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sargeantposting · 4 months

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A Logan Sargeant Primer: Part I (2000 - 2015)

Logan grows up in a ritzy suburb of Fort Lauderdale called Lighthouse Point with his parents and his older brother, Dalton.

The Sargeants don't have a deep motorsport history. Dalton and Logan get their first go-karts for Christmas in 2006, a gift from their father after their mother refuses to let her children ride dirt bikes anymore. Logan tells the NYT that:

“No one in the family was really even that much into racing. We just picked it up as a hobby, something to do on the weekend.”

The two brothers get more serious as the years go by-- within a few years, they're racing competitively. They both do well. Logan finishes in third place in only his first year of racing, and wins two titles in his second.

Unfortunately, they figure out fairly quickly that there isn’t much more room to advance in American karting:

My older brother, Dalton, and I had been racing for a few years, and it had gotten to the point where we were asking around about where the next best level of competition was, and everybody was saying the same thing…. It was always Europe, Europe, Europe, Europe. To the point where my parents really started to think about it. At first it was just this idea, like Maybe we’ll move to Europe, who knows. I was just a kid overhearing stuff, so I didn’t know how serious the conversation must have been until this day I’ll never forget.

The conversation gets serious in 2012, when Logan’s dad, Daniel, asks the two if they want to move to Switzerland:

It was summer, and we were out to lunch. It was me, my dad, and Dalton. [...] So we’re at this restaurant, right? Chowing down on burgers (my favorite), and my dad gets to asking us about racing. Finally, he’s like, “What do you guys think? Do you really want to race in Europe? Are you 100% sure about this?” Me being 11 and naive, I was like, “Yeah sure.” Looking back on it, I think I was lucky I was that young and that I didn’t really know what I was signing up for. All the different ways it could change my life, the level of sacrifice it would require from my whole family. Because if I had known, I don’t know if I would’ve made the same decision so easily. It all happened fast, like in the movies. One minute, it’s Christmas, I’m six, and me and Dalton are yelling at the top of our lungs, excited about the two karts sitting in the driveway, pointed diagonally at each other like in a magazine. Next minute, I’m 11 and Dalton’s 14. We’re sitting at the table eating lunch with my dad, and it’s decided — our family’s moving to Europe.

When Logan tells the same story in GQ in 2023, he says:

I was always just going with the flow. For me it was just: sure.

The Sergeant family leaves for Switzerland just as Logan finishes up fifth grade. While Logan always talks about the family move to Switzerland in the context of his parents making sacrifices for his career, it's a little more complicated than that.

GQ’s profile steps around the subject, briefly mentioning that “in addition to the racing opportunities, [Logan’s] Dad had business there.” Unfortunately, business would be an understatement.

At the time, Logan’s dad, Daniel, worked for the family business– an asphalt trading and shipping company named Sergeant Marine. One of the driving forces behind Sergeant Marine’s success would be Daniel’s older brother, Harry.

When Logan’s detractors mention his family’s connections to Trump, they’re usually referencing Harry. The NYT describes his billionaire uncle as “a former [Top Gun] fighter pilot and onetime finance chair of Florida’s Republican Party who has been sued by the brother-in-law of King Abdullah II of Jordan and whose name turned up, tangentially, in the 2020 impeachment of former President Donald J. Trump. (Harry was not accused of any wrongdoing.)”

Harry would leave the company around the time Daniel moved his family to Switzerland. According to The Florida Phoenix, “The entire family was embroiled in a long-running bitter series of lawsuits that ended with a 2015 bankruptcy settlement. Harry III walked away with a cool $56-million. In return he gave up any claim to ownership of Sargeant Marine and other family companies. There were 14 different lawsuits in several states in addition to the bankruptcy. The lawsuits produced salacious testimony that could only arise in a vicious dispute between millionaires. Harry III accused his brother Daniel of spending millions on his sons’ pursuits of race car driving and other ventures. Meanwhile, Daniel accused Sargeant III of being a spendthrift on things such as a $7.5-million mansion, private jets and exotic cars.”

Logan with his dad.

It would, somehow, get worse:

Oil and asphalt mogul Harry Sargeant III claims that industrial design plans along with recordings of "private consensual relations" were purloined from his private email account and traded off to a corporate intelligence agent as part of a years-long smear campaign against him spearheaded by his brother. Reigniting a long-running saga of brother-against-brother litigation, Harry Sargeant III claims that hundreds of pages of business records, personal discussions and "extremely sensitive videos and photographs" were illegally obtained from his email account. The material was used as currency for information-bartering between his brother Daniel Sargeant and a corporate intelligence chief at the nonparty legal service firm Burford, the lawsuit alleges. Harry is demanding damages for alleged invasion of privacy on the part of Daniel. The brothers had in years past worked together on managing the Sargeant family's global oil and asphalt empire, before intra-family disputes began to tear them apart. [...] The lawsuit claims the Burford investigator, a former corporate attorney, knows Harry well. According to the court documents, the investigator for years worked as an enforcement agent on a $28 million judgment secured against Harry by the king of Jordan's brother-in-law Mohammad Al-Saleh, who accused Harry of cutting him out of a deal to distribute oil to troops in the Iraq War. [...] Harry claims brother Daniel gave the corporate intelligence agent the treasure trove of Harry's emails in exchange for inside information that would help the Sargeant family's asphalt company Latin American Investments in a separate multimillion-dollar legal dispute. Harry's underlying email account ran on a server of the family company Sargeant Marine. When he was ousted from the Sargeant empire, Harry had been told that the account was cut off at the root and all information in it had been destroyed, the lawsuit says. The lifted emails were instead provided to an "untold number of people" inside and outside of the family businesses in 2016, the lawsuit claims.

The information that Daniel traded his brother’s sex tape for would end up being useless. Daniel is currently out a $5 million bond and awaiting sentencing for the foreign bribery and money laundering charges he pled guilty to back in 2019. After bribing officials in three South American countries to secure asphalt contracts, the Department of Justice ended up making an example of the company– and Daniel– for violating the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act.

While Logan cites his career as a big reason for the family move, it appears that Sargeant Marine had conveniently made shell companies in Switzerland to aid in their illegal business dealings that same year.

Logan, blissfully unaware of any drama, tries to make the most of the big move. They move to Lugano, Switzerland– Dalton and Logan go to the American School on weekdays and race on the weekends in the European junior circuit, bouncing them between Italy, Switzerland and Britain. In GQ, Logan says:

“I definitely felt like school was a lot more challenging than in Florida,” he recalled. “And we were missing a lot of school, for sure, but that’s part of it with racing. It is what it is.”

Logan loves Switzerland. In his Players’ Tribune article, he says:

We moved into a three-bedroom apartment. It was me, my parents, Dalton, and our dog Roxy, the world traveler. Big difference from Florida. We had a whole new life. I loved Switzerland. I had a lot of good friends at my school there. I can’t explain it, but I just felt more a part of things. Me and my friends were big Chelsea fans, and we’d be hanging out, playing soccer all the time. We played Call of Duty like every other kid in the world.

However… Logan is the only one. Daniel is out doing shady asphalt deals around the world and suing his brother. Dalton moves back to Florida after a year-and-a-half. Their mother follows soon after that. Logan ends up living alone at the school:

Dalton was my older brother, so for as far back as I can remember, I was chasing him. Man, we fought all the time. Every race, we were up against all these other kids, but he was always the one I was really trying to beat. But the thing is, when you’re a kid you miss things. You just can’t see everything so clearly. Like, for instance, being a bit older than me, I think he felt the shift more strongly when we moved, but I didn’t know it. He stayed in Switzerland for a year and a half, did some European karting, and started testing Formula cars. Then one day he just decided he wanted to go home and race in America. I won’t lie, that was a shock at the time. But I get it more now. Making that big life change was hard on my mom, too. Just think, you’re living in this brand new place, don’t have many friends. Me and Dalton were at school all day. My dad was traveling all over the place with work, so he was hardly there. The reality is, she was on her own a lot. So she ended up going back to Florida, too. For about a year and a half after that, it was just me. I was living at the school during that time.

When talking about how his mom moved back to Florida while Logan was living alone in Europe as a teenager, he told the Players’ Tribune that:

Looking back on everything, I just see all the sacrifices they made, and it means so much. No matter what they were going through, my family always pushed me to keep going. I feel like that was probably the hardest for my mom, especially. She means the world to me. She’s a bit of a worrier too, and overthinks. I think I get that from her. She’s always been the person I could go to when I was doubting myself. So I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her to encourage me to keep going, when I know she probably wanted our family to be together. I’m really grateful, not only that they believed in me that much, to move our entire family, but that they took my passion for driving seriously enough not to let me give it all up.

While Logan’s personal life may be troubled, his karting career is doing exceptionally well. In 2014, he wins the prestigious SuperNats18 in Vegas:

Infinity Sports Management, Facebook - SARGEANT DOMINATES IN LAS VEGAS. Logan Sargeant produced a stunning display last weekend in the TAG Junior category at the Supernationals race in Las Vegas. After finishing runner up in the race in 2013 Logan was eager to go one better this year and bring home the winners trophy. Although Logan got pipped in qualifying he still managed to win every heat ensuring he would start from pole position for the final on Sunday. From there he kept the lead and came home 5.6 seconds clear of the second driver. With this win in TAG Junior Logan become the first driver ever to win the TAG Cadet and TAG Junior categories at the Supernationals race.

2015 manages to be even more exceptional. Logan starts the season by being the first North American driver to win a WSK event by winning the WSK Champions Cup in La Conca, Italy.

Logan with his mother after winning the WSK Champions Cup.

The season reaches its peak with Logan becomes the first American to win an FIA Karting World Championship, the top junior series, since Lake Speed in 1978.

He gets to go to the FIA Awards:

Logan: And I couldn’t thank my mechanic enough. And also my parents, uh, they really helped me to be able to win the world championship and it’s just an amazing feeling. Interviewer: I mean, did you, did you, what did you do when you found out you won? Did you call your friends at home? Did you phone your grandpa? What did you get up to? Logan: Uh, no, I just gave my mom and dad a really big hug. Interviewer: Is it still sinking in now? Logan: Yeah, it’s, it’s a really emotional thing. [...] Interviewer: Tell me about when you were a little bit younger than you are now. You’re only 14 now. But why racing, why, why is this so important to you? Logan: Um, well, my dad bought me a, a racing kart when I was five years old and we started from there. We thought it would just be like a little hobby and, uh, it ended up becoming like a professional thing we did. So. Interviewer: So, so was there a moment when you, when you or your dad just thought ‘Wow, I’m quick. I can do this’? Logan: Um, well, not really. We just kept progressing and then, um, when we, when we decided to come to Europe to race, um, we moved to Switzerland and from then on we were just, uh, going to school, I started going to school in Switzerland. And, yeah, and then we just kept going and then ended up like this. Interviewer: Do you have any other hobbies? Can you fit anything else in? Logan: Um, well, other than school it’s really hard. But when I get my breaks and I go back to Florida for, um, I like to go fishing a lot and, yeah, that’s what I do. Mostly.

When interviewed after his win, Logan tells kart360 that:

Moving away from home is a very hard thing in your own personal life. You lose all of your best friends. You don’t have your "home" and you have to adapt to a different culture. It is hard to move to a country that speaks a different language than what you know, but racing is so important to me that I stuck through it and kept on going.

Logan clearly struggles on a personal level. He discusses his feelings in his Players’ Tribune article, saying:

Coming up racing as a kid isn’t easy. That’s the most honest way I can put it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said to myself, I’m done. I’m ready to come home. I’m glad I didn’t, but there were plenty of times when I wanted to. I remember one big time was the summer right after Dalton went back. We took this trip to the Bahamas with some of our extended family and friends. We were on the water, and everything was feeling like old times. And I think I just had this pit in the bottom of my stomach, like dreading going back. There was a night when I went to my mom, and I was like, “I’m just ready to come home.” I remember her asking me more questions about what I was feeling. I don’t even remember what I said, to be honest. I just remember that she didn’t tell me what to do. She left it completely up to me. My dad used to always say, “If you put in the work now, it’ll pay off eventually — it’ll be worth it.” And he kind of reminded me of that on that trip too. It’ll be worth it. Those four little words … that’s what kept me going. After that I sucked it up, went back to Switzerland, put my head down, and I went for it."

When Logan makes the jump to single seaters the next year, his parents rent him an apartment to live in by himself in London. The only time he’ll spend more than a few weeks in the US since he was a 12-year old would be during COVID.

But Logan’s time in single seaters will be for the next installment.

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Logan through the years.

#logan sargeant #for dori who inspired me to post this <3 #i literally cant look at it anymore or add any more photos or videos or it crashes lol #but i reserve the right to go back and edit this tomorrow lmao

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lonelypep · 9 months

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every smash bros character ranked by how good of a cook i think they’d be.

82: piranha plant

eating this dish will kill you instantly. turns out he spit some poison in there while no one was looking. and yeah, that sucks, but if you even accepted a meal from this guy i think you have bigger problems

81: ridley.

let’s be real, if you let this guy into the kitchen, you made a huge mistake. it’s like john mulaney’s horse in a hospital sketch: you never know what he’s gonna do next. you’re too focused on getting him out.

80: king k rool.

king k rool is many things. a king, a pirate, a scientist. but he is not a cook. he’ll try, but he has literally no clue what he’s even doing in the kitchen.

79: yoshi

yoshi will give you a dish and you’ll be like “what the fuck is this” and he’ll talk about how it was made from the finest newborns of his home planet. i’m deciding to ignore it but it’s really nagging at me.

78: sonic

sonic shouldn’t be on this list. because he wouldn’t make you any food. he’ll go to the local sonic and get a burger in about 3 minutes. it sucks. disqualified.

77: pac man

what can i say. it tastes like literal plastic. i don’t even wanna know how he made it. i’ll give it back to him but the nice thing about pac man is he wouldn’t give a shit.

76: bowser jr.

fuck this guy. he rage quit at making a grilled cheese. now there’s a literal canonball in the stove. now no one else can use it!! this is what happens when you spoil kids.

75: pikachu/pichu

these two are in the same category since they’d make the same thing. they’d get store bought french fries and fry them with lighting outside. it’s consistent, it works, just not really filling. and they don’t know how to make anything else.

74. wario

don’t get me wrong: he knows what he’s doing. he’s the burger king of smash. he’s this low because the burger is the most unhealthy shit you’ll ever have. eating it gave you chronic diarrhea, gastrointestinal issues, and permanently damaged your taste buds. but god fucking damn was it a good burger.

73. hero

he gave you a single piece of bread with butter on it. it’s not bad but…really dude?

72: olimar

he didn’t make you a bad meal, in fact it was one of the best here. but that’s because he didn’t make you something. it was the pikmin and he’s trying to pass it off as his own and the pikmin don’t know because they don’t speak english. 0/10: not fucking cool dude.

71: kazuya

honestly? i don’t trust this guy. i was too intimidated to even ask his name. from what i can gather no one even invited him to the party he just showed up and made a mediocre meal. what’s weird: someone came into the kitchen and claimed this guy killed their whole family. we never saw that guy again. needless to say, kazuya wasn’t invited to the afterparty.

70: link (botw)

don’t get me wrong here, link is a five star chef. he’s just really unsanitary. apparently he cut the meat and vegetables with the same sword he killed calamity ganon with. i don’t wanna taste that guy!! have you seen him?? not to mention he pulled the meal out of his pants. i don’t even know how it fit in there.

69: inkling

she made a pancake and i thought it was good! but i absolutely can’t condone this. inkling left so much fucking weird slime and shit all over my house. and got really competitive when she heard i was getting meals from everyone else. i hope they’re all ok.

68: ROB

it was so processed. the most processed food i’ve ever had in my entire life. it’s not his fault, rob is a great guy. but this tasted like literally nothing.

67: ice climbers

when they told me they were making dessert, i trusted them. but i let someone else taste test first. my best friend was sent to the hospital because of tongue frostbite. didn’t even know that was a thing. i made the ice climbers pay for it (they’re fucking loaded)

66: villager

he made isabelle do it. and she made something great! but i’m not giving this cretin credit for having the money to afford a five star chef. you don’t deserve it because you sold a shit ton of tarantulas villager!!

65: lucario.

dude got really mad and destroyed my kitchen. he’s REALLY lucky he got the burger PERFECTLY cooked.

64: male byleth.

like this dude knows how to cook. he can barely make chicken nuggets. he has to eat in the school cafeteria simply because he never learned how to cook a simple meal. but he’s a really nice guy. total himbo. love him.

63: ryu

i asked this guy what he likes to eat. big mistake. he then went on to say that his training regiment doesn’t condone copious indulgence (his words) and he lives off of nothing but protein shakes. you do you i guess.

62-61: fox/falco

these two went into the kitchen and came out with weird alien food. i didn’t eat it but everyone else seemed to enjoy it

60: greninja

when he first came out i was so excited. he came out with the most finely sliced food i had ever seen in my entire life. but it was soooo watered down. everything tasted like celery. how do you make crab taste like celery?? how??!

59-58: simon/richter

these guys both made the same exact fish recipe, came out at the same time, and proceeded to fight each other. i didn’t get to try any 😭

57-49: every fire emblem character.

genuinely, i can’t tell these guys apart. or their food choices. honestly, my bad. i’m sure they’re good. but where do i even start.

48: sheik

she doesn’t know how to cook. she kidnapped someone else. normally i wouldn’t put someone like that this high but a. i have gender envy b. it’s for the greater good (or so she said)

47: cloud

dude made a great sandwich but he kept screaming random noises while he did. personally, i’m just glad he managed not to destroy the kitchen. that’s a first here.

46: captain falcon

he promised he’d pick up some pizza but got into a car crash on the way there. eventually he got there after the car crash was all sorted out, but got into ANOTHER on the way back. i’m honestly kind of impressed

45: steve

steve could cook an absolutely fucking KILLER meal. he’ll even offer to do it for free. but you shouldn’t let him under any circumstances. he took 13 hours gathering materials and while the wait was, arguably, worth it, i never want to experience it again. (side note: we asked captain falcon to get some pizza while waiting which led to the aforementioned entry)

44: sora

sora doesn’t know how to cook but he’s by far the biggest name at this party. everyone fucking loves him. he’s friends with GOOFY. this dude hangs out with GOOFY. this guys has hung out with GOOFY AND jack sparrow. bad food but i could listen to this guy talk for hours about his story. i’m sure i’ll understand it all.

43-40: pokémon trainer

this guys organization is fucking atrocious. if he can actually get his shit together he’ll cook up some nice vegetarian meals, but that’s a big if.

HONORABLE MENTION: sans mii gunner

sans undertale is a world renowned, famous chef. his recipes are simple, but cooked with such love, care, and finess it turns a simple cheeseburger into a masterpiece. sans undertale would easily top this list. sans mii gunner is not sans undertale. he bought the real sans’ cookbook and thinks he’s some kind of cooking genius. and sure he’s got the recipes but none of the skill to actually make it.

39-38: samus/zero suit samus

hooray! we’re out of bad cook options now. samus is a great cook, but she’s so used to her alien delicacies she doesn’t know how to cook on earth anymore. shame, but i trust her to produce something edible.

37: shulk

he is really good at the grill. unfortunately, he refused to put a shirt on and made everyone a little uncomfy. that being said, he showed me the beach boys and i had never listened to them before. so he gets points.

36-35: pit/dark pit

these guys don’t know how to cook but the flew into the sky and killed some mythical bird for everyone to eat. i couldn’t have any, i’m pescatarian, but everyone else loved it.

34: bayonnetta

she opened a portal to a waffle house and a bunch of demons came flying out. she didn’t make anything, but honestly, absolutely legendary experience that was.

33: duck hunt

you’d think a dog wouldn’t bring anything meaningful. this would be false. that is the freshest duck i’ve ever seen in my entire life. (didn’t eat it: pescatarian)

32: king dedede

he made his legendary homemade mashed potatoes. everyone loved them. so creamy… weirdly perfect. too bad i hate the monarchy. sorry bud.

31: meta knight

meta knight is a great cook and should be higher. but i don’t want him to be. because he’s so fucking pretentious. he sliced all the food in front of everyone and wouldn’t shut up about radiohead. hate this guy.

30-29: daisy/peach

these two put all their private chefs together to make something for everyone. great catering, great food, but they didn’t technically make it. love them.

28: mewtwo

as if mewtwo wouldn’t just read someone’s mind and cook something. but it’s not mewtwo’s food…so…. sorry dude you cheated.

27: dark samus

she really surprised me here. she cooked up the most exquisite alien delicacies i’ve ever tasted in my entire life. should be higher. but unfortunately, i had to get a space parasite removed from my system by regular samus. honestly though… it was worth it.

26: ganon

he was rude to everyone about his cooking skills and wouldn’t stop bragging. asshole am i right? but surprised everyone by grilling his god damn heart out. he’s a bad try hard but like go off i guess.

25: isabelle

she’s trying her absolute fucking best and she deserves the world here. amazing cook, we need to save her from the island.

24: little mac

dude went so hard. brought new york pizza ALL THE WAY FROM NEW YORK. ok, not literally, but he made a damn good pizza

23: snake

full disclosure: snake doesn’t know how to cook. also no one knows he’s an agent. but he has to cook to blend in so you BEST BELIEVE this man is going to COOK like his life depends on it.

22-20: young link, ness, and lucas

all these guys are incredibly mature for their age. surprised everyone at this party. i had deep and philosophical conversations with all of them about appreciating life. i fucking cried. oh and they made everyone sandwiches, and even took my pescatarianism into account.

19: rosalina

she brought weird space ice cream and i felt my mind expanding as i ate it. love her.

18: mr game and watch

he feels like everyone’s dad! and he’s one of those cooks who cooks in front of everyone. dude flung his meals onto everyone’s plates expertly. love him.

17: joker

originally much lower on this list, joker showed up at my house and attempted to make a grilled cheese and made the worst thing i’ve ever taste. then he said something about gru from despicable me and stood in the corner for an hour. originally i had him towards the bottom but then he doordashed five gigantic burgers, ate all of them in one sitting, and then made me an expensive curry that tasted fantastic. dude went hard.

it was at this point i realized i made a mistake with the numbers. like hell if i’m going to fix the whole thing.

22: zelda

she made some weird food but damn was it pretty to look at! crystals, magic power, i mean good vibes all around here.

21-20: pyra and mythra

i feel like i should put them here since they’re confirmed to be good cooks in the game. but between you and me, i didn’t invite them. i’d consider some entries before this to be better cooks but at this point i’ve been working on this list for 8 hours i do not wanna go back and fix things please i mean this whole list is a joke no one should take this seriously

19: banjo and kazooie

these guys can fucking cook. they’ve been living on their own for a while so it makes sense but it still surprises me. they made a really big stew and even brought free puzzle games.

18: wolf

GRILL MASTER. dude knows what he’s doing on that thing. i’ve never seen better spatula work. holy shit.

17: kirby

kirby came in with some weird blonde hair and made some FANTASTIC ribs (that i didn’t have bc i’m pescatarian). weirdly, gordon ramsey went missing the same day…. i’m sure it means nothing.

16: mario

dude made some absolutely spectacular spaghetti. but he kept talking about how great he is and it really off put some people. kinda weird dude.

15: dr mario. dude brought 50 apples to the potluck. guess he doesn’t wanna see anyone in the office. and he didn’t because we ate them all. take that.

14: min min

she brought some soup dumplings which a lot of people hadn’t had! love her. literally fantastic. she had a whole arm for cooking. that’s what we call efficient.

13: ken

he’s kenough. he is amazing at barbecue. he can cook things with his hands, juggle, also he’s just a fun presence. (i made him make fake meat burgers for me)

12: jigglypuff

she showed up with so many pastries. like so many. not only that, but they were decorative!! she put so much work into that. love her.

11: luigi

he tried to make spaghetti like his brother but a literal fucking meteor slammed into his pot and cracked it. tough luck. then he offered to pay and i refused, but went out and got me some really expensive spaghetti anyways! he’s such a nice guy!! shouldn’t be this high… but i love this guy so much. he’s trying his hardest and i respect that.

10: toon link

toon link didn’t actually make anything. but his mom came and made everyone a salad. and honestly! his mom is some great company. she had so many interesting stories about his childhood. honestly she added so much to the function

9: terry

he is the BARBECUE MASTER!!!! literally what the hell how is he so good! everyone at the party kinda stereotyped him but he’s really really progressive with his views which you wouldn’t think for a big barbecue muscle guy in a baseball cap but everyone loved this guy.

8: mega man

the MASTER CHEF!! literally. he was on master chef. he uses thin round blades to slice vegetables, heats things perfectly, has an instance knowledge of spices, just damn. this guy knows what he’s doing.

7-6: bowser and donkey kong

common misconception: everyone thinks these two would have no idea how to cook. but these are FAMILY GUYS HERE!! they’re providing for absolutely gigantic families, these fuckers know how to make a sandwich and they did. initially they started off making separate sandwiches but they have a really similar recipe and decided to work together. and i really respect that. also turns out peach is just bowser’s kids’ babysitter.

5: palutena.

everyone expected her to show up with some absolutely mystical food. naturally, she showed up with the literal ambrosia of the gods. holy shit. unfortunately, she didn’t put as much effort into it as she could’ve.

4: sephiroth.

ok this guy didn’t really cook anything amazing. but his sheer fucking commitment to the vibe is literally legendary. this man has a long as sword he cut 10 veggies at a time with. he heat them with magic world ending fire. when he was done in the kitchen he surrounded himself with fire and gazed menacingly at me. his sheer commitment to the edge lord aesthetic is truly exemplary.

3: incineroar.

THE GRILLING GOAT!! this man is a grill master. he was prepared to grill ANYTHING. and i mean anything. fish, veggies, meat, fucking grilled cheese. love this guy.

2: wii fit trainer

she made the most well balanced and healthy salad i’ve ever had. and she made it taste extraordinary. she can be a little intense about fitness but i’ve never had a healthier meal in my life. it immediately lowered my extremely high cholesterol.

1. diddy kong

he’s about ten. he made you a pb&j. he had homework to do, but he made you a pb&j. he didn’t have to. he wasn’t asked to. he just wanted to make you a pb&j. he could’ve done anything else but he made you a pb&j. what heartless monster wouldn’t accept it.

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veryinnovative · 5 months

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@jegulus-microfic | january 2, prompt: fire | word count: 1.575 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger intern james potter

“A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries? What does that even fucking mean?!” James shouts into the receiver as he winds through the busy masses of bodies crossing the roads, the traffic light across blinking for him to hurry. “Can’t I pick up something for him from Burger King or something? You know, like a normal human being?”

On the other end of the line, Barty snorts a derisive sound. “Yeah, you try feeding him cheap chain franchise slob and see how that plays out for you. The fucker thinks Versace is a low-class brand, James. He probably doesn’t even know what the inside of a Burger King looks like. Besides, that place is fire. They have good shit.”

Groaning, James picks up the speed and sets out for a sprint, having missed the bus to Howick and resorted to the most reliable way of transport—his two sets of healthy, always moderately trained legs.

“Are you running? You better not be fucking running, Potter. You’re going to come back all sweaty and with creases in your cheap-ass button-up and then I’m going to be the one getting shit for not driving you and ruining the image of Regulus Black’s executive assistant—”

“Suck a dick, Barty,” James bites back after barely evading a car, its tires screeching at him in warning. He throws the driver an apologetic smile.

“I’m serious. You meal-prepped, Potter! Asked where the fucking office microwave is, are you out of your mind? Lunch is on company credit, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got an image to uphold now you’re working for Black Enterprises!”

“The cafeteria is too rich for my taste. Besides, I like meal-prepping. It’s calming.”

“Your fucking tuna stinks up the place.”

“Maybe that’s just your big bullshitting mouth.”

“Listen here, you piece of—”

“Oops, entering a tunnel, hear that?” James cups a hand over the receiver and makes a low, grating sound—mimicking the static rasp of a bad cellular connection. “See you!”

He tucks away the phone before entering Beauxbatons, the restaurant Barty had told him to go to because Regulus was craving his guilty snack, which, to James, sounded like an item right off a witch’s menu. Then again, he was a poor twenty-three-year-old who had just had a gap year fresh out of university, lived in a run-down apartment tucked in Southern London, and knew nothing of the expensive tastes a man like Regulus Black possessed. Thirty-something years old and not a single skin blemish. Must be all the fucking truffle and caviar and whatever Boiron guava puree he eats.

“Welcome,” one of the employees asks. Of course, all of the staff are also wearing pristine clothes and have perfectly sleeked-back hair.

“Hi,” James answers, now all too conscious of the developing sweat marks below his armpits and the dampness cooling on his back. “I’m, uh, here to pick up lunch? Sorry, I forgot my order so let me have a peek at my messages…”

The employee blinks like James has grown a second head. “Take-away? Sir, this is a dine-in restaurant.”

Good thing James has come prepared. He shuffles through the contents of his bag, phone in the other hand and tip of his tongue peeking out in full concentration. “Oh, that’s alright. I brought something to carry it with me. I also got some Tupperware if you don’t mind rinsing it beforehand.”

“No, sir, it’s not a matter of containers,” the employee starts, her lips pursed into a tight line. “We don’t do takeaways.”

James stops and frowns, bag half slung over his shoulder. “Isn’t this Beauxbatons?”

“It is.”

“My boss sometimes has people pick up his lunch here.”

“You must be mistaken… We do not lend any type of service like that.”

James sighs. Great. Amazing. Just what he needed. “Right. Do you mind if I make a call? I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake then.”

The employee, undoubtedly taking pity on him and his disorderly state that suggests he’s been running the past ten minutes, nods. “Of course.”

Heaving a sigh, James scrolls through his contact list and taps on ‘Regulus’, never mind that he has been firmly instructed to only call him during emergencies. But considering the sort of day he’s been having, he considers this one.

Regulus picks up after the third ring. “Potter?”

It’s been two weeks and he still won’t fucking call him by his name, going off on tangents about formal office conduct and etiquette. Potter this, Potter that, bridling when he’s called by his first name for a change in an environment that would kiss the soles of his feet if he’d ask. “Hi, I’m at the place you sent me the address of but they don’t do takeaways so I wanted to know what you want to eat. You cool with Wagamama?”

There’s a pregnant pause—all too telling of how Regulus is probably taking a deep breath and doing the thing where he either pinches the bridge of his nose or rubs his eyebrows. “Have you mentioned the takeaway is for me?”

“No, I haven’t.” What difference would it make, James wants to ask. But in a world where Regulus Black is pretty much revered, he is confident it would make a little difference at least.

“Do that, Potter.”

James rolls his eyes before returning his attention to the employee. “He wants you to know his name is Regulus, by the way.”

Her eyes widen. “Reg—Do you mean Mr. Black?”

James clicks his tongue. “That the one.” The employee doesn’t look convinced and James holds up his hand just above his chest. “About this tall? Curly black hair? Probably in one of today’s morning tabloids, not hard to miss. I could put him on speaker if you’d like?”

There’s the frantic wave of her hands, head shaking vigorously. “Oh! You should have told me from the start, Sir. Please, what would Mr. Black like to eat for lunch? I—I’m sorry. We are very exclusive in our service and are most honored Mr. Black has once again chosen our humble establishment—”

“Just,” James sighs, skimming over the menu laminated standing on an easel by the entrance, not possessing the energy to listen to someone go off on tangents about his boss again. Not like he does so internally at night, anyway. Absolutely not. “A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries.”

“Not fries, a salad—” Regulus reminds him over the phone, but James has decided that he will just about eat whatever James decides on.

“Potter—” Regulus tries again and James flat-out hushes him. To his surprise, Regulus actually shuts up.

The employee nods, over-excited. “Oh, of course, an excellent choice. How would Mr. Black like it to be cooked?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know, on a grill?”

There’s a faint garbled noise coming from Regulus that James will definitely tuck away in his memory.

But the employee is too thrilled to be serving someone as pompous as Regulus to notice the lack of culinary terminology James possesses. “Oh, I meant the cook of the meat!”

“The cook of the meat?” James repeats. “I don’t know, whoever is on shift? Regulus, who do you want to cook your burger?”

The employee makes a high-pitched sound at the same Regulus sighs in a very exaggerated, exhausted manner. “Just tell them medium rare.”

“Medium? What is this, a video game difficulty?”

“Medium rare!” the employee chirps, her smile wry. Strands of hair stick out of the previously perfectly pulled-back bun like the situation has created plenty of static to dishevel her updo. “One medium rare wagyu—”

“Don’t forget the fries,” James adds, unable to fight off the grin cleaving his face. This, he loves most—fucking with rich people. ‘Who do you want to cook your meat?’ he’s a genius for that one, an absolute innovative mastermind. Make him head of corporate next at this rate.

“You had to call me for this?” Regulus asks him as James watches the poor girl scurry off to the back, undoubtedly to ring in the order and gush about the perfect, rich, hot-looking Regulus Black on the phone by the restaurant’s hallway.

“It was an emergency. I get you the wrong order and you, I dunno, bite off my head like Miranda Priestly.”

“I don’t know a Miranda Priestly.”

“No? Shame. Would’ve loved her, a real feisty woman that one. She works in the fashion industry, though.”

“Potter.”

James tries not to bark out a laugh. He can’t help it, Regulus is just too easy. “Yeah, I’ll get you your overtly expensive A3-grade cut of meat that could pay for my weekly rent. Didn’t take you for the type of man to get burgers, by the way.”

“That’s why I’m asking employees of a lower tax bracket to pick them up for me.”

Okay, that’s kind of funny. Regulus Black can be fucking funny if he wants to, he just rarely chooses to. James barely masks his snort at it. “Got me there, boss.”

“Get a cab back to the office. And stop calling me boss.”

“My bad, Sir,” James drawls, knowing that Regulus reacts particularly well to this specific formality.

A second of silence that stretches on for a little too long. James clears his throat, wondering if the line cut off. “Regu—”

“See you soon, Potter,” Regulus speaks, faster than usual, almost like he’s flustered, and with a strange pitch to his words before he hangs up.

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #marauders #marauders au #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #this one is for mil bc she plotted this w me so extensively #and also for cass <3 bc they synced w my brain today #ino microfic tag!

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mysticheathenn · 4 months

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What Soul Tribe is Coming in?

Hi there! Remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

The extended Patreon Members reading includes: (Both tiers)

What Soul Tribe is Coming in for You?

What will your Dynamic be like?

How and When Will You Meet?

Pile l:

What is your current tribe like? (Tarot: 8 of Wands (reversed), Death (reversed), Temperance, 7 of Pentacles)

Garbage! I’m sorry to say this pile 1 but your friends aren’t your friends and I think deep down you know this too. For some of you, your friends don’t like to see you win. Every time you mention something that you have accomplished or you did something or anything good for yourself they always feel as if they have to always one up you or try to diminish your light pile 1. If they aren’t diminishing your light, they are always trying to make sure you don’t change and hinder any progress you want to make for yourself. An example would be when you go on a diet, wanting to lose weight and every time you go out it’s always somewhere not healthy and they try to “It’s only a small fry” or even do that dumb toxic shit where you’re eating a chicken caesar wrap while they have burger king and they go “Hmmm burger, wish you could have this don’t you.” I’m hearing for some of you, you’re the friend they always go to for advice or help but when you need something they are miraculously not there for you, or they don’t even try to give you any kind of good advice. Please know these are not your friends pile 1. I don’t know why you stay but you deserve better. I hope your tribe coming in is better for you.

What do you want out of the people around you? (Intuitive Message: Support & Accountability)

Support is the first word I heard from your guides that you want out of the people around you currently and for more supportive people to come into your life. Some of you may be struggling with depression and anxiety. I’m even hearing having suicidal tendencies that you sometimes have if not late at night sometimes throughout the day whenever you are feeling your lowest not having anyone to confide in. For a few of you, I’m hearing you want accountability from your friends as well. This may go both ways where you want your friends to hold themselves accountable for the sh!tty things they do and say toward you and other people. Maybe you have those delulu friends who think cheating is okay because they are female, and they have the mindset of men ain’t shit and they do it too. Maybe some of you need friends who will hold you accountable for your actions because you want to be a better person whether that’s having a glow-up or just needing to know your shit stinks too and you can’t be out here acting any kind of way.

Patreon Member Extended Reading (Both tiers) Pile ll:

What is your current tribe like? (Tarot: 8 of Cups, 2 of Swords (reversed), 9 of Cups, 8 of Cups, Queen of Cups (bottom of deck))

Before I start your reading pile 2 I just want to say in my best Mr. Rogers voice “I’m proud of you, I hope you know that.” This is my pile that has either no friends or very few people they can call friends in their lives if that. Some of you may call the few people in your life buddies or acquaintances which is nothing wrong with that because, in today's society, everybody is a friend because people feel some type of way by anything lower than that title. Some of you recently cut off your friends with the 2 of swords card, maybe for a while you didn’t want to but eventually, you just got to a place where you felt “You can do bad all by yourself.” I sense the loneliness from this pile because you have no to very few friends but at the end of the day you’re trying to stand on business with the Queen of Cups because you know your worth. You know that being alone is better than having fake friends all around you. This message is for a very few of you when I say few I mean less than 10 but some of you could have been the “problem” in your friend's group. Maybe you didn’t realize how high of a pedestal you placed your standards on that nobody can reach it not even god himself. Maybe you’re the type who once someone does even the smallest inconvenience you cut them off because you don’t have time for drama. While again good for you, it’s okay to let people be human and mess up from time to time for small petty things that aren’t disrespectful or intentional (meaning anyone could have made that small mistake).

What do you want out of the people around you? (Tarot: the High Priestess (reversed), (The Hanged Man (reversed), Knight of Swords, Strength (reverse), 7 of Pentacles, & 4 of Swords)

“G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S” I’m hearing the song Glamorous by Fergie. I’m not only hearing that but I’m seeing it as well you flying high taking trips on your boss babe sh!t. You don’t want anyone around you who isn’t trying to get their life together pile 2. If you aren’t trying to get a bag, better yourself, or do something with their lives you want nothing to do with them. Another song coming through for you is Latto – “It’s Givin” “It's givin' boss bitch (Boss bitch), It's givin' boss b!tch (Boss b!tch, it's givin'), It's givin' bad b!tch (Bad b!tch), Never ever play me like I'm average.” You honestly would rather be alone than let another person come and play in your face when you have so much going for you or want to bring in so much into your life pile 2.

Patreon Member Extended Reading (Both tiers)

Pile lll:

What is your current tribe like? (Tarot: 4 of Cups (reversed), Knight of Wands, Ace of Cups (reversed), The Fool, Queen of Swords (reversed), 9 of Cups (bottom of deck))

Unlike pile 1 your pile is neutral. It’s not bad nor good, it’s just the way it is. I’m hearing the song “The Way it is” by Bruce Hornsby the lyrics go “That's just the way it is Some things will never change That's just the way it is Ah, but don't you believe them.” Pile 2 there may be a rift happening in your current soul tribe. You’re literally the medium group out of all 3 groups. Pile 1 needs to change friends, Pile 2 is their own boss babe best friend, and you’re in limbo with your friends' group. You have new beginnings and things are changing for the best for you but your friends and you are either a) not seeing eye to eye on things anymore that you used to bond over because you’ve leveled up mentally, physically, or emotionally, or b) You’re in different stages in your life and just drifting apart because it’s time. This pile feels like you have had most of your friends for a long time, for some of you, you may have had a few of your friends since middle or high school and you don’t want that friendship to end because the history you share with this person and possibly because you’re afraid of any new friends coming in. You fear untouched territory when it comes to friends, you want familiarity and nothing is feeling familiar to you anymore because you are leveling up. But unfortunately pile 2 this shift is inevitable, it’s bound to happen either now or later on at some point and I’m sensing if you keep progressing this shift from happening you are bound to but heads drastically and dramatically where life will force you to end things with your current group. It’s time for you to be open to new adventures and people. It’s safe and okay to let others in your life. “No new friends” by DJ Khaled ft Drake is playing in my head. This maybe for a select few of you but some of you maybe the type of friend who wants to bring their friends for the ride on this new path you’re going on similar to how rappers always bring their day one friends on the ride because they want to see them eat and be taken care of because you feel they deserve it after all you guys had to go through to make it.

What do you want out of the people around you? (Tarot: 2 of Cups, The Moon, Queen of Wands, Knight of Swords (reversed))

Instead of the question “What does pile 3 want from the people around them” I kept wanting to say “What does pile 3 need from the pile people around them?” and the phrase equal partnership came to mind when the 2 of cups came out as the first card. You need people who are going to also want to do action for themselves and not just get a leg up from you and your success or soon-to-have success if you aren’t there yet. With the moon card there’s something that you aren’t seeing with your current group of friends that the universe (god, allah, etc) is trying not to let happen as mentioned before a dramatic falling out where you and your current friend group will get hurt. The song No Hook by Latto where she speaks on her getting money and her whole family started acting funny comes to mind. If I’m being honest 21 Savage ft Post Malone song “All my Friends” is perfect for this group the lyrics go, “Lost a few friends chasin' hand money (On God) Had the same friends when I was bummy (Straight up) They should've went and did stand-up 'Cause when the money come, n*ggas act funny.” You need friends who are on the same level as you pile 2 this is in no shape or form elitist but more so you’re not seeing that the more success you get in your life the people you call friends are going to slowly start acting entitled to your new-found abundance and success and you deserve better than that. You deserve people who will be inspired that you did something awesome for yourself and want to do the same for themselves without clinging onto you or trying to stand in the same spot as you without doing anything for themselves except exist. Cadi B “Don’t be the why her type of b!tch, be the how can I get next to her and be like her type a b!tch”

Patreon Member Extended Reading (Both tiers)

Early Release

Thank you for checking out this Pick-a-Card reading. Be sure to check out the rest on Patreon.

I appreciate all of you, until the next reading.

Stay Safe and Be Blessed.

#spirituality #tarot reading #pick a card #pac reading #pac tarot #pick a pile #tarotcommunity #witchblr #pick a picture #tarot reader #patreon #divination #tarot cards #tarotblr #pick a photo

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illmoraineakoi · 8 months

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I like to headcanon that Vessels don’t need food, water, air, sleep, or frequent washing, but also that they very much benefit from partaking in all of them.

Like, PKs super proud of the Pure Vessel, like “look at my glorious creation behold perfection itself!”

Meanwhile PVs beside him looking like the vessel equivalent of a neglected mangy dog someone also ran over with a fork lift.

Their chitin is dull, their claws crack easily, their cloak membrane is thin and tears a lot, they get exhausted frequently, it takes more soul than it should for them to force their void to seal back together after injuries, sometimes they see spots in their vision, they always feel very tight and clenchy in the stomach area, sometimes just smelling food makes them nauseous, they frequently get pounding migraines, their joints hurt, etc.

And then post-Game Hornet shoves the Hallownest equivalent of a burger down their throat, and threatens to keep doing so if they don’t eat and drink and sleep themselves.

And in a just two weeks, they find they are confused when so many of the problems they assumed were natural to them just disappears.

Over the months of recovery, their chitin not only gains a vibrant healthy sheen, it strengthens, becoming so much harder than it ever was before. Their claws, which used to fracture if it’s nail slipped and hit them wrong, could now rend inches thick metal and stone. Their cloak had been cut off at the neck, completely unsalvageable, and had been regrowing faster than expected, the membrane flesh thick and sturdy.

They no longer feel tired so much, the vision spots are gone, and they no longer feel like their insides were twisting up into a ball, or as Hornet informs them, like they are starving.

Their once massive soul reserves have been ravaged and taken by the infection, but even what little they had left could go much farther than it could before, the power of their spells only seemed to grow as they slowly got back what they lost.

They no longer stumbled sometimes, no longer woke with agony in their skull, no longer felt turned off by the scent of cooking and seasoning.

Their mask shell, once a dull off white, brightens to an almost glowing snow white. The muscles beneath their chitin no longer trembles from the damage their sealing had done, because their very void itself was now thriving, sustained, healthy.

Eventually they will molt to regrow their lost arm, an injury not damaging enough to have affected their shade, and eventually even the crack will scar over, healed as their shade has healed from it.

Eventually they become something so magnificent in their strength and health.

And the Pale King better be really thankful he’s dead, because he certainly doesn’t want to have the ire of a Vessel at full strength aimed at him. He would see firsthand how frail he had inadvertently made them, and how drastically he underestimated their full potential.

#hollow knight

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italoniponic · 3 months

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Burger (Short) King | Epel Felmier

Synopsis: It’s date night and the place you selected to go with Epel was this humble fast food restaurant that serves the best hamburger in the north part of the island. Well, even if you weren’t that curious about the truth in those rumors, you just wanted Epel to have fun at dinner for once.

Epel Felmier x gender neutral reader / fluff / appleboy's accent / established relationship / use of “you” pronouns / word count: 900 words / Masterlist

Notes: This idea came from one of my talks with @pandoa about Epel’s SR Cerimonial groovy and I just idealized this dinner night with Epel. What can I do? I love bacon and the smile of happiness shining on Epel's face. And, like always, I tried my best to write him with a southern accent... I really tried ;w;

Burger (Short) King

The burger had barely been brought to your table and you just sat there in wonder on how Epel got so quick to devour the meal. It was just a dinner date in the Sage Island village at a decent Saturday night time.

But there he was — your little lilac gremlin of a boyfriend — stuffing his mouth full of meat, bacon and lettuce with gravy as if it were the first and last meal of his life after centuries of starvation. Manners at the dinner table aside, the promotional burger was really that delicious.

When you saw the announcement promo on Magicam, you immediately remembered Epel.

It was a double steak burger, with bacon and thin onions fried in shoyu sauce, keeping company with lettuce and fresh tomatoes, tasty pickles and a special sauce “ala Chef’s mode”. Everything a delicious fast food meal could offer in carbs and a few extra nutrients.

Or it was what Epel tried to justify on the way there, which made you both ask for apple juice. But the juice alone wouldn’t nullify the bacon or the steak, you assumed with good humor.

It was then that the real reason for Epel’s enthusiasm occurred to you: most, if not all, of Pomefiore would not take your dinner so good-naturedly.

You knew that clogging up with fast-food wasn’t beneficial in many ways, but it was only for one day. Epel wouldn’t die if he ate enough meat for one night. In fact, with the addition of the potatoes and the pie he planned to buy for you both as a dessert at a nearby bakery, you wondered how much Epel usually ate for dinner.

You knew that before Epel met you, he sat alone in the cafeteria most of the time at the beginning of the year. Sometimes he was accompanied by Jack because they were the same class, other times his dorm leader and vice would personally supervise him — if there was time on their lunch schedule.

Epel even had a bag of onions in his blazer pocket to put for lunch if he needed it, which usually drove Jack’s sense of smell crazy. But he didn’t have to bring anything like that to your date, fortunately.

“Is it good?,” you asked after taking your first bite of the burger.

Epel had his mouth full of bacon and chips when you asked him for his opinion. He swallowed it all before answering you.

“Delicious, I tell ya what!,” he replied with a big smile.

It took a few minutes but Epel’s mouth was freer to talk — and let slip a little of the accent you loved so much.

“You know that no one is going to steal your sandwich, right? You can eat more calmly. You know, like really chew and enjoy the food,” you giggled, trying to reassure him.

“Have ya forgot who my dorm leader is? Well, I s’wanee I’ll be damned if not admit that, without Rook, I wouldn’t even be here. 'To thank lil’ someone don’t kill nor take a bite out of ya', meemaw say.”

You didn’t remember hearing anything similar before, but if it was advice from Marja Felmier, there was nothing to question.

Not to mention that it was a big truth — it took a lot of bribery and dramatizations of your wish to have dinner alone with your boyfriend to convince Rook to be your accomplice in this far from nutritional crime.

Just in case, you two were in the corner closest to the back exit of the diner, with no windows in sight and with a lot of things around to keep people from recognizing you.

You never know when you’re picking a poisoned apple from a seemingly well-meaning old lady, or even an extremely romantic hunter. Can’t never risk enough, you could only suppose. You would do anything to ensure the success of that date.

Epel took advantage of your thoughtful moment to eat some more. His eyes, when not closed with satisfaction, had a delightful shimmer to them that put the night stars to shame.

It was the best gift you could have given him. In fact, the boy could only think that apple carvings wouldn’t be enough to reward you.

He was actually going to try to plan something truly worthy of your kindness to him — and his countryside stomach that wouldn’t deny good meat in front of him.

But you didn’t feel like you needed any reward. Watching his joy was enough to make your heart happy. You took a sip of the apple juice, amazed at the way Epel smiled even while chewing. You held back a laughter as you watched him lick a sauce mustache that was forming above his lips.

Epel’s joy was your greatest and most precious treasure. It was enough.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“What didja say?,” the boy asked, distracted.

“C-can you pass me a napkin?,” you tried to disguise your words, not wanting to scare him with the intensity of your emotions.

Although confused, Epel shrugged and held out the small box of napkins to you.

While you were bothering to wipe non-existent crumbs from your mouth, the look of your boyfriend and his smile went unnoticed by you. Even if it took a long time before you could repeat that kind of date night, nothing would change within his heart.

Epel would still love you tons.

| Special notes: I wanted to make it a little longer but maybe another time. And I stand that I would fight all Pomefiore just to deliver the most crazy stuffed burger from McDonalds to Epel. They can't hold the power of sertanejo in my veins!! |

#twisted wonderland #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #epel x reader #twst x reader #gender neutral reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst fanfic #fluff #date night #i'll give epel all my love and burgers i can buy #cherry's writing #cherry's mumbling about twst

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makethatelevenrings · 9 months

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Angel By the Wing - Twenty Eight

chapter warnings: pregnancy, alcohol (it's a bar so)

Series Masterlist (Mobile Masterlist)

Despite the fact that this had never been your plan, that you were pregnant and couldn’t even drink, and you were bone tired, the Hard Deck seemed to be your happy place. The dark wood stained with rings from years of cold beer bottles enveloped you the moment you walked in. The walls were lined with memorabilia and photos of patrons, both civilians and servicemembers. Penny bought this place from a couple who opened it back in the 80s. The classic old bar feel was attributed to the fact that it truly was a classic old bar. The jukebox had been replaced so it could still play, but the music was usually rock from the past few decades.

There was something about this place that made you feel alive. You loved it here.

“How are you feeling?” Chelsea asked once you slid behind the bar to help her with the day’s prep.

“I am fine. Baby is fine. The boys literally pouted this morning when they realized they weren’t going to be able to come with me to the doctor,” you recounted. The bar had just opened at four and only a few customers were here. They were the typical crowd who wanted the bar experience but didn’t want to be here when it was a raucous mess.

A few orders for burgers and some appetizers were being worked on in the kitchen, so that left you to help Chelsea fix up the bar and take inventory of what bottles you had for the night.

“Oh, how far along are you?” A soft voice interrupted your counting. You looked up to find a woman seated at the bar. She was older, around Penny’s age, with a soft, plump face and bright green eyes. You offered her a polite smile, figuring she had just stopped off the plane considering she had a suitcase leaning up against her.

“Almost ten weeks.”

Her nose wrinkled up and she let out a hiss between her teeth. “First trimester is the worst, in my opinion. The nausea is always brutal.”

��Oh, my morning sickness hasn’t been too bad. It’s the fatigue that gets me.”

She nodded. “It’s as if the more you sleep, the more tired you are.”

“So it’s not just me? Thank god, it feels like I’m being drained of all energy.”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, it’s common. So this is your first?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Your smile softened at the thought of the ultrasound photo pinned to the fridge in your apartment. You don’t know when it shifted from “Jake’s place” to your place. From Bradley’s inability to put his shoes away to Jake’s propensity to strip off his sweaty workout clothes the second he walked in the front door to your collection of random pens ending up strewn across any and all surfaces in the house. The townhome with its two bedrooms, one for the three of you packed in tightly in the king sized bed and one that was a guest room for now but the soft whispers in the morning about what color should you paint the walls for the nursery was changing things.

“You must be very excited,” she continued.

“And nervous. Can I get you anything to drink? Eat?”

“A Long Island ice tea would be fantastic.”

Quick and simple. You placed the drink in front of her on top of a napkin and smiled. “What brings you to San Diego?”

She took a sip from her drink and waved her hand in the air. “Oh, you don’t need to listen to my life story. I’m sure you have to do this all night.”

Maybe so, but she was a lot nicer and more sober than your usual customers who slurred through sobbing tales about cheating exes and shitty bosses. You shrugged and grabbed a clean rag to work on wiping down the counter.

“If I didn’t want to hear about people’s lives, I would become an accountant or something.” Your smile grew. “So if you don’t tell me, I’m just going to have to come up with ideas. You’re a billionaire boss lady in town for a huge investment meeting. You’re a CIA agent who is trying to get information out of me, but I gotta warn you that I don’t know anything of importance. Or maybe you’re a travel blogger on the hunt for the best beaches in the world.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just here to visit family.”

“And your first stop was a bar? Jeez, is your family that bad?”

Her smile fell slightly and you paused in your cleaning. “No. My son is amazing. Both of my kids are the absolute fucking light of my life. But I don’t know if this will be a happy trip.”

“Why’s that?”

She considered you for a moment, her head tilting to the side in a way that reminded you of Jake in the morning when he woke up too early and couldn’t process any words you said. Her lips curved up into a soft smile and she sighed.

“I’m not drunk enough yet for that conversation. Tell me about you. How are you feeling about becoming a mom?”

The words spilled out of you before you could stop them. You were a mixture of fear and elation, but you were starting to truly believe in this little family you had created. Two men saw the flaws in you and pushed past them. Penny and Sarah were the mothers you had craved your whole life. Natasha, Sofia, and Amelia were your sisters that you always dreamed of having.

Your cheeks ached from the smile that clung to your lips and you brightened as the door opened. Waving in greeting, Natasha and Sofia made their entrance and then went to claim their usual table. Their presence meant that the rest of the Dagger Squad would be on their way. Thanks to Sofia working as a medical receptionist on base, the couple carpooled to work and back.

“Give me one sec,” you told your faithful listener and turned to grab a beer for Natasha and a mojito for Sofia. You were finishing off the garnish on the mojito when two arms wrapped around your middle. Lips peppered your cheeks and the rough, scratchy beard immediately clued you into who it was.

“Hey, you two are not supposed to be behind the bar!” you chided. Bradley ignored your protests and instead buried his face against your neck. You sighed and shuffled yourself around so you could see the infamous Jake Seresin smirk.

“What is wrong with him?” you deadpanned.

“Sorry for missing you, darlin’. How’s you and baby doing?” The stitches on your arm stung when you pulled your arm to the side, but everything else was perfectly fine. When you told them as such, the relief on their faces was instant.

“C’mere, Tex,” you hummed. He settled his hands on your waist and bent his head down to lay a kiss on Bradley’s curls and then to your lips. You stopped him before he could deepen the kiss and shook your head with a laugh.

“Grab some beers, take these over to the others, and shoo. Go. Let me do my job.”

“Can you blame us for wanting to be with our girls all the time?” Bradley teased but he untangled himself from you. You rolled your eyes but the smile never left your face.

Until Jake turned around and met the eyes of the woman you spent the better part of an hour chatting with. He stilled and nearly dropped the beer he was holding if you hadn’t reached out and grabbed it.

“Mom?” Jake blurted out.

Tag List:

@mizzzpink@xoxabs88xox@dreaminglandsworld@khaylin27@loveforaugust@phoenixssugarbaby@atarmychick007@mak-32@itsmytimetoodream@krismdavis@emma8895eb@startrekfangirl@hangmandruigandmav@lunamoonbby@startrekfangirl2233@sihtricswife@jstarr86@drakelover78@abaker74@emma8895eb

#hangster x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #abtw #rooster x hangman x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin

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rottenaero · 11 months

Text

“If you’re going to terrorize people, can you at-least give me a heads-up? Family Video can’t run by itself.”

Eddie snorts from his side of the phone, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a three weeks notice next time someone trashes my lunch. That way you’ll have lunch ready when I call.”

He’s already got his car keys in hand by the time he finishes, mouthing sorry to his new-hire co-worker. “Jesus man, you know you’ll owe me literal money for this right? Groceries aren’t cheap.”

“Shit, right,” He sucks in a breath, “I promise I will, I’ve got stock right now that’ll sell out soon, by championship game I’ll have the big bucks.”

Steve hums, “Alright, see you.” He says, cutting off Eddie’s response by setting the phone in the holster. He leaves, not even saying goodbye to the other guy on shift.

Bag of McDonalds in hand, he strides through the cafeteria. He was lucky the school hadn’t cared about him going in, but it was also concerning. A few people from different tables sent him looks, he thinks he hears one or two whispers of ‘King Steve’ even though he graduated two years ago.

He glances around, eyes falling to the hellfire table.

Steve’s never been gladder that the lunch-line takes forever.

Eddie sees him and lights up, big grin and all. “Ste-vie!” He shouts, drawing attention from nearby tables. Steve sets himself, and the bag down on the table.

Jeff gives him a half-hearted wave from across the table and he returns it before turning back to the super-senior. “So, what’d you get me, is it chicken nuggets? A burger?” He asks, pointing a hand at Gareth who started a drum role on the table.

Steve pushes the bag towards him. “Happy Meal, they ran out of boxes though.”

Eddie gapes, “That’s like- The whole point, the smile on the box, Steve.”

“Just eat your damn cookies, man. I have to get back to work." He states, standing back up. Eddie tuts, “Why leave when you could stay? Fuck Tim-“

“Bill.” He corrects.

“Ah, so the home-wrecker has a name.”

“He complimented my shirt once- And if it was just Bill I’d stay, but I don’t want to run into-“

“Steve, hey, what are you doing here?”

#short post since i cant post anything but drafts</3 #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things ficlet #steddie ficlet #crisisinverted17

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idolatrybarbie · 8 months

Text

odd couple

pairing: established francisco "frankie" morales x reader

word count: 2.5k

rating & summary: explicit, mdni! | frankie can't cook, to put it lightly.

tags: no trigger warnings needed for this one, porn with (little) plot, rated e like woah, frankie needs a win, very unedited as of initial posting, stubborn!frankie, premature ejaculation, handjobs, cumplay, overstimulation, sub!frankie moments, multiple orgasms, spit kink/drooling, #petnames4frankie, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, reader calls frankie "wet" in this idk that might not be your thing i guess. look man it's been a hard week.

notes: it's not wednesday and i am struggling a lil' bit (might make a personal life update soon idk ?) but i am being such a brave little toaster about it! writing this definitely made me feel better. when it comes to music, this weezer song is a little generic within their discography but whatever, i like it. hope you enjoy! also everyone go read @wannab-urs sub!max phillips fic because i say so and it's awesome.

You listen to Frankie move around the kitchen from your spot on the couch, trying your very best to ignore the occasional clang and clattering noise that flows out from the distant doorway. Tonight, he has taken on the task of making the two of you dinner. Or trying to, anyway. You don’t cook much either. Your job, like his, doesn’t lend much time to it. Takeout is more than often what’s on the menu—Burger King, of all things, is his favourite.

You know how to cook though. Every once in a while you have the spare time to whip together something truly delicious; slow-roasted pork belly, or maybe a nice pasta with garnish. Frankie doesn’t seem to know his ass from the oven.

The two of you have had this conversation hundreds of times. You stating that he can’t cook, and him pushing back, insisting that he can. Or he could, before the service stuck him with single meal MREs for a number of years and he lost most of the culinary knowledge given to him by various tías, his abuela, and of course Mrs. Morales herself.

His stubbornness spurs the occasional urge to throttle him. It’s fine you can’t cook, you always tell him. Not like he can’t still learn. Still, he insists, and insists on insisting on top of that.

Honestly, you couldn’t be more of opposites. Even excluding skills of domestic labour, he and you are a bit of an odd couple. Frankie’s an early mornings guy, always, while you enjoy a sleepy Sunday—or just about any day that ends in Y. He hates the horror movies you fawn over, while you can’t stand the nature documentaries and sappy celebrity biopics that he eats up year over year. Frankie is highly detail-oriented, the engineer instinct in him always angling towards rigid preparedness; you’re a bit more goal-focused, letting any plan morph and adjust according to the situation.

Another such cooking conversation had taken place on the drive home after declining Frankie’s offer of McDonald’s for the fourth night this week, and now here you are: listening to the man curse under his breath, muttering complaints from the kitchen as he tries his hand at homemade spaghetti.

The kitchen is silent for a moment. You go back to channel surfing, clicking past reruns of Golden Girls and M*A*S*H*. Stopping at a channel playing the cinematic masterpiece Grease 2, you focus your attention on the open doorway behind you again. It feels almost too quiet…

A string of hushed, panicked curses from Frankie confirms your suspicions. Getting off the couch, you use the soft overhead light to guide you through the dark apartment. Frankie is standing over the stove when you see him, quickly moving away and towards the sink. Water splashes into it, surely scalding as steam rises into the air. Or maybe that’s coming from his ears?

You clear your throat in the kitchen doorway, and Frankie turns to you. His face is slightly red, a silver pot held in his grip by the towel-covered handle.

“Is everything okay?” You already know the answer to that question—aggravation rolls off of him in waves, permeating the space between the two of you like a mirage in the Mojave Desert.

Frankie opens his mouth to respond, but the words never come. He does this a few times, wracking his brain for the proper way to put it as he parts and pleats his lips, living up to his call sign.

Eventually, he settles on, “No.”

He heaves a deep sigh, tossing the pot onto the counter. Getting a closer look at it, you see the charred spaghetti noodles stuck to the shiny bottom.

“Don’t, okay?” Frankie says before you look up again.

“What?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. I told you so, blah blah blah. I know. You’re right. I can’t fuckin’ cook.” The words are rushed, like he’s half-embarrassed to even say it.

You frown, reaching an open palm out to him as you shake your head. “That’s not what I was going to say.” You motion for him to come closer and he does, slipping into your arms as you hug at his tense shoulders. “It’s okay. You can take a class, or we can work on it together. I think that’d be kind of fun,” you say.

Picturing making something with Frankie—maybe bowties and broccoli, something simple—has you smiling into his shoulder. For his birthday last year you made red velvet cupcakes with sour cream frosting. The recipe is a little more complicated, but baking them with him this time is a pleasant idea. You already know he’s the type of person to lick the batter off the beater.

“I don’t want to do that to you,” he says.

You pull back from the hug to look at him, those big brown eyes of his crinkled at the far edges. “You’re not doing anything to me,” you say. “At least, not right now.”

A small smile comes to his face then, creeping and dopey before Frankie gives you a soft kiss at the tip of your nose.

“They should really give you a Netflix special or something,” he says.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night,” you muse.

Still in your arms, Frankie glances over at the pot of blackened, noodle-shaped mush. “What are we gonna do for dinner?”

Right now, he’s in the closest proximity to you that he’s been all week. At least, while you’ve both been conscious. Work has you staying later and later at the office these days, while his shifts handling flight operations have him drained, in bed and fast asleep well before you even get home. Tonight is special even if it hasn’t gone the way either of you planned.

You hum, dipping your head to nose at the patchy beard along his jaw. “I’m thinking we skip dinner.”

“Come on, seriously,” Frankie says.

“I am serious.” Leaving a wet kiss on his cheek, you whisper, “Don’t you want your dessert, Francisco?”

A hum rumbles low in his chest. “Of course, but—”

“But nothing.” You move your left hand to cradle the side of his face, his skin smooth under your touch. He leans into its warmth. “I’m hungry.”

You know that he is too. At your words, Frankie practically jumps you, a kiss pressed to your lips hard before your brain can catch up with what’s happening. He holds you in his arms tight, like if he loosens his grip even a bit, you’ll float away. The pair of you move out of the kitchen and back into the living room, the horrible 80’s movie still dancing across the pixels of the TV.

Frankie falls onto his back, bouncing against the couch cushions. The remote is underneath him, the mute button conveniently hit upon his landing. The cheesy show tunes cut out immediately. You move to straddle him as he lays horizontal. Frankie cranes his neck a bit to watch you as you settle over the crotch of his sweatpants. He’s half hard under the fabric already.

Frankie pulls you down into another bruising kiss. You hunch over to meet his lips, his hands circling around your waist. You’ve decided to take the Frankie approach to tonight’s activities; cool and calculated in your plans and decisions on how this is going to go. Grinding your hips down, you watch his face carefully. He huffs out a breath, soft and peppery like the cinnamon gum he keeps in his car.

You reach between your bodies to feel him in his pants. Frankie kisses at your face, quick and sporadic as you palm at him. He moves to lift your shirt off your body and you let him, raising your arms to help him. He tosses the thing to the floor and lets his hands rove over your skin. Continuing your ministrations, you slip your hand beneath the elastic waistband of the grey sweats. Frankie has no underwear on, a pleasant surprise.

“Fuck,” he groans, nosing at your neck.

“What’s wrong, honey bun? Doesn’t that feel good?” you ask, slowly pulling your hand away.

“Yes, please. Do it again?” His voice strains deliciously, the muscles in his arms held taut.

Frankie relaxes only slightly when you return your palm to where he’s hot and achy, cock wet at the tip. You run your thumb along the head of his dick as he pushes his hips up into your touch. You slide the pad of your finger along his shaft, spreading the dampness.

“Aw baby, you’re already a little wet. Isn’t that sweet?”

You start to stroke him in earnest, the tight circle of your hand moving up and down his cock. The movement is a little dry, your skin dragging against the sensitive velvet of him. You push his shirt up his belly, pulling his pants to his knees easily. Then you spit into your palm, jerking him off easier this time.

“Fuck baby. Just like that,” Frankie pants. He’s moving his hips with your hand now, fucking up into it on every down stroke. With your free hand, you prod at the small dip at his hip, feeling the muscle tense beneath the skin.

“Bet you feel so good, baby. Nice and easy for me,” you coo.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

You twist your hand at the end of every movement upwards, fingers rubbing over Frankie’s tip as he leaks steadily onto himself. The glide is easy now, lubed with your saliva and his precum. The squelch makes your mouth water as you watch his cock disappear and reappear in the shadow of your fingers.

He puts one of his hands over yours, urging you to go faster. Your hands move together over Frankie’s dick, picking up the pace as the sticky noise turns into a slap with every thrust of his hips.

Frankie breaks pace, stuttering on a caught breath before he spills over your hand and onto his belly. You pause to watch his chest tense and then loosen, his eyes shut tight as he comes down. Raising your hand to your lips, you lick a bit of his cum from the edge of your fingers. It’s the first thing Frankie sees when he opens his eyes again, making him groan. The noise sounds almost painful.

“That was—”

“Amazing?” you supply.

Frankie wheezes a laugh. “Something like that.”

“What about a second helping?”

He furrows his brow, then looks down at his dick. It lays limp and spent on his stomach. “I don’t—”

“Please,” you implore oh-so-sweetly. Frankie sees big eyes batting at him, a twinkle of adoration. The intent behind it is a little more Kubrick, but he doesn’t know that yet.

He can’t say no to you, doesn’t want to anyway. Frankie nods, mumbling a yes at you. His cock twitches with interest when you drag a finger through the pool of cum on his belly and pop it in your mouth. You smile at Frankie as you take him in your hand, strokes slow as he hardens again.

Leaning into his body, you flick your tongue against the shell of his ear. “So, so wet honey. This all for me?”

“Yeah, shit—I can’t,” he mumbles.

“But it feels so good,” you say. “Wish you could see your cute little face. I love seeing you like this.”

Frankie’s face waivers between tightly wound and relaxed in pleasure. You’re using his own cum as lube now, hand practically sloshing across his cock. He tries to keep his eyes open, watching your movements as you sit patiently in his lap, jerking him off.

Your underwear is ruined, the cotton soaked through as you discreetly rock yourself against the rough seam of your pants. You’ll take care of yourself later. Right now, all of your attention is on Frankie. This reward is his punishment. It’s the slightest bit petty, but you can’t let his stubborn behaviour go quite yet. You aren’t an I told you so type of person, but this? This is perfect.

You stroke at him on autopilot, watching the middle distance between the fine thatch of hair at Frankie’s pelvis and his skin coated milky white. He comes with a flinch before you even realize, still moving as he hisses. He’s still hard when he’s done, solid under your touch, so you continue.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you say softly.

“Oh god,” he whines, eyes rolling back.

“Does it hurt baby?”

Frankie doesn’t speak, can’t, nodding frantically up at you.

“You want me to stop? All you have to do is tell me.”

He doesn’t—not with words or the shake of his head. He likes this, and both of you know it. Frankie gets off on the pain, a pleasure so hot that it burns; water blazing to the point that the sensation runs cold, delicate skin held close over a candle flame.

Frankie starts to squirm. You hold him down by the shoulder with your free hand, fingers spread over his overheated skin with a firm press. His whole body is sweaty, soaking a runway down the front top half of his t-shirt.

“Please, please, please.”

He breathes your name, barely getting the syllables past his lips. You never find out what he’s begging for. He probably doesn’t quite know either.

His dick and his mind can’t seem to agree on what they want. You watch this war play out, a losing battle. Every few seconds he presses his hips to the couch, trying to stay out of your reach. Then he slots his hips forward again, seeking out your hand directly.

Finally, Frankie seems to find his words. “Fuck, please. I can’t, I can’t. I’ve got no more, baby, please.”

“One more, honey. You can do that, can’t you? Just one.”

“Mm, shit. It’s—it hurts. It hurts,” he says.

“I know, baby. You’re so sweet for me, so good. I know you can do it,” you assure him.

Leaning down, you position your mouth over him. You let the spit sitting in your mouth pour past your lips, drooling onto his throbbing cock. The saliva slides down his length slowly as Frankie moans at the sensation.

The added slick makes everything wetter, truly soaking as you jerk him off faster. Frankie starts to babble nonsense between short, tripping moans. A split-second decision, you breathe hot air over the head of his dick. The slightest change in contact pulls his third orgasm of the night from him. Frankie cries, groaning loud as fat, wet tears roll down his cheeks. You hunch over him to give his face a kitten lick, collecting them with your tongue.

You let him go when he finishes coming, letting his dick flop against the plush of his tummy. Dragging your own shirt off the floor, you wipe at his skin and clean up your hands before tossing it back down.

Frankie finds the strength to tuck himself back into his sweatpants. He pulls at your elbow, sending you crashing gently into his side on the couch. It isn’t really big enough for the both of you to lay down. You squish yourself against his chest and shoulder, feeling his arm rest over the length of your back.

“How was that?” you ask after a while.

“A five course meal and then some,” he says. Frankie scoffs at himself, like he can’t believe what just happened. “Jesus Christ.”

You kiss his chest through his shirt, his body warm and solid against your cheek. “Nope, just me.”

#frankie morales #pedrostories #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #*ww

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ariicandy · 10 months

Text

╭・Being Miles’ Younger Sibling !!

inspired by tiktoks on my fyp ++ been on my mind

Grammar mistakes, I’ll edit when I wake up

✦﹒Miles is 1000% very and sometimes overprotective of you before being bit by the spider and after. New York is a city of cause and he just wants to keep you safe as your brother and as well as spiderman.

✦﹒He always helps you with subjects you struggle with that he is good at, he’s also very patient so don’t worry stressing over the work while he’s there!! He’s been there and doesnt want you to get overwhelmed by it like how he did.

✦﹒Either, you found out he was spiderman when he was eating at that burger place with Peter B. walking by and/or getting a drink. Or he either told you because of the calls and messages you sent to him when your parents were trying to contact him. (This happened in itsv incase u forgot)

✦﹒you probably have heard him talking about Gwen to you a few times or by his sketch book when u are in his room telling him something cause Mama morales told you to tell miles. But when YOU have a crush he becomes all detective on who this person is and if they’re good for you.

✦﹒You probably will have to cover for him a lot due to him being spiderman and randomly disappearing, this will come in handy when you’re the little angel so they will believe you either way. He buys you stuff or takes you somewhere wherever you wanna go to make up for all the coverings you are doing for him just to not get him in trouble.

✦﹒along side with covering up for him, he will also tell you stuff not to do that will make you get in trouble cause he doesn’t want to influence you from all the things he has to do as spiderman. A little conversation goes like this, “don’t break into builds that’s breaking the law.” “But you always break into buildings as spid-“ “HEY we dont talk about that. >:((”

✦﹒if Miguel talks about u being a possible canon for him like how his dad is. He WILL get defensive AND RIOT. He will not take it very well you having to die just for him to have similar spiderman stories like everyone else’s.

Miguel - “Your sibling is possible a canon event”

Miles - “WHAT NUH UH [your name] is not!!”

✦﹒when he is getting chase by the whole spider society, all he could think about is your tragic death if he doesn’t stop the spot from destroying everything. He was relieved and happy when he made it back home only to find out he was in the wrong universe and has to deal with his other self that was supposed to be bitten by the spider instead of him..

Now if you were also a spider-person along side him…

✦﹒miles would be over protective on strategies of how to defeat a villain even if their a villain of the week. He doesn’t want you hurt like you guys were with fighting king pin :(( so you sometimes have to rebel and fight them so miles can see you can okay do it just fine! He does get mad but as long as you’re okay he’s okay too

✦﹒u both have to work together on covering each other whenever one of you disappear or have to fight together. He is grateful that you both aren’t in trouble, he’ll take the blame if you get caught so you don’t have to blame yourself for patrolling extra instead of arriving sooner than usual.

✦﹒you both sometimes just go out for a swing or go sit somewhere in ny and sit in comforting silence since nobody can understand this spiderman thing, you have each other against the world. That’s a whole lot to take in but miles is glad he atleast had someone to rely on whenever he’s in trouble or just something been bothering him, he also sends his shoulder to you whenever you need something off your chest or just talk abt being a spider person.

✦﹒when you and Miles were being chased he was always looking to his lefts and rights to see you were okay. He would send a web to you to go up ahead of him just so you can make it, it’s also the reason why he got body slammed by Miguel. He was quick to grab you and pushed you away so you didn’t get hurt. His top priority is not getting you hurt even if it means if he gets hurt :((

✦﹒Miles is like that big older sibling that pulls you aside when someone is being rude and/or threatening. He was like that when inside the go home machine. Holding your hand not letting you go infront of Miguel while he was trying to open?? The cage of your designated dimension. Miles didn’t let go when you guys arrived after being sent by the machine, he took of his mask to breathe and check if you were also okay from that whole thing.

✦﹒During that scene where he was telling his mom about the spot his arch nemesis, he quickly told you to hide by going invisible and to be behind the door so it shows it was only him. You both were really confused when your mom/Mama Morales said “who’s spiderman??”. Following him slowly out if his room still being invisible till it hit you both. Glitching.. miles looked at you leading to connect the dots when uncle Aaron arrived.

✦﹒at the rooftop with uncle Aaron looking everywhere to see New York in a whole another state than yours. Your spider sense go off dodge a attack that was gonna hit both of you, you were then injected with something that made you fall asleep, hitting the floor.

✦﹒ Waking up you were tight to a punching bag with miles, you start to look for your surroundings when miles also started to wake up. You were being lifted up a bit til uncle Aaron moved you guys around to start playing music. Miles tried talking Aaron but he got near being punched in the face by it.

✦﹒”I’m not.” Uncle Aaron walks away from both you and miles only to see someone watching you from above. They drop down from the rails on the ceiling to walk towards you both only to find out he’s Miles Mórales, The prowler.

#Across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #into the spider verse #itsv #Atsv miles #atsv miles morales #itsv miles #miles morales #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv fanfiction #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles x reader #miles morales fic #miles morales fluff

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harringtown · 2 years

Text

steve harrington must die - pt 1

did it take me an eternity to finish part 1? yes. but we did it pals!!! welcome to the john tucker must die au!!! right now I've got this plotted at four parts & it'll kinda follow along the s3 timeline!!!

requested by @la-fille-en-aiguilles

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: three of Steve Harrington’s exes set up their former boyfriend to fall in love with the reader, so they can break his heart (aka introductions, general set up, and a laser tag date)

word count: 4.6k

During June in Indiana, there are only a handful of places to escape from the sweltering heat and near-constant dampness that comes along with it. If you’re committed enough and make it to the pool before the crowds descend, a lawn chair in the shade and a dip in the water. If you’re quiet enough, the library’s AC spends its summers rattling and cranking out cool-but-not-cold air.

The best, though, is Starcourt Mall. With its shiny new fixings and fancy appliances, walking into the mall always feels like stepping onto another planet. One where the sun doesn’t declare war on its people during the summers.

Three days into June, and the heat is already unbearable. As such, you spent most of May in the food court or browsing the stores or simply lying on the benches with your friends to avoid going back outside. June, July, and August are looking the same.

Having a mall is already an oddity. The girls you occupy your time with while you’re at the mall is even more odd.

You’d always heard things changed after graduation. You didn’t believe it until now, sitting around bright white food court tables with three girls you wouldn't have been caught dead with in high school, and vice versa. Social circles ran tight at Hawkins High, and it wasn’t until you were all released that you saw them for what they truly were. Or, more technically, until you got stuck in the Starcourt Mall elevator for two hours with them on your first day of summer vacation and came out fast friends.

“Alright, what are our options today, ladies?” Rebecca asks. In high school, she was class president and head of pretty much every club. Today, she stares intently at the food court signs like they’ll change out of her sheer will.

“Exactly the same as yesterday,” says Theresa-call-me-Thea, kicking her shin-high slouched leather boots up onto the plastic table. To her right, Beth swipes her smoothie out of the way just in time to keep it from going flying and shoots Thea a glare.

“We’ve got hot dogs, pretzels, burger king, and the great cookie. Not a single healthy option,” Beth says. Once a star athlete at Hawkins High, her few months of graduation hadn’t yet shaken its hold. Beth is always dressed like she’s heading to a workout or just came from one.

“Don’t even talk to me about the great cookie,” Thea groans. “If I eat another, I will combust.”

“We could just get ice cream,” you say. In over a month’s worth of rotations, Scoops Ahoy hasn’t been factored in once. The girls practically act like it doesn’t exist and have for so long you forgot to question it. “We never do, and that sundae always looks ridiculously good.”

All three girls protest at once.

“Absolutely not,” Rebecca says.

“Not a goddamn chance,” Thea says.

“No way,” says Beth.

You frown, sneaking a glance at the Scoops Ahoy counter. Apart from a manager you’ve only seen once or twice, the only consistent employees are a girl from the year beneath you, and Steve Harrington, once the alleged King of Hawkins High, who now spends his days scooping cones for tweens. Unless there was some rumor about rats in the kitchen, you don’t see any reason for boycotting what is clearly a popular spot.

“What do you people have against ice cream?” you ask.

One side of Beth’s mouth curls up, but the others aren’t impressed.

“Ice cream? Love the stuff. Can’t get enough of it,” Thea says.

“Steve Harrington, on the other hand?” says Rebecca. She shakes her head.

Thea scoffs and folds her arms over her chest. Her bracelets jangle and clack. “That’s one prom photo I will never get back.”

“Homecoming,” Beth says.

“Spring Fling,” Rebecca says with a snort.

“Wait, all three of you—” You start.

“Three months in ‘82,” Thea says, jabbing a finger at Rebecca. “Four at the beginning of ‘83.” She points to Beth. “And a whopping four and a half after that.” She gestures to herself.

“And still breaking hearts from the looks of it,” Beth says.

At the Scoops Ahoy counter, Steve has an exaggerated grin as he talks to two girls as he rings them up. You may not be able to hear the flirting, but you don’t need to.

“Friggin’ Casanova.” Thea huffs. “I mean, I get it, we all get a little too caught up in a boy with cute hair at some point, but Jesus. You’d think he’d run out of girls to work his act on by now.”

“He’ll get his,” Rebecca says. “Just you wait. One day, a girl is going to come along and rip his heart into pieces, just like he did to us. And he won’t even see it coming.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Thea says.

“Ditto,” says Beth.

A silent second passes, and then, three pairs of eyes slide to you.

A wide, mischievous grin pulls on Thea’s dark-red stained lips. “Is anyone thinking what I’m thinking?”

Beth frowns. “Oh, I don’t know about that—”

“Absolutely I am,” Rebecca says.

“Oh, come on, Beth,” Thea says, reaching over to tap on Beth’s wrist. “You can’t tell me you haven’t secretly wished to see that boy get knocked off his high horse for years.”

Beth frowns. “I mean, yes, but—”

“Yeah, so I’m not thinking what you’re thinking,” you say, “and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it's not possible,” Thea says, leaning over the table to stare at Beth. Beth, with visible irritation, rolls her eyes and turns to Rebecca.

“Do not encourage this,” Beth says.

“Encourage what?” you ask. “Seriously, if someone doesn’t start talking, I’m going up to the Scoops Ahoy counter and telling Steve Harrington you all want a sundae delivered right to the table by him, personally.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thea says.

Beth leans her forearms into the table, nudging Thea’s boots aside.

“They’re talking about getting even,” Beth says. “Breaking Steve Harrington’s heart and using you to do it.”

“Using is such a negative word,” Thea says.

“We could do it, though,” Rebecca says. “The three of us combined, we know him better than anyone. What he likes, what he doesn’t. We could make the perfect girl. Or, perfect for Steve Harrington.”

“That’s insane,” you say. “If it were someone else—If I were someone else—maybe, but...”

“You’re pretty much the only one who can do it,” Rebecca says. “You’re our very own trojan horse.”

“Weren’t you the one who was complaining about being bored out of their mind?” Thea asked. “Having nothing to do?” The excitement in her voice is persuasive in itself. It’s one of the things you like best about Thea. To her, anything is an adventure to embark on or a mystery to solve. “Think about it. You’d go down in Hawkins history.”

“She’s exaggerating,” Beth says. She purses her lips. “But she’s not wrong.”

“Aha!” Thea claps once. “And we’ve swayed the jury, ladies and germs.”

“It’s not up to me,” Beth says. “It’s up to you.” Beth nods at you.

“So?” Thea asks. She props her elbows on the table and leans her chin into her hands, waggling her dark brows. “Are you in? Tell me you’re in.”

You look between them.

Without a mission, albeit stupid, ridiculous, and destined to fail, the rest of the summer will be just like it has been. Every day as boring and uneventful as the last.

And maybe breaking Steve Harrington’s heart won’t put you in the history books. But it is something, and clearly, it’s important to the girls.

“I’m in,” you say.

And so, after three days of surprisingly intense preparation by Thea, Beth, and Rebecca, you don’t head to the usual spot to meet up with the girls. Instead, you make your way through the crowded food court—the lunch rush is in full swing, and you swear half the town is in line for shriveled corn dogs or oily pizza.

Steve Harrington stands at the ice cream counter, just like he does every day.

Back in school, your familiarity with him was more of a know-of-him type. The first two and a half years, his name carried through the halls daily. Then Billy Hargrove moved to town. One day the boys came to school with bright bruises and fresh cuts, and in an instant Billy’s name climbed above Steve’s.

After that, you didn’t hear much about Steve Harrington.

Only a few customers are waiting at the ice cream counter, and within two minutes, it’s your turn at the front.

“Be with you in a sec!” Steve calls, momentarily busy wiping up the melted sample someone spilled on the ice cream case.

He is immediately not what you expected, though the uniform doesn’t help. The bright blue sailors uniform and clunky white hat aren’t exactly doing him any favors in upholding his reputation. He looks more like the boy next door than the king of Hawkins High.

He doesn’t look as perfect as he once did, either. His nose has clearly been broken, probably more than once, and a handful of little scars catch in the fluorescent lights.

“Sorry about that,” Steve says, tossing the blue-stained napkins into the trash and turning to face you. “I swear, some of these kids were raised by actual wolves—” He stops as his eyes catch yours, mouth open mid-sentence like someone reached in and plucked the words out. He clears his throat, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he might be blushing. “What can I get ya?”

Your heart races, and not for the first time, you wonder if you’re even capable of this. If you’re the right choice for this little mission. But you’re at the counter, so there’s no turning back now.

“Can I get a scoop of the U.S.S. Butterscotch?” you ask, willing your voice not to waver. “Apparently it’s the best ice cream in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s out of this world,” Steve says.

Steve isn’t the only one surprised when you laugh—you’re surprised, too. Surprised that he made such a dorky joke, and surprised that it’s actually kind of funny.

“Don’t hype it up too much,” you say. “Your tip depends on it.”

Steve snorts a laugh. A line forms between his brows. He tugs an ice cream scooper out of his pocket and flips it over his wrist—a mindless action that, weirdly, grabs your attention and holds it. Holds it tight enough you don’t hear what he says next, and ask, “What?” far too loud.

A lopsided grin forms on his lips. “I know you,” he repeats.

You frown. Shit. It figures. Three minutes into the con, and your cover is already broken.

“Miss Harrison’s class. Senior year.”

Relief pushes a breath out of you, and you force a nervous smile—the nerves don’t need to be faked.

“I can’t believe you remember me,” you say.

He shifts back a bit, still smiling, like he’s shocked you’re even asking.

“Of course, I remember you. You sat right in front of me. I spent a year staring at the back of your head.”

“So, if I’d have walked up backwards, you’d have recognized me immediately?”

“Oh, no doubt,” Steve says.

You laugh, and though you know you’re supposed to, you don’t have to fake it. Steve laughs, too, and when the laughter fades, the pair of you just smile at each other for a little too long.

“Hey! Harrington! We have ice cream needs back here!” A young girl with her friends sidles up beside you, apparently familiar with Steve or just confident, or both.

Steve takes a breath and gives you an expression that makes it seem like you’re both in on some inside joke. It’s almost impressive how quickly he managed to turn you from strangers into allies.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Sinclair. You’ll get your ice cream. Hold your damn horses,” Steve calls. He gives you an apologetic smile. “That’ll be $1.25.”

You nod, digging a bill and a quarter out of your pocket and handing it over. Steve’s fingers brush yours as he takes the money, and it feels like a moment right out of those cheesy films Rebecca is obsessed with, but your heart skips a beat anyway.

Steve tucks the money into the register and holds out a receipt.

Before you lose your nerve, you ask, “Do you have a pen?”

Steve frowns but digs a pen out of his pocket and passes it to you. He says nothing, but as you scrawl the digits onto the paper, his eyes go wide.

“What is—” He starts.

“My number,” you say, shoving the receipt back across the counter. You flash a smile. “You should use it.”

His frown deepens, and then, in an instant, transforms into a smile that even manages to convince you, at least for a moment, of its genuineness. Before you do something stupid, like fall for it, you turn and walk away, heart still pounding against your ribs.

“Well, well, well, Popeye,” Robin announces as she shoves open the flimsy divider between the front and back of the shop. She slaps her whiteboard on the counter, uncapping her pen. “I think you just earned yourself the first tally for this side of the board.”

Steve rolls his eyes, grabbing the receipt—your receipt—from the counter and tucking it gently in his pocket.

“Thank you, captain obvious,” he says, and hopes Robin can’t tell he’s blushing.

To his infinite relief, Robin only teases him about it for a few minutes, and the lunch rush saves him. He spends the rest of his shift thinking about the two minutes you stood at the counter.

It feels different. It feels like, maybe, finally, it might be real.

“Steve Harrington has officially taken the bait, ” Thea says, throwing herself onto Beth’s bed. Beth, sitting against the headboard, draws her legs out of the way just in time to prevent Thea slamming into them. She purses her lips but doesn’t chide Thea.

Rebecca slides across the floor on the rolling desk chair, leaning her arms over the back of it. “Where’s he taking you?”

You take the open spot at the end of Beth’s bed, pulling your legs up under you. “No clue. He said it was a surprise.” You cock a brow. “What are the chances he’s taking me somewhere to murder me?”

Thea snorts. “He may be a lady-killer, but he’s not an actual killer.”

“Never say lady-killer again,” Rebecca says.

“Lady-killer.” Thea grins. “Lady—”

Beth reaches down to swat at Thea’s shoulder. Thea laughs, craning away.

“Focus,” Beth says. “Y/N is going into the lion’s den tonight.”

You frown. So far, Steve Harrington isn’t the playboy he’s been made out to be. To be fair, you’ve only had two interactions with the boy since high school. And the girls actually knew him.

“He’s just a guy,” you say.

“A guy who probably doesn’t know how to do his own laundry,” Rebecca says.

Thea lets out a dramatic sigh. “Those are always the most dangerous ones.”

Steve doesn’t take you into the lion’s den. He still won't tell you exactly where you’re going, but when he pulls into the parking lot of a decent restaurant, some of your fear dissipates.

“Italian food?” you ask, as he puts the car in park.

He flashes you a grin, and says, “Someone’s impatient.”

“More like, making sure you’re not kidnapping me.”

He snorts. “I don’t think it’s kidnapping if you’re 18.” He arches a brow at you. “And do you really think I’m organized enough to pull something like that off?” He shakes his head. “Besides, my trunk is way too small.”

“I mean, no, I don’t think you are—“

Steve feigns offense, a hand flying to his chest, and he gasps.

“But I’d be stupid to put it past you.”

To your surprise, Steve just smiles.

“For the record,” he says, popping open the driver’s side door, “we’re not getting Italian food. And I’m not kidnapping you.” He slides out of the car and shuts his door, but before you’ve even undone your seatbelt, Steve is opening the passenger side door for you.

You know it’s all part of the act, but there’s nothing in his eyes that justifies that. All you can see is a bouncy, nervous boy opening the door for his date.

He’s more dangerous than you realized, because he doesn’t appear to be.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you climb out of the car, Steve nudging the door shut after you.

“So, if we’re not getting Italian food, what exactly are we doing here?” you ask.

A mischievous grin pulls on his lips.

“We,” he says, “are playing laser tag.”

And against your better judgment, against everything you told yourself before going into this, you smile back.

The laser tag place, appropriately named Laser Tron, is busier than one might expect on a random Thursday night, and apart from you and Steve, no one is older than fourteen.

And though the teams are split evenly before heading into the room, the second you pass through the door, it becomes two on everyone else, with the younger kids splitting off to one side of the dark, neon-splashed room, and you and Steve heading for the other side.

The room has two stories, with dozens of walls and objects to hide behind, and green, pink, and blue paint scattered across the walls and floors. You’re sporting a bulky, worn vest, and a massive plastic gun, and once again, despite all your preparations, you’re surprised to find you’re already having fun. Steve helps you into your vest, and his fingers linger at the top of the zipper, thumbs grazing the hollow of your throat, and you try and convince yourself it’s adrenaline, not him, that makes your pulse leap.

With one minute until the game begins, you and Steve find a spot in the far corner, back to back.

“You ready for this?” Steve asks, his shoulders bumping yours. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“I think I’d prefer Italian food,” you say.

Steve snorts a laugh, and says, “Too late for that now.”

“You do realize we’re, like, the oldest people here, right?”

“Which means we’ve got the advantage,” Steve says.

“Us against fifteen pre-teens? I don’t know about that.” You raise your laser gun in preparation. “I think we’re screwed.”

Steve laughs again, and it’s an infectious sound. His energy, the shifting weight and fast breaths, is infectious, and again, you forget the whole reason you’re here.

“We’ll see about that,” he says.

Then the buzzer starts, a dozen children scream with delight, and the game begins.

“Go, go, go!” Steve yells, his gun in one hand, your fingers held tight in the other. You race up the stairs with him, twisting to fire a laser shot toward the trio of twelve year old’s pursuing you.

An OUT buzzer rings, and one of the kids curses just as you and Steve reach the top of the stairs. He pulls you sideways, down the neon walkway, firing as he goes.

“Behind you!” You say, ducking under Steve’s raised arm to fire at the teen coming down the hall. His buzzer rings, and he groans, his gun smacking his side.

Steve drags you behind a wall, and you skid, falling into him, pinning him against the wood. The only thing between you is the thick fabric of the vests, but you can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Time slows. His eyes find yours, and his irises are blown, and the crown of his hair shines with sweat, and his gaze darts down to your lips, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to kiss you. For a moment, you want him to.

Then his eyes dart over your shoulder, and in one swift motion, he slips an arm around your waist, spins you around, presses you against the wall, and raises his gun to fire at someone around the corner. A buzzer rings, and Steve catches your gaze again, grinning lopsidedly.

You let out a harsh breath, and push out of his arms, pretending you’re adjusting your vest.

“How many are left?” you ask.

Steve leans to each side, scanning the aisles and the floor below, his brows furrowed.

“I wanna say… six? Maybe seven?”

“God, it’s like they’re multiplying,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up,” he says.

“Not a chance.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Because we’ve got three pre-teen girls headed our way, and they look pretty pissed.”

“Guess we should do something about that,” you say.

Steve grins, and takes your hand, and you let him. And for a little while, you forget why you’re not supposed to.

The game lasts another twenty minutes, and to your utter shock, you and Steve’s duo comes out on top. And you know you should probably feel bad about kicking a bunch of thirteen year old’s asses, but as you and Steve head out into the warm night, all you feel is giddy. Like you’re drunk, but you haven’t had a touch of alcohol.

Steve has an arm around your shoulder, and he smells like sandalwood and aftershave, and in the moonlight, he doesn’t look like everything you’ve been told he is. The last hour, and he’s been nothing like you’ve been told he is.

He only lets you go to open the passenger door for you, and though you tell yourself this is only part of the game, you still blush as he shuts it after you. Blush until he comes around the front and climbs into the driver’s seat.

You don’t realize you’re staring at him until he frowns, and asks, “What?”

You shake your head. “How the hell are you so good at that?”

An almost sheepish smile flashes across his lips.

“I mean, they were a bunch of kids. We got lucky.”

“Oh, no, we absolutely did not,” you say. “That was… incredible. Like, you have no right to be as good at laser tag as you are.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” he says. And when you roll your eyes, he continues, “Seriously. You kicked ass in there.”

“You did most of the work. What, were you a soldier in some past life?”

An indecipherable emotion flickers across his face, and you can’t begin to read it, but it makes your insides ache, opens some unknown door in your chest. It feels like seeing behind some big curtain, but before you can identify what you see, Steve is smiling again, and turning on the engine.

It’s a clear and unofficial end of conversation, but you don’t mind. With each foot the car pulls away from the plaza, your friends' voices pop back into your head. The stories they told of the weeks or months it took to get over him.

Shame coils in your gut, hot and sharp.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you’re the wrong person to do this. Maybe you have no goddamn clue what you’re doing, and you’re just going to get hurt.

But as Steve pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the road, tossing a soft smile your way, you realize that maybe none of that matters. Because maybe it’s too late.

Steve makes conversation as he drives you home, asking questions about your summer and your family and your pets and your future plans, and he seems to actually want to know the answers.

And you surprise yourself by asking questions back. About how he ended up working at Scoops (his dad is an asshole, and Steve didn’t get into college) and about the girl, Robin, he’s always with (from the way he talks about her, you don’t think there’s anything romantic there, but you’re not sure) and about what he wants to do with his life (he has no clue, which is an odd relief, because you have no clue, either).

It’s all painfully and beautifully normal until Steve turns into your neighborhood, and the car slides past the Holland house. It’s been two years since Barbara Holland disappeared from Steve’s backyard. Two years since the cops started looking, and a year since they stopped.

The car slows down just enough for you to notice, and when you look over, Steve has the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. His gaze is locked on the house.

Your brain rifles through everything it has regarding Barbara Holland in relation to Steve Harrington. Barbara and Nancy Wheeler were attached at the hip for most of high school, and when Nancy and Steve started dating, that didn’t change.

“You were friends with her, right?” you ask, knowing you’re poking the bear, and unable to stop yourself.

“What?” His response comes a little too fast, and his voice is a little too high.

“With Barb. Before she…” You clear your throat.

“No,” Steve says. “I wasn’t.” And his tone is harsh, a clear ending to the conversation before it even starts.

“But I thought—”

“I said no,” Steve snaps. “Just… drop it.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and his entropy changes. He is rigid and cold. He’s not the boy from the laser tag place, the one who opened your door for you.

The spell that’s been broken doesn’t rise again, and the last two minutes of the drive to your house are silent and awkward. By the time Steve pulls into your driveway, the tension in the car is so thick, you could slice through it.

Steve kills the engine and is out of the car and opening your door before you have your seatbelt undone, once again. But he doesn’t meet your eyes, and his jaw is clenched, and he doesn’t put his arm around you again. He walks to your door, and when you turn to face him, his smile is so plastic, you think it would crinkle if he moved.

“That was fun,” you say, because you’re not sure what to do with the silence, because you’re desperate to fill the seconds until you can get inside the door.

“Yeah, it was,” Steve says. You don’t have to know him that well to see he’s distracted. He glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find something running up behind him. He catches your eye again, clearing his throat. “Have a good night, y/n.”

And then he’s turning, heading back down the drive, climbing into his car. He’s gone so fast, you can do nothing but stand on the porch and watch as his car grows smaller and smaller, until it turns down the street and disappears.

Your stomach churns and lurches as you unlock your front door and slip into the dark house. To your eternal relief, your family is already in bed, and you don’t have to suffer the third degree. You’re already guaranteed it from the girls at the mall tomorrow.

You had fun with Steve tonight. A lot of fun. More fun than you’ll ever admit to Beth, Thea, and Rebecca.

But the Steve that dropped you off is different from the one you spent the night with, and he is the whole reason you’re here in the first place. The cruel, cold tone. The refusal to meet your eyes, like he’s too good to do so. The flippancy with which he left, like he hadn’t just taken you on the best date of your life.

You’re here to break Steve Harrington’s heart.

No, not to break it. You’re here to shatter it. Pulverize it. Break it beyond repair, the way he’s done to so many girls.

Game on, Harrington.

#Brooke writes fic #jtmd au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things imagine #x reader

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dira333 · 10 months

Text

Who am I and how many?

Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Words: 1872

Reader has a quirk that allows her to travel through different alternate Universes. She can steal from there or drop and leave people stranded there. She can go through undetected or let herself be noticed but it is very taxing on her energy.

warnings: a little bit angsty at the end

@revasserium I used the 31 AU Challenge as inspiration for this.

When you were four, you got lost in another world for three days.

You weren’t that scared, really, because you knew that world from your books, the little red hood you were wearing looked exactly how you had imagined it and even the wolf looked less scary as he lay in bed, answering your questions.

The scary part was returning home and realizing that no one had noticed you’d been gone.

When you were ten, you brought back a single white feather that was as long as your arm. You used it to write sometimes and hid it well from your grandmother who seemed to understand that your quirk wasn’t about being invisible but something else.

When you disappeared, you did it wholly.

But you did not like to tell others where you went. Or who you met with.

His name is Izuku.

In every world you visit, he is there.

Sometimes you have to look for him, and sometimes he comes looking for you, but he exists in every universe.

Izuku becomes your North Star, the light that calls for you.

No matter where you meet him, no matter how he lived, there is always a kindness to his features and words that makes you want to be the same.

There is a strength in his smile that inspires you to keep fighting.

In the fiery pit, he calls himself Ku, the only kind soul around to guide you.

He takes your hand when faceless creatures sneer down at you and something ugly and inhuman crawls towards you, talking about eating you.

“Sometimes,” he says and manages to sound wiser than his age, “Hell is the other people. But you can’t let that bring you down.”

Izuku likes everything green.

He teaches you how to fly, how dreams can lift you, how to follow the second star, and made you fall in love with being a child.

“I don’t want to go home.” You tell him and he holds you close, the two of you bound over the knowledge that sometimes, a home is not a home.

Sometimes, home is a person.

By the time you’re fourteen, you met him in so many places and have lived so many lives.

They call you quirk “wandering” and ask you to teleport. Yourself, others, things.

Your mother once asks you to get her an expensive bag, pointing at the live stream of a runway show playing on TV. “Give it to me.” She orders and you disappear, but not to the place she wants you to go.

Instead, you spend a week selling potions, living in what once used to be a school bus, and feeding parts of your dinner to a talking cat and a little green bunny that likes to cuddle with you at night.

Your mother has forgotten about her demands when you return but the warmth of the bunny in your arms never leaves your memories again. You’ve called it Izuku because it looked like him and felt like him. Sweet and unobtrusive yet bringing you a warmth that feeds the fire in your soul.

By age twenty, you’ve learned about the Izuku of your own world.

Midoriya Izuku. Deku. Hero of this world. Hero of all your worlds.

Whenever you slip into another world, you wait for him to show up, to find you, to let you find him.

He is King Midoriya.

He is the sweet boy next door.

He is a waiter in an old-fashioned roadside diner.

He is the writer and you’re his muse.

You’ve danced a ball with him, kissed him over a milkshake and a burger in a dingy roadside diner, and made love to him in the bedroom of a castle that belonged to him, high above a land that listened to his every word.

You’ve had him call you a witch and a fairy, a princess and a commoner.

You’ve seen him kill and heal, use magic and superpowers, be tiny and a giant, an idol and the boy next door.

By the time you’re twenty, you’ve learned to master your quirk.

You know where each door leads, know what steps to take and what to skip.

In the morning, you skip the morning commute in favor of walking through a world where you make coffee for a living.

You sit for a while, sip a latte you ordered from yourself and watch as your other you flirts helplessly with a flustered Izuku. He’s so cute in this world and would you have less sympathy for your other self, you’d go over there and get his number.

From the coffee shop, it’s only one step into the agency that you work in.

Four hours of work until you can take another step and find yourself in a big cafeteria.

Izuku sits at a large table with his friends.

One of them is Kachan, you’ve learned. He doesn’t like you at all.

But you’re not there to talk to them. Instead, you grab yourself lunch and take a seat at the table closest to them, content to watch them interact with each other.

The Izuku of this world is carefree and happy. It’s soothing to your soul to see him like this.

You don’t exist in this world.

Eventually, you have to get back to work. Four more hours and a round of patrol before you can make it back to your apartment.

You long to take another step, a quick detour through a world you haven’t yet experienced, but you’re drained, tired and if you’re not in control, you won’t be able to come back when you need to.

The only possible relief right now is the bright lights of a convenience store, its warmth welcoming you even at this late hour.

You walk through the aisles towards the back for a drink and a snack, anything to get you in a good enough shape to make it home.

As you stretch to reach a bottle on the upper shelves, a scarred hand takes the bottle from you.

“Here.” The voice is warm, the syllables melting together with exhaustion. You recognize his voice first and his hair second, but his eyes are what steal your breath.

“Izuku.” You whisper, a shiver moving over you as you realize where you are. This is your world. He doesn’t know you here.

“Oh, do we know each other?” He smiles and your heart flutters in sync.

Maybe it’s the late hour or your exhaustion, his appearance, or your loneliness, but you can feel a well-known pull. Your quirk is in control and not the other way around.

There is not much time and you open your mouth to tell him good bye for now, at least you hope you’ll see him again, but he must sense something, because his hands grab your shoulders and you’re a little too slow to open your mouth or a little too tired of having to leave him again and again, but there’s darkness and there’s light and Izuku blinks against the warm golden light of the morning sun.

“Where are we?” He asks, hands moving off you. You grab his shoulders instead.

“If you let go of me,” you tell him, “You will be noticed.”

“What?!” There’s a note in his voice you haven’t heard before. It’s a mix of fear and attention and something entirely new.

“Turn around. Slowly. Do not let go of me.”

You know this world well. You exist in this world.

Or rather, you once did.

Izuku is a writer here. Gifted with the terrible fate of experiencing life in all it’s vivid detail, all emotions raw and intense to him. He’s cursed to bring all of it to paper.

He married you, loved you, and built a home for you.

You died in his arms a few years ago.

When you met him, you’d stayed invisible. The pain in this world touches even the corners of your heart that have scabbed over, that are numb from the past.

Only when you’re really lonely do you travel here and keep Izuku company.

Sometimes you come to him in a dream and remind him that you loved him.

Sometimes you let him nap with his head in your lap and tell him to go out and love again.

Tonight he’s sitting at the window, gazing out into the world that’s sunkissed and lovely.

You wonder what he sees.

Izuku, your Izuku, strains for the desk and you move with him.

You don’t want to hurt any of them and them meeting cannot go over without any hurt.

“What is this?” He asks and you allow him to pick up a page. He reads quietly, his lips move as he reads.

No other Izuku moves his lips as he reads and you’re fascinated, thrilled and scared.

How do you explain to someone that you’ve met him in every world there is, in some form or another?

How do you explain to someone that you’ve loved him in a thousand different lives before?

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Izuku’s voice is deep and rich, vibrating with emotions.

You look to the window, knowing who has spoken.

“You brought me myself.” He says and gets up, tall, but beaten by life.

“Let me introduce you to my world.”

You need two days to gather enough strength to find back home.

Four days in the world of a writer and its muse, a muse so vibrant and loved that her spirit lives on even after her death.

Izuku, your Izuku, has been quiet and attentive.

He’s listened to this other version of himself, has not once urged you to hurry.

Your exhaustion must have been evident or maybe he’s too enraptured with meeting himself. He’s read through every page he could find. He has watched you with careful eyes when you fell asleep on the giant bed in the middle of the room, knowing that a different you had slept there before, knowing that a different version of him has slept there with you.

“I am sorry,” you tell him when you step back into the convenience store as if only a few minutes have passed. “I wanted to warn you. I would have been fine on my own.”

“How many of me have you met?” He asks instead.

“I have lost count.”

“Show me.” He says but he does not sound like your mother, demanding, or like your father, begging.

He asks like someone who’s going to give you the world in return if you dare to give him your hand.

You are old and grey, but Izuku recognizes you the moment you step inside his room.

Izuku, the writer, is waiting for you. He seems to not have aged a day but now you realize that he’s only ever been a little older than you, a little bit further in life and experience.

It’s not the age that made you come back for him. It’s the loss that you both now share.

He opens his arms for you, welcoming your pain, happy to ease your misery.

“I loved him.” You say and he nods into your hair, lets your tears soak his shirt.

“We loved you.”

#my writing #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #my hero academia

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