#bentley school | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

final-fantasy-as-literature · 2 days ago

Text

The Bloomian Apophrades of Barret Wallace in Final Fantasy VII Rebirth

Heya, folk. SPOILERS ahead for FF7 Remake and Rebirth.

If you saw my last post about taking a basic Bloomian critical lens to Loveless, you might remember that I said I was going to write about reading the characters, locations, fiends, and events of Remake and Rebirth through the lens of adapting Xiyouji. This is one of those analyzing Barret Wallace as adaptation of Sha Wujing.

If you think even rudimentary literary analysis is academic hokum reading too far into things, this post is, as kindly as I can say, not meant for you. To the people who enjoy reading and leave kind words even on the posts I've deleted, thank you kindly again.

As this first bit cooks the goose on a silly introduction to what I've picked first, I'll dive right in by explaining why I picked Barret Wallace.

Why Barret Wallace?

Because of John Eric Bentley. I'm not sure I would have ever been confident about the lens if the voice of Remake and Rebirth's Barret Wallace wasn't the talented and kind Mr. Bentley. He's appeared in more things than I can recount, and I often don't even recognize his voice. More than that, he's got a heart for art and the way literature can become performance, and you can see his reborn desire to “value people” and to “love humanity” come through in his voice work for Remake and Rebirth.

It doesn't hurt that he has apparently been in the world of performance since high school. From there, he went on to get a BA from the University of Minnesota before getting his MFA from the same. I'm not so familiar with that world, but I can't help but feel that his theater training comes through from his silly banter as Barret with Yuffie and Cloud to his campy, almost parodistic, Edmund-like (of King Lear), and dragon-ego-like (of Joseph Campbell) delivery as Varvados. He actually attributes his entry into acting to his education outside of school, though.

In the episode “John Eric Bentley aka Barret Wallace (FFVII Remake) is Inspiring AF” of Gaming and Gabbing by Dayeanne Hutton and Amber Plaster, you can find out that his mother was a teacher that taught him to read early on and instilled in him the idea that “reading opens the door for everything,” eventually countering his questions about things with, “I taught you how to read - look it up.” He explains, “...because of that, I got into Greek mythology - Greek and Roman mythology.” This love for reading, especially of mythology and comic books, made him an insatiable reader, but it also helped him build a powerful memory that resulted in him memorizing and delivering Martin Luther King Jr's I have a Dream Speech at his kindergarten graduation. From there, he elaborates on how his love for mythology and reading pushed him towards acting:

So, years and years go by of me just reading everything I could as far as Greek mythology, and fairy tales, and Grimms’ tales - Grimms’ fairy tales - and, you know, I'm like, ‘How do I find more…’ Then I found out, oh, comic books, you can get a trade paperback. You can get all those volumes in one. So that's how I started doing it in college… and then, as far as Greek mythology goes, I found out there's Greek mythology, there's Norse mythology, there's Roman mythology, there's African mythology. As a matter of fact, in the region of Africa there's different regions of mythology… so I'm like, ‘Oh my gosh, Campbell!’ So, Campbell wrote these three volumes of different mythology from different cultures. So, I was like, ‘This is great! I can read for the rest of my life!’ But, because I could read, I was that one kid in class who could memorize stuff, and any time we had a performance, they were like, ‘Hey John, we've got this for you. Do this on stage.’

While he has mentioned Campbell in other interviews, it seems most of his mentions of a fundamental piece of Campbell's monomyth, the maternal or mother goddess figure primarily based on comparing East-Asian Buddhism’s Guanyin and the Christian Mary, are in videos that are now privated or removed. Unfortunately, I didn't save a copy of any of them, but, within those, he explained that his understanding of Final Fantasy VII changed when he became a part of the Remake trilogy and compared what he was doing to the works of Campbell. He went from seeing it as a game with a black man that reminded him of Mr. T to a game making more people and ideas feel seen than just one young black man from Chicago through a loud, shaky caricature.

I don't know the man, but his passion for reading and learning about the stories that make and describe us comes through to me. I don't enjoy auter-focus when discussing works made by teams, and John Eric Bentley helps remind me of the power less acknowledged members of a project can have in its direction and impact. I can feel the fire he uses to light up Barret's eyes when he talks about reading or about Remake and Rebirth when he can't stop gushing about how much these things mean to him and who he is.

Which, speaking of Barret's eyes,

A Pair of Bright Round Eyes and Visual Adaptation

If you couldn't tell, none of the main characters of Final Fantasy VII Remake or Rebirth look quite like Chinese demons or gods. In all, they're pretty human, but that's not at all uncommon in adaptations of Journey to the West, especially modern ones, and Sha Wujing is a character that often gets reduced to human appearance in a way that others don't. It can be easy to glue hair onto an actor's face to make him more like Stone Monkey, to stick a rubber or silicone nose on a character to make him more like Pigsy, or to just rent a white horse to take the place of White Dragon Horse, but Sha Wujing is an indigo hulk with a head of fiery red hair. It can be hard to find a huge man willing to walk around in deep blue body paint, and that would have been extremely expensive for much of history. Instead, Sha Wujing often ends up being like the Sha Wujing of CCTV's Journey to the West in 1986 or that of NTV's Monkey in 1978 - just a guy from China or Japan as is, sometimes with hair dyed red; though, in the case of Monkey, they gave him a bowl cut and a shaved scalp before he even met Tripitika.

Barret Wallace in Remake and Rebirth, though, comes closer to the appearance of Sha Wujing than most actors that have ever openly portrayed him, especially with the addition of John Eric Bentley's voice that can switch from a thunderous boom of righteous fury to a soothing rumble to comfort a found family. On page 422 of Volume 1 of Anthony C Yu's wonderful Revised Edition of Journey to the West, an English speaker can find a descriptive poem of Sha Wujing that says,

A head full of tousled and flame-like hair; / A pair of bright, round eyes which shone like lamps; / An indigo face, neither black nor green; / An old dragon's voice like thunderclap or drum. / He wore a cape of light yellow goose down. / Two strands of white reeds tied around his waist. / Beneath his chin nine skulls were strung and hung; / His hands held an awesome priestly staff (Wu & Yu, 2012, 1; 422).

Image of Barret Wallace retrieved from Final Fantasy Fandom Wiki.

If one reads Remake and Rebirth as an adaptation of Journey to the West, Barret appears fairly close to the Sandy Monk. His tousled and flame-like hair is worn on his shoulder, his eyes shine so bright with amber passion that he often wears sunglasses even in the dark of Midgar to hide his light, his skin stands in contrast to those he journeys with and is neither truly black nor green, he carries a draconic voice like a resounding thunderclap or battle drum, his vest rests in browns and faint yellows like a cape on his shoulders, his two white reeds have become pairs of belts in Remake, he bears the skulls of his past beneath his neck, and no other character has more dutifully carried a righteous weapon - his becoming a part of him.

That priestly, staff, by the way, is often called the Fiend-Routing Staff, and Sha Wujing wielded it as a fierce defender of the Throne of Heaven while he was known as the Curtain-Raising Captain (Wu & Yu, 2012, 1; 425). That leads into the next point of discussion,

Who is Sha Wujing and How is Barret Connected Narratively?

Sha Wujing goes by a few names, and they can change depending on the translator into a given language. Not uncommon for Sha Wujing are Sandy, the Sand Monk or Sha Monk, and Friar Sand. He also holds titles throughout the story, from the Curtain-Raising Captain or Curtain-Raising General before his banishment from Heaven to his position as Golden-Bodied Arhat at the end of the novel. This is not unusual for any important character in the text, as they all tend to have myriad names and titles that range from nicknames and religious titles to outright insults. Pigsy is called Idiot for much of Yu's translation, for example.

Much of the personality and history a reader of Journey to the West gets of Sha Wujing, however, is actually in a poem he gives recounting most of his own history up to his fight with Pigsy and Monkey that can be found on pages 424 to 425 of Yu's Revised Edition. In that poem, he recounts how he gallantly wandered the world in search of the Way until he met a true immortal who showed him the Great Path of the Golden Light.

After this in the poem, Sha Wujing reveals to the pilgrims that he was made the Curtian-Raising Captain by the Jade Emperor, guarding the Throne of Heaven as the chief of its guardians. When the Queen Mother hosted her Festival of the Peach, a festival in which her peaches of immortality are served in Heaven, Sha Wujing accidentally broke a Jade cup. As a result of the Jade Emperor's anger, he was banished to the Earth at Flowing-Sands River. Outside of the poem, the reader will realize that he is the same Curtain-Raising General that Bodhisattva Guanyin tasked with accompanying the Tang Monk when he arrived at Flowing-Sands River (Wu & Yu, 2012, 1; 250).

This, again, reflects in our Barret Wallace as adaptation. While not all adaptations of Journey to the West from 20th Century Japan detail the Bodhisattva Guanyin's visit to Sha Wujing (Such as in the case of Enix's Gensomaden Saiyuki, which will come up when I cover the Trio of Andrea, Madame M, and Sam in relation to the Three), they do usually detail his violent past and former allegiance to some ruling figure before catching their ire.

If Barret Wallace is to be read as Sha Wujing, the breaking of the jade cup that draws the ire of the Jade Emperor of Final Fantasy VII (President Shinra), then, is the destruction of the Corel Mako Reactor. Where Sha Wujing of the 1592 text accidentally breaks a Jade cup in his service to the heavenly bureaucracy, Barret Wallace accidentally breaks his community in his eagerness to welcome the bureaucracy of Shinra when the Mako Reactor Is destroyed. Like Sha Wujing, who is ejected down from his home in Heaven to the Flowing-Sands River, Barret Wallace falls from honor in his home in the mountains to the flowing sands of the Corel Desert, bounded by an impassable river.

There, Barret Wallace begins his own history of man-eating. Where Sha Wujing eats men to sustain his immortal body as a monster cast from heaven and pierced by the swords of the Jade Emperor every seventh day (seven is one of the numbers that appears often within Xiyouji's numerical symbolism, even appearing in adaptations, such as Universe 7 from Dragon Ball), Barret Wallace consumes men through his violent rage against the powers that sent him from their home.

This change in this reading, from eating of innocent human flesh to sustain oneself to killing of innocent people in a fight against the oppressive forces of an untouchable power, reflects to some degree a modern trend in adaptations of Xiyouji. As Hongmei Sun explains in Transforming Monkey: Adaptation and Representation of a Chinese Classic, modern adaptations of Journey to the West since the mid-20th century have tended to portray Sun Wukong and his companions as heroes fighting against oppressive forces, people, and beasts. On page 60, she says of her relationship to Sun Wukong and his story,

The contemporary images of Sun Wukong have been so overwhelmingly positive that to me— and to millions of other Chinese readers—the Monkey King is a hero, a role model, and one who is not only fearless and willing to challenge authorities but also loyal to his master Tripitaka and devoted to the goal of the band of pilgrims. Although he had been a trickster figure who embodied contradictory values as portrayed in Journey to the West, or a monkey who made funny moves and demonstrated opera skills in the late Qing dynasty, the Monkey King in the new China epitomizes positive and progressive values for the proletarian revolution and socialist construction.

However, this divergence is not complete, and Barret Wallace of Remake and Rebirth, in this reading, can represent a return to a more traditional perception of the novel while giving new life to the character, as Barret's righteous fight against Shinra is not an unchanging or morally unambiguous fight. Regularly, in the retelling of Remake and Rebirth, does Barret Wallace reflect on the lives he has taken and the consequences of his agreeing to work with Shinra. However, Barret's closeness to Sha Wujing even surpasses other adapted characters, such as Yamcha from Dragon Ball, who did nothing so extreme and bloodthirsty as eco-terrorism in his life as a desert bandit.

How is Barret as Sandy Expanded in Remake and Rebirth?

Easily, one can see his adopted daughter, Marlene, as emblematic of this embodiment of contradictory values expressed across much of Xiyouji. Sha Wujing, who did not have much character background beyond his time as the Curtain-Raising General, is humanized through Barret's adoptive daughter and forced to confront his desire to provide for a generation free of oppression while being willing to tear a city full of innocent people apart to do it. Marlene, then, allows a reader of the text as adaptation to see a side of Sha Wujing that doesn't just use the memory of his man-eating to pass a narrative roadblock.

Within Xiyouji, Guanyin tells Sha Wujing upon enfolding him in the Buddhist journey that he will find use of the eight skulls around his neck, his history of man-eating that Guanyin said was evidence of his sin against himself, when he encounters Tripitaka. When he does at Flowing-Sands River, after a bit of confused fighting with Zhu Bajie and Monkey and a few showcases of his excellent swimming ability, he is tasked by Tripitaka and Mokṣa with constructing an eight-skulled dharma vessel out of those and a gourd to ferry Tripitaka across. While this isn't a series of events with clear symbolism to most English-speaking readers, a reading of Rebirth as adaptation of Xiyouji can help decipher a possible reading of it.

The parallel episode for Barret Wallace in this reading of Rebirth would be in his arc during Corel, the Gold Saucer, and in the Corel Desert. Barret Wallace, whose dog tags in Remake and Rebirth bear his own name and history as an eco-terrorist, confronts his history of man-eating when he is falsely accused of murdering Shinra guards and innocent bystanders in the Musclehead Colosseum. In a confrontation with the actual murderer, Dyne, a mirror of Barret without Marlene to remind him of why he fights and what his limits are, Barret Wallace emerges victorious and reflects on having to continue his Journey for the sake of himself, Marlene, Tifa, and the other family he found along the way. As he pleads with Dyne to value his own life and continue on to see Marlene again, Dyne takes his own life as a victim to suicide-by-Shinra guards, leaving Barret literally and metaphorically broken into pieces, sobbing over his body.

Rather shockingly and abruptly to some people, Dio comes speeding in on an eight-wheeled buggy as Barret mourns his friend. A reading of the text as adaptation of Xiyouji, however, shows how crucial it is to have this moment come immediately as Barret accepts his past and decides to continue on for those around him. Dio becomes the Mokṣa that arrives to instruct Sha Wujing to turn his past, the skulls of his past, into a dharma vessel, an eight-wheeled buggy, in order to continue on the righteous journey for the sake of all sentient beings. Marlene, then, serves as a focal-point for the reader of Remake and Rebirth to understand the importance of limits on one's nature. Without Marlene to direct his fight against Shinra towards a future guaranteeing a better world, Barret Wallace might have become another Dyne, consuming the lives of others until his own was snuffed out in his blind fury. Instead, the reader of FF7 Rebirth as Xiyouji is left with a Barret Wallace as a tool of righteousness that can be turned towards a journey of bettering things for all sentient beings with the Monk, Tifa, at the wheel of the dharma vessel on the journey to enlightenment.

As a more limited parallel, the pilgrims lose this dharma vessel as soon as they cross Flowing-Sands River, with the gourd at the center being retrieved by Mokṣa. Similarly, the narrative use of the buggy in Rebirth is restricted to crossing into the Gongaga region over an otherwise impassable river. This is distinct from the 1997 game, in which AVALANCHE uses the buggy to navigate all the way to the place of Cloud's birth, but it more closely follows the text and symbolism of Xiyouji if Rebirth is read as having the apophrades of the work later in the original authors' lives.

While there are other aspects of the narrative and symbolism of Final Fantasy VII Remake and Rebirth that mirror Sha Wujing's presence in Xiyouji, such as when the pilgrims are lost in the black pine forest without Monkey to aid them mirroring the new telling of the events of the Sleeping Forest before Cloud returns to the journey in Rebirth, this is an event in Xiyouji that would have ended the journey without Sha Wujing's presence and history being a part of it. I could go on endlessly about his limited appearances in the novel and how the Remake trilogy expands that if read as adaptation, but I want to end it with that important beat.

In the Future and a Fun Coincidence

Thank you if you've read this far.

I probably won't focus so much on the voice actors of the characters as time goes on, as John Eric Bentley is a rather unique figure in his passion for what he does flowing into passion for what others do. He also seems to be uniquely informed about mythology in general.

Even more, tracking down and listening to or watching hours of interviews adds a lot of work to reading an unfinished game trilogy with hundreds of hours of content as an adaptation of a story with nearly two thousand pages of material (I'm using Anthony C Yu's translation in his 2012 Revised Edition of Xiyouji, as it is popular with English-speakers and contains useful footnotes for context) and countless adaptations from Japan alone before 2015. The only thing I mentioned taking place outside of the first volume of Yu's translation is the black pine forest. I'm also working on another project in relation to this idea, so these just serve as a way for me to get used to writing about these ideas in my free time.

I'm still going to be posting them, though. I'll be writing about Enix's adaptations of Xiyouji influencing the Remake trilogy as adaptation next by focusing on the Trio of Remake as use of the Three from Enix's Saiyuki. That will be a much shorter write and read, as neither set of three is crucial to the story because they are additions to the original story. I don't actually like the manga or anime Saiyuki, so I'm thankful its influence can be seen as limited lol

With that said, a neat little coincidence I found while looking into Japanese portrayals of Sha Wujing is that one of the most famous actors to portray Sha Wujing, Akira Emoto, also played a detective in a 1981 cult classic movie named Sailor Suit and Machine Gun (セーラー服と機関銃) based on a novel by the same name. Other than in my reading of FF7 as adaptation of Xiyouji, the only incidence I can find of a Sha Wujing in Japan wearing a sailor suit is in the 2008 light novel series High School DxD in which Sha Wujing, a young girl descendant of the original Sha Wujing, wears a sailor suit dissimilar from much of the rest of the female characters.

Barret and the one Sha Wujing I was able to find wearing a sailor suit. Barret image from Final Fantasy VII State of Play and Sha Wujing from High School DxD Fan Wikia.

Considering that Sha Wujing is legendary for his swimming ability as a desert-dweller, able to outrun even Monkey in the water, I'm surprised more adaptations don't associate him with water. In any case, Remake as adaptation makes him a powerful swimmer in the Mythril Mines (with even John Eric Bentley highlighting his swimming on Twitter, saying, “Man that big dude sure can swim fast!!”) and plops him into a sailor suit so convincingly that a captain can't help but think he belongs on the water.

Again, thanks for reading if you did. Remember to, in the words of John Eric Bently, "love humanity" and that "reading opens the door for everything."

0 notes

giuseppe-yuki · 1 month ago

Text

money, money, money

normal!max verstappen x billionaire!reader

w.c.: 6.8k

warnings: curse words, allusions to sex, RUDE people, sprinkle of angst (?)

summary: you introduce max to the good and bad sides of having money.

a/n: roughly inspired by crazy rich asians- one of my fav movies!!!

photo credits from pinterest :)

it was no secret to the majority of the world that your bloodline was rich- filthy rich. with your father’s side of the family owning the equivalent of half a small country and your mother’s side of the family the owners of several major corporations, you had no lack of paper bills in your bank accounts.

along with your siblings and your cousins, you grew up pampered, only going to your country’s best schools and wearing only the latest fashion. you were picked up by a chauffeur in a personal sleek black bentley and had a team of maids at your beck and call. hell, you were even granted access to a private jet in case you wanted to fly somewhere exotic just for fun!

as a child without a sense of the value of money, you thought all children lived like this. every birthday, you expected only the very best from your parents. on your sixth birthday, your parents closed down disneyland and let the kids rampage throughout the park. for your cousin’s grade school graduation, your aunt bought an entire cruise liner (company) and held a week-long party on the water to celebrate. when your little brother passed his driver’s license, your father bought him a customized ferrari pista (that he might have crashed three days in) as his first car. when christmas came by, your grandma flew in your entire family to her private island in first class, and surprised all the kids with their very own mini play homes in the backyard that were each the size of a small apartment.

slowly, as you matured, you realized how lucky you were. while eating the caviar and champagne at the expensive gala, the homeless were out in the cold, eating the leftover crusts in oily crumpled pizza boxes that they fished out of the trash. each dollar in your bank accounts could go to sick children whose parents couldn’t pay the hospital bills for, and instead, they were going to mega yachts that sat in the monaco bay most of the year. besides, wouldn’t your parents' money run out some time?

it seemed that many of your cousins and siblings didn’t give a fuck. you watched them exponentially abuse their power, blowing through thousands of grands for luxury cars they drove only once and exclusive rooftop parties where they swam in pools of champagne. one by one, you saw them drop out of school and spend every day as the life of the party. once they rapidly grew out of the excuse of being “young, naive, and not knowing better” their reputation to the general public became “spoiled and out-of-touch” with society.

you of course, weren’t totally exempt from this. you had to admit that you occasionally spent a few k on a nice little bag for yourself, or had an occasional trip to bali for some sun. however, you focused much more on your studies and helping others than partying. instead of spending your draining your mother’s company assets, wouldn’t it be better to have your own? why wield a black card embellished with your father’s name in gold when it could be your own name? with your own money, you could also donate huge amounts to people in need- all under your name.

slowly, you built up your own credible business using the knowledge you gained, and it soon skyrocketed into a world-wide profitable company.

even with such success however, all your siblings and cousins laughed at you. running a company? they had chuckled, in their balenciaga suits and miu miu dresses. why do such tedious work when you can just marry into a rich family?

rich family, you scoff, looking at one of your cousins at the yearly family party that your family threw. though she was dressed to the nines, hair done up and jewelry glistening on her neck, she looked absolutely miserable. her husband, that everyone knew she had just married “for the money” stood on the opposite end of the room, flirting unashamedly with a rather uncomfortable looking waiter. that was really funny, considering that your cousin had been bragging about how much her husband loved her at the last function. she had even shoved a picture of her next to a humongous flower bouquet into your face, teasingly stating how “you never had this experience before, huh?”

your brother wasn’t that much different. although he looked rather successful with a big quarter of your mother’s company stocks, you knew that he was in major debt from burning through his bank accounts gambling at casinos around the world. he paraded around the room with his wife, who hung on his arm so proudly, but only because she didn’t know a thing. if you hinted at your brother’s little “problem,” you knew that she would have the divorce papers ready by afternoon the next day.

as the party went on and the alcohol broke down the painstakingly-built facades of your family’s relationships, you began to stop envying their so-called perfect lives. you realized that all they knew about was money. what did they know about love?

love to you was a kind man with blue eyes that crinkled whenever he smiled at you, light brown hair that was oh-so-soft to run through with your hands, and a soothing voice with a twinge of an accent and slight lisp. love smelled like his soft cologne, and tasted like the spiced sweetbreads he would bake on the weekends.

max was the total opposite from the cocky and money-hungry douchebags from your home country that were more attracted to your wallet and family influence, which was what you liked about him. even the way you met him was different. usually, the men would make it all about themselves, trying to impress you with their “achievements” (owning three ferraris is not a keystone achievement, david) or throwing technical jargon at you to sound smart. if you somehow invited them on a second date, they always showed up late and would tear off their clothes the second they got in the house, expecting to get to third base immediately. however, you met max through a friend of a friend at a small party in monaco. he could barely look you in the eyes and stuttered through his sentences, which you found quite refreshing compared to the arrogant guys that you usually encountered. on your first date, he got you some rather wilty looking tulips, but also brought some homemade bread that you swore was the best you ever ate. on the second date, he yapped about all the flags of all the countries he knew, but you didn’t mind because he let you ramble your own interests after. before long, you moved in with him in his apartment on the edge of monaco, and had the honor of calling him your boyfriend.

so now, lying in his arms on his tiny bed, you felt more at home than ever.

the sunlight streams in through the windows above his bed, casting a glow across his face and filtering through his impossibly long eyelashes. you take a minute to admire the angelic scene, before one his cats leaps off of who-knows-where and jumps on his face.

he yelps, and unwinds his arm from around you to softly push who you assume to be sassy away from his head.

you flash a glare at sassy for ruining such a nice moment, before picking her up and attempt to “throw” her off the bed.

unfortunately, max yanks her out of your hands before you are able to.

“hey!” he says in a chastising tone. “be nice to sassy. i’m sure she didn’t mean to.”

max sits up on the bed and gives sassy a few head scratches before placing a kiss on her soft head. sassy meows at you, which you swear is in a mocking tone. across the room, jimmy sprints over and takes a spot next to max, purring for head scratches too, effectively pushing you off the bed.

you didn’t understand how your boyfriend couldn’t see that his cats were literally devils. you were basically subject to their abuse every day (i.e. random ankle attacks, knocking over all you fragile items, unplugging your devices, cat hair in your food, and the worst one, stealing max away from you). scowling, you surrender your rightful spot on the bed and pad into the kitchen in your slippers to start the coffee.

it’s not until both the coffee and breakfast is ready when max finally enters the kitchen, now freshly dressed. the cats scamper around his feet, curling lovingly around his ankles.

“sorry about that, baby.” he says, pulling out his chair and taking a seat in front of his plate of food. “jimmy and sassy just wanted some love.”

you roll your eyes before settling down into your own seat.

he spears a few sausage links and eggs into his mouth before glancing at the clock. eyes widening, he shoves the rest of the food into his mouth and chugs down the hot coffee.

“so sorry, i have to run!” he sputters out, “i’m going to be late to my engineering meeting!”

he dashes to the bedroom to grab his bag before running back into the kitchen to press a kiss to your cheek in goodbye.

“have fun at work too, baby!” he yells before the front door slams closed.

sighing, you finish your plate before washing the dishes in the sink. he was always late for his engineering job at a small office in downtown monaco. max somehow always got to his office in time though, but probably because he raced his little yellow renault clio rs on the streets like he was some type of formula one driver. meanwhile, you had your “work” at home (which typically meant one phone call to your secretary to make sure everything was running smoothly, a quick scroll through your company accounts, and then netflix on the couch).

from the time you met to the time you started dating, you never got to telling max about your family history or your job. it was actually kind of unbelievable that he didn’t notice actually, even when all your clothes were covertly designer and heels were always red bottoms, or when you seemingly traveled out of the country every other weekend for company meetings. however, he never asked, so you never told.

well, that was until he came home that night.

his footsteps echo on the ground as he walks out from the bathroom, but stops before he gets into the kitchen

“hey baby,” he says, tilting his head. “what’s this?”

you stop stirring the pasta sauce, looking back to see your freshly showered boyfriend questioningly glancing at your open macbook on the couch.

you must have forgotten to close out of your company bank account tab. quickly, you throw the spoon aside, slam the laptop shut, and throw it to the side.

“that’s nothing, baby.” you say, rushing back to the kitchen and stirring the bubbling red mixture again.

“oh-kay…” he says, walking up behind you and reaching over to help strain the pasta noodles.

while straining the water out in the sink, he flashes you a quick glance. “was it like…” he whispers quietly. “adult material or something?? is that why you didn’t want me to see it?”

what?

you look back him, an unimpressed look at your face. “adult material, max???” you repeat back at him. “no. i was not watching adult material on my work laptop.”

“okay, whatever you say, baby.” max says, clearly not believing you. clearing his throat, he continues. “so, um… anyways, my coworker george was talking about how he met his boyfriend alex's parents over the weekend, and i realized that i never met your parents before. do you think we can maybe pay them a visit?"

you freeze, halfway sliding out a plate of garlic bread from the oven.

“i- um, don’t think that’s wise, maxie.” you reply quietly.

your boyfriend wrinkles his brow. he stops the plating of the noodles and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“is it…is it because they are assholes?” he asks, looking at you seriously. “cause it’s okay if they are- i understand, because my dad…my dad is not very kind either.”

you can’t help to think about your family in your home country. you could never take your maxie there. they would rip him to shreds, degrading him for being rather plain and destitute compared to them. you would never want to put your boyfriend through your parents, either, who would probably criticize him for wanting to marry you just for the money, even if max didn’t know a goddamn thing about how you earned your funds.

you rub your face. “no, it’s not that.” you sigh, “i- mean- it’s just complicated over there in my home country. i don’t want you to feel pressure or uncomfortable-”

max cuts you off with a hug, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “i really don’t mind, baby. i’d really like to meet the people who made such a kind and beautiful person like you.”

you blush a little at his words. even if you have an uneasy feeling to your stomach, you nod lightly. it can’t be that bad, right?

if you were to take max over to your home country, there was no doubt he would be exposed to your massive fame and influence there. to slowly ease him into the more luxurious side of your life, you first introduce the luxuries of a private jet the day you take off from the airport.

“a private JET???” your boyfriend shrieks, looking at his speciality boarding pass.

hurriedly, you shush him to avoid the glares of other travelers within a yelling distance of you both.

“max, please be quiet.” you hiss into his ear. “yes, it says private jet.”

maneuvering your cart with your lv-branded luggage to the side of the terminal, along with max’s one small carry-on and two pet cages with the reincarnations of the devil inside, you pull out your phone to check the location of the driver who would take you to the separate private-jet entrance.

like magic, he materializes behind you, tapping you on the shoulder.

politely, he takes your horde of luggages and max’s items before politely gesturing towards a massive black lincoln that was definitely not parked there before.

“this way miss,” he says curtly, before reaching forward to open the car door for you.

max, snapping out of his confusion, snaps his hand out first and roughly yanks the door open, and nearly hitting both you and the driver.

“i’ll open the door for my own girlfriend, thanks!” he retorts, glaring suspiciously at the driver, who just shrugs and starts loading the luggage into the back of the car.

when max climbs into the spacious back of the lincoln, you can’t help but giggle into your hand.

“max, you need to relax,” you laugh, placing a calming hand on max’s leg. “he’s my driver. it’s his job to open the door, okay?”

your boyfriend sniffs, pouting a little.

“fine.”

after boarding the jet and ascending safely into the air, you settle into your padded chair. meanwhile, max runs around the jet like a little kid, pointing out the “special features,” much to the amusement of the staff.

“omg, baby, look!” he yells, pointing at a wooden-paneled door behind your chair. “the bathroom is huge!”

you nod, and hum in agreement, sparing a quick glance at max, who was opening and closing the door as if it would change what was behind it.

he then charges toward a cabinet near the middle of the plane, which is stuffed to the brim with your favorite snacks. “wow!” he shouts, before sprinting towards a similar cabinet further down, which you know is the alcohol storage area.

there’s a moment of silence before max steps into view with three gin and tonics and one of your favorite drinks in hand. he carefully sets them down in front of you, batting away a disgruntled-looking bartender who held a half-open bottle of gin that you assumed he was in the middle of pouring when max snatched the bottle away.

you apologize profusely to the bartender while max watches on, straight up chugging his drinks.

“this is wild!!” he whispers, pointing to the cups in front of him.

no more than five minutes after sending the bartender away with a little tip, max has already finished two of his three gin and tonics and was already bounding out of his seat to explore the rest of the plane.

once you hear his exclamations of joy from the back of the plane, you know he has discovered the master bedroom.

before you have a chance to take a sip of your own drink, max basically pounces on you and drags you towards the private bedroom. your boyfriend pushes you onto the soft bed, yells out the door.

“give us a little bit of privacy, okay?” he shouts to no one in particular, before slamming the door shut.

he turns back to your figure lying spread-eagle in the bed, and wiggles his eyebrows.

max is the first one to talk after you both lay on the bed, lips swollen and cheeks red.

“so…?” he says, running a hand down your back.

“so… what?” you ask, looking up at him from your position sprawled on top of him. from your point of view, you could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest, his slightly damp hair, and the way his blue, blue eyes study your face.

“so, when were you going to tell me that you were…like…rich?” he replies.

you maneuver yourself to a sitting position on your boyfriend’s lap, looking him nervously.

“well…” you remark, twiddling your thumbs. this wasn’t the way you thought you were going to break the news to max.

“i grew up more- comfortably in my home country, thanks to my family and their connections. i was lucky to not have to worry about money at all. when i became a little older, i separated myself from the rest of my siblings and cousins to form and take care of my own company. then, on a business trip, i met you and then.. yeah, you know what happens next.”

an awkward silence fills the room, with max digesting the information and you toying with a stray thread from the bedcovers.

your boyfriend opens his mouth slowly.

“a company?” he questions, turning to you. “what company?”

you scramble off the bed for your phone, and type something quick in the search bar. when you find what you are looking for, you rotate the phone towards your boyfriend, the glowing screen reflecting on his features.

it only takes one or two seconds for max to scan and decipher the words on the screen.

“YOU’RE THE CEO OF REDBULL??” max shouts.

when the wheels of your private jet hit the bumpy runway, it was midnight. your pilot’s voice crackles on the intercom, politely notifying you that you have arrived, and are free to disembark whenever you’d like. outside, you can see several workers unloading your luggage, along with jimmy and sassy in their pet carriers.

you turn to max, who was intensely staring at his screen, unmoving. you assume he was still in the middle of his fervent wikipedia dive of you and your family’s entire history that he insisted on learning, once he got over the initial shock.

“max,” you say, nudging him slightly.

he doesn’t budge, eyes trained like an eagle on his screen.

you pull on sweatshirt before nudging him again, this time a little harder. “max, come on, we gotta go.”

he snaps up, and pockets his phone before mock saluting you. “yes, of course, miss ceo! whatever you say!”

you roll your eyes. max was a little extra sometimes.

he trails behind you obediently as you climb down the stairs to get off the plane, and into a sleek black limousine.

before long, you find yourself on the familiar streets and freeways that you used to frequent when you were younger. it feels the slightest bit nostalgic, so different from the streets of monaco that you became used to thanks to max.

you look back to find max tilting his head at you.

“where to now, miss ceo?” he asks in a curious tone.

you smile.

”i know just the place.”

even when it was close to three am, the downtown streets were still packed with people. vendors engulfed the street sides, selling delicious soups and snacks beckoned to people, and little shops with bright signs advertised souvenirs, clothing, stationary, and everything in between. the car inches to a stop when you come upon a familiar old building that you remember visiting often as a child. bright glittery letters on the storefront and windows exclaim, “lombardi ice cream shop.” a line of people streams out the door, an ode to the delicious creamy treats that the shop has been selling for years. god, you could basically taste the ice cream on your tongue already.

you practically leap out of the car, dragging max with you towards the front of the shop. the red bottoms of your heels click against the concrete, turning many heads in the crowd along the sidewalk. you hear gasps of shock and a few whispers of your name along the crowd. they automatically parts like moses and the red sea when you get closer. max hesitates, wide eyed, at the edge of the crowd.

”c’mon,” you laugh, taking his hand and leading him through the people.

an old woman, back hunched with age, waddles out of the kitchen and greets you warmly when you arrive at the counter. without realizing, a warm feeling spreads across your chest. she was basically like a second mother to you, considering you spent your entire childhood frequenting this shop with your cousins and siblings. whenever you visited your home country, you would always make sure to pop by her shop (not that she needed your business- her lines always curled around the block, day and night).

“ahh!! welcome back, honey,” she exclaims, wiping her wrinkled hands on her apron. “you’ve gotten so beautiful!” throwing a glance at a shy max hesitantly hidden behind you, she sends you an eyebrow raise. “ah, and i see you brought a boy back huh?”

you reach over to give the weathered old woman a hug, blushing. “hello, momma lella! yes, this is my boyfriend max.”

max waves a polite hello, one hand still nervously holding yours.

the elderly woman smiles kindly at max, not hiding how she looks him up and down. “well, i approve!” she states, giving you a thumbs up and a wink. “polite and handsome!”

without another word, she grabs the largest size cup and fills it to the brim with creamy chocolate ice cream. sprinkling a good amount of sprinkles and shoving two spoons into the cup, she offers it to you.

“on the house!”

you and max sit on the sidewalk with the cup of ice cream, watching people walk by and cars zoom through the traffic. occasionally, max takes his spoon and shovels a large helping of chocolate ice cream into his mouth.

“you look like you’re really enjoying the ice cream,” you state, noticing the chocolate smeared over the corners of his mouth.

max just smiles at you in the way he always does, with the dimples and the crinkle in his eyes.

suddenly, your moment is ruined when a flash goes off in your face.

max jerks back, rubbing his eyes, not used to the invasive cameras that made up your childhood.

you whip around towards the flash, seeing a small herd of paparazzi smiling wickedly. a rare spotting of you in back in your home country for the first time in years? that was payday for them. a flash of anger shoots through you, causing you to throw your wooden spoon at their expensive cameras. unfortunately, it just bounces off of the arm of a short looking man carrying a heavy duty camera.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell, shooing them away from max. “can you just leave us alone for one second?”

bothersome paparazzi like this was common when you grew up in a family rich with drama and money. you recall them camping in front of your house, shutters clicking once they saw a sign of movement. whatever mistake you made, like tripping over a small rock or fighting with your sister over a doll, was publicized and dramatized into unrecognizable stories on gossip magazines that were popular in your home country. it was a pity that this was max’s first introduction to these pests.

you pull max with you as you shove your way roughly through the paparazzi. they deserved it if you accidentally smashed someone’s lens.

max stumbles behind you.

“wha-?” he says, holding the half-empty chocolate ice cream. “where are we going?”

you huff. “away from those wannabe photographers- i hate them so much.”

you flip open your phone to call your chauffeur, but your app notifies you it would take a total of ten minutes for him to weave through traffic to get to you both. in the distance, the paparazzi raise their cameras again, shutters clicking as they photograph your pissed off expression and a dumbfounded max next to you. you can practically see the headlines tomorrow- ‘bratty billionaire back in country!!’

like a godsend, a futuristic-looking car rumbles to life next to you. that will probably get you home and away from these fuckers fast, right? hurriedly, you march over to the disgruntled middle-aged man in the passengers’ seat.

“five million for your car- right now.” you say, dead serious.

the man’s eyes widen comically large.

“five mi-“

you cut him off quickly, seeing the paparazzi darting closer to max, who was still holding the ice cream and eyeing the cameras wearily.

“yes, five million. i’ll mail you the check.”

without another word, the man tosses you the keys and hefts himself out of the car. you leap into the drivers seat just as he gets out, and jam your finger on the window down button to beckon max into the car immediately.

the moment he sits down on the expensive-looking leather seats, you rev the engine and leave the paparazzi behind in the dust.

it’s not until you are halfway back to your penthouse when max finally speaks.

“this is a super nice car,” he states, running his hand against the interior side panels.

you look around, really noticing the detailings of the car. the sides look like they are made with some carbon fiber material, and it seemed like it didn’t even have a door handle- just straps you pull on the corner of the dashboard.

”yeah, i guess so,” you admit. “i just bought this off of that dude back there in order to get away from the damn paparazzi.”

max wrinkles his brows.

“you bought-?? what??? you know this is an aston martin valkyrie, right?”

the next morning, when the sun shines through the skyline windows lining your penthouse, you keep your promise by instructing one of your staff to send the promised check to the random guy on the street (fernando, he said his name was). your boyfriend scrolls idly on his phone next to you, probably scrolling through your family’s lengthy wikipedia page again. his cats stamp around your white bedsheets as if they owned the place. you think about what you both could do today. perhaps visit the children’s hospital? before moving to monaco, you frequented many small hospitals, bringing gifts for the children. it always felt good seeing the sick kids light up with joy. or, you could go shopping, although you did spend a little bit much on the random car yesterday. or-

before you can complete your thought, a familiar ringtone lights up the screen of your phone. your mother’s name lights up your phone, as if taunting you. before you second-guess yourself, you smash your finger into the green ‘answer’ button and place the phone to your ear.

your mother’s voice flows through the speakers, sending a wave of nostalgia throughout your body.

“darling!” the voice hums, “why didn’t you tell me that you were back in your home country? i had to find out over the silly little paparazzi pictures on the newspapers!”

damn it, you think, cursing silently in your head. it seemed that the paparazzi from yesterday night had probably sold your pictures to some trashy gossip magazine that had caught the attention of your mother. that meant that you had to face your family sooner or later.

“hello, mother,” you reply curtly, trying to avoid the topic. “how may i help you?”

your mother tuts through the speakerphone. “oh, your own mother can’t just call to say hello?”

you groan. “no- i mean yes-“

your mother cuts you off, laughing. “i’m kidding, darling. i just wanted to let you know that i’m hosting a party at our estate tomorrow, to celebrate your arrival! you’ve been in monaco for a god-awful long time. your cousins and siblings will be coming too- i’m sure they’ll all excited to see you after your hiatus in monaco!”

you hesitate before responding. your first instinct was to say no, because everybody knew full well that the only reason your cousins and siblings even bothered to show up at these kind of events is to save face and show off their new ridiculously expensive clothing and cars, not to welcome you. however, this also gave you a chance for max to meet your parents, like he wanted back in monaco. it isn’t a hard choice when you agree to meet the next day.

max revs the engine once again as he pulls the valkyrie to stop in front of the valet at the front of your family’s estate.

through the tinted windows of the car, you see one of your snobby cousins, dressed in an jeweled gown, jump at the loud sound and clutch her husband’s arm tighter however, her husband ignores her to get a good look at your aston martin supercar, which makes you laugh. to your surprise, he is not the only one. a few other family members gather around, admiring the hypercar.

in the passenger’s seat, max’s mischievous grin slowly turns into a frown of nervousness as he spots the crowd of people gathering around you both. you know it must look intimidating, meeting your significant other’s family, especially when they had such high expectations of you. you place a kiss on his cheek.

“you ready, maxie?” you ask, patting his shoulder comfortingly.

he nods, before opening the car door.

like the gentleman he is, max quickly hurries over to the passenger’s side of the car to help you out of the car. you gladly take his hand, and step out of the vehicle daintily. straight away, you can hear the confused mutterings and jealous glares of your family members start up, which follow the both of you into the house.

like expected, your childhood home is decorated a little over the top. people mingle under crystal chandeliers around staircases draped with real flowers. from the second living room, music drifts out that sounds suspiciously like martin garrix. a fancy bar is set up a room that was usually the dining room, with a bottle of every single alcohol you can ever think of. the courtyard, usually empty save a few plants, was turned into outdoor buffet bar, complete with a five story cake and massive chocolate fountain.

once inside, max attempts to introduce himself to the first friendly-looking family member that he sees, which happens to be your aunt on your mother’s side. he sticks out his hand, a smile gracing his face.

“hi, my name is max,” he says, “i’m your niece’s boyfriend.”

your aunt nods politely, shaking his hand.

“hello max,” she says, visibly studying him, “what are you, a ceo? businessman? sports star?”

”auntie!” you say, shocked, cutting max off from his response. that rude bitch. although she looked relatively kind from the outside, all she really cared about anyone was their power and money. which was probably why your cousin married a mega popstar that was away half the time. like the rest of your family, money trumped true love. “you can’t just start a conversation like that!”

max shakes his head, “no, no, it’s alright. i’m an engineer.”

“ah,” your aunt says, knowingly. taking a sip of her champagne, she continues, “head engineer, huh? of what company?”

thinking he might have misheard her, max corrects her, “oh- no, not head engineer, just an engineer, like in an office.”

your great-aunt’s friendly demeanor automatically drops.

“just an engineer?” she responds, coldly.

you notice how max’s face falls the slightest bit, before he plasters a fake polite smile on his face. he shuffles uncomfortably, glancing at you, as if saying, did i say something wrong?

before you can say something rather rude to your aunt, a hand clasps your shoulder. turning around, your brother beams at you.

“sister!” he exclaims. “i haven’t seen you in a hot sec. too busy partying in monaco, huh? or doing your silly little business things for redbull?”

he then eyes max, to which he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “who’s this, huh? your boyfriend?”

”yes,” you snap, still a little pissed from your aunt’s rude reaction.

your brother puts his hands up jokingly, in a surrender position. “damn, okay, no need to be defensive.”

he sticks out his hand to your boyfriend, who takes it gladly.

“what’s up, dude,” your brother says, shaking max’s hand. “i saw you pull up with my sister in that sick aston martin valkyrie! you must have some insane connections- the waitlist for that baby is like years long.”

your aunt answers before your boyfriend can.

“there’s no way he could have bought that car- he’s just an office engineer at some company at who knows where,” she says pointedly.

hearing this, your brother’s impressed look turns into a sneer of disdain. he steps back from max in disgust, as if he had just turned into some horrible monster. he chuckles at you.

”wow, sister, you’ve outdone yourself huh? an office engineer?”

your family, slowly becoming aware of something going on, turns towards the scene. a wide-eyed martin garrix turns off the booming music in the back.

you shove your brother further away from max, causing the glass of champagne to spill onto your brother’s designer suit.

“what’s wrong with you?” you exclaim angrily. “at least he has a job, unlike you!”

ignoring the bubbling liquid staining his suit and your enraged expression, he turns toward max, still eyeing him with disgust. “how pathetic, leeching off of my sister’s money as a ceo? ha, you probably used her card to buy that valkyrie, didn’t you?”

next to you, stunned into silence, max’s blue eyes begin to fill with tears.

behind you, your aunt lets out a cackle of laughter, along with a few members of the crowd.

you just about launch yourself at your brother, wanting more than anything to bash his head in.

as if it couldn’t get worse, your mother pushes through the crowd gathered around you both, and grabs your arm before you can make contact with your brother.

“hey!” she yells, yanking you back. “what is going on here?”

your brother grins, pointing at max. “your precious daughter went and got herself a little gold digger boyfriend- and look, he’s crying!”

you glance over to max, heart sinking. like your brother said, he had a tear running down his face, and he shook a little with embarrassment. it reminded you of a story that max once told you, how his father had often upset him as a child when he was forced to do karting. an anger flared inside of you. max had only wanted to be a good boyfriend and introduce himself to your family, but was in turn ridiculed in front of a crowd by your hypocrite brother.

your mother turns to max, then turns to you.

“is this true, darling?” she asks, tilting her head. “does he exploit you for money?”

does max exploit you for money? you can hardly even comprehend the ridiculous sentence. you roughly yank your arm out of your mother’s grasp and march over to max. you lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze.

you turn towards your chuckling brother. he won’t be laughing soon.

“you’re really one to talk, brother! you think you’re hot shit, with a large chunk of mother’s company stocks. well, wouldn't it be a shame if everyone knew that you are in debt from your uncontrollable gambling problem, hmm? i wonder what your wife feels about that?”

you take comfort in the way the smug smile drops from your brother’s face, now replaced with a withering glare. the silent crowd gathered around the scene lets out a gasp, in light of this news. their focus now was trained on your brother instead of max.

“and you!” you exclaim, turning to your aunt. “since you think the word gold digger is so funny, auntie, wouldn’t you like to know how your own daughter is one, huh?”

your aunt jerks back, not used to the crowd’s attention trained on her, along with your harsh words.

”yeah,” you continue, “if you would stop judging people based on their worth in money, you might have been able to see that all she does is spend her husband‘s money on inane things in order to ignore his multiple affairs!”

from the back of the room, you hear your cousin burst into tears while her mother, your aunt, standing in front of you, turns as red as a tomato.

gently, you lead max towards the gilded gold front door. your family gives you judgemental looks as you make your way through the crowd. turning back one last time before you step out, you address the crowd. “don’t think any of you guys are any better. all you lot do is leech off of trust fund money!”

max stays silent all the way to your penthouse, as do you. after a hot shower, you bundle him up in your soft fluffy blankets until he looks the puft marshmallow man. you can’t help but feel terrible. he silently shuffles towards you, which you respond by pulling his head against your chest. jimmy and sassy watch wearily from a distance on the carpet.

you are the first to cut through the silence.

“i am so sorry that my family did that to you, maxie.”

he doesn’t answer, but the new tears that soak your expensive silk pajama set does the answering for him.

you run your hand through his damp strands of light brown hair, and rub his back comfortingly.

he pulls back from your embrace to wipe his eyes briefly.

“why do you love me?” he hiccups, cheeks wet with tears. “like- i have no money, two cats that you hate, and- and- a tiny apartment-“

“max!” you say, cutting him off from his ramblings. “listen to me.”

you look into his watery eyes, eyelashes wet with tears.

”i really don’t care if you lived in a literal dirt hole with no job, or if you were a formula one world champion. i would love you no matter what. i love your blue eyes and your pouty lips and your lisp, and your cologne, and the bread that you bake, and your little apartment and even though it may not seem like it, i love your stupid cats too.“

he chuckles wetly at the last part of your sentence.

you kiss the top of his head.

”you don’t know how much i love you, max emillian verstappen.”

a devious grin slips onto his face. he shoots you a sultry look.

“show me.”

and you do.

later, when max lays asleep on the bed, love bites on his neck, face slightly flushed, and back bare, you get up to fetch your phone.

the person you seek is only a few taps away. he picks up on the second ring, politely greeting you even though it was an ungodly hour. you tell him your request, but he hesitates slightly.

”are you sure-“

you cut your financial advisor off as politely as possible.

“yes, that’s right. i would like to buy the entirety of my mother’s companies and my father’s estates.”

the sounds of pencil scratching paper fills your ears before your financial advisor lets out a sound of approval.

“right away, ma’am!”

a/n: APOLOGIES for my week-long hiatus!! take this fic as an apology... your normal spinoff series! scheduling will resume shortly <3

also let me know if you have a better name for this piece- i was STRUGGLING trying to name this one ;-;

#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x y/n #mv1 x reader #mv1 x you #📝

1K notes · View notes