#Mike is crying in the background

[ineffablelunatic]

I recreated this meme I saw a while back because it is GODLY

[chirpsythismorning]

Somebody said this is Mike watching Willel reunite in the desert 🤣🤣🤣

[jonathanbyersphd]

Baby Jonathan & Will catching fireflies in main jars 🥺

[corpsemanstolemyheart]

Day 31! costumes/trick or treating

[wusyanam3]

“haha rocks for brains hes dumb as rocks” STOPP STOP STOPPPPP STOPPPP

[will80sbyers]

[neonqueerautumn]

I just...miss my job okay...

[mayflysdie]

No more. -Ghost FanFic

Story: Simon's wife is kidnapped and tortured, leaving him and 141 to find her. Hopefully before it's too late.

Trigger warnings: Foul language, torture, violence, body fluids, drugs, knives, choking, restraints, dark themes not suited for minors, mentions of pregnancy, bodily harm, a battle with personalities. (tell me if I messed any)

A/N: Haven't edited this yet so excuse the mistakes. I'm also not sure if I'll make a part 2.

When i entered the apartment, something immediately felt off. Like someone made the air thick, and the rooms eerily silent. 

I set my bag down softly, retrieving the combat knife that Simon had given me years ago. My eyes sweep over every shadowy nook and cranny of the apartment, searching for any signs of danger. I'm usually in the habit of leaving the kitchen light on, but it's off tonight - one of the first things I notice upon entering. My phone begins to vibrate in my hand, thankfully I must have forgotten to turn off the silent mode from my earlier meeting. Without looking at the caller ID, I answer it, bringing it up to my ear. 

" Where are you?" Simon's voice is on edge, and it sounds like he's panting. There’s other male voices in the background, it sounds like Price is yelling. 

“Home” I whisper so quietly i’m not sure he could hear me. Or maybe the heartbeat in my ears made it seem that way. 

As I close my eyes for what feels like a mere second, a sudden jolt startles me. The phone is violently knocked out of my trembling hand and a cloth is swiftly placed over my mouth, the stench of chemicals immediately assaulting my senses. My nose and eyes burn with an intensity that is almost unbearable. Fight, do something.

In a moment of panicked instinct, I swing the nearby knife towards the man who had seemingly appeared from the depths of the kitchen, barely managing to nick him in the neck before he grabs hold of my wrist with a vice-like grip. With a sickening crunch, my bones are twisted until I can no longer hold onto the weapon and drop it to the ground, letting out a muffled scream against the suffocating cloth.

Through the hazy fog clouding my mind, I hear Simon's voice growing increasingly distant as he yells through the phone, his words barely registering in my fading consciousness. As my eyes slowly drift shut on their own accord, a sense of numbness begins to envelop my limbs. Simon, Simon please.

The man roughly lifts me up, easily overpowering my weakened attempts at resistance, and I can do nothing but succumb to the darkness creeping in as my consciousness slips away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As my eyes slowly creep open, I become aware of the lingering effects of the drugs coursing through my mind and body. Panic immediately sets in as I realize I am unable to move any part of my body. My heart races as I take in my surroundings - a dark metal room with a pungent odor of iron and decay, like a slaughterhouse filled with rotting carcasses.

I am lying on a cold, hard metal table, shackled down by heavy chains that dig into my skin. 

“it’s an incredible drug, isn’t it?” A deep male voice suddenly echos throughout the room. Coming from the right side of the table, where I can’t turn my head to see them. 

“You can’t move or speak, But… you can feel pain” He chuckles, sounding closer than before. 

Suddenly, something sharp stabs into my arm and I try to cry out in pain, but my body won’t respond. Simon, where are you?

“Mike, turn on the camera would you? It’s time for the show,” he instructed someone else in the room. He grabs my hair roughly and yanks my head to the side, facing him.

Then I notice a tightness around my throat, something cold and hard. is there a chain around my neck? I panic, eyes widening.

the man sees my panic and laughs, tossing his head back as if he’s seeing the best thing in the world. 

“Oh that’s good, I love that expression. I hope Ghost does too” He starts tracing my neck and collar bone with a knife. not yet slicing me, but enough pressure to leave raised, red lines. 

“It’s nothing personal, darling,” his gravelly voice whispers in my ear as he lowers himself closer to me. My body tenses and I want to desperately move away. “But, a life for a life, hm?” He chuckles darkly, his breath hot on my skin. “Unfortunately for you, I plan to make your death slow for him. His precious thing.”

My heart races as he drags the sharp blade down my collar bone, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. A searing pain shoots through my chest as he cuts a deep line between my breasts, and down to my lower abdomen. The knife seems to find its home there, digging deeper with each passing second. I want to scream, to kick and squirm away from the agony, but I am paralyzed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon runs into the apartment, gun drawn though he already knows they left. That they got what they came for. A dark pit forms in his stomach, blind fury almost overwhelming him. 

He bends down to pick up your phone, and just stares at it. if only he could’ve called sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. 

The vow he made when you married; to always protect you, let no harm befall you. 

it rings in his head nonstop, like a broken record. 

Soap and Price slowly walk through the entrance, Price on the phone with Laswell, who’s trying her best to locate you. 

Simon stands up when Soap places a hand on his shoulder, a grim look on his face. “We’ll find the lass”. But his words go in one ear and out the other. 

Price walks into the living room in a hurry, grabbing the tv remote and turning it on. “Simon” He says, and something in his tone makes Simon, and Soap move with haste to see what’s going on. 

Simon's trembling legs nearly give way beneath him as he stumbles towards the couch, reaching out to grab it for support when he sees your face on the television screen. His heart drops to his stomach as he takes in the sight of you, battered and bloody. The camera zooms out, revealing the full extent of your injuries, and that's when bile rises in Simon's throat, threatening to overflow.

He remembers how he used to run his hands across your perfect skin while lying in bed together, or how he would sneak a hand up your shirt while you were cooking and you would just giggle and swat him away with a spoon. He remembers staring into your eyes, like honey pools reflecting all the love in the world. But now they're red and swollen, almost unrecognizable.

Simon rushes to the nearest bathroom, tearing off the balaclava covering his face. He hunches over the toilet as his stomach lurches and empties itself, leaving him dry heaving and gasping for air.

Images from his past come rushing back at full force - bodies, blank stares, all reminders of the darkness that seems to follow him wherever he goes. But you were supposed to be the one good thing in his life. goddamnit, You were supposed to stay.

As Simon stands up and flushes the toilet, trying to steady himself, something catches his eye on the counter. Something white with a blue cap. His mind turns to static as he reaches for it and sees two very obvious red lines.

He slowly walks out of the bathroom, the pregnancy test held tightly in his hand. 

The television screen is now dark and silent, but Price and Soap still stare at it with blank expressions.

Simon closes his eyes, breathing slowly. calming his racing heart, steadying his mind. 

“Simon?” Price calls out, but he ignores him. 

Simon can’t be here.

He's too fragile for this. Too emotional and vulnerable. A man who let himself love and be loved, only to have his world torn apart.

No, what his wife needs now is a ghost. Someone strong and unfeeling, who won't hesitate to do what needs to be done. They took his beloved wife, his reason for living.

And now, he has a child on the way. She’s carrying his child and they’re harming her, hurting his wife and child. 

Not my family, not again.

No.

No.

No. 

This world will burn before something happens to them.

Finally, he opens his eyes, and Price is standing closer than before, his gaze fixed on the pregnancy test in Ghost's hand. His face has gone pale with realization.

“Simon?”

Simon isn’t fucking here. 

[begginmonty]

just. burnt out mike coming home after so many weeks of working nonstop not having time for himself and breaking down :((

hMMM poor baby

mike isn't someone to make much of an entrance when he comes home from work. usually you and abby are at the table either eating dinner or helping her with homework, or just colouring and mike comes in and always gives you a kiss and an abby a little hug or something.

this time is different. he's back on 10 hour dayshifts. you're sat on the floor in front of the sofa with abby colouring, with a cartoon in the background and mike comes home from work. you go to speak up but watch as he just puts his jacket on the table and walks to the bedroom, shutting the door. you and abby look at each other, "grumpy" she mumbles before going back to her drawing. "i'll go see with mr grumpy pants, i'll be back in a sec" you both share a giggle at your nickname before you get up and walk to the bedroom.

opening the bedroom door you find mike just sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and you can see his body trembling a little. "baby?" your voice is gentle to his ears and you sit cautiously next to him. "whats wrong?"

"im so tired" is all he says and he lets out a sigh, wiping his face with his hand. he's crying. you've only ever seen him tear up not cry. you know he's tired and he's been working non-stop. he's not an angry-shouting man but he stands up and lets out an angry sigh, walking to his chest of drawers and taking his sweatshirt off, and he's angry and you can see tears. he pauses and puts his hand out on the drawers in front of him and he just cries.

you're very quick to swoop in behind him, and wrap your arms around him from behind, placing your head on his back and holding him. standing there for a few good minutes whilst he just lets the frustrations out in hot tears. time passes and he's stopped crying and you press a kiss to the back of his neck. "i love you, please dont forget that, i know i havent been showing you much-"

"please, its okay mike i promise. i love you" he always wants you to know he loves you and appreciates you, even in his darkest moments.

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[love-byers]

if mlvn is supposed to be the main romance of the show, the no. 1 couple, why would the writers save their big i love you moment for a scene where there is so much distraction

there is so much going on here. el choking, mike shifting around and hesitating, will in the background, light flickering, multiple cuts to jonathan and argyle

and then of course the fact that el is in vecnas mind space which is visually displeasing. it's red, bloody looking, thunder is crashing, the vines are squelching, el is crying, max is dying, and also the depressing music conveniently titled "You're The Heart."

there is SO MUCH HAPPENING!! this moment is supposed to be about el and mike, but it couldn't be farther from that.

and for people saying "well that's just what was happening in the moment!", this isnt real life. the story can be literally whatever the duffers want it to be. they could've written the scene differently so there was more tenderness, intimacy, gentleness, emotion. they could've found time for mike and el to have a sweet moment to themselves where he apologizes, and then when el is choking she simply remembers that moment and all of her memories with mike over the years. but nope, it just had to be the other way.

this scene is an example of exactly how to create intimacy between 2 characters in a scene with multiple other people. they made sure to do it a specific way to build will and mike's relationship.

when joyce is talking to will, jonathan is standing in the background for most of it. they also cut to mike and hopper watching. we are reminded there are others in the shed. they cut to will multiple times as joyce talks.

this next thing may sound insignificant, but it's not. they cut to jonathan BEFORE he starts speaking. he watches will for a second, then starts talking about the day lonnie left. then it immediately cuts to joyce, before cutting back to jonathan kneeling down in front of will. as jonathan talks there are shots of just jonathan, jonathan and joyce, and will listening.

they saved mikes for last. every writer knows whatever comes last will have the most impact.

when mike starts speaking, will is still looking at jonathan. wills head shoots towards mike. only after that do we see mike, and he's already crying.

they don't cut away from mike until he says "you were just swinging by yourself" it cuts to will then. then we're back to mike, and it doesn't cut until he's done talking.

there's no music, no flickering, no one else making noise or talking. there's no noise besides mike speaking, will breathing, and crickets outside. it sounds oxymoronic to say this, but the crickets only emphasize how silent it is in the shed besides mike. it's so silent and calm in there that you can hear the crickets. you can barely see anything behind mike, it's just his face illuminated by the light. mike isn't yelling, he's talking softly. this is gentle. intimate.

then it cuts back to will, and he looks more emotional than he has this whole time they've been trying to break through to him. his eyes are red and glossy, his breaths are shuddering as he looks at mike, like he's about to break and cry.

when it cuts to joyce, it's jarring. it tears wills eyes from mike. because at this point we've completely forgotten that there are other people in the room. it's like mike and will are in their own little bubble, like they're the only two people in the world. go and rewatch the full scene, its striking how different mikes monologue to will is shot compared to the others. it suddenly feels so much more intimate and emotionally intense.

and it doesn't, not for a SECOND, lead you to believe mike is hesitant or struggling to tell the truth. it's like the words are spilling straight out of mikes heart into will's. he does not have to be pushed into this or encouraged. the moment jonathan was done talking mike knew exactly what he wanted to say, and he was already so emotional he was crying.

it's coming from him. from his heart.

looking at joyce

looking at jonathan

looking at mike.

and to any deniers here saying all of this is just because of wills feelings for mike..

that's cruel.

that's actually cruel.

it would be DIABOLICAL for the writers to give byler such a sweet emotional moment like this just for it to end in a character who's already on the struggle bus being completely heartbroken. that is straight up cruel to will.

and it would also be queerbaiting lolz

and before you go, quick question. can you imagine THIS mike avoiding wills hug?

i highly doubt it.

[samcats]

Mike and Wills friendship vs everybody elses

I’m sick of people acting like Mike and Wills friendship is platonic when 1. One literally had a crush on the other and 2. None of the other friendships are treated the same way Mike and Will are throughout the seasons so let’s go over them!

(This is gonna be a long one!)

Season 2 & 1

First off, in season 1, the show focuses on how Will going missing effects Mike the most out of all his friends. Mike is the only one to notice Will isn’t at school the day he goes missing. Mike is the one to come up with the idea to go out looking for him. Mike only keeps El around when he realizes she can help find Will. Mike is the only one that’s focused on after they find Will’s “dead” body. Mike is the only one out of the party members that holds proper hope that Will may still be alive.

In season 2 he was the only one that went outside of the arcade to check where Will had gone. He was the only one that noticed Will was being extra quiet that day at school. He panicked when he couldn’t find Will, “Will what’s wrong? I couldn’t find you, are you hurt? I’m gonna get you home, okay? I’m gonna get you home”, He purposely volunteered himself to go check on Will and then proceed to stay with Will in the hospital for days afterwards. He was the only one out of his friends that stayed with Will in the shed when he was possessed.

Edit: also wanted to point out how in the crazy together scene when Will told Mike about the mindflayer he said “just please don’t tell the others okay? They wouldn’t understand.” Implying that Will trusts Mike the most and that he thinks only Mike would understand what he’s going through.

& Will only yelled Mike’s name when he was having an episode before the crazy together scene happened. He didn’t yell Lucas’s name or Dustin’s or even Jonathan or his mums, his first instinct was to call Mike for help. Both of these things furthermore prove my point that their friendship is different from the others and they’re much closer

Again, the show focuses on Will and Mikes friendship the most this season. Not their friendships with Lucas or Dustin or anybody else, just with eachother. None of the other friendships in the show have done anything like this. Hell none of the friendships in the show ever GET as much attention and focus as Mike and Will do throughout the seasons. They are treated so differently. Still don’t believe me?

Season 3

One of the most iconic Byler scenes is the rain fight scene. Now I'm not really gonna talk about how obviously romantic this scene is by itself. But how it contrasts Will and Lucas's apology scene. The contrast between these two scenes is such a huge piece of evidence to me and I'm surpsired I don't see it around more

(Thank you to this video for saving me while I was trying to find the scenes https://youtu.be/u-rLx10eROw?si=vdGoQNtnXU103iZt )

Here’s the two scenes mixed together for reference:

Byler’s fight

In the Byler scene, it has buildup. Will getting mad and then bursting out of the room, Mike follows him while Lucas stays behind. Once they get outside, the lighting is dark and blue. The music playing in the background is somber. The way both characters talk and act makes you know that this is a serious scene. The aftermaths of Will going to his house and crying as he destroys castle Byers. And Mike and Lucas biking out to find him in the rain. You could make the argument that Lucas being there makes this scene bad proof, but it focusing more on Mike then Lucas tells you otherwise.

Lucas’s apology

It’s super rushed, you barely even notice it. It’s super random and isn’t focused on at all, it just starts with Lucas saying he’s sorry and Will saying it doesn’t matter and it’s pretty much over. The lighting is bright, our minds are more focused on trying to get ready to trap Billy then the actual conversation they’re having. Neither Lucas or Will react to it afterwards. You could literally skip this scene and you wouldn’t miss anything.

So why have such a useless scene in the middle of nowhere?

The Byler rain fight is such an important scene to show how Mike and Wills friendship has gone downhill, to show the change between children and teenagers, and also to hint at Will's sexuality. The Lucas and Will scene is just so useless and random and could've been left out, but the way it contrasts the Byler fight scene makes me think that its only purpose was to show the difference between Mike and Wills friendship together vs anybody else's, and nothing else. Because why else have it there? If Mike and Wills scene wasn't meant to have a deeper meaning, then why make it as dramatic as it was? Why build it up the way they did?? If it was platonic the scene would've been more similar to the Lucas scene and/or toned down a LOT.

It's undeniable that the Duffers where trying to show us something with these two scenes

Season 4

You can tell there’s clearly tension between Mike and Will when they reunite in the airport, which is very odd. Mike and Will are best friends, and again, Mike wouldn’t act this way with any of his other friends. He didn’t even act this way with El

Mike then later admits that he was being an asshole to Will, and we get that beautiful “friends. Best friends.” Scene.

Now, I want you to rewatch that scene and pretend that Will is Max or Lucas or Dustin or Erica or Steve or Jonathan or anybody Mike is friends with. But you can’t. It just feels too wrong and too romantic, doesn’t it? It seems weird as well, because we know full well Mike wouldn’t say something like that to any of his other friends. He’s never had a conversation like that with any of his other friends, either. This is because they’re just that. Friends. So why should it be any different for Will and Mike?

This is the same for any scene with Mike and Will. Season 4 or not

And if you seriously cannot notice the difference between Mike and Wills friendship vs anybody else’s, you need to do a rewatch

Anyways, there’s probably more stuff I could add but I’m gonna leave it at that for now. If you have anything to add leave it in the comments! Thank you for reading

[imsuperhungry]

4 𝙖𝙢

entry 002

(yandere until dawn)

WARNINGS: Yandere Themes, Cussing, Josh Crying Is Its Own Warning

WORD COUNT: 2070

(8:55 ᴘᴍ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʙɪɴ)

Mike and Jess didn't notice Emily's arrival at first; they were too wrapped up in their makeout session. But Emily definitely noticed them.

"Oh my God. That is so gross," she declared, her voice slicing through the haze of their moment. The words hung in the air, sharp enough to draw their attention away from each other. Emily folded her arms defiantly,  "Are you trying to swallow his face whole?" A mocking grin spread on her face.

Matt, who walked in right behind her, said, "Em..." as if he already knew this was going to happen. His tone was resigned, and I could see the concern in his eyes as he took in the scene.

"Seriously," Emily started again, her voice rising. "Can she be any more obvious? No one wants in on your territory, honey!" She shouted.

Jess stood up and began to walk toward Emily, causing Ashley to gasp slightly, still curled into me. "Excuse me, did you say something?" Jess asked, her tone sharp as she narrowed her eyes at Emily.

"Oh, you didn't hear me? Was your sluttiness too loud?" Emily matched Jess's stride, stepping forward with confidence. As everything unfolded, nobody said a word. Some watched in amusement, while others looked on in concern, the atmosphere charged with anticipation as the two faced off.

"Sounds like someone's bitter she didn't make the cut!" Jess retorted, a smirk dancing on her lips as she gestured toward Mike, the implication hanging heavy in the air. 

"Yeah. It's all just a big cattle call with that dreamboat. Congratulations, you're top cow!" Emily's voice sliced through the thick tension, each word draped in biting sarcasm. Mike shifted uncomfortably, caught between their escalating confrontation.

"Cuts real deep calling Miss Homecoming a cow." 

Matt stood rigid, tension coiling around him like a taut wire. He turned to Emily, desperation etched on his face as he attempted to bridge the widening chasm. "Em, come on���" he urged, his tone steady but urgent, as if pleading for reason. 

"Shut up, Matt," Emily snapped, her tone sharp and unrelenting. "Hey, watch it—" Emily warned, pointing a finger at Jess.

"Oh, you're the only one who can put him down? No one else gets to play with your toys?" Jess shot back, the words were sharp, aimed to provoke, as if she were daring Emily to retaliate.

"You're such a bitch!"

"Whatever, I don't give a crap what you think," Jess shot back, turning away from Emily in an attempt to end the argument on her own terms.

"At least I can think. 4.0, bitch, honor roll. Suck on that when you're trying to sleep your way into a job."

"Who needs grades when you've got all the natural advantages you can handle?" Jess retorted, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned into the jab.

"Oh, please," Emily scoffed

"You couldn't buy a moldy loaf of bread with your skanky ass!"

"...Are you serious? You think that's insulting?" Emily said, the disbelief in her voice evident, the look on her face challenging Jess to reconsider her words.

"That bitch is on crack or something." Jess said as she turned to me. I quickly averted my eyes, desperately wanting to disappear into the background, hoping they would sort this out without my presence. The tension hung thick in the air, and I could feel the weight of their rivalry pressing down on me.

"Oh, so now you're trying to get them involved? I mean, it makes sense; you always hog them like you couldn't get attention anywhere else," Emily sneered.

"Okay, everyone, stop," Josh said, clearly fed up with the feud. "This isn't why I invited you all here. If you can't handle being around each other right now, maybe we should take a break and split up for a bit." he proposed.

"I have a guest cabin through that door," Josh pointed to a second door on the wall to the right of the front entrance "Just keep going straight, and you'll find it. It's pretty hard to miss." Josh was looking right at Jess and Mike.

"Fine," Jess began, but it seemed Mike read her mind, interjecting before she could finish. "But only if they can come with us," he said, pointing directly at me. The declaration caught me off guard, and I felt the weight of their gazes on me, a mix of expectation and pressure. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how I fit into this escalating drama. 

"No," Josh said, his voice firm, cutting through the air like a knife. This was the first time I'd heard him speak with such authority. But as I stood there, it dawned on me that I hadn't spoken to Jess and Mike in a while. This could be a good opportunity to clear the air without risking another fight.

I stood from the couch, feeling all eyes turn toward me. "It's fine, really. I haven't seen them in a while anyway, and I'm sure Jess has stuff she wants to talk about." I glanced between them, gauging their reactions. "I'll walk them out to the cabin, but I'll just come back when they make it there. That way, they get their alone time, and I can come back to all of you guys."

My proposal hung in the air, a tentative bridge to ease the tension. I hoped it would give Jess and Mike the space they needed while allowing me to remain connected to the group. But then I remembered I had to please both sides to make that happen, not just Jess and Mike.

I turned to Emily and spoke earnestly, "I promise, when I get back, we can do whatever we want—facemasks, paint our nails, I've got so much gossip to tell you." A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she nodded, and I could see a flicker of excitement in her eyes, which eased some of the tension.

Then I diverted my attention to everyone else, who had been awkwardly standing near the doorway while this whole fiasco unfolded. "You guys can relax; I'll be back before you know it," I reassured them, trying to lighten the mood "then when i come back, we can all watch a movie or something.". Chris and Josh seemed to really like that idea. The group seemed to shift a bit, the atmosphere slowly easing as I prepared to guide Jess and Mike to the cabin.

"Real quick, before you go," Sam said, grabbing my attention. "While they were arguing, I tried to go upstairs to take a bath, only to find out the hot water was off. Do you want to help me turn it back on in the basement?" She looked at me with hopeful eyes, clearly eager for a little assistance.

"Well, this is Josh's cabin; I don't know how to do that," I replied, a bit bashful about my lack of knowledge on fixing the hot water. The admission made me feel slightly embarrassed, as if I should have known something so basic.

"I do," Josh said, his tone light yet confident, clearly expecting to step in. "Come on, I'll teach you. Then you can walk them out to the cabin... or whatever." He placed his hands on both my shoulders, guiding me toward the basement, with Sam trailing closely behind us.

The basement was spacious and had clearly been turned into a storage area. I spotted skis and sleds leaning against the wall, alongside piles of old clutter. A worn-out sofa sat in one corner, while boxes stacked haphazardly filled the space. Empty paint cans lay scattered about, and a bat rested in another corner.

Wooden beams, worn and splintered, crisscrossed above, their surfaces mottled with age. The walls, painted a faded gray, bore the scars of time—cracks spiderwebbed their surfaces, and patches of peeling paint. 

Josh walked over to a wall adorned with various knobs, flips, and switches labeled "Power," "Heater," and more. I would've followed him if the bat sitting in the corner hadn't caught my attention.

I walked over to where the bat rested and picked it up. It was wooden and chipped, but still heavy and in surprisingly good condition. After examining it for a moment, I made my way back to where Sam stood, leaning against the wall and watching Josh tinker with the knobs. Her eyes flicked between him and the controls, a look of mild amusement on her face.

"What's this, Josh?" I asked, catching his attention. He turned to look at me, a playful grin spreading across his face. "It's a bat, silly."  he said 

"Well, duh, I just mean why is it down here?" I asked again, twirling the bat in my hands. It felt good to grip, and I couldn't help but wonder what it was doing in this cluttered basement. Josh shrugged, still smiling, as he glanced back at the wall of switches.

"I used to play baseball with my dad out here almost every day. It was a tradition every Sunday, but he quit a while ago; he got a little too busy to play with me," he said, his tone surprisingly light.

"Oh," was all I managed to say, unsure whether to comfort him or let him focus on his work. I turned to Sam, who had been listening intently, and playfully pointed the end of the bat at her. A mischievous grin crossed my face, and i new idea in my head.

"Do you, know how to play baseball, madam?" I asked her in a faux ancient English accent, adding a dramatic flair.

She put her hands on her hips, feigning offense, and replied, "Why, I do! I reckon you aren't too good yourself!" Her playful tone made me laugh.

Now it was my turn to act offended. I placed my hand dramatically on my chest and exclaimed, "Now you take that back! I'll have you know I'm the best darn tootin' baseball player to ever exist!" I struggled to keep a straight face, barely holding back a laugh.

"Well, that's something you're gonna have to prove to me!" she replied, raising an eyebrow as if she didn't believe me at alI. Her playful challenge only fueled my determination.

"Oh yeah, watch this!" I said, grabbing an old baseball that was lying on the ground. I swung the bat, connecting with the ball, and watched as it ricocheted off the walls, bouncing wildly before finally dropping to the floor. The sound echoed in the basement, and I couldn't help but grin at my impromptu display.

I turned back to Sam with a smug grin, acting as if I'd just accomplished something great, only to find her bowing dramatically before me, hand over her heart. "You have my utmost respect; I pray you'll teach me your ways," she said, suppressing a laugh. I couldn't help but chuckle at her theatrics.

Josh then cut the act of devotion short, saying, "Hey, _____, do you mind using your flashlight? I can't see the labels that well." His brows were furrowed in concentration as he continued to search through the power box.

"Yes, sir!" I replied, saluting playfully. I pulled out my phone and walked over to where he was bent down, turning on the flashlight. After angling it to where he instructed me, I watched his fingers dance over the board, cranking knobs and pressing buttons with a focused intensity.

Eventually, he stood up straight and faced both me and Sam. "Alright, I think I've got it. Go ahead and try the bath now, Sam," he said. 

Sam nodded and gave me a quick hug goodbye, wishing me luck with Jess and Mike. Her concern was masked by a playful exterior, but I could still sense the hint of reluctance in her expression as she let go.

She walked up the basement stairs, and I would've followed her, if it weren't for Josh's grip on my wrist. He held me back, a certain look on his face as he gestured for me to stay a moment longer.

"Hey," he started as soon as Sam fully left. "Be careful, okay? Hannah and Beth walked alone out there and, I mean—" His voice cracked, and I could see his eyes starting to water. It was clear he was struggling to get the words out, his concern weighing heavily on him.

"Lord knows where they are right now. I can't lose you like I lost them. It happened once, and I won't allow it to happen again, okay?" he said, his grip shifting from my wrist to both hands planted on my shoulders. Tears streamed down his face, and I could feel the weight of his worry.

I wrapped my arms around him, embracing him fully. He definitely needed comfort right now, and I'd be a monster to deny him that. His body shook with sobs, and my shoulder quickly became wet, soaked with his tears. I held him tighter, letting him know I too missed Hannah and Beth.

"I know," I began carefully. "I promise, I know the route there safely. It seems like you're forgetting that I've been here like a million times." I said it playfully, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

All he did was nod and continue to cradle me, his grip tightening slightly. I couldn't help but wonder, why he didn't act like this when sending Jess and Mike out?

[violetmuses]

Anything Goes - A. Aretas 🫂🩷

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Title: Anything Goes - A. Aretas 🫂🩷

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: Mike and Marcus babysit Armando's daughter for the very first time!

Author's Note: Here's another drabble! Enjoy. 💜 @blvzily

=====

2024

“Uh-uh! Told you I won't babysit.” Detective Mike Lowrey laughed through bewilderment once you and Armando pulled up.

“Too late.” Armando passes the angel to Lowrey after kissing his daughter's cheek and saying goodbye.

You laughed in the background, running for this much-needed date with your husband.

“He's gone. C'mon.” Marcus chuckled without fail as Mike struggled to understand this moment.

“She's crying. What do we do?” Mike couldn't hold the baby without asking questions.

“Spoiled by her daddy, but she still looks like Momma. Watch and learn, man.” Marcus offered his fatherhood mode.

_____

Marcus took charge this time. Mike looked on, watching as his longtime partner spent time with this little princess.

“How do you make it look so easy? She's quiet now.” Mike shook his head.

"I've been raising kids forever.” Marcus explained the truth while holding this baby. “Babies aren't easy to handle, but children can tell who's comfortable.”

“Are you saying that even babies have trust issues?” Mike asked.

“Pretty much.” Marcus almost scoffed. “Let's feed her.”

_____

“Don't pull choo-choo train nonsense. You sound stupid.” Mike didn't even curse near Marcus while Armando's baby waited in a high-chair.

"Works every time. Choo-choo!” The princess cracked up just when soft mush reached out.

“What now?” Mike nodded and took eality while seeing his granddaughter.

“Dinner, diaper-change, and bedtime.” Marcus counted priorities. “Armando should be back soon.”

“Can't believe he's a father now.” Mike shook his head.

“Believe it.” Marcus just continued feeding his niece. “At least your son married the girl first.”

“Yeah.” Mike accepted this moment and still watched his partner. Even the baby cooed.

"She's talking to you, man.” Marcus cleared his throat.

“Hey, what?” Mike allowed himself to grin near this child.

“Dada!” That little girl wiggled in this high-chair and pointed near the living room mantle, noticing one picture of Armando.

“Yeah, that's your father. Good job!” Mike raved for once. Even Marcus clapped before he helped change the baby's diaper.

_____

“She's knocked out. We had fun.” Marcus smiled toward you and Armando at the front door.

“Thanks.” Armando cradled this baby in his arms and you stood with pride, smiling to leave at the house.

“Bye, sweetheart.” Mike waved just as the car rolled away.

[thefirstlioveyou]

i just think it's weird will goes on a whole rant about el's (his) love for him while getting very emotional, and all mike can say in the end is "yeah?" like that boy is HIDING SOMETHING or KNOWS something. then the look backs and immediate smile drop in the background from mike when we see will crying at the window??

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

Little Miwi headcanons? :D

OHOHOHO YIPPEE

Miwi were attached at the hip. They were together 24/7, 365, and if you took them apart, they would probably cry.

Mike gave Will most of the stuffed animals he owns now, but when Lonnie was around, Will had Mike hold onto them so that Lonnie couldn't throw them out - nowadays, Will has full custody again (lol).

Mike was the only one ever allowed in Castle Byers without supervision - Lucas and Dustin weren't allowed in unless Will was there first, but Mike was allowed to go inside alone.

Will and Mike used to make their own comic books as little kids. The books sucked, but both of them kept copies.

They had a super elaborate goodbye ritual for the end of the school day, taking 10-15 minutes, and Lucas would just stand there in the background like 🧍. When Dustin came along, he tried to interrupt regularly, but Lucas would stop him like 'nonono don't do that they'll start over-'

Thank you for the ask!!