#real time and realized it was true. that he did think of max as his little brother sometimes. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lnfours · 4 months

Text

everything | l.n

summary: he’s your best friend and you’re in love with him, but he’s not in love with you. or so you think, anyway.

warnings: fluff, a hint of angst, reader not knowing how love feels, kinda a situationship scenario but idk, also kind of hot trash?? - inspired by ceilings by lizzy mcalpine

masterlist | inbox | listen

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

he was finally home. after months of busy schedules and being away from home, he was back. and the first thing he did? he texted you. he texted you and asked if you were busy, like he always did every time he was back in london.

you had told him no, your plans had fallen through last minute and to be honest, you missed him. you missed his laugh, the way he hugged you, the jokes the two of you shared. he was your person and you were his, it was as simple as that.

and sure, maybe he was your person for another, completely different reason. but at the end of the day, to you, he was just lando. he wasn’t ‘lando norris, formula one driver for mclaren’. he was the boy you had known since you were a teenager, the boy you cheered for on the sidelines ever since he decided he wanted to work towards his dreams.

so the two of you had made plans to go out for a drive and catch up, the tradition you held every time he came back. you’d drive around, get some take out, and head back to your apartment for a few episodes of your favorite shows or a movie he’d seen and thought you would like. he had picked you up, the mclaren running on the side of the street as you climbed in, closing the door behind you.

you smiled, leaning into his touch when he leaned over and wrapped you into a side hug from the drivers side, “hey! missed you,”

you smiled back at the brunette, his green eyes meeting yours, “missed you, too, lan.”

his eyes scanned yours before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. a new tradition you two had picked up ever since that drunken night in singapore. you had went to the grand prix with max, showing support for your best friend, just like you always did. somehow, someway, the two of you had found yourselves stripping each other’s clothes off in his hotel room. nothing but the sounds of your quiet moans and his mumbled curses filling the room as you learned each other’s bodies.

and it had become a thing, every time he’d come home you’d both find yourselves in the same predicament: tangled in the sheets within the hour.

the whole ordeal was like a dream come true in the beginning, something you had been wishing for since the moment you realized that maybe you loved him more than in a platonical way. now, as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, legs tucked underneath you as the rain pattered against the roof, your food in your lap as you stared out to the city lights below you, you weren’t sure it was a good idea. you had seen the girls that practically throw himself at you, why would he choose you over them?

he noticed your silence, tilting his head towards you and placing a hand on your thigh, “you okay?”

you swallowed thickly, “mhm,”

he knew you better than that, though, “no you’re not.”

you sighed, how do you tell someone who’s not in love with you that you want something more, “‘m fine, really.”

you picked at your nails, ignoring the way your phone was buzzing against your leg. you had assumed it was your friend texting you, begging for updates between you and the boy you were sitting next to.

“you know you can tell me anything, right?”

not this. not now.

you nodded, “i know.”

he nodded back at you, “okay,”

you looked back out to the window next to you, watching the rain drip down the glass. you swallowed the lump in your throat, biting down on your lip as you felt the tears prick your eyes. you felt stupid, stupid to feel like there was ever a real chance. a real chance that he could ever love you the way you loved him.

you felt his eyes on you again, “y/n?”

you hummed, turning back to face him, which was a mistake. you felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest.

“what’s wrong? seriously, i don’t know if i can handle the silence for much longer.”

you chuckled softly, shaking your head, “it’s nothing, really. promise,”

“stop lying to me,” he sighed, “c’mon, i’m your best friend. you can tell me anything.”

best friend.

you sniffled softly, which made his attention shift from your eyes to the small tear falling down your cheek in the dim lighting of the street light, “i just feel so… dumb.”

he raised an eyebrow, “why do you feel, dumb?”

he absentmindedly reached out and wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb. you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head and backing away from his touch.

he looked at you confused, a hint of hurt in his eyes as he watched you cry in front of him. he was wracking his brain, trying to figure out where he went wrong. trying to understand what you meant with your words, all while trying not to make himself feel like he was the reason for your tears.

you opened the car door, the rain smacking the pavement as you stepped out, “i can’t,”

he watched as you closed the car door, stepping out into the night sky and cold rain. he sat there for a second, his brain unable to catch up to what had just happened. his brain caught up, opening his own door as he chased after you into the freezing cold rain.

“y/n!”

you didn’t want to turn around, your tears mixing with the rain on your face. he was faster than you, though, grabbing your hand and holding you back from walking away from him. he spun you back to face him, your face glowing under the street light as he noticed how broken you look.

“what’s wrong!” he yelled over the pouring rain, “please, don’t shut me out!”

you let out a quiet sob, “i can’t do this right now, lando!”

he stood in front of you, frozen, as you repeated yourself, softer now, “i can’t keep doing this to myself.”

he shook his head, “what’re you talking about?!”

“just say it!” you shouted back, “just say you don’t really want me so i can move on and forget about it and we can go back like nothing ever happened!”

“what makes you think i want that?” he asked, “y/n, why do you think i come back to london instead of monaco whenever i have a break? because i want to see you!”

“not for the same reason i want to see you!”

“you don’t know that!”

you cried softly, turning away from him as he approached you again, taking your face into his hands. your eyes met yours as he spoke again, “y/n, i come back home to you because you’re all i think about when im not with you. every little thing i do, i think about you.”

you watched as his eyes scanned yours, begging for you to speak. he spoke first, though, “you’re all i think about, every night, every day. i should’ve told you how i felt sooner instead of dragging you on, but i’m falling in love with you.”

you shook your head, backing away from his touch again, “don’t,”

“don’t what?” he asked, “tell you i’m in love with you?”

“don’t say it if you don’t mean it. please, don’t say it just to make me feel better.”

“for one second can you just stand here and actually listen to me?” he sighed, “can you let yourself understand that there’s someone who actually loves you, standing right in front of you telling you. someone who’s ready to drop everything and show you.”

he reached for your hand and pulled you closer to him again, but this time you didn’t back away. he was so close to knocking down the final wall you had put up, so close to knocking down the walls you had put up as a sense of security. to keep yourself guarded, too scared to wear your heart on your sleeve once again.

but here he was, your best friend of all people, standing here in the pouring rain and giving you the fairytale moment you had always hoped for. the boy with curly brown hair and gorgeous green eyes was everything you could’ve ever wanted. everything you dreamed about, every future map you’d come up with in your journal, it always had him in it. one way or another, the two of you were meant to be.

two souls intertwined. that was you and him.

“lando-“

“i fucking love you,” he said, “so much that it physically hurts. like my chest gets all tight, and it feels like i can’t breathe-“

“lan-“

“and that night in singapore was when i realized you were the person i wanted to be with. not the models or the girls who throw themselves at me, i want to be with you. the one who knows my favorite flavor of ice cream, the one who knows all my greatest fears and all my secrets. the one who doesn’t judge me and i can talk to about anything. it’s you. it always has been, i’ve just been to blind to see it.”

the final wall came crashing down as you said his name, “lando,”

he hummed, his heart damn near flying out of his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your face so close to his as you mumbled a soft, “kiss me.”

he didn’t give it a second thought, immediately pressing his lips to yours. you kissed him back, the rain long forgotten about as the water from his hair dripped onto your forehead. he put every ounce of longing, passion and love into the kiss, a kiss nothing like the ones you had both shared before.

he pulled away, his forehead against yours, “you don’t have to say it back, but now you know that i love you.”

you pulled him back to you by his jacket, “i love you.”

he smiled before his lips were pressed back against yours. and you stood there, kissing in the rain, and everything felt like a scene straight out of a movie. the feeling something new to you no longer felt scary, or intimidating. it felt safe and warm.

and it was all because of him.

1K notes · View notes

cryptocism · 2 months

Text

Since I think about clones like I’m getting paid for it, I've been rotating those alternate universe "what if Bart and Thad were actually raised together" scenarios in my brain, with Thad either post-redemption-arc or pre-villainy. Because adjusting Thad's character to fit an ally role while still keeping true to his core motives and personality is so so fascinating to me.

Like I think there's an immediate first instinct to slot Thad into a "bad" twin category: ie rebellious and prickly, doesn't get along with people, mean lil shit. And obviously it's not wrong bc we're outside the realm of canon, but the reading still feels a little left of center.

Because Thad is mean and prickly in canon. In the Impulse comics he belittles Bart and Bart’s friends/family constantly in his appearances. He loves to goad, and monologue about his own superiority and intelligence. He’s very Not Nice, and he causes many problems, and he even does it on purpose.

But, I think it’s important to consider the context. From the jump Thad knows very little about anything except which team he’s on and who he’s playing for. He gets his orders from an unseen authority and he carries out his tasks because success means his team wins.

For all his self-aggrandizing talk, everything he does is in service of an end goal that doesn't actually center him. He's trying to get revenge for grievances he's never personally suffered, retribution for actions never committed against him. Everything he does is on someone else's behalf.

Thad sees in black and white, us or them. Up until the final few issues of Mercury Falling, Bart and co. are Thad's enemies, of course he's not going to be nice.

So Thad's motivation seems pretty simple: Thawne Supremacy™.

But it’s in Mercury Falling where this starts to fall apart, and the real core of his motivation gets revealed. Thad pretends to be Bart and suddenly Helen is nice to him. Bart’s friends think he’s funny. Bart’s teachers are impressed with his grades. Max ruffles his hair and gives him hugs and tells him he’s done a good job.

If he was actually an inherently mean and standoffish character, if Thad actually had significant personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict, the weight of such tiny acts of kindness wouldn’t completely break him the way that it does in canon.

Thad thinks his goal is superiority and revenge and Thawne Supremacy™, but he's chasing validation. Thad doesn’t have a personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict. He wouldn't get much satisfaction if he actually destroyed Bart and his family. Thad's personal victory would be the recognition after the fact: the praise and attention from the other Thawnes (a group of people he has literally never met) for his success.

He wants validation. That's basically it. And the fact that he gets it so easily from Bart's family and friends doesn't align with how he's told himself things are supposed to work.

Actually tangentially, Bart and Thad’s respective relationships to authority is so diametrically opposed and tbh kind of subversive in a superhero narrative. Where the hero is the one carving his own path without regard to social or societal rules, no fucks to give what anybody thinks of it. And the villain is a chronic people-pleaser.

Just based on Thad’s reaction to simple praise and affection from Max I really think Thad’s motivation has more to do with the response he gets than whatever the details are of any given task. He has no actual personal convictions beyond getting positive attention, and whatever he did have crumbled as soon as Bart’s friends laughed at his joke one time. Which of course leads into the core of his whole conflict at the end of Mercury Falling. He cares too much about Bart’s friends and family now, he doesn’t want to kill them, but worse than that, he’s faced with the sudden realization that he’s on the wrong side.

The Allens gave Thad everything he actually wanted and needed, but his conception of himself is inexorably tied to the Thawnes: who gave him jack shit. These two facts are in opposition to each other, and he can’t reconcile the reality of it.

Anyway all this to say, in an AU where Bart and Thad are raised together or Thad gets an actual redemption arc etc etc, I think my personal take on Thad’s personality whether it be pre-or-post-villainy would be one that is extremely socially conscious. He is much more of a people-person than Bart. Whether he's actually accurate in assessing people's feelings and how to respond to them can be hit or miss, but he wants to behave in a way that gets people to like him.

Pretending to be Bart isn’t remarked upon as, like, a difficult task for Thad. In his internal monologue he’s literally bragging to himself about how easy it is. But what’s especially notable to me is where his act differs from Bart's typical MO. Everyone notices, and lots of people comment, and presumably if Thad didn’t have the excuse of Max’s illness to “motivate” Bart to do better he would’ve been found out immediately. And those things are, specifically: paying attention in class, doing his chores, staying on task, and being helpful around the house. The one thing about Bart he chooses not to emulate is Bart’s rebelliousness.

Thad wants to prove himself, constantly, to whatever authority he respects (probably Max in this scenario) and will do whatever it takes to make that happen. In contrast to Bart, who only listens to authority when the shit they're saying actually makes sense to him. It’s excessively difficult to convince him to go against his own interests. (And I think a key part of that is Bart’s security in knowing that no matter how much he fucks up or doesn’t listen, the people he loves will always love him back.)

Thad’s got the people-pleaser in him that has to deserve whatever he’s given. It’s why he’s happiest when he’s given a clear goal or objective to complete, because it gives him an opening to prove himself.

All this to say that if we are quantifying Bart and Thad as a "good" or "bad" twin, in the eyes of every authority: Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the bad twin, Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the one who doesn’t care about school and whose grades vary wildly depending on his personal interest. He’s the one who goes off to do dangerous shit for fun and gets in trouble constantly and doesn’t do his chores and is thoroughly unconvinced by any authority figure trying to sell him bullshit.

Thad is the one who needs to know all the rules just so he can experience the joy of following them. Relentlessly obedient. He'll put all his effort into doing all the right things that’ll endear him to whoever he wants to impress - meaning he’s the asshole who reminds the teacher about the assigned homework. Bart might be the most popular boy in school, but Thad is a pleasure to have in class.

Like Thad can (and should) still be high-strung and short-tempered and sarcastic and edgy and mean, because he is. But he can’t be doing all that without rhyme or reason. Colouring every interaction has to be that one-zero binary of ally or enemy. He needs to have somebody he’s proving himself to: a team he’s on and a team he’s against. He’s not an inherently rebellious character. He can go up against The Enemy, whoever he deems as such, but it has to be in service of a hypothetical future in which somebody eventually tells him he did a great job.

And in the interest of continuing to beat a dead horse, it connects to their respective upbringings. Thad and Bart were both raised in VR, but Bart’s experience had the side effect of basically hard-wiring him against insecurity. His world was a playground tailor-made for him, and he was never made to feel bad or insufficient about any aspect of himself. His first interaction with a real human person was Iris moving heaven and earth to save him, without him knowing her, without her knowing him, with no reasoning for the act needed beyond Being Her Grandson. Which is probably a significant factor in why Bart moves through the world with frankly atomic levels of autistic swag.

Thad’s VR upbringing installed self-consciousness in his psyche before any other personality trait. As in: he is immediately made conscious of himself and his relationship with everyone he will ever encounter. He’s told two things: he’s a clone of someone else (inherently derivative, lesser) and that he was made to be superior (a status to achieve). Which is such an instant clarifier for Thad’s everything. Where superiority is a condition that everyone either has, or does not. It’s the one-zero binary again: are they better than me or am I better than them. Being above others is mandatory, and if his superiority is ever challenged by hard evidence or god forbid nuance Thad’s brain physically cannot take it. He needs to be better, to be worse is unthinkable, and there is no other way to be.

And this status of better or worse is, crucially, not up to Thad to decide. He needs The Authority to validate him. Bart never tries to prove himself because he has nothing to prove. Thad’s entire identity hinges on the self-worth he gets from doing a Good Job.

It is such an inherent part of his motives in the Impulse comics canon, which is why it always feels a little off when he’s interpreted as a jackass indiscriminately.

Like I don't think he needs everyone to like him. But I do think he has either one person or a set of very particular people that he needs to like him. Everyone else is either in that circle or outside of it.

(Which is why Bart is such a great foil for Thad tbh. There is no set of words or behaviors that’ll change Bart’s opinion of Thad, because Bart is unaffected by obedience or charm. So ironically Bart is probably one of few people that Thad doesn’t bother to put on even a little bit of an act for.)

While Bart goes with his instincts, his personal beliefs and convictions at all times, Thad is hyper-conscious of big-picture goals. They balance each other out that way. Thad's keeping track of whatever expectations he has placed on him, and how his actions reflect on him and the team beyond short-sighted solutions. He's a team player. AND he's an asshole.

#soapbox #dc #thad thawne #thaddeus thawne #inertia #bart allen #impulse #like he cannot be mean indiscriminately... u must interrogate WHY hes mean and to whom #if hes being raised with Max and Helen he would not intentionally do anything to make their lives more difficult #if hes being raised by Meloni same situation #he needs to be trying to get validation from SOMEWHERE u know #and of course he'll mess up and hurt the people he loves or wants to impress he is a human being #but while that can sometimes be the result #that is never the Goal u kno #not his Core Motivation #i feel like the more i talk about this the less sense im making

222 notes · View notes

lestappenforever · 1 month

Text

Lestappen fic - Ice cream shop owner!Charles AU

I don't typically get excited by AU ideas for Lestappen because Lestappen in canonverse is so appealing to me in and of itself. But, while AO3 was down yesterday, @thearchercore received and answered a whole bunch of asks from lovely anons about a Lestappen AU fic where Charles owns an ice cream shop (as inspired by the news that the man is actually going to open an ice cream shop in Milan.) And, well, for the first time ever, I got excited about a Lestappen AU. So, I wrote something.

This is, obviously, dedicated to the incredible @thearchercore, a true pillar of the Lestappen community, and to each and every anon who has sent in asks about this AU. And because this was entirely inspired by people on Tumblr, you can read the whole fic in this post. ❤️

---

Max realizes that he has probably let this whole thing go too far. Way too far.

What had started as a chance encounter after the Monza Grand Prix, where Max had gone on a drive and ended up in a small, lovely ice cream shop - LEC - in Milan that served the most delicious vanilla ice cream Max had ever tasted, had spiraled and developed into what was now practically a weekly occurrence. Every chance he got, when the race calendar, his PR and training schedule would allow it, Max would fly to Milan, spending ridiculous amounts of money and contributing an unnecessary amount to further pollute the environment, just to go back to that ice cream shop.

And yes, although the vanilla ice cream was divine, that's not the real reason Max kept coming back.

No, the real cause of his travels was the ridiculously beautiful shop owner, with the fluffy brown hair, the captivating green eyes Max kind of wanted to drown himself in, and dimples that Max saw every single night when he closed his eyes. And what’s more, the shop owner — Charles — didn't even seem to like Max, because the Monégasque was a die-hard Ferrari fan and he seemed to have made it his personal mission to put all the blame of Ferrari’s lack of success for the past fifteen years on Max. Even if Max hadn’t been in F1 for the entirety of those fifteen years.

Not that he was surprised, really. The passion of the Tifosi did, on more than one occasion, seem to seriously impact their sense of logic and capability of rational thinking.

And apparently, the beauty, sass and stubbornness of the shop owner did the exact same thing to Max's.

The irony of that is not lost on him.

The fact that the two of them had discovered they were on the same page about the superior ice cream flavor the first time Max had been in that ice cream shop — “vanilla is my favorite” Max had said at exactly the same time Charles had said “vanilla is the only right choice” — had not been enough to endear him to Charles. His allegiance with Ferrari and Max currently on yet another dominating winning spree with Red Bull was too strong. (Even if there had been the flicker of something in those green eyes when Charles had learned that he and Max were on the same page about vanilla ice cream.)

After yet another failed attempt at charming Charles a few weeks ago, Max had gotten so desperate that he had genuinely started considering a move to Ferrari, even starting to subtly ask around about the possibility, Red Bull’s superior car and strategies be damned. But then word had reached GP and his race engineer had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be moving to Ferrari to impress ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’. Which Max had taken offense to, because Charles was not just ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’, thank you very much.

(Max really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut around GP.)

So yes, his obsession with the ice cream shop and its owner has gone way too far. And yet, on a warm August afternoon, Max finds himself walking back into that ice cream shop.

Summer break has finally arrived, and Max had genuinely considered renting an apartment in Milan for the next three weeks so he wouldn't have to fly back and forth so much. But then he had come to the conclusion that that would be excessive.

(Because flying back and forth between Monaco and Milan definitely wasn’t excessive. No, sir.)

Charles is there when Max walks in, as he is every single time Max walks in. The guy never seems to leave his beloved ice cream shop, and Max finds himself wondering if the other man gets enough sleep. Or if he even goes home to sleep, or if he has a bed set up in the back somewhere so he never has to waste time going back and forth between the ice cream shop and his home.

He may not know Charles all that well, despite seeing him regularly for the past few months, but he does know that the man must have an incredible work ethic.

The little bell above the door announces his arrival, and Charles looks up from behind the counter. For a brief second, Max is sure he sees a flash of excitement cross those gorgeous features, but the Monégasque quickly schools his expression into one of exasperation and indignation, complete with an overly dramatic eye roll.

“No Red Bull Racing team members allowed,” Charles tells him with a huff, as he puts a brand-new tub of chocolate ice cream in the display freezer.

Max snorts as he walks towards the counter. He had expected a frosty — pun intended — reception following Ferrari’s double DNF in the last race before the summer break, so Charles’ grumpy demeanor doesn’t deter him.

“Hello to you too, Charles,” the Dutchman sing-songs, ignoring the way a couple of teenage girls at a table by the window gape at him. “Let me guess, Ferrari’s double DNF in Belgium was somehow my fault?”

Charles meets his gaze and narrows his eyes. He points an ice cream scoop at him. “I am not sure how, but yes.” He waggles the scoop accusingly.

It’s Max’s turn to roll his eyes. “Right, because the two of them crashing into each other in turn two, while in P8 and P9 respectively, while I was at the very front definitely had something to do with me?”

“Obviously,” Charles confirms with a sniff.

“You’re ridiculous,” Max laughs, shaking his head in a manner that can only be described as fond. He comes to a halt in front of the cash register at the counter, and waits for Charles to ask him what he wants.

But Charles never does; instead busies himself with rearranging the different bowls of topping on top of the display freezer, wiping down the counter, and restocking the ice cream cones, all the while completely ignoring Max’s presence. Or general existence, even.

Eventually, Max runs out of patience.

“I’d like three scoops of vanilla ice cream, please.”

Charles doesn’t even stop what he’s doing. Doesn’t even look at him. “We’re all out of vanilla.”

Max stares. At Charles, then at the almost full tub of vanilla, with its little sign labeling it as vanilla sticking out of the fluffy ice cream.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Charles, I can see the vanilla ice cream. It’s right there,” Max insists, pointing at the flavor through the display glass. As if Charles isn’t completely aware of its existence, as if he’s not just being a little shit and punishing Max for something that isn’t even remotely his fault.

Charles pauses in his bustling to look at Max. Then, he follows the length of Max’s arm to where his finger is pointing directly at the vanilla. His gaze returns to Max’s eyes as he says, deadpan: “That is only a display ice cream.”

Max blinks repeatedly.

“A display ice cream?” he echoes incredulously.

“Yes,” Charles confirms, raising his chin. “It’s only for display, it is not to be served.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like this,” the Monégasque says, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug.

Max doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him.

(That’s a lie, he knows damn well that he wants to kiss that smug look right off of Charles’ stupidly beautiful face.)

“Fine,” the Dutchman sighs, moving his finger slightly to the right. “Then I would like three scoops of the chocolate.”

“I’m sorry, but that is also only a display ice cream,” Charles tells him with a completely straight face.

“You’re not serious.”

Charles raises one full eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m joking?” he asks.

And, well, Max has to admit that it absolutely does not.

He stands there in silence for a while, wondering why the hell this infuriating man has been the object of his deepest desires for the past few months. Wonders why Charles’ face is the only thing he sees when he closes his eyes to sleep at night, and why he is the one person that keeps appearing in the majority of his dreams. Wonders why, when his mind wanders as he has a secure grip around himself in bed, it keeps wandering to the mental images of what Charles would look like, feel like, sound like if he was there with Max, when all Charles seems to want to do is get under Max’s skin and infuriate him in ways and for reasons Max hadn’t even known he could let himself be infuriated.

Oh, who is he kidding? Those reasons, coupled with Charles’ overall appearance and being, are exactly why his mind never seems to tire of Charles whatever-the-fuck-his-middle-name-is Leclerc, and only him.

Max has always been a sucker for challenges. And Charles is definitely a challenge.

Had Charles been an F1 driver instead of the owner of an ice cream shop, Max just knows their on-track battles would have been epic. Their rivalry would have been one for the ages; their names and lives so intertwined that people could not have mentioned one without also mentioning the other. Because Max is sure that Charles’ passion, his stubbornness and his outright refusal to give in to anything or anyone would have translated into a fierce, unyielding, unapologetic driver.

Forcing himself out of his reverie, Max gives a quick shake of his head to clear is racing mind. Then, he fixes Charles with a hard stare.

“Let me guess, these are all ‘display ice creams’?” he asks, gesturing with a hand at the numerous tubs of flavors in the display freezer.

“Of course not,” Charles scoffs, as if that’s the most ridiculous statement that has been made in the ice cream shop in the past few minutes. “That would be a horrible way to run a business. We have one flavor that is not only for display.”

Max is almost afraid to ask, but he does anyway. “Which is?”

Charles doesn’t answer the question with words, just points to the bottom tub at the far left. The little sign reads ‘Mint chip’.

“Who the fuck eats mint chip ice cream?” Max asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “That’s like eating toothpaste.”

For the first time since Max stepped through the door, Charles smiles. A beautiful, self-satisfied, mischievous smile that does things to Max’s body, mind and soul. It makes his heart rate pick up and his skin tingle with an excitement he has no business feeling.

Pathetic. He’s absolutely pathetic.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Max. That's all I have to offer today.”

And Max, proving just how completely gone he is on this ridiculous man, lets out a long, tired sigh.

“Three scoops of mint chip, please,” he requests in a voice that is completely resigned.

Charles’ face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, and he scurries to get one of the small glass bowls reserved for customers who want to eat their ice cream in the shop, not even needing to ask if that’s what Max is planning to do, or if he wants his ice cream in a cone. And although Charles is doing his damnedest to make Max believe that his general existence on this earth is causing Charles physical pain and emotional turmoil, the fact that Charles remembers his preference doesn’t go unnoticed by Max.

He won’t even entertain the idea that Charles might just be adamant on making Max sit in his shop and eat his mint chip ice cream so Charles can watch him suffer with every spoonful.

Charles is generous with the scoops — incredibly so — and Max is sure those three scoops he requested actually equal the size of at least six regular-sized scoops. He realizes that he probably should have asked for one scoop instead of three. He watches as Charles sticks a spoon in the ice cream and places the bowl on the counter in front of Max with the biggest grin on his face.

“It’s on the house,” Charles tells him, probably just to further add to Max’s suffering.

The Dutchman eyes the bowl of ice cream warily, quietly cursing it and himself, before picking it up with a hesitating hand. Charles watches him expectantly the entire time as Max makes his way to a small table in one corner of the shop. Behind him, a small child, probably around five or six, had entered the shop with his mother while Max was waiting for Charles to finish scooping, and Max hears the boy ask for two scoops of strawberry ice cream. And Charles — the fucking asshole — makes a point out of saying ‘coming right up’ in both Italian and English just to fuck with Max some more.

Max takes a seat with his back to the window so he can face Charles. Because if nothing else, he’s not going to let Charles win.

The first spoonful really does taste like toothpaste with a hint of chocolate, and it’s an awful combination. It takes every ounce of willpower Max has not to let the disgust he’s feeling show on his face. He lets the ice cream melt in his mouth for a long moment, before swallowing the disgusting liquidized ice cream, all the while maintaining a completely unaffected expression.

Charles watches him eat the entire bowl of ice cream, and Max never breaks eye contact. With every expressionless swallow, Max can see the thinly veiled disappointment on Charles’ face and the satisfaction he gets from that is enough to motivate him to finish every single bite. He even makes a point out of scraping the melted remains of the ice cream from the sides of the bowl, scooping it up into a mint green coloured soup in his spoon, and eating it. He even briefly considers licking the bowl clean just to get a rise out of Charles, but the Monégasque turns away from him with a huff before he can put his plan into action.

Which, thank fuck, because Max is starting to feel a bit sick from the ridiculous amount of toothpaste-flavored ice cream he has just consumed out of spite and spite alone. He pushes the bowl forward and away from himself on the table with a frown.

Charles goes back to ignoring his presence for the next fifteen minutes, and Max waits. Just because he can — just because he knows this wasn’t the outcome Charles had expected and he wants to revel in the satisfaction of finally getting under Charles’ skin for once for a little while longer.

Eventually, Charles comes to collect his empty bowl and gives Max a disapproving glare.

“Well? How was it?”

And Max, unable to resist, gives Charles his biggest, brightest smile. “It was delicious, thank you.”

If looks could kill, Max would have been dead. Then, Charles turns on his heels and walks away with Max’s empty bowl and spoon.

Taking the win, Max gets to his feet and waits for Charles to look over at him from behind the counter. When he does, he gives the other man a wave. “See you tomorrow, Charles.”

“You’re not coming back tomorrow!” Charles shoots back.

“Oh, but I am,” Max counters. It sounds like a promise, and it is.

As he walks out of the ice cream shop, feeling Charles’ gaze boring into the back of his head as he does, Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts looking up hotels in the area with available rooms.

***

Max stays in Milan for two weeks, and he goes to Charles’ ice cream shop every single day.

Every day, Charles tells him the only flavor he can serve him is mint chip. By day three, Max has stopped trying to argue with him. By day five, Max orders vanilla and Charles responds with ‘three scoops of mint chip coming up’. And every day, Max sits at his little table by the window to eat his ice cream while Charles stands behind the counter, watching him eat the entire time.

Every. Single. Day.

And every single day, Max can see Charles’ resolve crumbling, little by little, convincing him that his tragic efforts are not in complete vain. They might be mostly in vain, but Max is in far too deep at this point to care.

On the eighth day, Max stays until closing and Charles spends the majority of his free moments actually hanging around Max’s table and engaging him in conversation. It's a step in the right direction, even if Charles does end up kicking the Dutchman out when he has to count the register.

And on the eleventh day, as Max is about to leave after finishing yet another disgusting, massive portion of mint chip ice cream, Charles finds himself looking at the blond from behind the counter, watching as Max smiles down at his phone. Those piercing blue eyes are crinkling in delight, causing adorable smile lines to appear at their corners, his full, inviting lips stretching to expose his straight, white teeth. A wave of something — jealousy, Charles would define it as if he wasn’t a pigheaded dick when it comes to four-time F1 World Champion Max Emilian Verstappen — washes over him at the thought of whatever or whoever it is that puts that smile on Max's face.

It makes the Monégasque realize that all of his attempts over the past few months to convince himself that he doesn’t find Max attractive or charming as hell, and that he definitely doesn’t want to find out whether Max likes vanilla in bed, too, have been for naught.

And so, with an overwhelming feeling that he's losing a battle he's been fighting for months, Charles throws away the paper towel he had been using to dry his hands and resigns himself to his fate. Because sometimes, perseverence needs to be rewarded.

And he's not just referring to Max's.

“You can take me out to dinner tonight,” he tells Max, and it sounds like the statement pains him. Which it kind of does.

Max stops dead, one hand on the door handle, half-turned to face Charles. The look on his face is one of utter surprise.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds so fucking hopeful that it should probably make Charles change his mind. But instead, it makes him want to close up the shop immediately and let Max take him out to dinner right fucking now.

Which is pathetic, really. But then again, so is the way Charles has been waking up every day hoping Max Verstappen would walk through the door of his ice cream shop for the past few months.

But, having no intention of showing his hand, Charles maintains a stoic expression as he nods.

“Pick me up here at nine.”

Max's smile is so wide that Charles wonders if it makes his cheeks hurt. He also wonders if said cheeks will feel as warm to the touch as they look.

“Okay,” Max says, still smiling. “Then I'll see you again at nine.”

And with that, Max turns, pulls the door open, and walks out of the shop.

When Charles can only just see the back of the Dutchman through the window, he sees Max stopping briefly on the sidewalk and pumping his fist in the air in the same celebratory manner Charles has seen after so many victorious races over the years.

He looks ridiculous, and Charles might just be falling a little bit in love with him.

Charles doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

***

It turns out that Max's preferences in bed are far more adventurous than his taste in ice cream.

Which turns out to be yet another thing they're on the same page about.

#Lestappen #Lestappen fic #My writing #thearchercore #Ice cream shop AU

337 notes · View notes

hbyrde36 · 7 months

Text

STWG Drabble 9/19/23

Prompt: “We’re not family”

“We’re not family!” Dustin spit the words in Steve’s face, looming over his hospital bed with a scowl.

Steve's heart sank. Oh no, not Dustin too. “But, you said I was like a brother to you.”

“Maybe at one point you were, but then you let Eddie die. How could you possibly think things could ever be the same after that?”

Had he done that? Was Eddie dead, and was it somehow his fault? He couldn’t remember, it must have been the pain meds clouding his mind. No wonder the kid was so upset.

“I’m sorry, Dustin, I'm so sorry. You know I would have done anything to save him if I could have. Please, you have to know that.” Steve begged. He had so few people in his life that really cared about him, and his heart was breaking at the thought that he’d ruined things with his pseudo little brother. He’d already been disowned by his parents after he didn’t get into college, what more could he take?

“You know what I think?” Dustin began, with a most unpleasant smile on his face. “I think you wanted him to die. I think you were so jealous of him, so afraid that he was going to take me away from ,that you’d do anything to get him out of the picture.”

“No, NO! That’s not true. I liked Eddie! I cared about him! I swear! Why would you…why are you saying these things to me?” Steve cried.

Dustin scoffed. “You're lucky I'm even standing here right now. What good are you to me like this? To us? Bedridden and broken. You can’t even protect these kids you supposedly love now. You’re worthless, Steve. Might as well throw in the towel.”

Steve tried desperately not to fall apart, but what reason did he have to hold himself together now if even Dustin didn't want anything to do with him anymore?

That’s when he heard a familiar voice start screaming his name in the distance. Nancy. She was calling out to him but it sounded like she was a million miles away. Suddenly, he realized that nothing around him made sense. He shouldn’t be in the hospital, and what had Dustin just said about Eddie? Eddie was fine the last time Steve saw him, not ten minutes ago! The last thing he remembered was climbing the stairs to the attic in the Creel house. Robin had just tripped over a vine, he was trying to get to her to help when another one had wrapped itself around his throat.

“You know she’s only trying to save you out of guilt, Steve. She doesn’t love you, she doesn’t even like you.” Dustin-not-Dustin said, his voice dropping lower with every word spoken.

Vecna.

Steve jumped out of the bed on the opposite side and ran for the door. He threw it open and sprinted down the hall. The hospital was a ghost town, which he figured made sense considering none of this was real.

He looked around as he ran, desperate to find a way out. Max had described a portal opening up when she’d escaped Vecna’s clutches in the graveyard, but she’d had the music to guide her then. He knew neither he, Robin, or Nancy had brought a walkman with them into the Upside-Down.

He kept running anyway, desperate to get as much space between himself and Vecna as possible while he tried to think. He wondered what had happened with Max. Had he not taken the bait, or was Max… already dead?

The thought made him want to give up. To just lie down on the floor, curl up in a little ball, and let that bastard take him too, but Robin would never forgive him if he gave up now. He pushed on, rushing past empty room, after empty room, finding nothing helpful or useful.

The feeling of hopelessness became overwhelming but just when he was again considering admitting defeat, the world around him dissolved and he was plunged into darkness.

He woke with a gasp in Robin’s arms. She was rocking him, tears spilling down her face.

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re back!” She cried, squeezing him tightly.

“Where’s Nance?” He asked.

“She’s up in the attic finishing Vecna off. When we couldn’t wake you, we went up there to start the attack, hoping it would force him to let you go. Nancy thinks he was trying to get you and Max at the same time, and it left him too distracted and vulnerable. We got him Steve, it’s over.”

He sagged in relief. Vecna was dead. He was okay, it sounded like Max probably was too. That’s when he remembered what Dustin/Vecna had said about Eddie, and his blood ran cold.

Steve pushed himself out of Robin’s arms and to his feet, quickly grabbing his axe from where it had fallen. He flew down the stairs taking them two at a time and praying he wasn’t too late.

“Where are you going?” Robin shouted at his back.

He paused for only a second to explain. “I think Eddie and Dustin are in trouble, wait here for Nance and meet me back at the trailer!”

He found Eddie kneeling on the ground surrounded by dozens of dead demobats. His spear and shield had been tossed to the ground. He was breathing heavily, hands pressed tightly to a wound on his side. He was hurt, he was bleeding, but he was alive.

Steve started stripping out of his jacket as he approached. He tugged the t-shirt over his head and ripped it, trying to create bandages the same way Nancy had.

Eddie stared up at him with wide eyes. “Am I dead?”

“No.”

Steve pulled Eddie's hands away from the wound and pulled the shirt up so he could get a better look at it. It was pretty bad, but it wasn’t gushing. If they wrapped it tight, and got him to a hospital quickly, Eddie would be just fine.

“Are you sure? Because the way you just stripped out of those clothes for me is definitely making me feel like I've died and gone to heaven, big boy.”

Steve blushed hard. It was just the blood-loss, he reasoned. Eddie didn’t know what he was saying, so he ignored it.

“You’re gonna be fine, Eddie. Hold that shirt up for me so I can wrap this.”

Eddie did as he was asked, but his gaze never wavered from Steve’s chest. He was pretty sure he even caught the other boy licking his lips at one point, and it definitely didn’t cause warmth to start pooling in his stomach.

Steve fought hard to concentrate on his work, but he had a feeling that as soon as this was over he was going to need an emergency bathroom floor meeting with Robin.

#stwgdailyprompt #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic

216 notes · View notes

leviismybby · 24 days

Note

However, I don't know how to feel about Levi because of the real source material (Isayama interviews, smartpass story and side material like that…) and the 'professional' Japanese translators on this blog. I think he really is, according to the correct Japanese translations and Isayama interviews, he is really dragging humanity through the mud for his personal feelings… and he is someone who is floating and aimless because of Erwin's death… So much so that Isayama even thought of killing him many times because he didn't know what to do about him and threw him aside… also I guess he has no interest in women… oh and Ackerbond is probably real… I know it's not a canon ship and I know he's not in love, but that doesn't mean it's not written too reductively to Erwin. And it disgusts me…

Because of the source material, side material, canon discourse and Japanese translator blogs, my opinion of him is changing more and more and I think I will throw my LevixOc project in the trash… Levi is really someone who (because of Isayama's writing) has been hypnotized by Erwin's own goals and has taken control of Levi's entire character and actions. I don't think I could take him (or s/o) out of this hypnosis.

I know you can say "Isayama's opinions can change" or "only what is in the manga is canon" and I used to hide behind that for consolation, but I realized that once Isayama said it, it was true and it stayed there. And I think the interviews are necessary to understand the content of the scenes etc. in the manga.

Even analysis is no longer a comfort for me… after all, why need complicated writing when interviews and manga are the source of what really happened there…

I guess he's not the character I thought I wanted… I wish he was his own man… I wish he wasn't a character to be discarded just because he died because of another character… or someone who is too picky and only accepts high standards… (this is just my own opinion based on the manga and the material/opinions I think Canon!Levi would be like that)

I'm deeply disappointed… As delulu as the Eruri fandom is, most of what they say is unfortunately true… after all, they take real sources and cite them as evidence… I don't think they are mistranslating because there are professional cold-blooded translators in this fandom and most of them quote what that blog says…

I wish I had never encountered this fandom and this character, so I wouldn't have to be so upset all these years…

Except that half of the interviews are either fake, completely twisted or don't exist. Especially that flaoting ballon bullshit, which a lot of Japanese fans say wasn't even said.

I will this again, please read the manga on your own and base your opinions on Levi on your own.

Since you already mention Eruri and i might ruin your day here but Eruri is as canon and Levihan is, it isn't. No Levi never prirotized Erwin over humanity and you'll understand that if you read the manga for yourself and analyse it for yourself without letting the fandom get to you.

Levi is his own man, he has his brain to think with and the only people who think he doesn't are shippers. Not once did Levi put his own selfish desires before humanity for anyone, he was as sad about Erwin's death as he was for the rest of his comrads. Not a single instance in the manga/anime or any actual official interviews given by Isayama was Levi reduced to Erwin, only a shipper would think that way. Oh and Ackerbond thing too, not only is that damaging to Levi's character, it is just creppy and definitely not a thing.

I am sorry anon but it seems like you don't understand Levi and his character at all. Isayama always said that Erwin and Levi were equal and sworn friends, he didn't say that because he hid some sort of hidden romance between the two, he said it because that's how it is, its a strong bond of trust and commandership and reducing it only to "Oh Levi is a love sick puppy who only cares about Erwin." is a mischaractertion at max.

My advice to you is to take a break from the fandom is they are making you not like your oc x Levi anymore, that's the best way to get them out of your head and please, base your own opinions, not what people online say.

#levi #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot levi #captain levi #anonymous asks #also to point out #this isnt about all shippers #most are sane and can actully be talked to #and then there are some who have to harass and bully people for not shipping a fanon ship

59 notes · View notes

the-crimson · 7 months

Text

I was just listening to some sad music while thinking about q!bbh and… the eggs changed him. They saved him in a sense. All of them.

When Bad first arrived at the island he was aimless and much like Foolish, looking for the next subject of entertainment. He was only out for himself and couldn’t be bothered to lend a helping hand to anyone.

Then he was given a little egg with a top hat and everything changed. He had someone vulnerable to look out for, to provide for, and suddenly he was given purpose. All of these little eggs were precious beyond words and everything was perfect until it wasn’t.

Charlie tried to murder Dapper right in front of Bad. That was the first time Bad felt fear in a long long time then a deep sadness settled in when he learned Juanaflippa had died and that’s what sent Slime on his rampage and everything suddenly felt so much more real. The illusion of perfection broke and Bad realized, truly realized, just what Dapper meant to him.

Juanaflippa was brought back but then a hat trick of tragedy strikes and Bad is forever changed. Bad has a chance to walk Tilin home but she chooses to go with Slime who accidentally kills her. Juanaflippa chooses to stay with Mariana and he accidentally kills her - again. And Trump dies of neglect alone in an empty house. (Cc!Bad mentioned on stream a while back that the admins had asked him if he could do Trump’s tasks but Bad didn’t realize how dire the situation was- he blames himself)

Within the span of 24 hours, three eggs died and Bad could have saved each of them. This is when everything changes for Bad’s character. This is where Bad vows that no egg was ever going to die of neglect again. This is when Bad started grinding to become the richest person on the server and ensured that all the eggs had maxed out armor at all times. These eggs dying the way they did is what created the Badboyhalo we knew.

Bad created the warp plate system in the sky so he’d be able to reach just about anywhere near spawn to save an egg if they went down. He is the one who discovered the true utility of warp stones and spread that information across the server. He is the one who informed everyone of the autoeat and XP pump functions of the backpack and set up all the eggs with infinite XP so their armor would never break.

He was so incredibly damaged by these eggs dying that he turned all his hyper vigilance towards protecting the remaining eggs even if he barely knew the parents or the eggs themselves. He would never say no to someone asking for help ever again.

Bad went from selfish and out for himself to the most selfless person on the server. He was a demon seeking entertainment in the wake of eternity and transformed into a servant of the people who gave his life again and again for others without question.

Getting Dapper primed Bad for change. Dapper was the crack in the stone that allowed the walls within him to shatter when Juanaflippa, Tilin, and Trump died. Ever since that tragic day, all of the eggs became part of Bad’s family.… and now they are gone.

Dapper and their siblings brought out the best of Bad. They saved him from a cycle of chaotic indifference. And now he’s alone again. Everything he’s done to protect them has been for nothing. Everything he’s changed, the steps he took towards healing millennia old traumas… all of that was for not.

Some wounds cut too deep to heal. Even with all the progress Bad made, he still valued his entire self worth on how useful he was to others, on protecting the eggs. Every time something happened to the kids, he took it as a personal failure. When Bobby died, he blamed himself for not going with them on the adventure. Now they are gone gone. They fled. They are somewhere Bad can’t follow. He failed them. He had one job and he failed.

It doesn’t matter what happens to him now. Getting them back is all that matters. Bad’s world has lost all vibrancy and he’s physically fading away. He doesn’t notice because he can’t let himself. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting them back. But even if he does… it’s already too late. He failed. He couldn’t protect them. He failed.

When the eggs come back changed (hatched?) all he will see is his failure. If he lives long enough to see his babies return, will they give him the strength to come back from this? Or will their presence give him the reassurance that… it’s okay. He doesn’t need to fight anymore. They are safe now. He can let go. One last goodbye.

Fuck man. I’ve been here since the beginning. Since the second day Bad had Dapper. I’ve watched almost every single stream since. I’ve watched Bad change in real time. I’ve watched Dapper and the other eggs change him. I stayed up until 3 am watching Bad bargain with god to save his son from an unfair death. I’ve watched Bad chase desperately across the map only to arrive moments too late to find Ramon’s corpse. I’ve watched him sit silently weeping while waiting for Jaiden and Roier to say their last goodbyes. I still remember his screams for Dapper when they were killed by pillagers. I remember them stranded in the snow tens of thousands of blocks from safety with no items no food Dapper couldn’t even speak. Terrified that it could end then and there.

The fact that this whole journey has lead us here. Bad is literally dying because he failed them. He failed them in a hundred different ways but this was the big one. This failure broke him. If Bad does end up dying dying at the end of this arc… that would both be the most narratively satisfying yet heart breaking thing that could possibly happen. The eggs saved him in a million different ways. It makes sense that they would also be the death of him.

Bad’s a demon and a grim reaper so I doubt he’d stay dead but I could see Dapper and friends going on a quest to bring him back from where ever demons/grim reapers go when they die. Maybe he’ll finally get some closure from the tragedies he’s left in his wake all throughout history. Maybe he’ll get a chance to truly start over with a clean slate.

Fuck now I’m thinking about Dapper having ti live through their dad sacrificing himself for them and their siblings. We know Dapper was borderline suicidal before being taken so just… Dapper seeing themself in Bad too late and not being able to save him. Killing himself for the greater good. Dapper refusing to accept that Bad is gone and spending every waking minute researching how to bring him back by any means necessary but knowing Bad would want them to move on, to live, to live, to live.

I have no idea where Bad’s character is going. I have no idea if he’s gonna go full villain and burn the server to destroy the federation. I have no idea if he’s gonna sacrifice himself and die trying to get the eggs back. I have no idea if his grief is literally killing him and he’s acting so desperate with the knowledge that he’s on borrowed time. All I know is cc!Bad is gonna take us on one hell of a ride and I can’t wait to see what happens next.

#qsmp #crimson speaks #badboyhalo #tw suicide mention #I had to take a break while writing this #bad was giving off huge death flags today #so I was kinda just thinking about everything #bbh’s arc has been so tragic from the start #but just looking at it at face value u wouldn’t notice #the eggs have changed everyone #but I think they’ve had the greatest impact on bbh #at least we were able to see the evolution of his character fully #we knew who he was without the eggs so we got the contrast #q!bad is gonna be the death of me one day #I literally had to stop writing this cuz I was crying #but im fine now XD #enjoy the angst with me

85 notes · View notes

joanie07 · 7 months

Text

Anti-bylers say we hate El and Mike because we are trying to sacrifice their happiness for Byler, but that's not our goal. We aren't praying for their downfall. We just want what's best for these characters.

El is clearly not happy in her relationship. Mileven is bones, and you just don't want to admit it. She is not loved the way she wants to be by Mike. She begins the season fabricating her life in front of Mike in hopes of restoring a relationship that's already broken. By the end, she is annoyed with Mike lying to her, leaving them off on a bitter note. El’s character arc focuses on her independence. If the Duffers have been building this throughout the show, why would they ruin it for the last season and throw all this progress away so she can stay in a relationship that’s no longer bringing her joy? In the third season, when El dumps Mike, she seems so much happier. She is paying more attention to others at the party (like Max). And with her independence, we see her go on journeys of self-discovery. We see her true self shine, so she isn’t just the buzz-cut girl with telekinetic powers and a funny name. She is so much more than that, and having a relationship with Mike that relies on kissing isn’t teaching her much about herself, her surroundings, or her other relationships.

Mike, on the other hand, has been pretending in his relationship with El for the longest time. He doesn't want to seem like a nerd, so he ditches D&D to make out with her. He puts on a facade at the beginning of season 4. We know El's intentions for putting on the facade, but what are Mike's? It's almost as if he is hiding something. Once El is gone, he continuously has vulnerable conversations with Will that lead to acceptance and mutual understanding. Conversations that Mike and El have never had. The only vulnerable conversation was their fight in S4, which did not end on good terms.

I don't understand how Milevens think this is a good dynamic. How is lying to each other about your personality good for either of them? Their relationship is at its end, and I think they both realize it. Frankly, Milevens don't care about El's or Mike’s feelings. They just want to see more straight couples pop out babies and have sex, even though this show is literally called Stranger Things, and the nuclear family construct is "normal," the antonym for strange. We don't need another straight couple. We especially don't need another straight couple with no real love. Don't get me wrong, they have good chemistry, but I view it platonically rather than romantically.

Mike and Will don't have to lie to give and receive affection. They are the most honest duo on the show. I consider that a way better dynamic than Mileven. And, if you pair their good communication with the classic romance tropes used for Byler, you can't really deny Byler.

#byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler endgame #byler is canon #byler tumblr #anti mileven #byler proof #stranger things 5 #byler analysis #byler target audience

110 notes · View notes

ladysomething · 1 month

Note

i love all abo historical fics but especially "Charles as a whore hired to help Max lose his virginity before he's set to get married to a high ranking noble omega and then they fall in love?"

just some thoughts

-max is a high ranking alpha (maybe a lord, maybe even the prince) who has spent most of his teen/early adult years as a military leader. but now the war is over and he's got zero sexual experience after living with alphas at war for so long. so his dad (or someone else) hires a whore to lose his virginity before max starts seriously pursuing omegas to court.

-charles was born to a poor family, he and his brothers have to solely support their mother from a young age. his mother is sick and the brothers get desperate, so charles takes up a man at the tavern who offers him enough money to feed his family for a week in exchange for his body. for the next few years he makes money this way. he never takes a knot though - no historical birth control 🥲

-one day charles is "going to work" when a man approaches him, he's looking for an omega for his alpha son to knot. he's offering good money. by now the family is worse off, arthur is sick too and charles is desperate for money. charles weighs the pros and cons but realistically, he's been malnourished for a while and hasn't had a proper heat since he presented, therefore he's unlikely to get pregnant. say in this au omegas generally only conceive during heat. so charles agrees.

-max doesn't want to sleep with a random omega. he's not confident enough to go out on his own and he's nervous about the omega his father is going to bring him. max covers up his awkwardness by being the alpha his father wants him to be: angry, dominant, controlling. the omega brought to his room is perfect, better than max could have dreamt up. he's meek and submissive. he does what max tells him to do. it's frustrating, it's not what max wants at all. he tells the omega to strip, he strips. max tells him to turn over, he turns over. max tells him to present, he presents. max can't do it. he pulls away and throws a sheet at the omega to cover himself while he tries to figure out how to not fuck this omega and make his father think he did.

-but charles feels like he's burning up and he never gets turned on for a client, but now his pussy is dripping. he doesn't like this alpha, he doesn't know him but he needs him. charles begs the omega to fuck him and max...can't turn him down. it's awkward and messy and max is sure this omega has had better, but max gives the omega what he wants. they spend the night breaking charles' heat - the first one he's had since he was thirteen.

-the next morning max feels okay for the first time since he left for war. he's settled in his skin, warm and content. then he realizes the omega in his bed is still a whore, regardless of the incredible heat sex they had last night. he needs to make the omega leave so he can forget him and move on. then the omega wakes up and max can't.

-turns out they're true mates, which is special and rare, and had mated during the haze last night.

-and charles gets pregnant from it. lol.

anon, you plotted this out better than I ever could so here: have a few hundred words of this AU!

"Charles?"

Max slams the door to his chambers behind him quickly.

Charles has rolled over in Max's bed, head poking out from the top of Max's bed furs.

"Max," Charles breathes, relieved. "I-I've missed you."

Max swallows. He's missed Charles, too. He doesn't know if it's real; they don't know each other, not really. But they're mated. Charles' bite is in his throat, and Max's teeth are marked in Charles' skin. The longing to be with his omega is the realest thing Max has ever felt, even if it's a lie.

They've been apart for too long, now. Once his father had found out that he'd accidentally mated the whore he'd hired for him, he'd sent him out of Holland.

You're marrying a high-born omega, his father had screamed at him. I don't care who you've already mated.

Now, it's been . . . Max doesn't even know how long it's been. The moon has completed at least four cycles since he last saw Charles, and each one has been torture. Every omega who has tried to tempt him has been lacking in comparison to Charles. How could any of them ever compare to Charles?

Max has only been back in Holland for a sennight, but he's already tried to find Charles multiple times. Every spare moment he's had, he's been looking for him.

And now here he is. In his bed.

Charles sits up, cheeks flushed red. He looks so-so-

Max crosses over to him, cupping both Charles' cheeks in his hands and leaning down to kiss him. His lips are as soft as Max remembers, and he tastes just as good, too. Sweet, like the taffy he confessed to loving during the night they'd spent together.

But he also tastes kind of . . . milky?

Max pulls back, then presses his nose into Charles' cheek and inhales deeply.

"You smell different," Max murmurs, breathing him in again.

This close, he can hear Charles swallow deeply.

"That's why I'm here," Charles whispers. "Max, I . . . I'm . . ."

Charles shifts on the bed, and then pulls the furs back. Max's eyes are immediately glued to his stomach; round, swollen, too big for his small, malnourished frame.

Max drops to his knees.

Charles, pregnant with his pup. His mate, pregnant with his pup.

"I don't know what to do," Charles confesses, eyes filling with tears. "You've been gone for so long, and I - Max, he's our baby. I wanted you to know."

"He?" Max asks, dragging his eyes away from the bump and up to Charles' face. "How do you . . .?"

"I don't," Charles confesses. "It's just what I think."

Max swallows, then takes a deep breath through his nose.

His mate, pregnant with his pup.

Fuck his father, and what he wants. Max would rather abdicate than be forced to marry some other omega when Charles is right here. Charles, his beautiful Charles, pregnant by him.

"I'll take care of you," Max swears, reaching up to cup Charles' face again. "Of you both. I promise."

#anon ask #lestappen fic #lestappen #lestappen fic idea #can you tell I used to write an extensive amount of game of thrones fic? lol #regency au

47 notes · View notes

romancomicsnews · 10 months

Text

My Adventures with Superman brings Hope back to the Man of Steel - REVIEW Ep 1 & 2

*Spoilers for the first two episodes, now streaming on Max!*

Growing up, Superman always came off to me as a very nothing character. White bread. Good for the sake of good. Not funny like Spider-Man, not dark and cool like Batman, and too powerful to be in any real danger.

He was just there as the original cape and tights. He was important because he did it first, but that didn't make him interesting.

As I got older, and I read and saw him in more media, I realized the fun of Superman comes from the kindness. The hope he brings to those around him and that stable positive force is essential to the world and the Justice League. While he is the most powerful person in the room, because of who Clark is and his values, he's the person you fear the least.

He's gonna save your cat, he's gonna stop that burning building, and he's gonna get the bad guy, as unharmed as possible.

This is where the DCEU lost me, and where I think most Superman content does. That hope, that kindness, the gentle giant that Clark is has somehow been lost in translation.

While Henry Cavill is a great actor and can play the hopeful side, setting the tone of the movies as so dark and serious drained Superman of his charm.

Superman and Lois has done a good job bringing Clark's hopefulness back in moments, but the Zack Snyder DCEU feel coupled with the CW drama still keeps Superman and Lois pretty dark and dire.

While Hoechlin is a fantastic Superman, the world he inhabits has kept me wanting a true representation of the character I love.

Which is why My Adventures with Superman is such a breath of fresh air.

Let's start with Jack Quaid. Using such a pure sounding soul like Quaid to embody Clark was a stroke of genius. While he is known for playing good-ish characters like Hughie in The Boys and Peter Parker/ The Lizard in Across the Spider-Verse, Quaid does not coast on his past charms for Clark.

This character equally feels fresh, different from Quaid's past characters, and like a kid who is transitioning into the Man of Steel.

Whether he is struggling to flirt, scold Lois for lying, or fight a robot, Clark feels genuine, kind, and strong.

As Superman, Clark does not change into a scary, super powered god. Instead, he is trying to help the bad guy, clean up the messes, and rescue kittens from trees. While we only get a glimpse of his true Superman form at the end of episode 2, it is enough for me to get so excited that I'm typing this all out. This is the Superman I've been waiting for!

Rounding out the cast are Alice Lee and Ishmel Sahid as Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen.

Lee has a quality not always perfectly emulated for Lois in my opinion, which is spunk. Moxie. She is so clearly the leader of the team for the Daily Planet. Couple that with her comedy timing and clear chemistry with Quaid, this may be the blueprint for Clark and Lois in the future.

While usually Lois is a made journalist by the time Clark shows up, starting them at equal footing is an interesting development. I'm hoping they use this to show just how quickly Lois Lane can rise the ranks against others.

While Sahid is utilized the least so far, conspiracy theorist comic relief Jimmy is equally charismatic and likable. He is a character I think the DCEU and CW didn't quite understand the value of, but this show clearly does. My hope is this character goes on to go on as wacky adventures as he does in the comics.

The chemistry between the three characters is very strong for the first couple of episodes. So much so I don't know if I'm more excited for more Lois and Clark romance, Clark and Jimmy bafoonery, or Lois and Jimmy investigating.

While the villains leave something to be desired in the first two episodes, the inclusion of overarching villains Deathstroke, Amanda Waller and General Lane lead me to believe they hope to build out this universe, at the very least into Batman.

If that is true, I am so in.

I can see a world where we have 3-4 different anime shows introducing key members of the Justice League, all leading up to an anime style movie where they fight Brainiac, with Jack Quaid's Superman at the center of it.

But perhaps I am getting way ahead of myself.

All in all, My Adventures with Superman has me excited for Fridays to come. It has heart, it has comedy, and it seems to understand the Last Son of Krypton better than most pieces of media.

This should be the blueprint for Superman Legacy.

A Superman who brings donuts for all his coworkers.

If you'd like to support me you can:

Follow me at www.facebook.com/romancomicsnews

Follow me on Twitter @diegoleonroman

Follow me on Threads @romanleondiego

Help me pay my student loans by donating!

64 notes · View notes

stranger-rants · 10 months

Text

Runaway Max Annotations

This is part of a series I am doing on Runaway Max by Brenna Yovanoff. To see previous posts including the annotation guide, check the [#rm annotations] tag on my blog. These posts will follow the general formula of summary, annotations, quotes, and any thoughts or analysis I want to provide based on my own interpretation of the text. You can use my posts as references in fandom discussions.

Runaway Max Chapter Three

Max recounts the time she began to see Neil's true colors as she prepares for Halloween in Hawkins.

Annotations:

2) Family Context

Every Wednesday, Susan would make rigatoni and meat balls. Then, Max and Susan would sit on the couch together and watch Family Feud. Neil breaks up this routine and after three weeks of marriage, he makes the family go out to dinner.

4) Evidence of Abuse / Neglect

Neil is abusive towards Max when he perceives Max giving her mother attitude their first dinner out after Susan and Neil have been married three weeks. He says, "You answer your mother," "I'm warning you," "If you don't get that mouth under control, you're going to be one sorry little girl," "You need to learn a thing or two about how to talk to your father," and when Max mutters that he's not her father, Neil sends her out to the car before she can finish her dinner. In Hawkins, he says that Max is getting too old for Halloween and that Susan shouldn't encourage her to dress up.

Max & Billy Relationship

After Neil sends Max out to the car, Billy checks on her. He says, "you really did it this time, declaring war on Neil." Max tries to explain that she doesn't want to consider Neil, "her father" and Billy tells her not to worry about it. He says, "It's not like he's my dad either." Max is confused, but Billy clarifies this by saying Neil is a horrible guy and he's not like a real father should be. In Hawkins, Billy also judges her for dressing up for Halloween. However, he reasons that she can do what she wants but people will think she's "a baby" for still dressing up.

7) Valuable Insights

Max loves Halloween, but more importantly she loves monsters. She loves Michael Myers because he was a "real" kind of monster.

8) Billy's Characterization

Billy is seemingly bored or checked out during their first dinner together. Max says he spent the entire time "leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling." Billy does go to check on Max after Neil punished her, and he does validate Max's feelings about Neil. He says Max's name in a "sing song" voice whenever he's annoyed with her, and in this chapter it was in the context of waiting for her to get ready for school so they could leave.

Quotes(s):

"He's a horrible guy, Max. Haven't you figured that out? You really think a guy like that could be a father? Not to me, and not to you."

This chapter shows us when Max really began to realize that Neil was a bad person, and in a way she has to be told this by Billy. She hates Neil, but she doesn't fully understand yet what he's capable of doing.

Billy's behavior is somewhat... protective. In the capacity that he can be. Max thinks that Billy is about to hug her when he reassures her that she doesn't need to think of Neil as her father. However, Billy doesn't hug her. His expression is flat. His eyes look heavy to her, before he explains that Neil is a horrible person. I don't think Billy can show that kind of comfort or affection to Max even if he wanted to because of the abuse we know he experienced, but he is trying to warn Max about what to expect. That shows a level of empathy and kindness that I think many people argue he doesn't have.

Even when it came to dressing up for Halloween, his reasoning for it was almost protective. Neil says she's too old for it, but he's been trying to control what Max says and does for months. Billy tells her to "go ahead" with it, but to not be surprised if she's basically bullied for it. In a twisted way, he's looking out for her. Again, I don't think he's got the capacity to give comfort or affection to Max with the way he's just been surviving under Neil. In a better time and place, it does give us a glimpse as to what their relationship could look like.

Neil is Billy's own father, so it catches Max by surprise when Billy insists that Neil isn't his father. This isn't meant to be taken literally. It means that Billy doesn't think Neil fits the profile of a father, and he fully recognizes that Neil is a horrible person. This is both very interesting and concerning to me. It's interesting to me because often abuse survivors have a hard time recognizing their abusers as abusers while they're surviving, especially if their abusers are their parents. That's why it's also very concerning to me, because if Billy can recognize that Neil is so horrible he can't possibly ever be considered a father... then what has Billy really experienced up until this point? The implications aren't good - almost like what happens to Billy after meeting Max is tame in comparison to the past.

#runaway max #rm annotations #billy & max #long post cw

62 notes · View notes

ezras--moon · 2 months

Text

Disorganized Attachment - Chapter 1: Fibonacci

IT'S FINALLY HERE!

Dieter x adult actress reader (no age gap, both in their early/mid 40s)

18+ although this chapter does not contain any explicit smut yet.

This work contains a lot of cursing, talks about substance abuse, mental illness, violence, and I have not researched anything about the film or p**n industry, so if that's not your thing, scroll on. (it is surprisingly soft and fluffy though)

More warnings: Negative self talk/thoughts, body image issues.

word count: 5364

Where to begin?

You and Dieter met in high school, drama and art classes. You had a secret crush on him back then, but thought he was kind of a dick, too. He was envious, or even jealous, of your ability to memorize long monologues seemingly overnight. These ridiculous reasons were mainly why you didn’t become friends then yet, just secretly harbored certain feelings for each other. If just one of you had pulled their head out of their ass and talked to the other, you would have realized very quickly that you were two peas in a pod.

When you met again in college, you had all your acting, theater and film related classes together. You stuck to each other then, because you were both from the same hometown, and you’d both changed and grown. Experimenting with drugs welded you closer together, and you woke up in each other’s dorms after lawless nights quite a few times. Dieter began auditioning long before you both graduated, so did you. He was more successful pretty much from the beginning. You congratulated each other on a few projects, his always bigger than yours, and then at some point you just went your separate ways in Hollywood.

You still privately kept up to date with Dieter’s work and achievements; you watched the Oscars the year he won one of the categories he was nominated for, with a friend over the phone, squealing over the line and damn near rupturing her eardrum at the announcement of the winner. And he looked so handsome on screen, even with the sadness and hubris in his dark eyes that you were well acquainted with.

He’d told you all the stories throughout your time in college together. The abuse, the violent reign of his strict parents drilling him to be the best in all his classes, to always get the big roles he auditioned for… and the harsh punishment if he didn’t. The constant pressure to be perfect and likeable, the emotional neglect in between his successes. What they never really gave a shit about was if he was happy.

While Dieter went off to become a real movie star, you struggled and clung on to shadier and shadier gigs, until you finally landed in the adult film industry. You’d tried your best and worked really hard to make a name for yourself in this new field, and you did, you succeeded!

Your screen name was a secret to most people you interacted with in your daily life, you kept a strict line between your private matters and your work. Many of your loose acquaintances believed you were simply “in the film industry”, which was technically true. Sometimes, when you met someone new and they asked what you did for a living, you could see the split second of recognition in their eyes and then, as soon as possible, you’d drop them like hot potatoes. Better not to get involved with fans.

Now…

Around the time when you sign a contract with a new agency, Dieter’s spiraling into another crisis. He’s coked up to the max, never not high anymore, and during the short, intermittent down periods he thinks he’s worthless and needs to rebrand himself. All of his unusually bottomless lows are followed by particularly severe manic episodes lately, in which he comes up with things to do to revolutionize his public persona, and he won’t hear anyone out who tries to stop him. Because of the excessive amount of cocaine he consumes, he believes himself to be in possession of the necessary skills and fortitude to star in a real, professional porn movie during this particular spiral.

And thank Mother Gaia for modernity, because his manager isn’t even opposed to the idea.

“Get me the most expensive co-star you can find to do this with me!” he barks into his phone, ordering some poor fool at his agency out to get him a role in a big production.

There isn’t much hope, Dieter thinks, that he’ll get anyone exceptionally hot, no matter their price tag - he’s getting old and has gained a few pounds since the peak of his career. But then again, it’s mostly the women in porn who are under pressure to be perfect, fresh off the rack, if they want to make it in the industry. And not just in some niche fetish market, but instead the very top of the food chain, the big studios, like Brazzers or Tushy dot com. His other, admittedly quite reasonable, hope for a really fuckable scene partner is that having an actual Oscar winning movie star like himself, aging and getting heavy or not, fuck his pent-up frustration into a dimepiece on camera would drive sales exponentially more than if he did it to a bridge troll. Fuck, he really should see his therapist again. These horrible thoughts about people’s looks, including his own, can’t be beneficial to his already dwindling mental stability. But that guy is a leech; even as rich as Dieter is nowadays, the rates of a decent therapist are nauseating.

When you receive the offer, you’re just on your way to a set, somewhere up in the hills. You don’t read the e-mail until late that night. The header gives away what type of shoot it’s going to be - a celebrity, a real movie star, and this time not just for a private sex tape. No, this time an A-list Hollywood actor wants to actually publish the tape. It’s guaranteed to make headlines for weeks. This would most definitely be the next Big Thing for you.

It takes you a while to read the wall of text before you find the name of the actor at the bottom of the page. You gasp, then break out into a fit of bewildered little laughs.

Dieter Bravo! You damn outlaw.

You know he probably has no idea his people sent yours an offer, nor that you would definitely say yes, if he’s even aware you’re in this business - it isn’t likely that he knows your screen name either, because you would hope to have heard from him on social media if he had. You’ve followed him since you made your professional account.

The next morning, you wake up bright and early to give Dieter’s agent a call back, accept the job, make an appointment to sign the contract, and go get a fresh bikini waxing. You can’t wait to see Dieter again. Get to fuck him again, if the surprise of seeing you show up for the shoot doesn’t turn him off of it entirely.

As the aesthetician, a close friend of yours affectionately nicknamed Barbie, rips away at the wax strips to get rid of the bush you’d grown out for a vintage shoot, you think about him and what he used to mean to you.

You tell Barbie about him, in between wincing through the pain of the waxing; you tell her that when you were young, your bodies taut and lean, you enjoyed each other’s company very much. And about the things you’d say to each other in bed, how you could never stop praising his heavy cock, how deliciously it burned when he pistoned it into your welcoming heat; how he couldn’t stop sucking on your tits and emptying his balls into you, again and again for hours until there was nothing left to fill you with, always high on something.

You know what he looks like, you’ve seen him at red carpets from the comfort of your living room, even this year - Barbie remembers when you screamed at her over the phone and she tried to match your excitement. She also remembers all the times you were intoxicated and reminisced about past loves, your dreamy retelling of your experiences always circling back to Dieter in the end.

But the new memories all just come from images on screens, they’re not real memories of him. The last real one is over a decade old.

The contract you sign is your agency’s standard adult film production contract, you’ve signed hundreds like this before. Every rich adult film connoisseur who’s into “older” women wants a piece of you.

Several days pass after you sign, before you hear back and receive a shooting date very soon after.

“Mr. Bravo would appreciate it if we could make it happen as soon as possible.” your agent relays to you on the phone. “Fine by me. I can definitely squeeze it in next week.” you reply.

That day…

Rolling up to his house in the hills, your manager drives you through the LA afternoon traffic, and ultimately you're twenty-five minutes late. “We should have known it was gonna be like this” you complain to your manager, a woman your age named Tonya with round, red cheeks, who’s raised five children by herself. “Nonsense. I guarantee you, this guy’s going to be even later himself. These A-listers usually are, they’re too self important to be on time. Now go, get up there! I’ll be right behind you.”

You grab your handbag and your cosmetics, wallet and phone secure in your jacket, and make your way up the thirty-something steps to ring Dieter Bravo’s doorbell.

A stern looking woman with a sleek black librarian hairdo and penciled-in eyebrows of the same color lets you into the mansion; she’s surprisingly nice. You’re instructed to take a seat in Dieter’s living room, on a comfortable couch. You don’t mind the staff standing by the open doors, and change into your outfit out in the open there - a pitch black, crotchless leotard, equally dark ballerina flats, and a thin pink robe for modesty before the shoot starts. Someone from the production crew arrives and brings a make-up artist, who makes you look a decade younger. That takes almost two full hours and removes any remaining shred of your guilt about being late. It's a bothersome process, but might increase the chances he’ll recognize you.

Finally, after another ten more minutes of waiting for him, his majesty makes an appearance, coming from the garage. He’s dressed in a cornflower blue robe, a fluffy, well-worn thing, and chanclas, along with sweatpants. He holds a starbucks cup in his hand and peeks at everyone in the room over the rim of a pair of sunglasses, chewing gum. His hair is as messy as ever, a patchy, scruffy looking beard on his face now. He’s sporting several heavy rings on various fingers and has a chain with an upside-down cross around his neck.

And then he spots you. You can see the exact moment it clicks for him, and everything falls into place. A sultry smirk at him, a wink perhaps, should do, so that’s what you respond with, to the look of pure befuddlement he shoots you.

He crosses the room so fast, he spills some of the whipped cream peeking over the rim of the cup he’s holding with an iron grip.

“What on earth are you doing in my house, Dolphin?” Oh, God, not that nickname… you visibly cringe, but then sigh and go in for a hug. He accepts without hesitation, and you note that he’s wonderfully warm and soft. It almost balances out the reminder of that time he renamed you against your will, when you were sitting out on the fire escape stairs of your dorms, smoking a blunt together. It would be a good memory if it wasn’t tainted by that nickname designed to drive you up the wall, when your hysterical laughter at one of his jokes resembled the call of a marine mammal.

“I was hired to have a certain movie star fuck the shit out of me on camera.” you tell him nonchalantly, and he bites down a laugh to counter. “I didn’t know you do porn. I thought you might still be doing theater, because I never saw you at any award shows. Is everything okay?” “Yes, Dieter, I’m fine. I’m financially stable, I’m nominated for an AVN this year; the only setback is I’ve recently been pushed into the MILF category. Absolutely killing it there, though.”

Dieter laughs at that, finally - a hearty cackle, and it causes your already buzzing head to flood with memories of that same laugh that are aeons old. You realize he never laughs like this in any of the interviews you’ve seen.

He pats your shoulder almost fraternally and sets down his drink to give you another hug. “I missed you, Dolphin.” “Please don’t call me that again. I’ll fucking leave and go home, I swear to God.” “Didn’t peg you to be particularly religious.” “I’ll fucking show you a pegging, amigo.” Again, you make Dieter laugh; he seems like he hasn’t earnestly laughed much in quite some time.

The two of you waste everyone else’s time while you catch up; you hear about his last ten years, he hears about yours, while you wander around the house and he shows you his awards. At some point, his manager shows up in the dining room, where Dieter is feeding you with the best bread you’ve ever had and antipasti from the catering cart, and reminds you both that you’re here for work.

You think it’s odd that Dieter decided to shoot this film in his home. He doesn’t seem to care and says this house has seen weirder things. It’s more convenient for him to do it here. Your worries about the media backlash directed at him that would inevitably follow the release of whatever you tape today remain a secret for now. It’s not your job to bring it up and you trust that all the adults involved know what they’re getting themselves into.

The set in a spare bedroom is all done, assembled, lit up and prepared; as a last effort to prevent disaster, somebody wearing a headset is grabbing a sphinx cat and removing it from under the massive king size centerpiece of the shot. They just exit the room with their arm full of what you think is a raw chicken when you walk in with Dieter and both your managers, who know each other and proceed to go have a conversation somewhere in the corner.

He introduces you to the director, a Finnish-American talent of the erotic arts, who then introduces herself as Ansa, and who’s supposed to make Dieter’s filthy vision a reality. The six foot four blonde with an angular jaw, who looks like she could easily be a famous basketball player, explains the concept of the Golden Ratio to you, but you have difficulties following, with the way Dieter is already staring at your mouth. “...in each shot, your two bodies have to be arranged in the exactly right way to align with the ratio, which you might know under its other commonly known name, the Fibonacci sequence. Well, technically the golden ratio and the Fibonacci sequence are different things, but they are closely associated with each other. We’ve come up with a few positions that work, they’re shown here-* She rambles on, then hands you a thin stack of cards, each depicting a drawing of a sexual position in which the visual lines and boundaries of the lovers’ bodies resemble a spiral from a certain angle. You look through them, wide-eyed, while Dieter chews on an Olive and ogles you over the rim of his sunglasses - shamelessly.

Ansa continues, “Somebody might have to touch you to adjust the position of a body part for the perfect shot. I hope you have an active gym membership, you might be forced to stay still and hold a difficult position for a while, through up to a few dozen of his thrusts, so we have enough material from each shot.”

Can’t we just start fucking? Why does it matter how I sit on his dick? Besides, the whole Fibonacci sequence thing is kind of overplayed, isn’t it? Hasn’t this shit been done a million times before? There’s songs about it, media that’s structured according to it, stuff that won Grammys and everything. It’s been a meme online, too, people already laugh about it.

Those are the gripes coming up in your head in quick succession, and you don't fully realize that you say all of them out loud and worded exactly like that, making Dieter snort and bend over in a cackle. You blush, hard, and begin to stammer an apology for the bluntness, because she’s not used to your Modus Operandi yet and deserves some grace. This job could have very well been given to somebody else, somebody more demure and accepting of bullshit executive decisions.

Ansa just smiles at you, not quite as amused as Dieter seems to be, still giggling to himself. “You’re funny, I like your attitude,'' she says to interrupt your desaster of an apology before you embarrass yourself, and you notice that you like her subtle accent, although her non-answer annoys you.

You demand to know why they would ask you to sign a contract before letting you know this was going to be a cringefest, and then attempt to ask your questions again in a more respectful tone.

This is when Dieter realizes he’s missed you a whole lot more than he thought; you’re so quick on your feet, as you’ve always been. Just based on this, you haven’t aged a day. Ansa welcomes the rewording of your questions and finally grants you a real response.

She explains that that’s exactly the point of the scene. It’s supposed to drag this pretentious bullshit through the mud. It’s a direct parody of a short film Dieter starred in, ages ago, which you’d never seen, because it was such an obscure release with practically no advertising budget.

“I want to ruin that motherfucker’s career.” Dieter bites; he’s talking about whichever poor soul directed the atrocious short film. “He’s acting all uppity in the media after he landed a couple hits with some military propaganda, wastes of precious lifetime, bullshit ass movies.” You wonder why he’s so genuinely livid at this director, but he answers the question before you can ask it.

“This guy screwed me over so hard on that stupid short film, I almost died trying to appease him and his artistic sensibilities, because he convinced me he was doing something worth my while with it. He had me drenched outside at night in Whateverthefuck, Ohio, in the pouring October rain, wearing barely anything, contorting and curling up and posing like a spiral for hours, because no take was ever perfect. And then that garbage didn’t even make a profit, so I got pneumonia for nothing. I had to pay someone to take that disgrace off my Wikipedia and IMDB. I want to make fun of his yuppie ass, I want to make a pornographic parody of his dumb, pseudo-intellectual garbage movie that nearly cost me my life.”

You get it then. The second layer reveals itself to you from behind the curtain of your initial reaction. And with it, you drop the robe they’d handed you.

Dieter apologizes that he didn’t take the time to talk you through the project before you signed, but he wanted it done as soon as possible. You tell him it’s fine, usually your agency would have sent a request for more information, but you saw his name in that e-mail and didn’t hesitate.

He’s touched by this, though you begin to get a feeling that Dieter isn’t being honest about his intention to do this scene, or at the very least about his constitution. Constantly on edge, fidgeting, shifting his weight back and forth between both feet, extroverted. Friendly. He used to be quieter, and you wonder if he was miserable back then or if he is now, and if it’s your place to even ask.

There’s no time to, anyhow, with droves of production staff pouring into the room, until you and Dieter are practically pushed onto the bed while the camera tests begin. It’s busier than at any normal shoot, but he seems used to it, conversing with his assistant standing close by, about what he would like to order for dinner after. You’re puzzled when he turns to you to ask if you’d like to stay.

But again, no more time to answer questions, the stylist invades your space and touches up both of your faces and hair, and when the cameras are set to roll, everyone who isn’t essential to the shoot leaves the room. The question is long forgotten, when two more people roll a whiteboard into the room that has each of the possible Golden Ratio sexual positions pinned to it for easy review, before leaving as well.

Dieter is awfully quiet over the next few minutes, when the last round of preparations begin, right before they have some time to get each other turned on, and then the cameras are going to start rolling.

But it never comes to that.

What happens next is Dieter is having a panic attack. A full-on hyperventilating, pacing up and down, cursing and yelling and… crying? He’s crying, crashing. A second ago you were busy holding still for the touch-up, and now he’s sobbing.

You’re immediately overwhelmed with the situation, in your leotard and the ballerina flats, adjusting the shoulder straps and wordlessly watching as Dieter’s team attempts to calm him down. His manager seems to be desperate to get him to stay away from the set while he’s melting down, so he doesn’t ruin the professional relationships they were able to forge over it.

He’s so loud when he yells, you’re speechless. A moment ago he was content, laughing, talking about having dinner with you… Oh. You hadn’t given him your answer. You completely ignored his advance. He asked you to have dinner with him, and you ignored him, and now he’s breaking down in front of everybody.

It can’t be because of that. Can it? You stand up and put your pink robe back on, tying it in the front. Then, tip-toeing around the expensive equipment and slipping past all of the people outside the room, you make your way up to Dieter, who’s currently trying to vandalize the dining room, wielding some kind of award, ready to smash a glass table to bits with it. However, he’s being held back by his apparent crisis team, his manager trying to talk him down.

Now it makes sense to you that the set was so crowded, with half of the workers not even doing any active tasks. They’re there to monitor him and mitigate the damage in case he goes off the rails. On second thought, that sounds cartoonishly conspiratorial, like they’re drugging him on purpose or something.

You decide then and there to find out and try to help him, through whatever it is he’s burdoned with.

A step closer to him earns you a glare of disapproval from his manager, but you ignore it and take another. He’s like a feral animal, if only they had Steve Irwin here with a tranquilizer gun.

“It’s okay, Dee… it’s me. Look at me.” you say calmly, raising your hands to show him you don’t mean to restrain him like the others, and it’s not like you would even stand a chance to. He looks at you and you almost start crying too, he looks fucking miserable. “I don’t know what to dooo, oh God” he whines, still looking right at you, fat tears spilling from his wide open eyes that are so dark you can’t tell how blown his pupils are.

His manager looks surprised that he hasn’t tried to swing a fist at you yet, you’re stepping so close to him, and finally she gestures for the two burly guys holding him back to release him and give you both some space.

The out-of-control Hollywood actor in his giant mansion is coming back to his senses slowly, closing the remaining two or three feet of distance to pull you into a desperate embrace, soaking the strap of your leotard with his tears.

You wrap your arms around his middle and shush him, swaying him in place like a big baby and whispering reassurances into his ear. The entire thing is so fucking surreal, everyone’s eyes on you, and when they start whispering to each other so you can’t hear what they’re saying, you ask Dieter where you two can be alone.

You don’t expect him to be able to answer coherently, but the finger he points at a door down the hallway is enough. Keeping one arm around his waist, you lead him there step by step, past all the gawkers. It’s on you now to shoot them a glare, causing them to scatter behind you.

The door leads to another bedroom, which is in complete disarray and stuffed full of boxes overflowing with all kinds of shit. You lock up behind Dieter as he stumbles to the dusty bed and curls up on top of the covers, and you realize he’s been butt ass naked the entire time.

You grab a thin blanket hanging over a chair in the corner and make your way through the narrow path to the bed, past all his stuff. Climbing into bed behind him, you cover him and yourself with the soft blanket and spoon him, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. He grabs your hand and squeezes it with a trembling sigh.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, so careful not to tread him loose again with the wrong words. He breathes for a minute, deep inhales and long exhales, then croaks, “I hate myself.”

It’s a simple response, easy to understand in theory, but the reasons aren’t clear to you and you’re not sure if you should ask. “Why?” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the side of his neck and nuzzling closer to him. He’s so fucking soft and warm.

He scoffs, like it should be obvious, and you have a hunch but don’t dare to bring it up. “I’m such a fucking waste of space. I’m a piece of shit. I’m so sorry.”

Barely coherent through his tears, you just tighten your arm around him and give his shoulder another kiss. “Don’t say that. Let me help. We can figure this out.”

He shakes his head, “No, it’s fucking pointless. I’ve b-been to rehab so many times.”

“Are you high right now?” you continue to pry some answers from him with the patience of a saint that you’ve really only ever had for him, nobody else. He nods, sniffling and turning around in your grasp to face you. His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks wet, tears soaking his mustache. Up close like this, you can see the state of him clearly in his fully dilated pupils and everything else, and you swallow the emotions so you can be there for him, because what else are you supposed to do?

Thumbing away the tears that still keep coming, a seemingly endless well of them hidden under his eyes, you give him a soft smile. “I missed you, Dee. I’m so sorry we lost touch. Wish I could have been there for you all this time.”

“No, no, that’s not your fault. I’m an asshole, I should’ve called.” He brushes your hair behind your ear with a gentle touch that stands out in overwhelming contrast to his earlier demeanor, when he was about to smash his table with his award.

“Oh, you stop it. It doesn’t matter, I’m here now. And I’m not going to leave, unless you want me to.” you reassure him, and that finally seems to help, his features soften and he manages a crooked smile to try and match yours.

A harsh rap at the door startles you both, and suddenly he looks like a cornered animal again, sitting up and clutching the blanket to his chest. Giving his calf a reassuring squeeze, you slowly get up and walk to the door, unlocking it and cracking it open to peek out at whoever would have the audacity to knock like a cop right now.

It’s Tonya, your manager, behind Dieter’s manager whose name you’ve forgotten since you were introduced. You make an effort to look annoyed at them breaking the brief moment of peace, expecting an explanation. “We’re all leaving. I’ll call you in the morning, alright, sweetheart? Take care, and let me know if you need anything.” Tonya says, looking apologetic and her motherly nature appeases you. “Let me speak to him for a minute, please.” Dieter’s manager demands, but you refuse her with another glare. “Absolutely not.” Then you look back at Tonya with a much less furious look and a nod, “Drive safe, Tonya, I’ll text you if… yeah, I’ll text you.”

Tonya leaves, Dieter’s manager reluctantly follows, and you see some more people leaving and carrying gear out of the house. It’s suddenly very quiet, not even Dieter is making a sound anymore.

“Are they gone?” he asks after a while, when you shut the door again, locking it just in case.

“Yeah, they’re gone.” you assure him, and he lies back down on the bed with you, facing each other and holding hands. Yours are cold from clutching the door knob so harshly, and he warms them in his.

“Did I fuck it up?” he asks you after a while, the silence starting to make him uncomfortable.

“No, you didn’t fuck anything up. I promise.” You hook your pinky around his and look into his deep brown eyes, still filled with residual tears. “Pinky promise.”

He laughs again - not loud like earlier, it’s a quiet chuckle, but it seems even more genuine now that it’s between the two of you. “Pinky promise.”

You end up staying the night. It turns out he didn’t mind you not answering his question on set at all, you were busy. He orders dumplings for dinner and rolls a joint you share by his pool out back, huddled together on the side with your feet in the water. The pool is fucking heated and the emerging steam billows around you in the lights like the smoke you blow out your noses.

You haven’t smoked weed in so long, you’re a lightweight and he smokes most of it himself, content with just handing it over whenever you lift your hand to request a few tiny little puffs that make him giggle at you; he still thinks you’re adorable after all these years.

Dieter has make-up wipes for sensitive skin and scrunchies in his en-suite bathroom, and you even discover a half empty box of tampons under the sink. You don’t need any right now, but the fact that he has them on hand at all makes you a little emotional.

He gives you a shirt that’s three sizes too big and puts on a quiet movie for background noise, turning down the brightness of the enormous TV mounted to the wall opposite his bed. You toss the fake lashes into the bin, burying them in there like a casualty of the disaster of a set.

You finally properly meet his cat, which you’d mistaken for a whole raw chicken earlier as he was being carried off set. The friendly little guy - named Mad Max - lets Dieter put a sweater on him with no complaint, strutting his stuff all pretty in pink as he goes to devour the contents of a can of wet food from a bowl on the kitchen floor.

Dieter offers you a guest room, but you decline, climbing into his unbelievably comfortable kingsize bed, the effects of the weed making you feel heavy and deeply content. Exhaustion creeps into your bones as you curl up next to him with your head and hand on his chest, your eyes falling shut. His slow even breaths and the shapes he gently draws on your back with his fingertips lull you to sleep soon after.

This is not how you expected this day to end, but you’re the opposite of upset about it. If only it could be like this forever.

#dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fic

13 notes · View notes

morganski-19 · 6 months

Text

I Think Your House is Haunted

@bylerween2023, prompt: Haunted House, rating: T

Mike remembers the first time he went over to Will’s house. They were seven and Nancy was having friends over, so he couldn’t invite over Will. Instead, he went over to Will’s. His house felt weird, but that was probably just because he wasn’t there a lot. It wasn’t until later that night he figured out why.

Late at night is when the secrets of the house are whispered through the walls. It’s when parents have whisper arguments that turn into screaming matches. It’s when your best friend in the whole world covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut hoping to escape it to the noise. It’s when big brothers turn on the music so loud you forget what’s going on around you, even if it’s just for a little bit.

Ever since that night, Mike didn’t stay over at Will’s that much. Instead, he begged his mom to have a sleepover with Will in the basement. Promising to clean it up the day before and after. Do a few extra chores and take out the garbage every week. Anything to get Will out of that house, just for one night.

They were seven, but that didn’t mean Mike couldn’t understand that houses could be haunted by something other than ghosts. He saw it in the way Will acted when his dad left their family behind. Words that cut deeper than they should, actions that made him jump. Will was perfectly safe except for the ghosts that were left behind.

Mike was seven when he promised to protect Will from haunted houses and the ghosts that followed. He might have failed a few times down the line but that didn’t stop him from trying. Not even now.

Now things were different. They were older, over double the age when Mike made that promise. He still kept it as best he could, but he couldn’t stop himself from slipping every once in a while. Sometimes he forgets that Will has to be protected from himself and not just other people. The things he says and the way he acts can hurt Will too. But he’s better at it now, especially since Will means so much more to him than he did back then.

“Mike, you can not already be scared, we haven’t even walked into the house yet,” Dustin teases next to him.

Mike blinks out of the stare at the house in front of them, the haunting view still looking back at him. “What, no. Why would I be scared?”

“Cause you’ve been standing there looking at it for like five minutes now,” Max points out.

“You know you don’t have to go in there if you don’t want to, man,” Lucas says.

Mike swallows, still looking at the house. Dark windows with spiderwebs hanging from the panes, fake spiders, and skeletons decorating the walls and the yard. Flashing lights of various colors emit from cracks in the doors and walls. A haunting laugh that vibrates the house with each guest that enters.

He knows it’s fake, it’s the same thing every year. A house that is constructed to scare, filled to the brim with fake monsters and fears. It’s far less scary than anything that he’s seen that was real, but that didn’t make him not want to do this any less.

“No, you guys want to do it, so I’ll do it,” he says, finally breaking his gaze with the house.

“Great, then let’s get going,” Dustin says, already walking toward the house. “Can’t keep waiting for whimps to get the nerve to do it.”

Lucas smacks his arm. “Dude.” Max and El snicker beside them.

“What, it’s true.”

The group walks away to the line in front of the house, leaving Mike where he stood. He takes a deep breath, clenching his fists. Preparing himself for the fear that is about to rush through his body with every turn, every jump. Every horror that was carefully crafted to scare people or give them a good laugh, but will inadvertently haunt him more than they realize.

“You know you really don’t have to go in,” Will says softly next to him. “We could just go do something else.”

Mike looks at Will, seeing the person he’s tried so hard to protect. “That’s not fair, you want to go in, so I’ll go in.”

“Mike, you’re scared. You don’t have to go in.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not scared. I’m fine really, let’s just go catch up with them.”

Truth is, he’s terrified. But he can’t let Will know that, can’t let his fear show. He’s not supposed to be scared. He’s supposed to be the first one on the frontlines, shielding everyone behind him from harm. Especially Will. Always Will. It was the promise he made when they were just little kids and a promise that he still keeps to this day. It’s always him in front of Will, even if the scares are fake.

Will has already been through so much that was out of Mike’s control. Being kidnapped, possessed, and moving across the country. There was nothing that Mike could do, but he still blames himself. If he had just had his mom drive him back that night, nothing would have happened. Or even just convince her to let him stay over, it’s not like it never worked before. But he didn’t, he let the guise of safety lapse his judgment, and now Will has seen terrors beyond either of their imaginations.

The worst day of Mike’s life was the day that he saw the fake Will body get pulled out of the quarry, because that was the day he realized he failed. Broke the promise so secret that he never told it to anyone else. His best friend was dead, and he couldn’t help but blame himself. It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t matter. His entire purpose for five years was to protect the boy he cared so much about, and now that boy was dead.

Even though he really wasn’t. Will was brought back, healed. He was alive. He never was really the same though. There was always something gone that could never be returned. A part of his friend died that day, and both Will and Mike had to learn to move on from that.

Sometimes Mike thinks he never really did.

When they get to the front of the line, Mike feels Will hook a finger around his, subtle enough that no one will notice, but just enough to comfort him. “You know you really don’t have to do this,” he whispers.

“It’s fine really,” he says with a squeeze to Will’s finger.

“Ok, if you say so.”

With that, Mike steps foot into the house. It’s almost immediately terrible. Loud noises and bright flashing lights. Blinking slow enough that you still feel trapped in the dark but fast enough that you don’t walk into a wall. Creatures, which he knows are just people dressed up but that doesn’t matter, jumping out behind corners and chasing you down the hallway. Laughter and screams melding into one big nightmare.

Except this nightmare he actually chose to be a part of. He had every chance to walk out. Turned around before he entered and just dealt with the stares and jeers that he was a wimp who wasn’t man enough to go through with it. He’s faced monsters the average person would never dream of seeing, so why can’t he just suck this up this one time to make Will happy.

As they turn the corner, a guy in a bloody mask and chainsaw scares them, faking sawing off another person’s arm while maniacally laughing. Will starts to laugh, pointing out how unreal it all is, reveling in the fake scare. Mike, however, grabs onto Will’s hand, squeezing it tighter than he would ever admit. But he doesn’t say anything when they pass one of the emergency exits, because Will’s enjoying it and he has to be there too.

All Mike has ever wanted was for Will to be happy. While his judgment may have been skewed a bit more than he realized, it’s true. When he messed up, he had the gnawing feeling in his chest that would only go away until he fixed it, until he made Will smile again. It drew him in, like a moth to the flame. For the longest time he didn’t know why, but that never mattered. Until it did.

That’s what led them here, to this. To dating his best friend and still feeling the overwhelming pressure to make sure that nothing ever happened to him. Now Will means more than he did before, but it really doesn’t at the same time. But now Mike would lose a boyfriend and a best friend all at the same time. He barely makes it past losing his best friend, he can’t lose the person he loves again. Never again.

So he insisted on going into the house because Will wanted to. Because even though he knows that all the scares are fake and that Will would be fine going in with the rest of their friends without him, he couldn’t let that happen. Will would be in a place, out of his sight, that is so eerily close to the real horrors they went through. Bad things happened when Mike let Will out of his sight, and that wasn’t going to happen this time. Even if the rooms feel smaller than they should and the noise is buzzing around his skull. Will is here and alive, having fun. Mike can’t ruin that by being scared.

It’s the last hallway, he only knows that because Will tells him. Tells him he just has one more hallway to get through before they leave. Both of his hands grip Will’s arm, and he can’t get them to stop. All he can think is wrong. This is wrong. He’s not supposed to act like this. He’s in the wrong spot, they’re both not supposed to be scared. That way if Will got scared, he could comfort him. If they were both scared, how was Mike supposed to comfort Will?

But there was only one last hallway to get through, so he could do it. Until that hallway starts to flicker the lights like crazy. Will and Mike’s eyes meet in fear, both all too knowing what those lights mean. Behind them, something roars. Turning, they see a man dressed in a very poorly made skin-tight outfit and a mask with only a mouth as its face. It’s nowhere near as similar, but just similar enough for shivers to be sent down Mike’s spine.

Will reaches up to the back of his neck, almost trying to determine if what they’re seeing is real or not. Though the fear never leaves his eyes, he turns and says it’s all fake. To hell with fake. As far as Mike’s concerned, this is his worst nightmare, and he lets Will relive it.

The creature, because it’s morphed far from just being a man in a costume in Mike’s mind, starts running after the group, leading them to the outside door. Mike grabs Will’s hand, tugging him in front of the group to the sweet relief and safety of the outdoors. Will runs alongside him, panting and turning his head back every so often to look and see if it’s still following them. It’s instinct, habit at this point.

Even after passing through the door and back into the night illuminated by the streetlights and booth attractions, Mike doesn’t stop running. To him, the lights are all flashing and the monster is real. He’s come back for Will and he can’t let go. Can’t stop running. He keeps pulling Will with him, their fingers interlocked. Will’s calling to him, but he can’t hear it. Can’t hear anything other than the screams of his friends and the disgusting screech of the demogorgon.

He’s back in the classroom where El disappeared. Back in the tunnels and the mall. Everywhere those creatures were chasing him, chasing Will, and he couldn’t leave. Won’t leave until he knows that he and Will are safe. Not until Will is safe.

It isn’t until they’re deep into the woods that the clouds covering his vision start to fade. Where his legs start to slow down and the ringing in his ears stops. He can hear Will calling for him to stop, telling him to calm down, that it was all fake. Letting go of Will’s hand, he falls to the ground and leans against a tree, breath stuttering as his heart frantically keeps beating.

“Mike, Mike,” Will comes into frame, crouching down in front of Mike and cupping his face. “Mike, are you ok?”

In an instant, Mike is back on again. “Am I ok? Are you ok?” Mike grabs Will’s face, frantically jolting it around looking for injuries. Grabbing his arms next and doing the same. “I-. I didn’t know it was going to be there. You look fine, it didn’t get you. I’m sorry, we should have never gone into that stupid house-.”

“Mike, look at me.”

He does, swallowing as his heart thumps in his ears. Before realizing it, tears start to stream out of his eyes, blurring his vision again. “I’m sorry,” is all he says before he crumbles.

“The hell are you sorry for, Mike? There was no way you could have known they thought of a creature like that. Probably because of the whole Hellfire thing that happened in the spring. But we’re ok, it was all fake.”

“But what if it wasn’t.” Mike looks up at him with pleading eyes. “What if it wasn’t and I lead you straight into a trap. You’d be hurt again and it’d all be my fault. It’s always my-.”

A mix between his sobs and Will pulling him into a hug cut him off. “Nothing about this was your fault. Nothing about anything was your fault.”

“But it was. I failed.”

“Failed what?” Will says, impossibly soft.

“To protect you. I broke my promise.”

Will shushes him while running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you didn’t break anything. Just calm down, ok? Just calm down and you can tell me what you mean.”

Mike pulls Will closer, gripping him tight enough that he can hear his heartbeat. His steady, healthy, unaffected heartbeat. A heartbeat meant life, Will was ok. Mike’ll be ok. Ba-dum. He breathes in. Ba-dum. He breathes out. With each beat, his breathing calms, and his mind slows down. The tears don’t stop, but slow from a steady stream to a drizzle.

When he emerges from the hug, Will wipes the tears from his cheeks, pressing a kiss to Mike’s forehead. Mike closes his eyes, relishing in the moment he almost didn’t have. If things had gone differently, if he had taken a misstep, Will wouldn’t be here in front of him. That constant fear, constant regret weighs on Mike’s soul, only evident by this moment.

“Can you tell me what happened now?” Will asks softly, tucking a piece of hair behind Mike’s ear. “Or do you need more time?”

“How are you not terrified?”

“Who says I’m not? Definitely not as scared as you. But after the initial shock, I could tell it was fake.”

The absurdity of that statement shook Mike. “But that was a recreation of one of the most terrifying moments of your life. And it literally chased you down a hallway. How can you not be terrified by that?”

“I was until we left the building. But while we were running, I did what Jonathan would walk me through when I would wake up from a nightmare or have a panic attack. I named five things around me that were different from the upside down and it calmed me down. And you kept running, so I guess my concern of that took over more than the fear.”

“Ugh, this sucks.”

“I mean, yeah. Really didn’t need that flashback-”

“No I mean, I was supposed to be you.”

Will blinks at him blankly. “What?”

“I’m supposed to be the one that the concern takes over and that’s all I can think about. I protect you, always. And tonight,” he plays with the grass, avoiding Will’s eye contact, “I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. It’s not up to you to protect me.”

“But it is. I made a promise to protect you and I’ve already broken it too many times and I promised myself I wouldn’t break it again, but here we are.”

“Hey, you didn’t fail. I’m stronger now, I can take care of myself. We can look after each other now.”

Mike huffs. “But that’s not the point. The whole point is I look after you. You’ve gone through so much and you didn’t deserve a single bit of it. I couldn’t protect you a lot then, but I can now. So I promised-”

“Yeah, you keep saying that but I don’t remember doing much promising.”

“I sort of made it, to myself. The first time I stayed over at your house when your dad was still there.”

Will’s eyes soften with understanding. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Ever since then, I promised myself that I would do anything to protect you. And then the upside down happened and I’ve been failing ever since. But, but then you became much more than a friend. A lot more. You became something I never even knew was possible and I started caring for you in a whole different way. I just wanted to keep being the one to protect you, and I couldn’t.”

“Well, you did kinda. You brought us away from the danger, even if it was fake. But still, we’re pretty far from the house now, and we’re ok. We’re safe.”

Mike laughs. “I guess we are.”

“Is this why you went into the house? I know you didn’t want to”

“Yeah, I had to protect you.”

Will exaggeratedly rolls his eyes. “It was all sweet and stuff before but you do know that I can take care of myself right. Hell, I could probably protect you more than you could protect me.”

“How dare you,” Mike gasps. “Bring my past trauma up all over again will you.”

“What, it’s true,” Will smiles.

Mike smiles back, the pounding of his heart now subsides as he looks at his boyfriend. Alive and fine. He looks around, making sure no one is there even though they’re in the middle of the woods probably a mile from the fair, before cupping Will’s face and bringing him into a kiss.

“How about we make a new promise, an actual one this time,” Will whispers when they break apart.

“And what would that one be?”

“That we protect each other. Not one more than the other. Both of us looking out for each other, equally.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “I think I can deal with that.”

“Good, Because now that I know you’ve been harboring this one-sided promise, I’m going to make sure that you are looked after. You know, during every horror movie, haunted house, weird floorboard creek.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’m a wimp, I get it.”

Will gapes. “You are not a wimp. You are very strong. And brave. Just not all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead make fun-”

“I was not making fun.”

“There you guys are,” Lucas’s voice calls out from where they came from. “We were looking for you.”

Dustin pops into view after fighting with a tree branch. “Some house that was. It was so lousy until that freak demogorgon came at us.”

“How did they know what it looked like,” El asks.

“Probably a DnD book,” Max adds.

Their voices fade into the background as Mike and Will look at each other again. Will stands, extending a hand out to Mike. Taking it, he stands wiping off any stray dirt on his pants. The group walks back to the fair, arguing about which scare, other than the obvious, was the best in the house and how it wasn’t that great overall. But Mike could care less right now. Because his hand was in Will’s and that’s all that matters. They would look out for each other, which he guesses they were probably doing all along. He was just too distracted to notice it.

#bylerween2023 #seven is byler's song and you will never convince me to stop bringing it up #bringing back this tag for this one #totally not what the first few paragraphs were based on #they totally were #hanted houses #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #max mafield #dustin hernderson #el hopper #established relationship #tw panic attacks #tw ptsd

25 notes · View notes

crying-fantasies · 7 months

Text

(Not) Easy to love

Masterlist

There is only one reason, literally one damned reason as to how Prowl developed feelings for a human.

You listened and also understood him, or at least tried.

Maybe not exactly liking what he had in mind, but understanding any way and saying your own ideas, if those were heard it was unknown.

Thinking about it, Prowl did many horrible things along his whole life without really having to face the outcome, Prowl has only received true recognition of his actions as something good or at least as something liked by Mesotulas/Tarantulas (a.k.a. his crazy as fuck and murderous ex) and the Constructions/Devastator (a.k.a. his whole group of destructive and murderous ex in plurality that ended up being his group of fans), and one can see that he is always moved to his core when they tell him so before he says that they are crazy (and he is right).

So when Prowl meets his future conjunx/ex conjunx (a.k.a. you that may be or not a little crazy too he attracts a type and it's so obvious in the whole comic) he is part of the Autobots and still sane to some degree, so the image of him being a hero is still there for you, leading you to side with him even in his worst, and I mean worst to the point that not even Jazz or Optimus tried to reason with him anymore.

Maybe is the fact that you also noticed that he was being controlled, I mean, how come that no one noticed?! And at least tried to reach out to him, he almost killed you, more times than he can count (more times than he can really say sorry to you).

You stay by his side and when the whole deal is finally over (war, Unicron, the end of the world), you really stayed with him when he would understand if you didn't.

Let's remember that all is happening in the Happy ending of LL, so even Prowl can be happy (for a bit) maybe is in the fact that he feels left out he is always alone for the things he did and didn't, and you come to the picture, at first he doesn't make much of it, treating you as something that comes with the environment and he doesn't notice before you say or do something (he is a prick to the end of his days, I swear), then you start to reach out more to him, ending in his servo while he touches your body, you are soft, calming his nerves and saying words of encouragement.

You two are dating to this point and don't have the littlest idea of it, no one says a thing because it was supposed to be obvious or no one has the courage to utter a word when Prowl has you napping on his neck cables, at the end is Fort Max the one that said something to make Prowl realize it, "How stupid" is what he thought, but from then on he kind of looked at you different, you do the same.

One thing lead to another, now you are dating and living in the same place, the one to bring the conjunx ritual isn't Prowl but he goes along because it is convenient for him, he gets the best part of it and you die when you are ready, is beneficial for both sides.

Everything is fine, he feels way more in peace near you and his spark has been giving you more years of life he is secretly loving you in this whole ordeal he doesn't even notice it, everything is going accord to plan.

Except for the moment that you want a child, and Prowl is cursing Rodimus by this point for discovering that techno-organics are a real thing, going as far as to see the real deal before even thinking about it, thinking that maybe it won't be so bad, one thing leads to the other and you get Chainbreaker out of the hot spot, an outlier Primus why did you give this very one mech an outlier for a son, that can control living matter at will, still, Prowl makes the kid learn every damn thing that he can, just so CB can be more prepared for life, but he takes it too far, is worse how Chainbreaker still tries to please him and, at the end, it's you who choose a pause from all this, of your whole relationship, only to have your own child going to his father, even when Prowl wanted to have CB go with you to have you safe in case anything happened.

And that's the downfall of his marriage.

Because you told him you wanted a break, and he gave you what you wanted, he gave you all the time that he could and waited for you to return, only to have his son return to him and telling him that you died.

Worst of all, he is still in denial about his feelings for you.

#reader insert #x reader #tf mtmte #tf prowl #idw prowl #prowl x reader #Prowl x human reader

29 notes · View notes

justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year

Text

Make Me - Eddie Munson X Female Reader

Title: Make Me

Eddie Munson X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Steve, Robin (Mentioned), Nancy, Dustin, Erica (Mentioned), Max (Mentioned), Lucas (Mentioned), Jason (Mentioned), Vecna (Mentioned), and Chrissy (Mentioned)

WC: 3,014

Warnings: Childhood friends to lovers, Reader's insecure, fighting (verbal) nothing bad really said, The Goonies mentioned, slight angst, death mentioned, Chrissy's death mentioned, murder mentioned, police mentioned, Jason mentioned, physical assault mention (Reader mentioned punching Jason), weed mentioned cause it Eddie, injuries mentioned cause of Steve, panic attacks mentioned and sort of happen, crying, Eddie's shiv, cursing (one curse word), unsuspecting kiss, Upside Down, some good ol' apologizing, teasing, and fluff

You had been friends with Eddie for as long as you could remember, you'd known him since you were both in diapers, going to elementary, middle, and high school together; staying friends even when you graduated and he didn't. Listening to his band practice, listening to Metallica in his van together, going on walks, roller skating, and even baking brownies in your kitchen... Your friendship never dwindled, though there were a few bumps here and there, you both supported each other. Eddie was your best friend, you'd do anything for him, and you knew he'd do anything for you too. You never kept secrets from each other, even as little kids, you always told each other everything, but you had one secret Eddie would never know…

You were in love with him. You were in love with your best friend. In the beginning, the realization was overwhelming, and you weren't sure what to do about it. But as more time passed, you realized you would never tell Eddie about your feelings. It was too risky. You didn't want to ruin your friendship. So you pushed your feelings for him down and into the back of your mind, after all, it was better to have Eddie in your life as your friend than not at all.

It was hard, ignoring your feelings for him. Being around him constantly only really made things worse. You thought you were doing well in ignoring your feelings, but you couldn't ignore the fluttering in your belly whenever he smiled at you or the way your heart skipped a beat when he laughed at your jokes. You wanted to kiss him so badly that sometimes it hurt to think, to look at him, to breathe... But you couldn't risk losing your friendship over something like this. Not after all these years. By now, you couldn't lose him, you couldn't live without him.

You're just being dramatic, your mind would tell you. He'd never feel the same. And you knew this, at least to some extent. Truly you did not know if he'd return your feelings or not. Your brain would tell you that he wouldn't, but your romance-filled heart would tell you otherwise. How could you know without doing it in the first place? You had to be rational, you would tell yourself at night, laying on your stomach on your bed as you drew heart after heart with Eddie and your initials. Your notebook only had so much room, and your hand and fingers were beginning to ache. You had to be rational.

But things only seemed to get worse, in your mind and in real life, one minute you were just watching The Goonies at home with your cat and the next you heard that Eddie was the suspect in a murder. Now this wasn't right, this was not at all true, you knew! Eddie would never kill anyone, especially poor Chrissy. He'd never even harm a fly. And spiders? You were normally the one to deal with them in your friendship. Yes, he thought they were cool and all but he didn't want to smoosh them or touch them. Sadly, you had that job.

But back to this murder, Eddie had no part of it, you were sure! And so you ran all around Hawkins trying to find him. The police were camping at his trailer and he wasn’t even at your work, not at the school either. You tried the diner you frequented and even that old bridge he sold weed at, but no luck. Only when you checked the lake's boat house, did you find him. Just in time too, as you burst into the boat house to see him pinning poor Steve 'The Hair' Harrington against the wall with a knife of some sort.

"Eddie!" You cried, racing over to him as he dropped the knife and moved away from both you and Steve. He fell to the floor, his back pressed up against the old wood of the boat house, knees up and to his chest as he covered his face with his shaking hands. You ignored the confused and surprised expressions on the other people's faces as you quickly made your way over to Eddie, sitting beside him. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest, your hands around his shoulders and one in his hair. Something you had picked up in your many years as his friend, playing with his hair. It grounded him and calmed him whenever he had panic attacks or was just out of it. Your heart was breaking as you held Eddie close, willing yourself not to cry as you heard his sniffles slow to an end. His shaking lessened until you felt him relax against you and take a deep breath. "It's okay," You whispered, rubbing his shoulders gently as you continued to hold him close. "It's okay, you're alright, Eds. After this is over, you can stay with me. We can watch The Goonies."

"I don't know what to do, Y/N/N," He muttered out, his voice slightly scratchy as he lifted his head, his eyes red.

You sighed sadly, staring into his chocolate eyes as you placed a hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears, "Don't worry, Eds. We'll figure this out together." Only after he placed his head on your shoulder did you address the rest of the people in the boat house. "What is going on?" You asked them, as they all looked at you, almost hesitant. "Why is Eddie being suspected of murder?"

Steve was the first to speak, but Dustin stopped him. "Dude, can we even trust her?"

"We might as well tell her, Henderson." Steve placed his hands on his hips, popping out his hip, "She needs to know."

"But there are too many people in danger," Robin spoke up and Steve shook his head, letting out a sigh.

"Danger?" You asked, becoming increasingly more worried, clutching Eddie tighter in your arms, "What do you mean 'danger'?" Not hearing any other objections, Steve continued, and that's when he told you about the Upside Down and the curse that had befallen Hawkins. You almost didn't believe it. Almost. For the past few years, you have noticed a few odd things. One day a year or two ago, your magnets weren't working.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Lover's Lake, eyes closed and forehead pressed on Eddie's as you both held each other close. "I'll be alright." He muttered, and you sighed, eyebrows furrowing slightly in disagreement.

"I want to come with you."

Eddie shook his head slightly, his bangs tickling your temples, "You have to stay with the little shrimps." He tried to smile, but it quivered slightly.

"You better stay alive." You sighed, "Don't want you to die."

"Goonies never say die." Eddie quoted, laughing lightly as you let out a defeated sigh, a smile growing on your face.

"Eddie," You began, feeling yourself begin to laugh, "You're impossible."

"You love me."

You couldn't help but smile sadly, "Of course, I do, how am I supposed to survive if you aren't with me?" You opened your eyes, looking up at him, your nose brushing against his as you stared deeply into his eyes before you reached your hands up and brushed your thumbs along the apples of his cheeks. "Come home, Eddie," You said quietly.

You watched as he swallowed thickly and nodded his head slowly, both your arms dropping as he stepped back, "I promise. I'm coming home."

~~~

So now, you were sitting on the grass, watching through the binoculars intensely as Steve, Nancy, Robin, and Eddie rowed off onto Lower's Lake. You were beyond worried about Eddie, not wanting him to get hurt or anything. He had already been through so much already. And it was hard enough to let him go with them in the first place, but he was his own person and you didn't have any control over him. So you had to let him go, even though the further he rowed out on that lake, the more your heart left your chest, following after him. Your mind raced with evil what-ifs, imagining with great detail how he could get injured, what horrible thing those monsters could do to him. It wasn't until you watched as they began to jump into the lake, did you freak out a bit, not even caring when Dustin and Max stole the binoculars.

You waited and waited. Only finding solace when you and the kids rushed to Eddie's trailer. Your heart pounded and your legs burned as you ran past the kids and into the trailer, looking around each room quickly until you went into Eddie's bedroom; only in looking up, did you breathe. Eddie, though upside down, was seemingly alright, and you let out a huge sigh of relief as you smiled up at him.

"You're alive!" You cried as Eddie gave you his sweet smile, the kids finding their way into the room with you. Your smile then turned into a confused frown, "Why the heck is there a hole in your ceiling?" Your eyes widened, "And why are you four upside down!?"

Nancy sighed, "You didn't notice that in the first place?"

You rolled your eyes, you and Nancy never really got along, especially after you stole her dog stuffed animal in the fourth grade. She never really got over that. "I did, but my focus is on Eddie’s wellbeing at the moment." You looked over at him. "How are we getting you down?"

"I don't know, there's nothing that we can use in here," Nancy said, looking down at you.

Eddie shook his head, "Use my mattress. We can land on it. And, we can tie my sheets together to make a rope." Edie suggested, Steve automatically shaking his head.

"Eddie! You genius!" You spoke, grabbing his sheets off his bed and tying them together with Dustin as Lucas, Erica, and Max moved his mattress.

"No way. Do you see how dirty that thing is?" Steve asked, narrowing his eyes at it in disgust.

Eddie frowned slightly as he tilted his head, "Those stains are uh... I don't know what those stains are." Eddie spoke nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

You sighed and tossed up the rope of sheets. "Just get down here." You narrowed your own eyes at Steve, "And do it quick, looks like Steve's injured."

Dustin looked at the rope in awe and fascination, as did the others. "Wow, it works." He muttered before calling up to them, "Okay, now pull on it!"

Robin hesitantly grabbed hold of the rope, using her body weight, and luckily the rope didn't budge. She then grabbed hold of the rope again, before heaving herself up. She climbed her way up, passing through and flipping around, falling on the mattress perfectly.

Eddie then looked at Nancy and Steve, before shrugging. "Guess I'll just go." He spoke, grabbing onto the rope and doing the same, plopping onto his mattress with ease. Sitting up, he looked around, "That... Was fun." He smiled as you offered your hand. Taking your hand, you pulled him up, catching him by surprise as you instantly wrapped your arms around him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, burying his head in your neck. His arms tightened around your waist as he dug and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck.

Closing your eyes tightly, you breathed in his scent. He smelled like home, like rain and weed and leather, and you wanted to live in this moment forever. To live here, where everything was fine and everything would always be okay because he was here, safe in your arms.

But that wasn't going to last forever.

~~~

You nibbled on the tips of your nails as you watched Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Eddie preparing to fight this Vecna. Your eyes were trained on Eddie, mind racing more and more as time went on. You felt an uneasiness bubble inside you, your stomach twisting nervously and your skin starting to prickle. Eddie could die out there for all you knew, which made you anxious beyond belief. The thought alone scared you half to death. More than you could even imagine. If Eddie died... You didn't know what you were going to do.

Finishing his attire, Eddie turned around, noticing you panicking, and quickly rushed over to you. He placed his hands on your shoulders, looking down at you as you felt your eyes well up with unleashed tears. "Are you alright, babe?" He asked softly but got no answer. Pursing his lips, he glanced at the others before ushering you out of the trailer. "Let's get some air."

Stepping out into the fresh air, you felt just a smidge better, your breathing regulating. Eddie looked at you, worried as he watched the silent tears fall down your cheeks, quickly wiping them away with the soft pads of his thumbs. "Talk to me, sweetie." He whispered, hearing your sniffles, shattered him.

"I'm scared, Eddie." You finally broke the silence, looking up at him, "I am so scared."

Eddie smiled softly as he tilted his head, "Well be okay. How about, after this, we can go to Bessie's Diner? My treat."

You rapidly shook your head, fresh tears burning your eyes as you looked up, a newfound rage engulfing you. "You don't get it, Eddie. This isn't some video game or D&D, we don't have multiple lives. This is a real-life dangerous thing! You could die!"

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows slightly, "You... You don't think I can do this?" You backed away from Eddie's grasp, running your fingers through your hair frustratedly.

"No, I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, but this... This!? This is totally out of control! Why would you want to do this?!"

Eddie frowned, clenching his fists slightly, "Because I don't want to run away from this, Y/N! You know I always run away from my problems and I don't want to do that anymore!" His shoulders dropped, "Why are you not supporting me on this?"

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling yourself start to get heated. Anger was seeping into every cell of your body as your blood bubbled. "Because it's not something to do lightly, Eddie. You're putting yourself in danger!" You narrowed your eyes, "And you know damn well I'd support you in everything!"

Eddie shook his head, stepping forward toward you slowly. "Then why aren't you on board with this?" His voice sounded strained as he stepped towards you. "Why can't you just let me do this!?" He yelled out, as you shook your head.

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying?" You breathed out heavily, "I. Don't. Want. You. To-"

"Don't say 'die'!" Eddie interrupted, making you groan in frustration.

You gripped the ends of your hair, "Then don't go! Stay here where you are safe!" You let out a deep sigh as you dropped your shoulders, bringing up your hand to wipe your eyes and brush away your tears. "Stop being so... So stubborn."

"Stubborn?" Eddie raised an eyebrow, scoffing as he crossed his arms, "You’re the one who’s stubborn. Shut up!"

You abruptly raised your head defiantly, "Make me!" Your chest heaving up and down.

It was silent for a moment, both of you staring at the other in anger, when suddenly Eddie reached forward, gripping the collar of your jacket and pulling you forward. His face grew red, and a growl fell past his lips as he pulled your lips onto his. Your face heated up immediately, your eyes wide as your heart raced. Your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back, your own hands tightly gripping the collar of his leather jacket as if your life depended on it. Soon the kiss slowed, becoming more gentle and less harsh.

When you eventually pulled away, Eddie kept his forehead against yours, panting slightly. "Y/N..." Your lips parted slightly, your eyes still closed as you took a few calming breaths. When you opened your eyes, you found Eddie looking down at you, "I'm sorry I told you to shut up, and yelling at you, that was a bit immature." He sighed, "And I'm sorry I kissed you."

You sighed, feeling a small smile grace your features, "I'm sorry too. For trying to stop you and yelling at you." You spoke, Eddie nodding his head. "And if it makes you feel better, I loved the kiss." You felt your cheeks flush.

Eddie chuckled, "You know," He began softly, pulling back and opening his eyes, you mimicking him, "I should've told you sooner, but I like you more than a friend."

You bit your lip lightly, taking your chance to mess with him, "You really like me?" You asked as Eddie gave you a small laugh, his smile blinding you.

"Oh, yeah, I really like you." He played along, "I really like you so much that I was to kiss you, spend the rest of my life with you, and marry you; I love you." Eddie grinned, nudging his nose with yours, "Ever since you punched Jason in the face in Freshman year."

You giggled, taking his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs on his soft cheeks as you gazed into each other's eyes, "Oh, Eddie." You let out a small sigh, "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me." You teased, making Eddie groan as he dropped his face into your shoulder, his hands coming to wrap around your waist tightly.

"How could someone so gorgeous be so mean? Teasing me?" Eddie muttered, causing you to laugh again before Eddie brought you in for another kiss. "I won't die."

"Y/N, don't you remember?" You muttered as you both pulled away from the kiss, your fingers running through the soft curls on the back of his neck. "Goonies never say die."

Eddie let out a huff, a smirk growing on his face, "You're impossible, babe."

"You love me." You answered nonchalantly as Eddie nodded softly.

"Yeah, yeah, I do."

107 notes · View notes