hurts. Nothing is working. Flavors are clashing and the color isn’t right.

“Fuck,” he spits out quietly, eyes reaching up to rub his eyes painfully hard. Nothing is fucking working. What the hell are these flavors? And don’t even get him started on the colors.

He carelessly drops his pencil, letting it bounce against the table and onto the floor. It falls next to the other seven he’s chucked down there. Fingers running through his greasy hair, Carmen sniffs. Break. He needs a break.

Luca is already out on the balcony, halfway done with his cigarette. A nasty habit he’d picked up under the stress of the kitchen, but he’s young. He can quit later.

Carmen doesn’t have to say a word as Luca plucks a smoke from his own pack and hands it to him. Carmen lights his cigarette with familiar ease, the action feeling automatic after all this time. He finds himself grateful when the gracious silence continues, yet his thankfulness leaves him at record speed when Luca rumbles out a quiet, “Still working on recipes?”

A wordless nod from Carmen pushed a mixture of smoke and a light laugh from Luca’s lips.

“You need a break, Carm.”

“I am taking a break. Right here, with you.”

“A real one–one that has nothing to do with making sure the colors on your plate match. You need to get outta the apartment. Get somewhere where I’m not the only person you see.”

It’s Carmen’s turn to laugh, and it’s almost bitter. “You’re the only person I like.”

Luca pauses at the words, a small smile decorating the drag he inhales.

“I’m flattered, mate. Really. Still taking you out tonight, though.”

Carmen’s eyebrows furrow almost painfully. He shakes his head and almost chokes at the smoke he let sit in his lungs for too long.

“I don’t wanna go to a party.”

“It’s not a party,” Luca clarifies, looking away from the currently calm sidewalk that lies nicely in front of their apartment and at Carmen. “Just something a friend of a friend invited me to. Some gathering at someone’s place over in Vanløse–”

Carmen’s speaking before he means to, his voice pinched in a whine.

“–I don’t wanna fuckin’ go.”

Luca stops, a look cutting over to the Berzatto with expertly subdued annoyance. God, he hates it when Carmen gets like this. Pissy and borderline rude and completely consumed in something he doesn’t need to be. He stares for one more moment, just to make Carmen feel it a bit, before smashing out his cigarette in the ashtray to his right. He’s turning to head back inside when a low sorry halts him.

“Sorry,” Carmen whispers out again. He searches helplessly for something else to say, eyes trailing down to Luca’s sneakers. Forest Green Campus 00s. Adidas. The pair Luca’s been looking forward to since the announcement of their return two months ago. “They look good.”

Luca follows Carmen’s gaze and has to bite back a proud smile. “...Thanks. Picked them up this morning. You know, I’ve still got an in with the guy, might be able to get you a pair. Whatever color.”

A slow nod bobs Carmen’s head. He turns back to the city, a long cloud of smoke streaming from his lips. “Maybe… maybe.”

As Luca turns to resume his journey back to the flat’s living room, one last mumble catches just inside his ear. 

“I’ll go.”

The pastry chef grins to himself, sliding open the balcony door and leaving Carmen alone in the kind Copenhagen air of late afternoon. Carmen spills a heavy sigh. Only now does he remember the burn on his hand from yesterday’s mishap in the kitchen, still sore and fresh.

He really should patch that up.

.・゜゜・

Sebastian, Lars, Emil, and Kenny are tumbling out of the car before you pull it to a full stop. The quiet it brings doesn’t allow it to irritate you. If anything, you’re grateful for the lack of whatever the hell the four of them were rambling about on the drive over.

You take your time getting out of the vehicle, triple-checking to make sure it’s locked before falling into line behind the guys. They knock on Arya’s front food an obnoxious amount of times, and you can already imagine the look on her face when she swings it open.

“It’s open, you idiots,” Arya groans out as soon as she pulls open the door. Lars giggles childishly, and you feel a hand grab at your wrist. Seb. He yanks you into his side as he enters behind Kenny, Lars, and Emil.

Arya looks right past all of them, cementing her gaze onto you. She tugs you away from Seb, gently, squeezing a warm hug around you.

“Hi, love,” she breathes out over the already commotion of the music and guests in the other rooms.

When she breaks away, something inside you needs you to turn to Sebastian. Does he need anything? A snack? Drink? Drink, he definitely needs a drink after an already long evening of sonatas and concertos.

Arya can feel you thinking, the strain of the gears in your head bleeding out of you clear as day. She flicks her eyes to Sebastian, who’s already accompanying Emil to another room. Before you can turn any further, Arya links an arm with yours and guides you down the hall to your left.

“Wait, but,” you try, but she shushes you. “Arya…”

She tuts you one last time, shuffling you towards a closed door. She flicks it open, and you’re both inside before you get the chance to blink.

Arya’s bedroom.

A collage of old polaroids you watched her take on the pier of Svanemølle Beach is still taped to the side of her queen bed. The one you spent laying on for most of last summer, as you cried over the problems that attempted to follow you over the Atlantic. All the while Arya helps you through your tears with delicate hands and comforting whispers.

You smile at the fairy lights she has hung in the corner of the room. They’re just as warm as you remember.

“How’s work going?”

Arya lets out a sigh but smiles. She’s been working as a music teacher at a nearby primary school for the past several months–teaching children the more simple concepts of music theory. Arya had been in her last year of Music Education when you arrived on campus as a wide-eyed, shaky freshman. You’ve been under her wing ever since, staying close and growing closer as the two of you watched each other learn and age through womanhood. Shoulder by shoulder. Step by step. In many ways, she reminded you of your older sister. The nice one.

You wonder how she’s doing.

“It’s actually going really great,” she grins with something warm. “My co-workers are nice and the kids are sweethearts. I’m especially excited for when Christmas comes around. Hearing them sing those little carols I have planned for their holiday recital is going to have everyone melting. Oh! Speaking of recitals, how’s your prep going? Are you ready?”

A thick bile threatens to rise up your throat.

“Can we talk about something else, please?”

Arya squints her eyes with crossed arms and pursed lips. She thinks for a moment.

“Okay, fine. How’s the man-child?”

“...Can we talk about something else, please–”

Arya stops you with a scoff. “I just really don’t get it, darling. You deserve so much better than that. I mean, i’s why I dragged you away so quickly. So you couldn’t dote over him like he’s your kid.”

“I don’t dote on him,” you clarify, and the bile rises a little higher. “I just like to take care of him.”

Another sigh from Arya. This one’s longer and extra heavy. She just stares at you for a moment before stepping over and pressing a kiss into your forehead.

“Gotta go make sure Eli’s not fucking up anything, you know how he can get. Stay in here as long as you want, ‘kay?”

With that, Arya heads for the door. You don’t catch the sympathetic look she throws back to you before trekking down the hall, the clunk of her thick platform boots falling into a quiet nothing.

She got the job right out of graduation, which neither of you could believe. Yet you still celebrated the offer with plenty of fruit wine with a name on the label you don’t dare try to pronounce.

A burn heats your eyes. Snapping them shut, your fists clench. You feel as though you’re ten years old all over again. Standing in your room back home. Legs ratting. Little heart sore and broken.

Get over it a horribly familiar voice sneers inside your head, echoing with a darkness you still struggle to find yourself in. Get over it.

Your recovery happens in record time. It’s as though you blinked and you’re walking into the front room with a drink for Sebastian held safe in your hands. A simple plastic cup with an even simpler party punch mix that was made concocted by Arya a little while ago.

You make it to Sebastian, who’s busy chatting amongst a group of familiar faces. Lars and Kenny next to him, the two of them messily laughing and talking over one another. Lux across from them, to Sebastian’s right, giving an impressive attempt at trying to follow along the several spillages of words tumbling out around her.

A few others you recognize from campus are there, too, but your eyes gravitate towards Sebastian. Your hand is soft and careful as you graze it across his shoulder. The expression on his face when he turns to meet your eyes drops your stomach a little, but you smile through it.

“Hi, Sebby. Brought you a drink.”

He waves you off. The flick of a grin crosses his face, but it’s rude and dismissive. You swallow and try again.

“It’s just the stuff Rya made,” you mumble out quietly, not wanting to attract any extra attention. Sebastian cuts his eyes to you, fingers wiggling in a silent order for you to knock it off. Something inside you makes you try one more time. “You sure, baby?”

A gasp tightens your chest once Seb finally turns around, placing a grip on your waist and jerking you toward him. His other arm circles around you as his lips press up against your ear. There’s a tight smile on his face, and you have to balance the drink to keep him from sloshing onto the back of his shirt.

A squeeze on your hips.

“Can you just fuck the hell off, baby? Please?”

Sebastian pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes. His smile is still plastered across his face, something vile behind it. You blink and tip the corners of your mouth upwards. A stiff nod finally allows him to let you go. You keep smiling as he returns to the group, jumping back into the conversations with a sickening ease.

Your eyes dance around the room, and you feel so hot. Glancing down into the cup, your legs haul your body back to the sink in the kitchen. You don’t remember to blink as you dump the liquid down the drain. The rest of the world grows mute around you for what feels like hours.

.・゜゜・

Carmen found that it’s a lot easier to do things when Luca’s around. Too bad he’s back somewhere in another part of the house Carmen can’t remember. In the middle of a riveting back and forth with someone Carmen can’t remember the name of.

Carmen steps into the kitchen, skin sizzling with uncertainty. His gaze zips right to a young woman staring deeply into the steel of the sink. He blinks and glances around.

Is… is she real?

The chef waits a few moments. When the woman doesn’t disappear, Carmen feels his throat tighten.

He debates just leaving whoever she is be, but his mouth is so dry. And he needs some kind of alcohol if he’s going to make it through the next few hours. His feet take easy steps toward where the rest of the drinks sit pretty in a bucket of ice on the other side of the stranger.

The deep breath he inhales only steadies him a tad as he continues. He freezes when you turn to him. He can barely get out his small, “You mind if I get a drink?”

Carmen knows he’s blushing when you look at his lips. He bites at them unintentionally, waiting for you to say something. Anything. Finally–

“Sorry, what?”

Carmen relaxes a little and almost smiles. His eyes soften at the genuinely lost expression on your face.

“Nothing, just uh,” he starts, “just tryna get… something to drink.”

It takes a long ten seconds of you and Carmen staring at one another for you to realize that you’re blocking his access to the drinks on the counter.

“Oh, sorry,” you hurry out and scoot away. Carmen is quick to shake his head.

“No problem,” Carmen replies and is quick to shake his head at you. “S’alright.”

Silence fills the area as he goes to pull a random drink from the ice. He doesn’t remember to glance at the label on the glass, mind busy with averting his gaze from where you stand. You’re no better, shuffling back and forth in your chunky heels. The ones you decided to wear because you know how much Sebastian likes them.

Carmen barely stops himself from jumping when you quietly ask, “Are you a student at the conservatory?”

Conservatory?

“Con-conservatory? Uh, no. No, I’m, uh, I’m a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend that dragged me out here tonight.”

Your nod is interrupted by the dropping of your head, as another wave of weak but noticeable tears pools its way into your eyes. Carmen’s widens slightly, and his internal desire to retreat back into himself is so strong.

“Are you, uh… are you okay? You just, you got some,” Carmen sputters, finger reaching up to gesture toward his eyes. When he tries to finally push out the question, the sound of footsteps stops him.

“Carmen? You good?”

Everyone in the room pauses. You and Carmen, who looks like a deer caught in headlights, whip your heads toward Luca. His gaze immediately drags over to you, and he swallows. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not. Just talking to…” Carmen shrinks into nothing looking back at you. Name. He wants your name. You rattle it off to him in a way that makes the skin on his neck redden some more. Carmen repeats it softly, those big, baby blues intense and unmoving. Luca steps further into the kitchen, smiling lightly at the way the syllables fall from your lips.

Your lips. They’re nice, even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“I’m Luca. That’s Carmen.”

Their names fit perfectly. So perfect, that it makes you forget all about the cup you dropped in the sink. Carmen clears his throat and sniffs. He shifts, unsure of what to say next, but grimaces harshly when he brushes his hand up against the hard of the counter. Your eyebrows furrow at the action but unwrinkle as soon as you see the bright burn on his hand.

Luca, who moves as soon as Carmen hisses, rounds the island in the middle of the room. He towers over Carmen, grabbing the smaller man’s hand and raising it up to get a better look.

“I thought you took care of that,” Luca gently scolds, face pinched into a frown.

“Yeah, no,” Carmen answers.

Just as Luca lets go of Carmen, you take a smaller step toward the men. “Uh, I can patch that up, if you want. There’s stuff up in the bathroom to take care of it, plus I’m really close with the owner of the house. I know she wouldn’t mind. Especially since you’re a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend.”

Carmen lets himself grin a little while Luca releases a short chuckle.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll take you up on that.” He turns to Luca and begins to follow where you’re heading for a nearby hallway. “I’ll be back in a second–”

“Luca can come, too. If you want. Arya won’t care.”

Carmen shuffles so you can’t see the way he widens his eyes at Luca. He tries to nod as inconspicuously as possible, and the taller man has to hold back the strong giggle that tries to exit him.

“Yes, okay,” Luca nods with a shrug, looking to you with a soft smile. “Lead the way.”

© superhoeva

[withacapitalp]

Cocaine Bear AU

BLAME THE SERVER DO NOT BLAME ME

Part Two

“Steeeeeeeve, why are you forcing us to do this?” Dustin groaned, letting his head droop down against his chest as they continued to plod through the woods. 

“Because you guys can’t just sit in my living room every day playing Dragons and Danger with all the curtains drawn,” Steve replied cheerfully, not losing the spring in his step despite the fact that all seven of the kids following him were giving him the evil eye. 

“You know what it’s called. Besides, we don't sit in your living room every day,” Mike complained. 

“Yeah, sometimes we sit by the pool!” El tacked on, adjusting the straps of her bag as she spoke. 

Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a far too fond smile. He turned so he was facing his charges, putting his hands on his hips as he raised a brow. 

“We agreed that you guys would spend one afternoon a week getting fresh air as long as I agreed to babysit you this summer,” He reminded them, quickly checking to make sure they were actually just bellyaching. They looked annoyed and sweaty, but none of them were breathing too hard, and their cheeks were flushed, not pale. 

No heat exhaustion, just lazy fourteen-fifteen year olds who wanted to hide in the house all day long. 

“We only agreed to that because we figured you would forget,” Max muttered, continuing to carefully pick her way over the rocks along the trail, “Or you would be too busy,”

“Since when am I ever too busy for my favorite brats?” Steve asked rhetorically, flipping Dustin’s cap off as the teen walked past him. Dustin growled at him and waved a hand somewhere in Steve’s direction. 

Truthfully, Steve had been too busy for them the past few months. Between starting his community college courses, keeping both of his part time jobs, and continuing his training as a paramedic, he had barely had time to sleep, much less entertain a bunch of high schoolers. 

But now that all of their classes were on break, it was the perfect time to catch up and show them that he meant to keep his promises to them. It was going to be a good summer. Starting with this hike. 

He had it all planned out. They would go up to the peak of blood mountain, eat some lunch, and he would take them for ice cream in town afterward as a reward for sticking it out. It wasn’t exactly a beginner’s trek, but the kids were tougher than they looked. They could handle it. 

“How about this- the first one to get over the crest of the next hill gets to take the beemer for a spin around the parking lot of the school tonight?” Steve offered. 

Instantly all of their previous annoyance vanished. Quick as a flash Erica kicked her brother’s shin, taking out her biggest competitor, and they all began to scramble away from Steve and towards the hill. Lucas hung back rubbing the spot on his leg that she had hit. 

“Son of a-”

“Unless you wanna put a dollar in the jar when we get back you’ll stop that sentence right where it is,” Steve said in a warning tone. Lucas pouted from where he was kneeling, screwing his face into a scowl. Steve contemplated for a second before offering up a hand and a compromise.

“I’ll let you practice tomorrow after basketball practice when it’s just us,” Steve said, breaking into a smile as Lucas grinned up at him and eagerly accepted Steve’s hand. They walked up the rest of the hill together, listening to the others screaming at each other from the other side. 

Steve opened his mouth to tell them to knock it off- he was going to give them each a little bit of driving time if they wanted it- but he was cut off when a body barreled into his stomach. Steve’s arms came up to wrap around the other person automatically, catching Will in a hug as he buried his face into Steve’s chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, his heart hammering in his chest as Will didn’t answer, just continued to hang onto Steve in a death grip. 

“What happened?!” He asked the rest as they ran over, still screaming. It was hard enough for him to pick up sounds when it was just one of them, but when they all talked over each other, it was nearly impossible to pick up words inside the wall of sound. But what he did hear made his entire body break out in chills. 

Blood. Hanging. Body. 

“Max,” Steve barked, choosing the kid who was most likely to keep calm and still talk when under this much stress. She understood immediately and shouted to get the others quiet.

“There’s a body in a tree,” She said, looking painfully terrified, “He’s hanging from a bunch of wires? And it’s like, totally bloody.” 

“Mike, El, take Will,” Steve ordered, unlatching the boy from his middle and placing him in between his twin and his best friend. 

The three of them collapsed to the ground in a huddle, muffled sobs coming from the boy in the middle as the other two began to comfort him. Steve’s heart went out to Will, but as much as he wanted to stay right where he was and take care of Will, he knew someone else needed him more right now. 

“The rest of you stay right where you are,” He snapped, hurrying away as his mind slipped into EMT mode. If the person was still alive, they needed triage as soon as possible. 

If they weren’t alive…well he didn’t want his kids to have to see that again. 

“We can help,” Dustin started to say, but Steve cut that idea right off. 

“Stay here!” He yelled over his shoulder, knowing that he only had a few minutes before they inevitably ignored his orders and came over anyway. 

The sight on the other side of the hill was gruesome, to say the least. There was a pretty clearing at the bottom, soft tall grass dotted with wildflowers, but it was marred by splatters of dark red blood all over the place, and the body swaying in the wind. 

He was hanging by a…a parachute? 

Steve’s sneakers kicked up dust as he ran the rest of the way, shoving two fingers against the guy’s neck. A pulse. Thready, and too fast, but there. 

Steve let out an unconscious sigh, looking at the man’s face. His eyes were shut, and his skin was pale, but he was still breathing, and that was a good sign. There was a nasty cut along his arm, and his shirt was ripped in multiple places, but nothing appeared broken as far as Steve could see. There was no way to know about any potential internal damage, but Steve could figure that out after he got him out of the tree. 

And the guy was kind of cute. That wasn’t as important, but his brain filed that away anyway. 

“Is he dead?” A quiet voice came from behind him. 

Steve whirled around to see all of the kids staring at him with wide eyes. 

He had a couple of choices here. He could send them back the way they had come and ask them to flag someone down to call the police. He could take them back himself and leave the guy alone, hoping that nothing happened to him, or he could do the thing that made the most sense, even though it was the most daunting. 

“Not yet,” Steve said, making a decision, “Dustin, give me your knife. Let’s get him down and back to my place.” 

[skylessnights]

THE BEAR — Hannibal/Serial Killer AU [2/?]

Carmen Berzatto, a cannibalistic serial killer and Sydney Adamu, his sous chef with murderous tendencies, spend the rest of their summer building towards their dream of opening a new restaurant in Chicago. However, when Luca flies in from Copenhagen to assist Marcus with the pastries, Sydney soon realises that they are not the only 'eaters' in town...

Content: Gifset, Fanvid, Aesthetic

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 17: Two Steps Forward

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Two Steps Forward - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 3305 - Rated: T - CW: swearing, suggestive, non-graphic nudity, (memories of) non-graphic violence

Logan (and Roman) work obsessively at finding a way to help Remus. Just as Lucas had. And just as Lucas had, they have a breakthrough.

“Re’s really progressing in his control,” Luc murmured, head pillowed on Janus’ belly. His head rose and fell with each breath, a soft marking of time as they wound down for the evening.

Janus hummed and carded an ungloved hand through his hair. “He seemed so happy at dinner after your excursion.”

“When we first got out there, he… he started to get overwhelmed. Ro did, too, at first. The…” His brow furrowed, then smoothed under Janus’ touch. “Old Boston is so close to the camps… That’s a lot of voices, a lot of pain.” Luc shifted, smiling up at him through messy curls. “Your lessons carried Ro through it.”

The fact he could help at least one of the boys eased the tightness in Janus’ chest. “That helps, love. Thank you.” His decade-old promise to keep them both safe danced through his mind and fueled every attempt to get Re’s powers under control. “So… how did you get through to Re?”

His gaze shifted, suddenly fascinated by the crooked edge of a thumbnail.

“Luc?” Janus prompted, hand stilling in his hair.

“I took just a little of the hurt,” he said, finally looking up. “Just enough to let him concentrate.”

“Luc! You promised you’d focus on techniques to help him stay calm, not just doping him!”  Janus sat up and Luc pushed up onto his elbow, bringing them closer to eye level. “He needs to learn how to filter the perceptions coming in, not just… not care about what’s out there.”

“It wasn’t a full block! I swear, ma cheri,” Luc insisted, reaching for his arm. “We can’t just yank off the training wheels and let him teeter off a cliff.”

“I’m not suggesting—”

“‘Trust me, dammit,’” Luc whispered with a little smile. His grin grew when Janus sighed, shaking his head with a laugh.

“Now that’s just unfair,” he murmured, pushing back the hair from his eyes. “You can’t use my own words against me.”

“I can’t?” Luc chuckled, sliding closer and nuzzling against his collarbone. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

~

Twenty-three weeks.

One hundred and sixty-one days.

One hundred and sixty-one days since he’d first looped a reverse-field esper coil over The Prince’s shoulders.

“Damn,” he’d grunted under the weight but still laughed. “If this doesn’t work, Iron Man, I’m gonna make you bench this thing.” Logan had spent a lot of time in the fitness room after that first failed test.

One hundred and sixty-one days of breaking the vise on V’s printer, of burning his fingertips on overheated solder. One hundred and sixty-one days of The Prince’s downcast eyes, of flicking off a too-much or two-little device.

One hundred and sixty-one nights of whispering together outside The Muse’s door about that day’s attempts. And about the book The Muse was reading, and the Springsgate bridge the team had saved from collapsing. 

About the dreams they’d each had the night before.

It had taken three weeks, but they’d finally convinced V to install a vent in the hall at Logan’s level to make it easier for the Muse to hear him. After watching Logan stretch and strain to get closer to the vent he’d installed at eye level—at a standing Mad Lad’s eye level—he’d finally obliged. The work in the hall was quick, but Silvertongue had needed to dig up some ancient set of manual tools so V could install the bolts on The Muse’s side.

“Wait, not that drill—”

“Dammit!” The power drill sparked and sizzled in his grip, and the acrid scent of burnt insulation filled the air. “Mac, you got the hand drill—” Logan had chuckled and thunked into his outstretched palm.

“Right here, V.”

One night, he and The Muse had tried to sit together on either side of the open door for an actual face-to-face conversation. But the temptation had been too great and all it had taken was one tiny touch for fire to spread between them.

At least it had been brief enough not to have woken The Prince or Silvertongue.

One hundred and sixty two days later, after everyone had gone to sleep, Logan tapped at The Muse’s door, trial #398 freshly polished and nestled in his lap.

“You said Ro helped you?”

The Muse sat on the floor, two arms’ length distance from the open door. He fidgeted with his sleeves, twisting them together in his lap, and chewed the edge of his mustache. He watched with wide eyes as Logan maneuvered to the floor—less than gracefully—and turned to retrieve the thick metal ring from his wheelchair. 

Logan nodded, holding up the device. It was heavy, though perhaps not as heavy as it looked. It was about three inches wide and a good inch thick, a large durasteel bangle custom fit to wrap around The Muse’s wrist.

Well, designed to fit tightly around his brother’s wrist. Eyeing The Muse’s far bonier wrist now, Logan nodded, certain it would fit him comfortably.

“And Ro’s not awake, is he?”

“No,” He shook his head, smile tight. That first time they’d touched, it had taken The Prince several days to completely recover from the overflow of thought and perception from The Muse’s unshielded mind. “He’s asleep. And if anything goes wrong, we’ll flip the shield back up. He might have a brief nightmare. Nothing worse than that.” 

Nothing worse than starting all over with their tests. Again.

Logan shook away his pessimism and met The Muse’s eyes before setting down the coil on the floor between them. “Are you ready?”

The Muse’s fingers twitched as he reached for the device. Completely powered down, it lay heavy and quiet on the floor, with none of the staticy buzz it usually emitted. His hand hovered above it, just shy of touching it.

“But if you turn it on in here, won’t my shield break your—your”

“Esper coil,”

“Yeah.” The Muse traced a spray of wires woven along the edges. Patton had helped with the braiding and Logan briefly wondered if he recognized his work. The Muse looked up and nodded. “You should see what he does with hair.”

Dragging his eyes away from The Muse’s soft green ones, Logan nodded and pointed to the power switch. “You will need to activate the coil immediately after I shut down your field. I would, but—” Right hand outstretched, he wiggled his fingers at the same time he waved his left stump.

The Muse chuckled. “Okay, I can do that. And you’re sure it’ll work?”

“I’m positive the coil will protect you. I would never knowingly put you in any jeopardy. We’ve tested it extensively and—”

“No.” The Muse touched his sleeve. “I mean are you sure it will work to protect you from me? That time the power went out, and when we touched… I…” He hung his head. “I hurt you.”

“We hurt each other,” he reminded him. “I will be fine,” Logan promised, before The Muse could argue—again—about who hurt who more. “If need be, I’ll reactivate the field.” He smiled, his hand close enough to the Muse’s to feel that glorious buzzy heat radiate off his skin.

“Okay,” he nodded. “I trust you, Logan. This switch here?”

“Precisely.” Eyes fixed on The Muse, Logan climbed up the perch next to the door, then felt along the wall for the shield’s control panel. The cover squeaked when he flipped it up. He nodded one more time and pressed his palm against the shield’s controls.

The numbers counted down and The Muse’s mustache quivered, and he shook out the hand hovering over the coil’s switch. The panel flicked to ‘0’ and a strangled sound spilled from his lips, a matching wail filling Logan’s mind.

Abruptly, the pain was gone and the Muse looked up, blinking as he smiled back at him. The cry in Logan’s mind shifted, deepening into a soft, comforting hum. It reminded Logan of a lullabye.

“It worked,” the Muse whispered. He inched closer, still gripping the coil. “I… It… It doesn’t hurt,” he said, looking around the room as though he could see through the walls.

Maybe he could.

“I…” He let out a low sigh and his entire face melted into a softer smile, his shoulders dropped, hands loose even as he hugged the coil close to his belly. “I can hear… I can hear y—” The Muse’s eyes flew wide open. “You hurt!”

“What?” Logan scrabbled for the panel, stabbing at the controls. “No, no, no, I’m so sorry, I’ll turn it back on, I’m sorry, I was so sure, I—” It would fry the coil, but all that mattered was stopping the Muse’s pain. Hand trembling, he broke the sequence and had to start from the beginning, hurrying to get the protective field reactivated.

But the Muse was faster.

“No, Logan, I mean you hurt,” he said softer, gently pulling his hand from the controls. When had he gotten so close? The Muse’ hand was warm against his, but it was more than a surface heat. His touch felt… textured. Plush, like a fluffy towel. Or dandelion heads. What insulation looked like.

Logan relaxed and moved closer. The Muse just nodded, still holding his hand, coil now wrapped around his wrist. Scarred and calloused fingers oh-so-gently traced over his own misshapen digits, brushing over the scarred knuckles where his pinky and ring finger had once been. 

“I can hear how much you hurt here,” the Muse whispered. “And here,” he added, tapping what was left of his legs, then his arm.

Logan looked away, but the warmth spreading from the Muse’s touch remained. “Phantom limb pain. The clinic said it’s all in my head,” he muttered.

“Of course all our pain is in our heads,” the Muse replied, sliding closer. “So is our joy and our pleasure and our fear and our need.” His hands were so warm. “Our love and our desire.”

This close, Logan was certain he heard the Muse’s words like his own thoughts, though with the coil set this high that shouldn’t be possible.

The Muse grinned as he touched his chin, two gentle fingers turning him so their eyes would meet. “You’re softer now, but I can still hear you. And I think you can hear me.”

Logan shivered, the Muse’s excitement buzzing under his own skin, easing his worry. The movement set off a wave of sharp ache, long-gone calves screaming to be stretched. He stifled a cry. “And… and I’m not hurting you?”

“No,” he said, wincing in time with Logan.

The panel called to him. “No, I am. I can see it. I’m hurting you. I should raise your shield.”

“No, please don’t,” the Muse stroked his hand. “I have an idea.” Pulling back, he sat fully on the floor, legs crossed at the shins in front of him. One hand rested on his thigh and the other he held in offering to Logan. “Close your eyes and take my hand.”

With one more glance at the control panel, Logan slid down to the floor and did as he was asked. Eyes closed, Muse’s hand wrapped around his and he laced their fingers together, with Logan’s pinkie—his pinkie— brushing against a long, jagged scar over the back of Muse’s hand.

“You feel that, don’t you?” Laughter played in his voice. “Now take my other hand,” he whispered.

“But I—” Logan began even as warm, callused fingers enveloped his left hand. Tears pricked his eyes as he flexed fingers he hadn’t felt since the bot attack. “H—how? How are you doing that?”

“Keep your eyes closed,” Muse instructed instead of answering. “And see.”

Eyes still shut, Logan looked down and smiled at his own thin, pale fingers threaded together with Muse’s. The tips of Muse’s fingers were scarred and rough, but his palms were soft and wonderfully warm. Logan squeezed his hand, laughing, then traced a thick knotted scar just above his first knuckle. The bones were crooked beneath his skin, like they’re broken and fused not quite the way they’d been. Muse nodded.

“I punched the cinderblock,” he explained with a dry laugh. “I thought it might be a good distraction, but…” He shook his head and gave him a little shrug when their eyes ‘met.’ 

Logan stroked the scar, nodding slowly, then brought their shared grip together and compared his hands side-by-side. His own hands weren’t identical, but they never had been. Without the augmentations commonplace for Traditional children of the highest classes, the fingers on Logan’s dominant left hand had always been just a little thicker, a little stronger. 

He’d always scarred easily and his skin freckled in the sun. This hand, his hand Muse was showing him was splashed with the same familiar constellation of freckles and moles on the back of it where he’d missed his sunscreen, awkwardly applying it with his non-dominant hand. He’d had the marks since before the final round of ozone replacements back when he was still a child. Know you like the back of my hand…

Muse’s Illusion was… perfect. Incredible, in fact. Logan could ‘see’ his old hand so clearly. But—

“Your mind remembers,” Muse whispered, leaning closer until their foreheads touched, hands clasped between them. “It’s all in there, bouncing around in your head, little memories hiding from your own thoughts.”

Logan floated in the gentle cadence of his words. 

“But your mind keeps it all, the memory never really goes away. Nothing does. Nothing dies in your mind. Your mind remembers what your hand looked like, remembers what things felt like. Your mind remembers everything.”

As if on cue, Logan curled around himself, a tearing, burning pain shooting up his left arm and his right hand clenched around Muse’s. The pickerbot’s shadow loomed over them, cold metal pulling him up by the hair and—

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Remus whispered. A mustache bristled against the knuckles of his right hand as warm, chapped lips pressed kisses against his mangled fingers and Logan gradually softened his grip. “See? You’re safe.” When his right hand grew slack, Remus laid it in his own lap. “Rest your hand there,” he instructed, then wrapped both hands around Logan’s trembling left arm.

Palm smoothing down over skin that wasn’t really there, he gripped Logan’s phantom left hand, then firmly massaged the muscles in his shoulder and upper arm, pressing away the pain of ripped ligaments and flesh, the physical evidence of a solid, whole humerus overriding the memory of shattered, grating bone.

His hands moved down Logan’s left arm, pressing soft spirals into his elbow and over the flexors in his forearm, his wrist, each finger. When he was done, Remus lifted Logan’s left hand to his lips and gently kissed each fingertip.

Logan flexed his left hand, twisting his arm first one way and then the other. Remus smiled, watching.

“Better?” he asked and Logan nodded. “Now your legs. May I?”

“I trust you, Remus,” he said, laying back. Remus. When had he started to call him that?

Remus only smiled and a fuzzy brightness filled his mind. Warm sunlight on a hot day, a cool breeze raising goosebumps at the back of his neck, and over his cheeks. His heart thrummed in his chest, syncopated with the beat of Remus’ just under his skin. He relaxed as Remus shifted his body, freely sharing images of how he wanted to move him. 

Stretched out on the floor, head pillowed on one of the cushions, he lifted each leg one at a time as Remus massaged away a year’s worth of knots and aches from phantom muscles. Remus slowly worked his way up until his fingers grazed the line of fire half-way up his thigh where the pickerbot had torn him apart. He flinched.

“It’s okay, Logan, see for yourself.”

His words were soft and voiceless, but clear in Logan’s mind. He looked past closed eyes and saw his legs were healthy and whole, lanky muscles relaxed under Remus’ ministrations. The fiery ache was gone, replaced by Remus’ soft, gentle touch.

“Whenever it hurts, whenever you hurt, remember this feeling,” he said, the silent words stitching themselves into his every cell, neurons crackling and popping like those old vids of campfires. Remus helped him sit up then cupped his face between both hands. “You’re safe now, Logan.”

Remus’ words melted into his skin with the heat of his touch and Logan nodded. “I know.”

He leaned against the door and Remus curled close, tucking himself under his stump of an arm. Slowly, Logan reached up and brushed back a bit of Remus’ hair where it had fallen into his eyes. Warmth spread through his chest, a low rumbly hum. He wasn’t sure if it had started in Remus and spread to him. Or the other way around.

Just as slowly, Remus wrapped one arm around his belly, molding himself to Logan’s side. “Is this okay?”

Logan couldn’t tell if he’d asked out loud. He nodded, cheek rubbing against the top of Remus’ head. “More than okay,” he said with his mouth. Don’t let go, he said with his heart.

And Remus heard both. “I won’t,” he promised.

They stayed like that until their eyelids grew heavy and Logan’s hand stuttered and fell against Remus’ shoulder. 

“It’s late and you’re drifting off,” he murmured, shifting so he could look into his eyes. Remus blinked slowly, concern mixed with a happy daze. “It’s probably safer for you to sleep in your room, just in case…” He jiggled the coil on his wrist, its circuitry’s buzz reassuring. The key to so much.

But Remus was right. Logan nodded and he tried to sit up, a vision of clambering up and into his chair pulling him further from sleepiness.

“I can help.” Remus moved to a crouch, arms open. “We’ll work together,” he grinned, understanding both Logan’s need and hesitation without him having to speak it. He could get used to that. “Teamwork and all that, right?”

“Right.” Conjugations from an ancient Latin textbook, one of those old screened ones you could only read in the library, popped into his groggy brain as Remus lifted him up so he could reach the door controls. “Quorum par, tuum par, meus par…” [ ‘Our partner, your partner, my partner’ ]

Remus chuckled and settled him into his chair after the door slid open. “‘Meus par?’ Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Ah… Ah w—well—” Logan’s cheeks burned, the many meanings of the words ‘my partner’ flowing freely from Remus’ mind. “Th—that particular meaning might be more precisely translated as ‘socius meus.’”

Remus knelt next to Logan’s chair, keeping himself at eye level, if not just a little below. He then took Logan’s hand and held it to his own heart, the steady, rapid thrumming tickling them both.

“Or you could just call me ‘meus.’” Remus stared back at him, naked hope painting his features, a galaxy of emotions pouring from his mind. It left Logan dizzy and overwhelmed, this heady mix of joy and fear and… something soft he didn’t want to try to find words for. But did they really need words? Did they need words for what battered at the inside of his rib cage, fighting to be heard?

“Meus, then,” he whispered and Remus’ face bloomed in a smile. “Good night, Meus,” he said again.

“Good night, Logan.” He pressed a kiss against Logan’s knuckles and drew back into his room and let the door close.

Logan sat outside Remus’ room for a long time before slowly rolling down to the elevator. He called it and the doors slid open. He half-expected V to be waiting for him inside. But the elevator was empty.

After a minute or two, the elevator doors closed with him still sitting in the hall. The car remained where it was. Logan turned and rolled back to Remus’ door.

Remus was there, watching through the window.

“I don’t want to leave,” he said, hand trembling as he reached for the door panel. Remus nodded and leapt through the door as it slid open.

He crouched in front of his chair, both arms wrapped tight around Logan’s middle. “Then stay.”

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Here's some Stranger Things ideas that I've got but am not sure what to do with

1 - Lucas gets his dad's help to make a mixtape for Max while she's in her coma (currently working on this playlist at the moment)

2 - Just the general vibes of Lucas and Max in university, going shopping, day trips. They both go to Stanford Lucas for something relating to electrical engineering and Max for psychology. Lucas has to take a writing class for some reason or another and ends up writing about Max (this would follow on after one of my Stranger Things fics which has Eddie and Billy come back) he talks about Max being blind, needing crutches and her complex relationship with her family

3 - An addendum to another Stranger Things fic which involves a no upside down AU where Billy goes off to university and finds out one night that Neil's been abusing her. He goes back to Hawkins and, after telling Hopper, they end up going to court as Neil's accused of child abuse. This is the first time the party hear of the abuse and the first time they meet Billy's mother

4 - A fic set at Christmas of 1984, where the Hargrove-Mayfields go to California for Christmas. Max hears Neil saying racist things about Lucas to Billy and blaming Billy for her interacting with the 'wrong people', she runs in to defend Lucas and gets hit. Billy and Max run away and drive back to Hawkins. I don't really have anything after this, the party are having a Christmas get-together in between Christmas and New Year. Max tells them everything and about Neil's abuse to Billy

5 - Apparently Billy's got a Niagara Falls hat in S3 so a fic about that trip. Or maybe an origin fic where Billy's mum and Neil meet and go to Niagara Falls

[nolita-fairytale]

don't you worry, there's still time | bonus content | kokuore restaurant reveal

made by @translatemunson

made by me!

[translatemunson]

burn your life down... more profiles

i've finally watched the bear season 2!!!! and i cannot take my mind of burn your life down, by @nolita-fairytale, so i decided to make profiles for astrid, lina, joe, mathilde and jesper! as per usual, i'm trying to tell a story or show more of their personality (based on what gen shared with me - ty so much gen!!! - or on things i imagine for them), let me know if you wanna see a breakdown of the details!!!!

probably gonna make more stuff related to this fic, so stay tuned! hope y'all like it!

more profiles under the cut! enjoy!

don't repost or use my edits without crediting me! if you want a fake profile, read my guidelines here and make a request!

[beasanfi1997]

I would like to made Pirates of Caribbean AU starring Open Season, Monster House and Luca.

It's called the Animals of America

Elliott the deer: Jack Sparrow

Boog the bear: Joshamee Gibbs

Luca Paguro: Will Turner

Giulia Marcovaldo: Elizabeth Swann

Ivan the deer: Hector Barbossa

McSquizzy the squirrel and Mr. Weenie the Dog dachshund: Pintel and Ragetti

Tank the penguin: Bo'sun

Deni the mallard duck: Cotton

Coraline Jones: Anamaria

Horace Nebbercracker: Davy Jones

Constance Nebbercracker: Tia Dalma

Massimo Marcovaldo: Governor Weatherby Swann

Lorenzo Paguro: Bill Turner

Giselle the deer: Angelica Teach

Grizzly Bear(From Fox and Hound): Barbanera

Todd the fox: Philip Swift

Vixey the vixen: Serena

Ercole Visconti: Norrington

I taken a few characters from Fox and Hound to play Philip Swift, Serena and Barbanera

You know? Open Season and Monster House are two movies that release in 2006 the year that Jacob Tremblay was Born, fifteen years before he voice Luca. Fox and Hound was release in 1981 and twenty-five years later arrives the midquel and i choose Todd, Vixey and the Grizzly Bear to play Philip Swift, Serena and Barbanera because the Grizzly Bear captures Todd, because he was raise by Widow Tweed, and he force him to attire Vixey with the Fox call and to capture her and to search the waterfall of Youth. Fortunatly Elliot with the help of his formerly rival Ivan and his friend Boog save Giselle using the waterfall of Youth while the Grizzly Bear gets killed and Todd and Vixey can live in peace.

In carriage Chase from Pirates of Caribbean 4, i was thought to use Dixie, from Fox and Hound, playing the Older lady in Aqua dress that Jack Sparrow stealing her earring.

Luca and Giulia were perfect to play Will and Elizabeth and because Luca when he gets wet he becomed a Sea Monster Just like Will and the ship of his father.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 5

part 1 | part 4

“…Henderson? Oh, holy shit, Henderson!!”

Eddie sounds like a kid on Christmas morning as he comes bounding across the street, movements like a great dane tripping over gangly limbs. He barrels into Dustin and tackles him in a great big hug, swings him off the ground in a circle and puts him back down so they can do some elaborate handshake with slaps and switchbacks and an ending tap-tap of their ankle bones.

What the fuck?

Steve watches this whole thing go down with his hands on his hips and his face doing something horribly sour because seriously what the actual fuck? Stupid handshakes with Henderson are his thing.

“What are you doing here, man?” Munson asks Dustin with a jovial pat on the back. Dustin’s squeezing him around the middle, tucked into his side like a little kid hugging a giant teddy bear, face just lit the fuck up with excitement over this. Steve feels his nostrils flare in a brief flash of petty rage.

“Steve!” he shouts happily. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re neighbors with Eddie?”

Eddie’s face falls when he looks up and sees Steve. Feeling’s mutual, dickwad.

“You’re here to see Harrington?” He asks in a voice like flat soda, all the earlier enthusiasm sucked out into the void. He takes a tiny step away from Dustin — just the smallest bit of distance, a subtle lightening of his touch against his shoulder — but Steve doesn’t miss the flicker of hurt that passes between Dustin’s brows. As if he needed another reason to hate this guy.

“Uh, yeah?” Dustin asks, confusion coloring his tone. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s your what?”

Steve’s chest swells with pride. “He said I’m his brother.”

“Not my blood brother,” Dustin clarifies, and Eddie makes a little noise. “But yeah. He’s fucking awesome. And you’re fucking awesome—”

“Language?” Steve tries for Claudia’s sake, but Dustin’s on a roll now, getting louder and more exuberant as he starts talking with his hands.

“—And oh, holy shit, this is the best! Wait ‘til I tell Mike and Lucas about this. With you guys living so close, we can hang out all the time! And we won’t even have to make two bike rides!”

Dustin leans in to squeeze Eddie in another hug, so stoked he’s bouncing on his toes a little (so stoked he doesn’t even bother to ask Eddie if it’s cool if the whole party shows up at his door, but that’s Dusty for you). His face is turned into the front of Eddie’s shirt, and over the top of his baseball cap Eddie gives Steve this look that Steve’s pretty sure he returns. Serious. Somber. Resigned. A fucking gallows stare, because…

Because fuck. Fucking- goddammit.

They’re gonna have to pretend to tolerate each other now. For Dustin.

Steve’s left eye starts to twitch.

—

“Are you selling him drugs?”

“Excuse the fuck outta you??”

Okay. Yeah. Bad start. Backtrack. Steve knows this is not the right way to approach a conversation, especially not when it’s Saturday night and you just interrupted your neighbor’s house party to be an accusatory dick to him. The Munson trailer door is wide open behind Eddie, and Steve can see a couple guys he vaguely recognizes from school sitting in the living room — a chubby white dude, a nerdy black guy, and a baby-faced kid with a scowl to rival Mike’s. They’re eating pizza and smoking cigarettes and sipping some cheap-ass brand of beer, and Steve is clearly interrupting.

“Sorry,” he tries again.

“Wow,” Eddie smirks. “Didn’t know you knew that word.”

“Shut up, man- just— ugh.” He takes a deep breath, wills himself to stop rolling his eyes at the guy he needs to ask a favor. “I’m sorry, okay? Can I just talk to you for a second?”

Eddie considers him for a moment; chin tilted up, lips pursed; and then he steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. “I’m listening,” he murmurs around a fresh cigarette, hand cupped around the end to light it.

He holds the pack out to Steve. “You want one?”

“Do I- what?”

Eddie shakes the box for emphasis. “Do you want one?”

“No, I heard you, I just…” The weird ceasefire between them is tripping him the hell up. He doesn’t think it’ll go too well if he says that out loud, though. “…Yeah. Fuck it. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

They smoke in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, looking out into the dark of the woods that kind of freak Steve out if he lets himself look too long. Something about the branches like long, spindly fingers in the dark; like jittering spider legs; like a Mindflayer made of—

“You wanted to ask me something?”

Steve rubs his brow with his thumb, lets the panic out on a slow breath. “Yeah, I just… Look, I’m not trying to— I mean, I shouldn’t accuse you of anything, man. I just spent the afternoon getting myself all worked up thinking about it after he left, and- and Claudia needs me to look out for the kid, so—”

“Who the hell is Claudia?”

Steve tilts his head at him. “Dustin’s mom?”

“Oh.”

“I thought you two were close.”

Eddie shakes his head, curls bouncing around his shoulders, “Nah, man, not yet really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the little guy’s cool and all — smart as shit, too—”

“Isn’t he?”

“Fucking genius. He’s gonna cure cancer or some shit, I swear.”

Steve catches himself smiling; hides it behind another quick puff of smoke.

“Anyway,” Eddie says, “I don’t really, like, know the dude. We just met because I run Hellfire.”

Oh. “The DnD club?” No wonder Dusty’s obsessed.

Eddie shoots him a look, a quick blink of pleasant surprise. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Cool. He loves that game.” Steve pulls in more smoke, takes his time on the exhale; lets the nicotine buzz swim in his veins. He forgot how nice it feels. “So yeah, Claudia— his mom—asked me to look out for him, y’know? And I just, I know you used to supply the weed for my house parties and shit— and it was good quality shit and all but I don’t—”

“Hold on,” Eddie says, snorting a little in disbelief. “You think I’m gonna sell weed to Dustin?”

Huh. “You wouldn’t?”

“Hell no! One, he’s way too young; that shit’s, like, bad for young minds or something, allegedly.”

Steve frowns to himself, thinking back to him and Tommy smoking weed in Tommy’s basement in middle school; the brain damage they probably gave themselves doing it. Whoops.

“Secondly, can he even smoke? I thought he was sick or something.”

“What? Why would you think he’s sick?” Oh, shit, is he sick? Does Steve not know about it because he missed all those family dinners?

“Dude, take a breath.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand, wafting smoke in pretty tendrils under the trailer’s flood light. “I just meant, like, chronically. ‘Cause of his bones and shit?”

“Oh,” Steve breathes, relieved. “Oh, yeah, no, he’s fine, he’s just like missing collarbones and stuff; he can bend like Gumby.”

Eddie laughs at that, dimple popping out, and Steve can’t help but laugh a little, too, remembering the last time he told someone that. “Don’t tell him I said that, though, he’ll get pissed.”

“Scout’s honor,” Eddie salutes.

“You a boy scout, Munson?”

“Nah, Harrington. Just figured you were.” His eyes are bright and playful, sort of magnetic as he drops the last of his cigarette and stubs it out with the toe of his boot. “Anyway, I gotta get back to the boys. You wanna stick around for a beer, or are you satisfied with my answer, Nanny Steve?”

“Okay, do not fuckin’ call me that,” Steve laughs, sharp and short. Tries to season the words with a glare, but Eddie’s face is too impish and pleased to hold on to any real anger. “And I appreciate the offer, but I think your friends would try to kill me.”

“Mm, yeah,” Eddie agrees, wiggling his fingers as he waves a hand to gesture at the whole of Steve. “Gareth is not exactly a fan of your kind.”

Aaand he’s pissed again. Jesus Christ. “My kind?”

“Yeah. Jocks? Rich assholes?” His lips tip up in a crooked smirk, “Or, well—”

“Don’t.”

Steve’s just done with his stupid jokes suddenly, and Eddie must hear how much he means it because he raises his palms in surrender and steps back. Always stepping back and away, this guy. Fucking coward.

Steve doesn’t know why he reacts like this, but the shame is turning to fiery fury in his gut, curdling his blood like sour milk, pricking hot at his lash line. Damn it; he’s not about to let Eddie Munson of all people see him cry.

He scoffs at himself, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Whatever, man,” he sniffs as he turns his back on him, “Enjoy your party. Screw you.”

—

The most pathetic part, Steve thinks to himself as he writhes and twists in his tangled, sweaty sheets; 2am and he’s up again after a nightmare because of fucking course he is; is that somewhere between the insomnia and guilt over the way their conversation imploded earlier, his staring-blindly-at-the-ceiling-until-his-eyeballs-start-to-burn morphs into, like, daydreaming about how it could have gone.

He keeps repeating the scene in his mind, rewinding the tape to let it play out in richer detail.

It goes like this:

1. Eddie comes over.

2. Eddie comes over and apologizes.

3. Eddie comes over in the middle of the night to apologize because he’s so, so sorry that he just can’t wait until morning, even though it wasn’t really his fault; no, Steve’s the sorry one; no, Eddie is; no, they’ll both agree to do better, for the kids.

4. It’s two in the morning, after the cars are all gone and the party’s died down, and Eddie comes quietly across the yard; taps gently on Steve’s window so he doesn’t wake his mom.

Steve leans out and snaps, “What?” because he’s still a little pissed, and Eddie makes big, contrite eyes and plays with his own hands; fingers dancing in nervous circles; spinning rings.

“Listen, I, uh—” Eddie begins, “I might have… Shit, man, I might’ve been a bit of a massive dick earlier, and seeing as we have to play nice on account of the kiddos, I— do you- I mean— come have another smoke with me? Please.”

Please.

Please.

Please.

It’s a pleasant dream. Steve rewinds again, lets it play out in his head for a few more loops. Falls asleep just as he’s getting the dialogue right.

When he wakes up, Munson’s van is gone.

They don’t talk again for weeks.

—

part 6

tag list got absolutely outta hand lmao and i can’t tag some of y’all bc of your privacy settings, so sorry if i didn’t tag you but here ya go i did my best 🩷 follow the tag #trailer park steve au for future parts. @steves-strapcollection @discorporatedmess @questionablequeeries @nburkhardt @disrespectedgoatman @a-little-unsteddie @thedragonsaunt @ledleaf @perseus-notjackson @devondespresso @loop-deloo @annabanannabeth @thewyvernkore @callas-shitshow @sentry-nest @aliea82 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @steddie-as-they-go @insominaticthoughts @lofaewrites @crazyhatlady86 @gothwifehotchner @potent-idiocy @discount-izukumidoriya @hbyrde36 @goldensnitchbcs @mightbeasleep @lawrencebshoggoth @beckkthewreck @silversnaffles @dawners @hellion-child @stray-bi-kids @iswearitsjustme @ilovecupcakesandtea @slowandsteddie @gaysonthefloor @pennyplainknits

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 30

Part 1 Part 29

Will feels cold here, huddled into the bleachers, surrounded by his best friends. He can feel something in his chest tugging, urging him to follow Eddie out of the gym and off to find Steve.

He doesn’t.

It’s weird, to feel this jittery being out of sight of two people he barely knows but feels inexplicably connected to. Will hopes they feel the same when they make it back. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if they make him go away.

Jonathan does that, sometimes. When he has to concentrate, or go to a shift at the diner, but with Jonathan, that means he has to be on is own for a few hours. Their tie is concrete – blood and love. With Steve and Eddie? He doesn’t know.

Will lets his gaze wander as his friend’s chat around him. His Mom is sitting on the first bench of the bleachers, everyone else organized in a wonky pyramid behind her. She’s chewing her nails, watching the door that Hopper, Eddie, and Eddie’s Uncle had gone through like they’ll be back any moment.

The school is quiet, his friend’s voices the only sounds, as they echo off the walls of the empty gym. Dustin is in the middle of explaining to El what a school dance is when Will realizes it’s too quiet.

He glances over to the corner, where Jonathan, Nancy, and Barbara were huddled before and sees no one at all.

“Where’s Jonathan?” It comes out of his mouth quiet, barely above a whisper, but Dustin stops mid-word to look around while Mom jumps up from the bleachers to do the same.

“Jonathan?” she calls, eyes getting that same frantic edge that had finally started to dissipate.

“They’re probably just sucking face somewhere,” Dustin says, shrugging like it’s all no big deal.

Mike recoils. “No way!” he says, at the same time that El says, “no,” quietly, eyes downcast. Mike turns to her, brows furrowed. “Did you see them? Do you know where they went?”

El looks up, eyes big and sad in her face. “Yes,” she says, nodding slowly.

“Where?” Mike sounds a bit frantic. “Where did they go?

El answers with a word Will’s starting to hope he never hears again. “Demogorgon.”

Will feels a tremor running over his bones. He’s so cold, like all the warmth has been sucked out of the gym.

“No, no, no!” his Mom says, running a hand up through her hair, irreparably messing up her bangs. “What are they doing?”

“Helping,” El says.

His Mom groans. Will remembers Nancy’s plans shared around the table like they were the only logical next steps and feels his hands begin to tremble where they’re hanging between his knees. Just the thought of Jonathan coming face to face with the Demogorgon armed with nothing but a bear trap and a bat makes a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

Come on, we’re going to find a phone!” his Mom says, gesturing impatiently for them all to get up and follow her. El shrinks a little into Mike’s side at her erratic gestures, but dutifully gets up with the rest of them and follows her out of the gym.

Dustin helpfully points her toward the administrative office. She drags the phone over the lip of the front desk to get at the keys, punching them in by rote and listening to it ring and ring.

“Pick up, Jonathan,” she hisses furiously. If they all make it out of here, his brother is going to be grounded for eternity.

“What are they doing?” Lucas asks quiet enough not to disturb his Mom’s threatening over the answering machine.

“They were going to lure the Demogorgon with blood,” Will answers, just as quietly.

“Why would he be at your house then?” Dustin asks, in that know-it-all voice that makes bullies try to beat him up between one class and the other. “If they’re trying to help Steve, they’ll be at—”

“Steve’s house,” El says, frowning.

Will wants to shake her until what he wants to know falls loose. But there’s something fragile about her, like if someone raised their hand, she’d wilt like a dandelion in the summer sun.

His Mom turns around, still clutching the base of the phone to her chest. She looks manic, like when she’s worked a double at Melvald’s and drank a whole pot of coffee. “Do any of you know Steve Harrington’s phone number?”

Lucas elbows Mike in the ribs. “He’s your sister’s boyfriend. Isn’t he calling your house all the time?”

“He is not her boyfriend!” Mike replies hotly. “And I don’t know it!”

Privately, Will thinks Mike’s probably right. Steve didn’t mention Nancy once in all the time Will was with him. That doesn’t seem like boyfriend and girlfriend behavior.

His Mom is wilting in front of them. She sets the phone down with a clatter that makes El jump.

“We should go to his house,” Mike says. “We can’t just leave Nancy to do something stupid.”

“She’s fine, she’s with Jonathan,” Dustin says with a careless shrug, as if Jonathan is an action hero, and not some teenager with a baseball bat. Just like Steve. “Besides, she’s kind of a badass now.”

Mike opens his mouth, ready to retort when his Mom cuts over the conversation, voice raised. “No one is going anywhere!” she says. “None of you are leaving my line of sight until I hand you personally to each of your parents.” She doesn’t seem to notice the way El stoops her head and curls her fists. “I am not losing another kid tonight!”

She sits down in a chair in one of the chairs kids sit in to wait for the Principal to be free to doll out punishments, crosses her arms, and glares up at them until they all comply.

Will notices that El sits as far away from his Mom as possible. No one says anything else for a long time.

Part 31

[superhoeva]

– 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐍 “𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐘” 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐱 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 –

❛ Copenhagen, Denmark. The home of a young Carmen, Luca, and Reader as they help each other navigate through a young adulthood of preservation, unresolved trauma, and unexpected love. ❜

main masterlist | playlist | full word count: 7.1k

𝐈. 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 (𝐏𝐓. 𝐎𝐍𝐄) ⇀ ❛You give him head in the basement. You laugh at his jokes stomach aching.❜

╰ Sebastian gives his recital, and everyone celebrates at Arya's house. Luca drags a struggling Carmen to an acquaintance's get-together. (4.7k)

𝐈𝐈. 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 (𝐏𝐓. 𝐓𝐖𝐎) ⇀ ❛Fake when you come. Takin' a pill, he leaves when it's done.❜ (2.4k)

╰ You patch up Carmen's hand. Sebastian takes you to the basement.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 :

𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 as 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐍 "𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐘" 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 as 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑, 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑 as 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐒-𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈...

𝐂𝐎-𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 :

𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐄𝐑 as 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 "𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐁𝐘" 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐘, 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐄𝐋 as 𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐀 "𝐑𝐘𝐀" 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐀𝐌...

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 :

𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 as 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐎...

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

tag | media

[withacapitalp]

Cocaine Bear AU Pt 2

Part One

Because I am deranged okay here we go have some more. As always....blame the discord

Eddie was having a pretty shitty day. 

First he got woken up at two in the morning because his father got a tip off about a potential DEA bust and had to high tail it to their warehouse to move a shit ton of cargo. Then, their normal runner had to call out sick because of food poisoning, so Eddie had to make the drop instead. 

Now the plane he was in was about to crash. 

So, yeah, Eddie was having a pretty shitty day. 

“Please remind me why you had to try and do a barrel roll?!” Eddie shouted over the wind as he continued to toss duffle bags full of product out over the Indiana wilds. 

“I thought it would be fun!” Rick called back, still laughing his ass off even as the plane emergency lights began to blink rapidly, “You need to learn to live a little, Eddie.” 

“I’d like to live, period!” Eddie shouted back, kicking the final bag into the dark. The duffle bags were bright red with rainbow straps, impossible to miss, but innocuous enough that most people wouldn’t touch them. 

Hopefully. 

God, his dad was going to kill him if he lost this much cocaine. 

There was another bout of shaking as the plane took a mini-nose dive, and Eddie narrowly missed smacking his head against the open doorway, almost dropping his parachute as he did. 

“This is our final stop, ladies!” Rick screamed over the beeping alarms in front of him, “Thank you for flying Air Junkie!” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, strapping on the parachute and looking out into the inky black of the world below. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with heights per say. But it was a choice between jumping and potentially dying, or staying in the plane with Rick and definitely dying. 

Eddie jumped. 

It was better than any high he had ever had. Eddie was instantly awake, his heart racing at top speed as he hurtled towards the ground. He let out a primal scream, laughing deliriously as he pulled the ripcord and his stomach shot out of his ass from the force of the chute deploying. 

Damn, that hurt. 

Eddie pinched his face in agony as his hands reached up, scrambling to find the stabilizers to course correct his landing. It wasn’t exactly ideal to have the plane crash, but things could be worse. All of the cargo was safe… well, as safe as possible. Eddie would have it back in his hands in no time, and his father wouldn’t need to know about any of it until he was safely across the border. 

Hell, maybe he could even spin this in his favor. With the plane downed and Rick dead, the feds would probably think all of the drugs burned up in the fire too. Problem solved. It was all going to work out just fine. 

His hand finally grasped the stabilizer, and it promptly tore off of the cheap ass parachute he was wearing, leaving him no way to steer. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie swore, throwing it down to the earth below and holding onto the cords for dear life, closing his eyes as the wind began to whip him around. There were a few wild moments of blind panic as his body was jerked around, but by the time the first trees touched the tips of his toes, Eddie was passed out cold. 

—————————

As Eddie slowly began to drift towards consciousness, a few pressing things made themselves known. 

One- He was still alive. Somehow. 

Two- He was shirtless and every single part of his body hurt. 

Three- There was something poking his cheek. 

“Dustin, stop that,” a male voice said from above Eddie’s head, and whatever was poking him stopped. Eddie kept his eyes shut, staying limp as he listened. 

“Are you sure he’s not dead?” A younger boy, presumably ‘Dustin,’ asked. 

“He has a pulse still.” The first man replied, and Eddie felt something being wrapped around one of his forearms. “I have no idea how, but he barely seems that hurt.”

“And remind me why we didn’t just call the cops?” A girl’s voice piped up from somewhere by his feet. 

Uh oh, someone used the C word, Eddie thought deliriously, pulling away from the man touching him and faking like he was just waking up. If the police somehow miraculously hadn’t already been called, then he wanted to keep it that way. 

“Holy shit!” ‘Dustin’ squawked, and when Eddie opened one eye he caught a glimpse of a curly haired nerdy-looking kid stepping away from him. 

“Jar,” the man said as if it was a reflex. Eddie opened his other eye, staring up in shock as a veritable Adonis looked back down at him with a soft smile. 

“Good morning.” He murmured, his voice soft and sweet. The man had honey brown eyes and a strong jawline, the exact kind Eddie would love to nibble on. 

“Hey guys! The dead dude’s awake!” A boy with long hair screeched at the top of his lungs, the complete antithesis of the man’s tone. The girl, a little spitfire with box braids and a look on her face, rolled her eyes, and Dustin bounced over to her side, all three staring at Eddie like he was an exhibit in a zoo. 

How many kids did this guy have?!

“Mike, he’s not-” The man cut himself off with a sigh as all three kids bolted out of the room, completely ignoring him. He raised a hand to his temple, shaking his head. “Sorry about them. They’re harmless, but they are teenagers.”

“The horror,” Eddie answered dryly, sitting up slowly and wincing as he did, looking down at his body and taking stock. He was ripped to high hell, cuts and slashes all over his chest and a pulsing pain beating alongside his heart, but he was alive, and that was enough for right now. 

“Thanks for patching me up…”

“Steve. Steve Harrington.” ‘Steve’ said, filling the gap and holding his hand out to Eddie to shake. 

“Eddie.” He replied, purposefully sidestepping the last name reply by adding a question. “Where exactly am I?”

“My house. I would’ve taken you to the hospital, but Hawkins General just went belly up due to budget cuts, and I was worried you wouldn’t make it if I had to take you all the way to Mercy.” Steve explained, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips. “You know, you’re really lucky you aren’t more hurt. What exactly were you doing?”

“Oh you know, the usual.” Eddie said evasively, trying and failing to stretch. “What’s my prognosis then, doc? ‘Cause I have things I gotta get to.”

Namely like finding all of the product that had fallen into the woods before anyone else did. 

“I’m not a- Hey! Woah! Hold up, you can’t go anywhere.” Steve snapped, pushing Eddie down as he tried to stand, mindful of the places he was bandaged up. 

“I found you hanging from a parachute in a tree. You have two broken ribs, a definite concussion, a shit ton of lacerations, and possibly a broken ankle. There’s no way I can let you just walk off.” Steve stated, looking ready to fight Eddie if he had to. 

Goddamn good samaritans and their stubborn little bleeding hearts. 

“Pretty sure you have to, otherwise it’s kidnapping.” Eddie joked, looking around the room for his shirt and shoes. Hopefully he could sweet talk his way out of his mess like he usually did, but if not, he was going to need to be able to run. 

But before either of them could argue anymore, an explosion of children burst into the room. 

Eddie couldn’t even count the number of little people who were pushing their faces close to him, poking and prodding him where they could and all yelling over each other in an effort to be heard. 

“GUYS!” Steve roared above the melee, dragging them all out by their collars. “Out!”

“But we wanna-“ One of the kids protested from the doorway. 

“Out!” Steve insisted, shoving the door shut, making sure no little fingers got caught as he did. He let his entire body fall against the door, running a hand through his hair haggardly and groaning. 

“Look, what’s so important that you can’t wait?” Steve asked, glaring at Eddie. 

About 10 million dollars worth of cocaine stashed in three fucking duffle bags somewhere in the woods, Eddie thought, biting his tongue so he didn’t accidentally say something stupid like that. 

“Stuff.” 

“Well your ‘stuff’ has gotta wait until at least tomorrow. It’s gonna get dark soon.” Steve stated, crossing his arms. 

“No can do, doc,” Eddie replied, standing up. “See? Totally fine,”

Then he tried to take a step and his injured ankle immediately gave out. He would’ve fallen flat on his ass, but there were two extremely strong, very muscular arms holding him up, and a beautiful but unimpressed face only inches from him. 

“I’m not a doctor,” Steve deadpanned, helping Eddie to sit on the edge of the bed and kneeling down to check the splint around his ankle. “I’m an EMT- or I’m studying to be one anyway.” 

“Regardless of your qualifications, Sweetheart, I gotta be on my way.” Eddie gasped, trying to ignore the pain making his stomach twist up into knots. 

“No.”

Seriously. Seriously. Of course Eddie had to be found by the single person on Earth who would not take him to the hospital, but also not just abandon him the second he could. 

“Look, Harrington, was it?” Eddie asked rhetorically, starting to get frustrated by the good guy act. “I’m not-“

“Why don’t we just go with him?” A voice behind Steve asked. 

What?!

“Erica!” Steve snapped. “We’re not going out into the woods with a complete stranger!” 

“You have something you’re looking for in the woods right?” One of the other girls asked, pointing to Eddie. He nodded and she shrugged. “You were gonna take us on a hike anyway, Steve, so let’s just go with Dead Guy.”

“My name is Eddie.” He interjected stubbornly. He wasn’t dead yet. 

“Eddie.” The girl with the red hair amended. “You’re not dead. Steve’s happy. We get to get some fresh air. Everybody wins.”

“Complete stranger.” Steve repeated, looking completely done with the situation. “We should just call the park rangers to find your stuff…”

“No!” Eddie blurted out, grabbing Steve’s arm and holding it in a death grip. 

The last thing he needed was cops. This was already enough of a clusterfuck as it was. Steve paused, looking first at the hand on his arm, then at Eddie’s frantic eyes. 

“You’re that set on going?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded tightly, and Steve sighed, gently pulling out of Eddie’s grasp and holding out his hand. “Fine. But only for a few hours. If you can’t find what you’re looking for by sunset, we’re coming back here and calling the rangers.” 

That could work. All he had to do was give Steve and these kids the slip and he was home free. 

This could work. 

This had to work. 

“Deal,” Eddie said, doom pressing down on his shoulders. 

Tag list: @thing-a-ling @maya-custodios-dionach

[machtaholic]

Give me a Stranger Things AU where it's the second semester of the Party's sophmore year and the teachers are all discussing who they have in their classes that semester and when some of them mention having Party members in their class, other teachers blanch.

"What's wrong with Will Byers? Bit quiet but he's a good kid."

"He's fine - it's Munson and Harrington you have to worry about."

"Why?"

"They psuedo adopted Byers. Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Jane Hopper, Lucas Sinclair and his sister Erica, too."

"Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington?"

"Yep."

"Both of them?"

"Yep."

"When did that happen?"

"No idea. But one of them or both of them come to pick them up every day. Sometimes they're canoodling in that van of Munson's."

"I think they're sweet."

"You would, Ellen. Just ... be careful. Mother bears, both of them."

"Huh Who woulda thought?"

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 11: Hesper

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Hesper - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Logan meets Hesper and he's only left with more questions. Everything has a beginning, though, and not even Abracadabra was what it is now.

“Kiddos are all in bed,” Patton sighed as he settled into the seat adjacent to Luc, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Janus opened his eyes in time to catch Luc’s faux scowl at Patton’s tousle.

“Gorgeous as always, mon cher,” he whispered, smoothing Luc’s auburn curls back into place. “Simply gorgeous.”

With a blush that rivaled his hair, Luc smiled but quickly sobered and blew on his tea. “You said you had news?”

Setting aside the little flash he caught from Patton, Janus nodded and straightened in his seat. He took Luc’s free hand as he shifted away from the comfortable home he’d made nestled against his side. “I do,” he began, working to keep the worst of his worries shielded from the other two.

And from the children’s drowsing minds.

Luc and Patton’s expressions told him he needed more practice. “What is it, Jan?” Patton asked, reaching for his other hand as Luc gripped his brother’s forearm. Together, they made a little triangle as the night sky darkened outside the big bay window. “Is it bad?”

“It’s… an opportunity,” Janus licked dry lips and painted on something like a smile. His scars pulled at one side of his face, hampering the intended encouraging effect. “I was contacted by the new mentalists department at Abracadabra.”

“The start-up? How—“

Janus’ eyes flicked down to his own wrist and his great-grandfather’s antique Casio, an anachronism even in that time.

“The ‘Foundation…’” Luc sucked his teeth and he closed his eyes, likely hiding his battle for control. After a moment, he calmed and met Janus’ eyes with a crooked smile. “What did those capos want from you?”

Janus sighed, a low near-growl. “They offered me a job.”

“Me, too,” Patton whispered, rubbing little circles against Luc’s arm. “This morning.”

“You both said ‘no,’ right?” Luc’s eyes were wide as he looked between them. His smile faded at Janus’ silence. “Love, tell me you said ‘no.’”

“I…” Janus slid closer to each of them. Patton only tightened his grip on Janus’ hand. “I believe this is an opportunity we can’t discount. We—“

“We need to stay as far from them as we fucking can!” Luc’s fingers tingled against his skin and he moved up to grip Janus’ sleeve. Safer that way. But he didn’t concede. “You think just because they’ve stopped hunting Powereds we’re suddenly safe?”

“No. I think we’re safer together. I think we’re safer integrated into society rather than maintaining this us vs. them mentality. Let us be a part of the shared solution. We have so much to contribute, we—“

“Oh, open a fucking history book!” Luc closed his eyes, orange flickering beneath his lashes. When he opened then again, his tone was softer. Just barely. “Love, they’ve just moved on to co-option. Sure, now they want to work with the ‘right kind’ of Powerds like you and Pat and—“

“Luc,” Janus warned, stroking his arm. An itch at the base of his spine told him they wouldn’t be alone for long.

But Luc either couldn’t—wouldn’t?—hear him. He released Janus’ arm and had begun counting on his fingers. “Step two is when they tell us it’s only the ‘risky’ Powerds they need to tamp down on. ‘Four legs good, two legs better,’ right?”

“Luc!” Janus said more forcefully, casting a quick glance at Patton.

Both of the elder Powerd’s hands now gripped Luc’s arm and he tugged gently, keeping him seated. “Lukie, maybe Jan’s right. Maybe we—“

“What, we should heel at the corporation’s side? Strap on our own muzzles so we can duck step together when they figure out their final solution is cull the herd of the dangerous Powerds like—“

“Like Re?” Low and quiet from the hallway, Virgil’s voice managed to cut through Luc’s rant. 

Luc deflated, eyes glowing as he swallowed his next argument. “Yeah, Virge. Like Re, and maybe Ro, too. Anyone they think is dangerous and uncontrolled.” He frowned at Janus. “Or uncontrollable.”

“Dangerous?” Virgil asked, sliding into the room and sitting cross-legged on the coffee table between them. He jerked his chin at the pictures of Luc and Patton’s old orphanage. “Like you?”

“Now, Kiddo,” Patton began. “That fire wasn’t his—“

Luc cut him off with a sad smile and a little shoulder squeeze before turning to meet the teenager’s eyes. “Yeah, Virge, dangerous like me, too.”

Virgil’s memory of his truncated hospital stay flooded Janus’ mind, nurses sprawled on the floor, blood pooling from eyes and ears, soaking through their face masks.

“Yeah, I know it wasn’t his fault, Pops.” Virgil’s eyes were teary behind his floppy bangs as he turned to face Janus, hands shoved in his pockets. “What do these capos want you to do?”

~

“Tin Man, let’s go!” V called over his shoulder from the top of the stairs. Orange lights still glowed from the ceiling but at least the alarm had stopped.

Patton and Silvertongue had already run down to prep the transport and map their route. A low whine from the engines filtered up from below, a little shimmer to the air as dust kicked up from the lower landing pad. 

Behind him, The Prince huffed, loudly, as Logan struggled to get situated in his suit. 

Logan focused on breathing, ignoring the pounding behind his eyes and the ache in his arm. He briefly regretted not sleeping while he could, a regret that dissolved when he closed his eyes and The Muse’s shaky smile filled his vision.

Palm sweaty, his hand skid along the edge of the mech’s chest cavity but he caught himself, fingers wedged between the collar and chest plate. He pulled and pushed against the mech’s waist with his stronger stump, muscles trembling. 

“Sorry,” he grunted. “Almost got—“

“Oh, come on!” The Prince snapped, physically hauling Logan higher and depositing him inside the mech. Logan swallowed back a curse and glared at the Powered.

“Don’t ever do that to me again!” he growled.

The Prince rolled his eyes and pushed him toward the stairs. “Or what? You’ll fuck things up?” He glanced down at the mech’s heavy durasteel boots. “‘Sorry,’” he muttered, anything but. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

Heat flooded Logan’s face and neck, hurt and rage warring just under his skin. “You son of a—“

“Princey! Mac! Now!” V’s beckoned from the stairwell, glaring at each of them in turn. “Or we’ll leave you both behind.”

~

The transport door clanged shut and they shot up into the sky and over the churning Atlantic. Logan didn’t know how much of his altercation with The Prince everyone else had heard, but save for a few quiet mutters between The Prince and Patton up at the controls, the team was silent. He felt the brush of Silvertongue’s questioning thoughts, a warm request, no, an invitation to share. Logan simply shook his head and concentrated on checking the mech’s systems.

Satisfied he was powered up and ready, he watched the screens at the front of the transport, following as they raced over greenish grey waters.

Before long, Patton banked right, aiming for a landing platform somewhere off the coast. Which coast, Logan had no idea. Before them stretched a sprawling city, bright lights casting a haze in the low clouds. Silver towers sparkled, rising up out of the jagged reefs of the drowned coastal city that had come before it. 

“I can’t tell if he’s still there.” Patton broke the silence, pointing to a screen where flickering orange lights blipped at seemingly random spots.

“He’s here,” Silvertongue’s eyes were closed but his voice was clear. “Prince? Can you cover our approach?”

“Happily.” The Prince tapped a different screen and it resolved into a view of the landing platform. His eyes half-shut as he watched the dozen or so deck crew move between the ships. Without warning, they ducked low and drew up neon-striped hoods. As though fleeing from a sudden squall, they all sprinted toward the big building at the center of the platform. 

All but one.

The last hold out shielded their eyes from some unseen attack and peered up at the sky. They staggered to the closest ship, a tool in their hand.

“Take her down quiet as you can, Popstar,” V murmured and moved closer to Logan, showing him a tablet. “Any idea what he’s doing, Mac?”

The image on V’s tablet followed their approach, zoomed in as far as it would go. V had set a split screen to infrared. The figure—Hesper?—wielded a gun-like tool, glowing orange under infrared, bright white sparking from the tip. This close, Logan could make out a welder’s face plate under his hood.

“Soldering something onto the hull?” Hesper moved a few feet, leaving behind a rapidly cooling palm-sized circle. He repeated his actions then jumped to the next ship in line. “A tracker, maybe?”

“Not an explosive?” V asked, frowning. 

Logan watched the screen and shook his head. “It’s too cold. And he’s using quick cool-solder. Safer for microprocessors but not as strong.” He shrugged. “Explosive casings are heavier, thicker. He’d need to use standard epoxy or… magnets, maybe?” 

After a long moment, V nodded. He slipped the tablet into his vest and opened his mouth as if to say more, but the transport shuddered under their feet. “Everyone ready?” Patton asked, hand hovering over a door panel.

The Prince nodded, eyes now closed as he moved to the doors, joining V and Silvertongue.

Logan lowered his own face shield and helmet. “Ready.”

Patton slapped the controls and the big door opened with a bang. Hesper didn’t even look up as they circled him, just pulled his hood lower over his head and shuddered.

Before Logan could ask what The Prince was doing to him, Silvertongue sent a single word, -“Now!”-

The Prince’s eyes shot open and Hesper spun around, the movement knocking back his hood to reveal form-fitting headgear.

He tapped the helmet, shaking his head. “Guess this wasn’t worth the price I paid for it if you could still get into my head so easily, dear Prince.” He tucked the soldering gun under his arm and then, finger by finger, peeled off his safety gloves. He left them where they fell and flexed his bared hands. “Glad to see you all came out to play. Well…”

Looking up at Logan, Hesper seemed to stare right through his face plate. “We know how it is. Too bad I have to take a rain check tonight.” He flipped on his solder gun and ran straight for Logan.

On his heels, Patton grabbed at Hesper’s jacket. He wormed out of it then dodged V’s attack. Overcompensating, Hesper slid and landed on his back, centimeters from the mech’s left leg.

Without thinking, Logan stepped up and down, foot pressed—slightly—on Hesper’s chest.

Patton hissed behind him but grew still, arms loose and ready at his sides. Immediate danger passed, V inspected the devices Hesper had fastened to the ship’s hull. He scanned each with the tablet’s sensors before prying off the closest and crushing it under his boot. “Basic trackers,” he said, nodding to Logan, and they all turned to Silvertongue.

“What is all this, Hesper?” he asked, eyes hooded. He didn’t look happy at what Logan had done, frowning in his direction. But he didn’t stop him, either, so Logan just waited, foot locked on Hesper’s chest.

“My, my, my… My dearest Tongue of Silver,” Hesper purred. Head tilted, he managed to look down at Silvertongue even from his sprawled position on the cracked peri-ment platform. “You’ve brought along an extra army of one this time.” He thunked his knuckles against the mech’s ankle servos. “All for me?”

A not-quite shadow flashed over Janus’ face, quick, nearly too quick for Logan to catch. Even with Silvertongue’s back to him, The Prince must’ve felt it, whatever it was, because he stepped closer, eyes boring into Hesper’s obscured face.

“Release him, Machina,” Janus instructed, gaze focused on Hesper. “He’s clean.”

Hesper leapt to his feet with an acrobat’s grace the moment Logan lifted the mech’s foot. “Why, thank you.” He bowed his head with a flourish and Logan watched his mech’s reflection shift and warp on Hesper’s shiny helmet. 

With no way of knowing where Hesper was looking, Logan felt like it was everywhere at once.

For all his theatrics, Hesper now behaved as though they were nothing but a minor inconvenience, impolite visitors who crashed an open house. He hummed under his breath, easily picked up by his mic, and made a show of brushing off his synthcloth tactical pants and straightening an old vest that looked a lot like V’s. Sighing heavily, he produced a pristine white cloth and bent over to polish away a smudge from his boots.

Janus watched him with half-lidded eyes, hands flexing at his sides. “What are you up to now, Hesper?” He gestured around them, voice sharp. Acidic. “Why here?”

“And what makes you think I didn’t trigger your alarms so I could have a little company, hm?” He shrugged and carefully folded his handkerchief before secreting it away in a breast pocket. “You know… just like Re used to?”

“Wha—” 

Before Logan could finish his blurted question, The Prince stomped forward, hands splayed in front of him, a glowing haze forming between his fingers. “Take my brother’s name from your mouth, fiend,” he growled, drawing close to Hesper. “Or I’ll rip it out with your tongue!”

But as The Prince moved, the air… flickered near his right foot. The mirage tugged at Logan’s mind the same way the faulty Pickerbot had back at the DC, the first time, before he’d found the flaw in its circuitry. 

Remembering V’s concern about explosives, Logan flipped on his HUD infrared. Heat poured from the cracked peri-ment, far more heat than could be explained away by the underlying HVAC piping. The ground glowed in blinding purples and white, spiking well past 85° centigrade.

“Prince, look out!” he shouted and pushed his servos to a run. 

Patton’s call to Logan cut off and he copied him instead, half-carrying, half-dragging V and Silvertongue away in the opposite direction.

The Prince swore as Logan slammed into him and knocked them both to the ground. Arms locked around him, he pulled The Prince with him into a roll. He stopped, propped onto the mech’s elbows, erecting a cage of durasteel limbs and torso around the Powered just as the floor exploded behind them.

Precisely where The Prince had stood a moment before.

“Are you—”

“I’m good, Tin Man. Let me up,” he muttered, shimmying his bulky shoulders out from Logan’s mech suit shield. -”Thanks,”- he said in Logan’s mind as he stood.

“Anytime,” Logan said aloud and followed him to Silvertongue’s side. Patton crouched a few feet behind him, inspecting V’s hand.

“Tell me!” Silvertongue was demanding, eyes molten gold. “Tell me how you did that without—”

“Without you poking around in here…” Hesper’s laugh was crusted in ice as he waggled his fingers around his head. “Ma cheri! L’amour de ma—”

“Tell me!” Janus’ shout reverberated through Logan’s skull. Even The Prince took a step backwards, head bowed and one hand pressed to his temple. Patton slid closer, nodding quietly to V and Logan watched them all, waiting for any sort of hint of what he had planned.

Hesper just laughed again. “There was no guilt to sense, my dear Silvertongue,” He shrugged. “Not from me at least.” Hesper gestured, almost bored, at the jagged, steaming hole in the landing pad, then at The Prince. “It was his anger, his rage that triggered the charge. I wasn’t sure it would work, but our dear Prince of Dreams always did have quite the temper.”

He fully faced The Prince then. “Ever since you were a little boy.”

Patton reached out and just rested one hand on The Prince’s shoulder. Given the recordings Logan had seen of Papa Bear wrestling an activated Muse into control, he had no doubt a light touch was all he needed to keep The Prince steady.

“Enough with the games, Hesper,” V said from Silvertongue’s other side. “No-one believes you dragged us out here in the middle of the night for a parlor trick.”

Hesper shrugged again, backing away toward the edge of the landing platform. “Worried I’m going to make it a habit of interrupting your beauty sleep?” 

He stood on the ledge, one foot hovering behind him. “Besides,” he directed his attention to Logan again. “I know you weren’t all asleep.”

Face flushed beneath his mask, Logan’s fingers flexed against the controls but the suit remained still. Then Hesper stepped off the platform and onto a waiting airskiff.

“Ta ta, for now!” he laughed, voice amplified to carry over the roar of thrusters as he flew off into the smoggy night air.

[lovinbarzal]

ADAM DAY | enchanted au

adam fantilli x fem! hughes! reader

au masterlist | masterlist | fc: lilia buckingham | a/n HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE (no longer) FROSH!

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y/n.hughes ADAM DAY ADAM DAY ADAM DAY🚨

omg guys...it's adam day! MY ADAM! happy birthday to adam pookie dookie schmookie bear who i love so so so so so very much! (mackie look away) my best friend, (gavin look away) my boyfriend, my rock, my world, my delicious scrumptious man who i'm so helplessly in love with!

love you, always bro (lover)🙈! NEVER STOP SERVING CUNT!!!!

and have a great first pro game my little rookstar🙈

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jackhughes GROSS

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