#michael’s a wanker

[deanwax]

I guess deep in my heart I knew I'd live to see Netflix absolutely Fuck Up And Not Get Right a beloved childhood book series but I reeeeaaally wish it wasn't THAT one

[persephone1700]

Please me- Michael Gavey x Reader

Hello! I've been obsessed with all the smut stories I've been reading on this app about several characters… so I've written something I thought of.

Please be kind since English is not my first language and it's the first thing +18 I've ever written ( I kinda took advantage that I was ovulating to imagine the most dirty scenarios and write them hehe)

I plan to divide them in three parts.

I hope you like it.

Warning Tags: 18+ ONLY. Smut, Oral Sex (Reader receiving), Embarrasing himself.

Part 2

It was a Friday evening, and the campus was almost empty. Half the students were either at local pubs, attending parties, or had gone home for the weekend.

Almost everyone, except for Michael. He had stayed behind without any plans, as usual. As a "Norman no-mates" kind of student, he found himself without an invitation to any parties.

He decided the best use of his time was to begin working on the final list of problems he had due in a month.

He didn’t want to be with those wankers anyway.

He had no need to study or even try—math was just so obvious and simple. Yet, he made his way to the library, trying to escape his pristine bedroom for a while.

When he walked into the library, he didn’t expect to see you there, sitting at a table with your bare legs crossed, leaning into the table, focused on a paper you were working on.

Everybody at school seemed to gravitate towards you and your group of friends, thanks to Felix Catton.

Michael couldn’t begin to understand what was so interesting about that damn bloke.

Even his best mate and only friend, Oliver, had found himself enjoying the company of Felix and his superficial group of friends rather than his.

How can anyone be friends with someone who doesn’t even have an ounce of gray matter?

They must all be idiots.

Every one of them. Including you.

He had decided that the first time he met you during tutorial sessions with Professor Ware. He didn't even understand how you ended up paired with him for tutoring—your majors clearly displayed you were opposites, and he liked to think he was the smartest one.

On top of that, he believed people were a mere reflection of the friends they surrounded themselves with. So, what does it say about you if you are friends with the most superficial twat on campus?

No matter how pretty he thought you were, with those plump lips, big eyes and soft curves… You still were a vapid cunt.

...Or were you?

Michael Gavey wouldn't call himself your friend, but unlike everyone else, you never dismissed his presence. You were always quick to challenge his aggressive comments in the classes you shared, often proving him wrong.

Your friends, of course, found it amusing, but you never laughed. He considered you the smartest among them—not as smart as him, of course, but not sharing the same brain cell as your mates.

Sometimes, during lectures or in the halls, he caught himself watching you. Dressed in expensive clothes, you navigated the halls with an air of confidence.

He found your outfits too revealing, almost inappropriate for lectures, yet he was secretly grateful for the glimpse they offered him of your long legs and cleavage.

You were too pretty and nearly as smart as him. And you knew it, which only made things worse.

You seemed to be every guy's dream.

Every guy, including him.

Damn it.

"Michael? What are you doing here?" you asked, noticing him standing frozen in front of you, staring and holding some books.

"Uh… I'm here to finish some homework," he answered bluntly, attempting to head to a corner table.

"Sit with me. There's no one else in here, you know. You may as well just sit here, and we can keep each other company," you said, stopping him in his tracks. He hesitated, then made his way over and sat beside you, almost uncomfortably.

Opening his books, he tried to focus on the problems in front of him, his palms sweating as he feared you might notice the effect you had on him.

"Why aren't you at the party?" you asked, jotting down some notes on your paper, trying to make conversation and lighten the mood.

"Not fucking invited," he said simply, watching as the realization dawned on your face. You both sat there alone at the library, and continued working on your paper in silence.

"Why aren't you glued to your friends? How does studying alone work for your social life?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Just wanted some alone time. Needed to catch up on the activities, and I was getting bored with them. Plus, it gives me a break from Felix, so I don't murder him when he's a pain in the ass."

"He's been acting like an arse lately, hasn't he?" Michael commented as he picked up another math textbook, flipping through the pages. He wasn't sure if it was true; to him, Felix may have been an arse since he was born, certainly.

"Not more than usual—shagging some girls, getting drunk, and partying. The usual," you said, shrugging as if it were normal.

"And you don't seem to mind his stupid behavior?"

"Why would I?"

"I… I thought you were a thing. I heard a rumor you two were together…" He said, almost embarrassed to admit he paid attention to gossip and social life.

"What?" you snorted at his admission.

"Yes. I'd suppose anyone with a brain would be jealous if their boyfriend was sleeping around with other girls," he said, tightening his grip on his pencil and trying to sound nonchalant.

"Definitely not. We just enjoyed some benefits in the past," you dismissed his comment casually. "We've known each other since childhood; we're not a couple. Sex is a necessity, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh… I…" Michael was stunned, to say the least. "I…" He tried to speak, to form a response, but he was too flustered and speechless.

"Oh my God," you turned towards him, looking surprised. "Michael, are you a virgin?" you asked in a low voice.

Michael's eyes widened at your words, a red blush instantly appearing on his face. He looked away, trying to avoid your gaze. He couldn’t even deny it.

How could he when it was so painfully obvious?

"N-No!" he lied, trying to keep his cool but failing miserably.

"Have you ever seen a woman naked, Michael?" you asked, smiling with a glint in your eyes at the discovery.

Michael wished he could die at that moment. The embarrassment he felt was so intense that just when he thought he couldn’t blush more, he grew even redder.

"Yes, of course I have!" he responded defensively, too fast as if trying to convince himself. Who was he kidding? He let out a huff and muttered, "No, I haven’t, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, there’s not exactly a line of women trying to get with me, obviously" he scoffed.

"I think you’re cute," you said, smiling at him. He obviously thought you were lying. "So… uh, what exactly do you do to relieve any urges?"

How else?!?

He let out a loud groan at that question, covering his face. He did not want to be having this conversation, yet here you were, asking him the most embarrassing questions.

He leaned back in his chair, avoiding your gaze, and couldn’t believe he was admitting this to you.

"I… have a few magazines and videos…" he mumbled, his face still red. "And I… use them, obviously."

"So… you take care of yourself then. It's perfectly normal and healthy." You smiled, noticing his red cheeks. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. I do it all the time when I'm stressed."

Of course, you knew how he took care of himself; you were not stupid. You had a feeling he was a virgin and a prude, and you just wanted to hear him admit it.

You had taken some interest in Michael since the beginning of the term. At first, he was just a lonely student who was too eager to prove himself better than anyone in classes, commenting on how useless non-math topics were.

It was when Farleigh told you how much Michael stared at you in classes and made fun of him, claiming that he had a silly crush on you, that you started to notice him more.

The way his sandy blonde hair framed his face, the big blue eyes behind the framed glasses, his thin lips always pouting unconsciously as he disregarded everyone else.

You were now too interested in him, and you started to wonder what it would be like to be with him and teach him. To make him eat all his words… and satisfy your curiosity.

"What’s it like…?" he asked suddenly, his voice slightly above a whisper, looking over at you.

"What?" you smiled at him. Michael’s cheeks turned a shade redder, and he cursed himself inwardly for even asking that question. Yet he was too far gone now, his curiosity having taken over.

"Touching a woman…" he mumbled, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Maybe you'll just have to find out for yourself," you shrugged.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he turned towards you. "You asked me all these weird questions and now you can't answer mine?"

You were slightly taken back by his outburst, noticing the way his cheeks were red out of embarrassment and fury.

"What do you even ask them for? To make fun of me with those suckers?" he snarled.

"No. I asked because if you want to, maybe I can teach you," you said simply, staring into his eyes.

"How?" was all that came out of Michael's mouth as you stood up and quickly gathered your things.

"Come on, follow me." He watched as you walked over to a private study room at the end of the hallway, one of those reserved for group studies. It had a large meeting table and boards.

Understanding, he grabbed his things in a hurry and followed you to the room. He entered, locking the door behind him and glancing at where you were standing, at the center of the room, sitting at the edge of the table.

He walked over to you, trapping you against the table. He stood there for a moment, watching you, not knowing what to do next. So, you moved closer to him, taking him by surprise when your lips pressed against his in a slow kiss.

He closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, his lips kissing yours desperately. He felt it when you took his hand and carefully led it to your breast.

With your hand upon his, you gave it a squeeze and parted the kiss, watching his bewildered expression, the tint of red in his cheeks growing darker.

"Maybe you can finally explore the body of a woman," you whispered. He was too stunned for a moment, as if he was daydreaming, but then you looked into his eyes and nodded.

His gaze grew darker, and he carelessly pushed down your shirt, watching your breasts peek out.

His breath hitched, and you could see how his pupils dilated at the sight of them. His hands slid through your tits as he stared down at them with amusement.

Between his thumb and index, he reached for your nipple and noticed the way you let out a sigh out of pleasure, your nipples growing hard at his touch.

He bent down and started kissing and sucking your neck, leaving small bites here and there, where he thought people would be able to see them.

His tongue started lowering and lowering until he reached where his hands were formerly placed, and his lips started sucking on your nipple, with a free hand he cupped your other breast, moving his fingers in irregular circles.

He focused his gaze on you, and noticed the way a moan escaped your lips.

You were desperate for his touch; he could see it.

He could feel his heart throttling, as his mouth explored every inch of your breasts, the movement of his lips and tongue was a mix between inexperience and pure desire. Your fingers moved to his hair, encouraging him to continue.

"Michael…" - his name escaped your lips in a low voice. - "that feels good, do you want to keep going? "

He nodded desperately, eager to continue exploring the fullness of your body. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Without a word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was urgent, his trembling hands sliding through the side of your legs until he gripped your ass.

When his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt, you felt a surge of anticipation.

Slowly, almost reverently, he began sliding your skirt upwards, exposing more of your thighs.

He leaned back to admire the view, your breasts on full display, your red cheeks, and the way the fabric of the skirt gathered up your hips.

His hands started exploring the flesh of your inner thighs, tracing circles in his path as his fingers ventured closer to your core, a soft moan escaping your lips as you tilted your head back.

Michael's eyes darkened with desire at the sound, and his hands stilled for a moment, savoring your reaction.

He knelt in front of you, and he watched with amusement the way his fingers traced a path at the edge of your panties, the fabric acting as a barrier between his touch and your core.

He ran a finger through the fabric and felt how wet it was, before he moved it aside and a moan escaped his lips at the sight of your pussy. His gaze met your eyes, almost shily with a question written on them of whether he could go further.

When you nodded, his fingers started touching you, moving his finger up and down slowly, trying to find the place that would give you more pleasure, when his finger met your clit, he noticed the way your body shivered and he focused his attention there.

He started moving his fingers slowly against your bud, and the quiet moans he heard and the way your breath hitched, made him think he was doing a good job, so he started to move his fingers faster, in a painful way.

A whimper left your mouth, and your hand grabbed his, stopping him.

"No. Not fast or it hurts. " - you said between breaths, when he nodded in understanding, you guided his fingers once again against your clit.

Guiding him through the right pace which makes your skin grow hotter.

His fingers started moving with more confidence, finding rhythms and patterns that made you moan.

His name erupted from your chest in a cry of pleasure, and suddenly his touch was not enough, with a hand placed against the table you leaned forward and watched the way his gaze was focused on your core.

His fingers were not enough, you needed more.

You needed him pressed against you, so with your other hand you grabbed his hair and pulled him closer to your pussy, a groan reverberated in your skin, and his lips started sucking on it.

His erection was hard since he entered the room, and as he watched you moaning and pulled him closer it grew painfully hard, the boxers restraining him and making his cock start to twitch.

He thought it would be more painful the embarrassment he would feel if he came on his boxers at the simple sight of her moaning while he ate her up, so he tried to focus solely on her.

He failed...

You started breathing heavily at the way his fingers slither inside you and his tongue moved against your pearl.

Fueled with pleasure your back arched, and your fingers tightened their grip on his hair, pulling him closer. His touch was electric, and your eyes opened, locking your gaze with him... hen he lost it.

His cock started throbbing against his boxers, seizing as he came undone at the sight of you.

[fandomwritingbit]

Okay last one- for now

Michael x female reader hate smut-

Michael is a straight up bully to reader, they always argue and never get along, but one night readers car breaks down confidently in front of his home- doesnt help that its raining so she is getting soaked, she tries calling her roommate but because its night they dont pick up.

Michael comes out to see whats going on and he spot her, he rolls his eyes and makes her get inside instead of staying in the cold, grumbling that he will fix it in the morning and she can sleep in his room, he even lets her have some of his clothes- but he makes her sleep on the floor, she refuses to saying its cold and after a bit of arguing he grabs her and kisses her quiet, telling her he knows a way to keep her warm if she wants

Reader consents and the rest is up to you 👀

Okay, so I’ve never written for Michael before... but I had way too much fun with this. I wrote it kind of like a comedy with smut because I get perverse enjoyment out of bullying Michael lmao. Hope it’s to your liking!  

Warnings: smut nsfw, vaginal sex, creampie god I hate that word swearing, bad car knowledge, reader and Mike are both kinda arseholes, Will cameo, a joke about a dead parent, yes ik it sounds bad, but give it a chance cos that’s funny af irl.

Driving home from the shop, you double flick the windscreen wipers as the hammering rain only gets worse. You’re already wet from the 10 seconds you spent outside, your jeans clinging uncomfortably to your legs and dampening the seat underneath you. 

Mumbling a ‘for fuck’s sake’, you turn down another residential road, still over two miles from your house, the quick nip out for fags having taken up way too much of your night. 

Its then that the worst sound possible could be heard. Your engine packing in, squealing like a stuck pig in a fence, followed by a juddering thud as you’re mercifully able to steer it up the curb outside a house, before it completely dies on you. To be honest, you’d know that this shit-raft hadn’t had long left but really, tonight? Right now? So far from home? After you’d just spent a fucking fortune fuelling up? Bleeding typical. 

You get out of the car, no umbrella or jacket to speak of and are wet to the bone before you can even get to the bonnet and peer inside. Seeing smoke depressingly coming from some part of the vehicle you couldn’t name. 

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Someone behind you says, emphasising the ‘you’ with disgust. Of course you turn, ready to give someone the mouthful of profanity you were saving for this limp cock of a car. You recognise the tallish, messy haired lad immediately and curse in annoyance. Fucking great: it’s Michael Afton. 

You found him such a silly ponce. And he you, a nasty prick. Having known each other since college and now finding yourself studying at the same Uni, your animosity towards each other having grown and matured into a smouldering hatred that caused arguments anytime you were in a room together. Only yesterday morning you’d given him a mouthful for how he’d acted towards you in a Costas. And so, seeing him now, you almost laughed at how this night probably couldn’t get any worse. 

“You’re really here to give me shit now?” You sigh, trying to keep a level head as he probably had a better chance of fixing this car than you. “My car’s dead as a dodo.” 

“That...” He smiles at you meanly, enjoying the sight of you soaked through and looking damn right miserable. “...is a shame.” He turns to walk up a drive into a house you assumed was his, grinning at your anguish. 

Giving him the wanker gesture behind his back, you pull out your phone, registering the sound of a front door closing, whilst your shaky, wet hands tried to dial your roommate. Eventually you succeed, but it goes straight to voicemail, their phone clearly dead or off. Leaving you stranded as your parents were out of town and no one else was local, it being summer hols and you being home from Uni. You put your hand on your head, desperately trying to find a solution to your freezing cold predicament. 

From inside his house, Michael peeked through his curtains surprised to see you still stood outside in the rain. Surely, you’d have the common sense to get back in your car or something. But no. He watched you looking like a stray cat for a few minutes before his decency took over and he goes to the door to see if you’re alright. 

“You standing there all night, y/n?” 

You laugh sharply, tears of frustration threatening to spill. “Just fucking might.” 

“You wanna come in while you wait for someone?” He says, sighing at having to spend time in the same building as you, but still feeling a shred of pity. 

“I ain’t got anyone to come get me.” You say, hands rising to an irritated shrug.

“Still wanna come in for a bit?” 

And although you’d usually rather stick a spork in your eye than sit around with Michael Afton, it beat standing here, or sitting in your car. But only narrowly. 

He leads you through his front door, showing you a bathroom and after you heavily hint, giving you some dry clothes to wear whilst your own dried on a radiator. You thank him reluctantly, going inside said toilet to put on the joggers and hoodie he’d given you. Scowling to yourself in the mirror as you can smell him on the clothes. 

You come out after promising yourself to not let him wind you round the bend. Finding your way to a kitchen, where stood leant against a counter, after nicely, he’d boiled a kettle for you. 

He hadn’t expected the movement in his trousers at seeing you in his clothes, it felt intimate and kind of sexy. And for a moment he just saw you as a good-looking lass, not the witch that had been haunting him for 4 years. 

“Thanks for the clothes and the hot drink- I appreciate it.” 

“Yeah, you should. I was tempted not to invite you in.” You smile sarcastically at him, walking over to the rack of mugs you’d spotted on the counter, grabbing some kind of fancy-arse tea bag. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. My parents are out of town.” You briefly explain to him, using the mug to warm you aching hands. To which he stood silently, watching your arse in his trousers as you did so. 

“If you promise to keep your mouth shut, you can stay here.” He offers unenthusiastically.

“Why would I want to do that, Mikey?” You laugh.

“Feel free to go back out-fucking-side.” He gestures with his hand in the rough direction of the door, a very familiar sneer on his face. 

And what else could you do? Sleep in your car outside in a neighbourhood you didn’t know that well? So you agree, not hiding the look of despair the prospect gave you. Which only doubled when he told you his dad would be coming home so you’d have to sleep in his room. On the floor. Like a dog. 

~

He threw a couple of pillows on his carpet, then a paper-thin blanket, looking at you with a stupid smug expression on his stupid smug stupid fucking face.

After about 10 minutes of shivering on his floor, your back already throbbing from the lack of mattress, you grow tired of hearing the shit tik toks he was watching. 

“I can’t sleep here, this is ridiculous.” You sit up, making him jump a little at the abruptness. “What did you just shit yourself for? Forget I’m here?” You say somewhat meanly, a snicker accompanying it, standing up and cracking your neck.

“Shut up. Where are you gonna go like?” His voice takes on a cutting mocking tone, “Get in here with me?” 

You walk over to him, face a picture of annoyance. “That what you want Mike? Me to get in fucking bed with you?” You laugh, bringing you head down to his level as he was sat. “To think, all this time I thought you were a cunt to me because you hated me. When really you just want to fuck me.” Shaking your head, you point a finger at him, “God that’s fucking pathe-” 

Your further insults are cut short when he grabs you and kisses you harshly on the mouth, the only thing he could think to do to get you to shut the fuck up for once. And you’ll admit, you respected the bollocks on him for it.

Maybe it was the frustration of the night’s events. Maybe it was built up hate between the two of you boiling over. Neither of you are sure. But you let him pull you on to his lap, kissing him back, tongues and hands quickly becoming involved.  

You feel the urge to call him names when you feel the hardness of his cock pressing against the inside of your thigh. But you stifle it, grabbing his hand to make him take his hoodie off your frame, not having to tell him to do the rest because he did so quickly. Rushing to unhook your bra and palm your tits, whilst you pull up his shirt, then down his trousers to gain access to his cock. 

There was no finesse to it, just hurried grabbing and heated biting of lips of necks. Both of you wanting to assert some level of dominance and fuck each other before it dawned on you that you hate one another. And so, it wasn’t long before he yanked you forward to pull his joggers down and your knickers aside, his thick cock spreading you open as sit atop him. It surprised you how good it felt to have him thrusting up into you, whilst your hips rolled fuelled by dislike and desperate to cum almost immediately. 

You did when he pushed you back, making you lay backwards before climbing on top of you and shoving himself back inside you. The new angle more than welcome, making you grunt as your orgasm neared. Hitting you hard as a freight train when his pace doubled to selfishly chase his own release, which due to the tight fluttering of your walls was closer than he realised. 

“Oh fuck.” He spat, pressing you flat into his bed as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist eager for more of his hammering pace. “That's it. Shi- God you feel fucking good.” You had it in you to laugh then, his whiney voice cracking as he neared his end enough to make you smirk. Though it was wiped from your face when his thrust faltered and stuttered as he came inside you, seemingly unbothered about the consequences. 

Though in that moment you didn’t think about that either, too focused on the feeling of his release inside you. 

It wasn’t the last time you’d be experiencing that tonight. 

~

The morning quickly rolled around, and you slip out of Michael's bed to go and get something to drink, more than thirsty after last night. Bare feet pattering on wooden floorboards, you struggle to find his kitchen again as the house was unfamiliar. Eventually you get there and with your now dry clothes in hand you sit down with a much-needed glass of water. 

You weren’t sat long when you register the sound of footsteps descending stairs, a prickle of dread as you thought it might be Michael. 

"Who the fuck are you?" A gruff voice makes you turn your head towards the door of the kitchen, where a bloke you'd never seen before stood.

"Could ask the same for you." You raise an eyebrow at his curtness. "I'm Michael's... mate." You half-arse explain. The man leans on the doorframe a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he walked into the room smirking and started messing about with a coffee machine.

"What's funny about that?" You ask looking at him, there was resemblance between the two, but Mike would look 10 years younger stood next to his dad. 

"Nothing." He looks you up and down. "Credit to him: you're alright." He answers through a smirk aimed at you. You just laugh, turning your attention to your phone. Not noticing when Mike came to find you.

Glancing up at him you give a nod of acknowledgement before going back to your scrolling. Completely missing when his father gestures towards you with his head, mouthing the word 'respect' to his son, who looked mortified.

"Stop being a dick, pa." Michael snapped. You look up to see what was going on, catching Mr Afton looking away from you with a laugh. And give Michael a raised brow smile, whilst his dad leaves the room, not without another glance in your direction.

"What are you grinning at?" His tone reaks of irritation. Only growing when you point to the empty door saying,

"THAT explains so much." Through a teasing laugh.

"Fuck off."

"I'm trying to, but there isn't a bus for half an hour. And my car is fucked, remember?" He rolled his eyes, going to the coffee machine himself and mumbling when asking you if you wanted some. You did and told him as such.

"Ay, thanks." You say as he sets it down in front of you. Having the curtesy to sit with you while you wait, lest his dad hear his footsteps and sneak in like a fox in a chicken coup.

"You alright?" You ask him, unused to the sensation of being pleasant with each other and so rejecting it, poking him in the ribs.

"Can you be quiet for like 5 fucking seconds?" Each word is near hissed at you.

"What kind of scene would this be, if I was?" You roll your eyes as you take a sip of the coffee he made you. Laughing as you thought of another way to piss him off. "You're one to talk anyway, with all the ‘talking’ you did last night." He turns to your words, face a clear warning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck. That's it. Like that. Shi- God you feel fucking good-" You mock moan, accompanying it with a lewd gesture that made him look over his shoulder to check his dad hadn’t returned.

"Shut the fuck up!" He rises, "like you didn't have a good time." He says through a face of disgust. You continue giggling, loving how easy it was to wind him up.

"Practically drooling over my cock, like a dirty bitch." You just laugh again; he couldn’t even touch your feelings with that shit.  

Letting silence fall over the two of you, you go back to your phone, giving him a smidge of respite. But he throws it back in your face after a mere two minutes.

"Will you stop tapping your foot, its driving me fucking nuts." And there's your green light to go at him again.

"You're a prick sometimes, Mike." You say, shaking your head. "But your dad- oh, no. He's really hot. Like scary, but scary sexy you get me?"

"Yeah... so's your mam." He snaps, his cheeks red. Instantly looking down when Mr Afton pops back in for something, unsure if you'll continue prodding and dreading if you did.

"Uhhh... my mam is dead, really funny there, mate." You say, your face falling still, and voice cracking on the last part. His whole demeanour changes, as does his father who stands like he's at attention in front of the squadron leader, both as tense as a spring.

"Oh shit, really? I'm sorry I-" He starts, panic flooding his face as he thought you were going to cry.

You laugh out of nowhere, "No. she isn't, Mike. But your fucking face." Mr Afton laughs from across the room, coming over to see the fallout that was about to occur, seeing the indignation on his son’s face and being unable to pity him.

"Ah you've got to bring this one back, Michael. She's fucking class." He says, grinning like a wolf. Mike scowls, despising you even more for ribbing on him with his own fucking dad.

"I should kick you the fuck out." He says exasperated, filled with dislike for you again. Sitting back down but not looking at you.

"Uh.” Mr Afton interjects. “You are not kicking my future daughter-in-law out of this house." You smirk, surprisingly feeling a tickle of guilt at being such a cock to him. 

But you have a feeling that you'll make it up to him later.

[applecherryandpears]

That time Noel car chased Liam to stress that Wonderwall’s indeed about a girl

So... this was supposed to be Wonderwall's single cover:

The photographer (Michael Spencer Jones) had brought Liam to Primrose Hill in London to take that shot but both were interrupted by what he described as a "black cab that came to a screeching halt". From that said running cab, came out Noel, allegedly shouting that Liam - "our kid" - was not to be on that cover as Wonderwall is a love song, about a girl. According to Michael, Noel downward hated the thought of Liam being on the cover.

The girl on the actual cover was a Creation Records employee in the exact same pose:

So, being incredibly grateful for the mental image this article gifted me with, I decided to make a post summing up the many Wonderwall meanings according to Noel.

Disclaimer : I think Wonderwall's about Liam, just putting it out there.

My own thought is that Noel can't say this because, and to quote him "it would look bad" see this interview excerpt about the song dirty shirt in 1997:

"Meg is the girl in the dirty shirt. (...) Liam will read this and say, You fucking wanker! Because he thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him. So he'll be telling me it's a geezer in a dirty shirt really, except I couldn't say that because it would look bad."

Apart from the absolute chaotic reaction of having the lead singer star on the cover of the lead single, Noel, I think, obviously wanted Liam to sing it, initially.

Liam had been given a choice between this and Don't look back in anger by Noel, who stressed many, many, times throughout the years that Liam didn't like the song when he first heard it (I'd say covertly disappointed). Also he gave different versions of whatever Liam said about it : 

But Liam, first time he heard "Wonderwall" he said, "That's puff's music, I'm not sing that." For weeks and weeks and weeks he wouldn't sing it, and then he heard me singing it and then he knew. in 1996  "(pissy voice) Wonderwall, it's fucking dance record, innit? All that hip hop drum beat - we're not a fucking dance group. Of course, once he's sung on it it was the best record ever made." "I said, ‘You’re singing one or the other, but not both.’ He hated Wonderwall. He said it was trip-hop. There speaks a man who’s never heard trip-hop." In a recent interview "Everyone in the band went, 'I'm sorry but I don't f*****g think so," "I remember Our Kid saying, and I'll never forget this, 'Why are you writing reggae songs?' And I was like, there speaks a man that has never heard reggae."

In 2023, Liam confirmed that as he first heard Wonderwall being played “I didn’t like it at first, I thought it was a little funky.” And Bonehead, added, “It sounded like a reggae song to me. The first time [Noel] came in, I was like, ‘What the hell’s that?”. (Far Out Magazine).

Which I get as Noel's acoustic version is very different from Oasis version with Liam on vocal. But anyway, Noel often mentioned that when Liam's reluctant to sing one of the songs he pretends he will sing it himself and this way Liam like clockwork jumps on it, and that's exactly what he said for Wonderwall + told Liam it will be a hit, and immediately, Liam wouldn't let go of it.

So my guess is that the 'choice' was just a snare to make Liam do what he wants, as Noel likes to do.  And also a bit of power play at hand there in an attempt to ground 1995 firework Liam and as Noel said again in 2023 "to have a song on his own" as he was getting annoyed by Liam walking out on him.

"The only time I laid down the law was Wonderwall and Don’t Look Back In Anger. "I was so fucked off with him walking off stage and me having to take over and do the gig. I remember thinking, if I’m going to do this, I want a big fucking song to sing." + "I said, ‘You’re singing one or the other, but not both.’

Liam said between 1995-96 “When Our Kid went, ‘Right, you’ve got a choice, “Wonderwall” or “Don’t Look Back In Anger,” ’ it done me head in,” the singer told NME. “I said, ‘I wanna sing both, you dick.’ But I chose ‘Wonderwall’ ’cos it was right and it happened. But I don’t think I could have sung ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ the way he sung it. And when I hear it I think it’s great.”

Additionally in 2023, Noel kinda slipped and said "I'm glad I chose that one" after saying Liam chose it when a record label person said it would be their big hit.

But what is interesting is as their relation deteriorated Noel changed the Wonderwall story:

Around 1996-1997 "I wanted to sing Wonderwall because the guitars are accoustic but our kid insisted that he wanted to sing it. So I said Alright im going to do DLBIA"

In 1997, in the book Getting High: The Adventures of Oasis by Paolo Hewitt, he wrote "according to Owen Noel wanted to sing wonderwall which makes perfect sense, he had written the song with Meg in mind, it was the only way he knew how to properly express his love for her with the song detailing her struggle to find work but celebrating her ability to bounce back against the odds. So we finished Wonderwall, and Liam's Right I'm singing this one. And he did a blinding vocal a brilliant vocal."

in 1998  Noel went "I always wanted to sing "Wonderwall", but I'm glad he sang it 'cos he sings it better than I do."

or when asked on a TV show in 2000 'If I wrote wonderwall I wouldn't want to give that to my brother to sing', Noel said that he did not but they had a long heated debate on who will sing it and in the end, he didn't have a choice because Liam's 'bottom lip went too far down towards his kneecaps' 'he looked very very sad' and he said alright he will sing the other one don't look back in anger.

And only recently in 2021, he went back to the original story:

“He wanted to sing ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’, but it became apparent during the recording that ‘Wonderwall’ was going to be the tune. If I’m being honest, I shouldn’t have sung either of them because I wasn’t really a singer then.”

I mean every critic agrees that Liam gave one of his most impressive vocals singing that song "both cuttingly sharp and heartbreakingly warm at the same time" Noel said he '"had no idea, even after the first album, that Liam could sing like he did on 'Wonderwall,'" and that he did " a sterling job (...) ‘Wonderwall, ‘Hey Now’ and ‘Cast No Shadow’ were literally one take. He delivers my songs spot-on. He knows." So it's a bit strange that he didn't just go on saying that like other songs such as Slide Away Liam's delivery gave it a special edge.

Personally I think it has to do with the meaning of the song for their relationship. There is a lot of hope and commitment in that song all while acknowledging the anger and difficulties of a relationship.

An other thing that struck me as important was, in an oasis book it was reported that while watching Wonderwall win some chart thing on TV Noel turned to the person writing and started going on about how high the wibbling rivalry was on the charts in comparison to the oasis tracks. So what came up to his mind was the 'Liam fight track' while listening to the song, weirdly enough.

And about the meaning --->

Originally, Noel attributed this song to his then girlfriend Meg Matthews as we know. She was compared to a schoolboy's wall to which posters of footballers and pop stars are attached, Noel told Select magazine

"It's about my girlfriend. She was out of work, and that, a bit down on her luck, so it's just saying, 'Cheer up and f---in get on with it.'" After Liam's and Noel's infamous interaction with their Father, he even told her directly as much albeit gave it a a more romantic meaning "Fucking hell Meg, you're meant to be my wonderwall and you were fast asleep when it all went off. What kind of Wonderwall are you?" or when a cover of the song came out and she thought Noel had plagiarized the song he wrote for her he told her " 'No, honestly, I did write about you...!"

Now, idk how reliable he is but their father said that the wall actually existed and it was Noel's and Liam's :

"both Noel and Liam's original ‘wonderwall’ was actually the wall of the bedroom they used to _ share as children in their — ex-council house. ‘They called it their wonderwall" "in 1983 they both started writing on the wall, bits of songs, poems, favourite bands, football teams. In one corder Noel wrote 'I love Diane Jones’ and underneath in the same writing, “Liam _ is a puff”. They'd fight terribly about who had the most writing space. | didn't touch it for years but | wallpapered - it before Christmas."

Meg has been written at the time as "The only girl he had met who came close to being as important as his music and the one who understood him better than almost everyone else."

But Noel then stuck to the following version about the song's name, that it came from Wonderwall Music the debut solo album by George Harrison and the soundtrack to the 1968 film Wonderwall, (She lives next door to a man who becomes fascinated with her, so he slowly makes holes in his wall so he can watch her through it. This is the "Wonderwall.").

Meg said that "George Harrison wrote the music to the film Wonderwall, so that's the reference, but to me it's about being his wall of strength. His solidity." She never asked him directly and found out the meaning in the papers months later. So idk if this is her interpretation or if Noel said something about the actual meaning.

Then in 2003, in Q magazine's 1001 Best Songs Ever, Noel backtracked, "The meaning of that song was taken away from me by the media who jumped on it. And how do you tell your Mrs. it's not about her once she's read it is? It's about an imaginary friend who's going to come and save you from yourself."

and In 2023 Noel pinned him saying the song was about Meg on this specific cover "We did the cover and there's a girl on the front, She had long blonde hair, she looked like my then-wife, Meg Matthews. Doing the interviews for the thing [later], and they say, 'Is this about your wife?', and what do you say? No? So you say yes but it's not about anyone in particular"

Yet Noel admitted it was a romantic song in 1998 : You don't write a song like Wonderwall if you're not romantic. I am. I'm a dreamer and a romantic. Liam is too.

and later

First of all, “Outside of England, it’s the one we’re famous for all over the world, and it annoys the fuck out of me,” Noel Gallagher once said. “It’s not a fucking rock and roll tune. There’s quite a vulnerable statement to it.”

So while I don't think this song is about Meg, it is definitely an emotional song that strips him bear.

More importantly, years later after hell broke loose in Oasis, Noel praised Ryan Adams's version and declared he is the only person who ever got the song “Wonderwall” right. Ryan Adams played it as part of his album "love is hell" and said that "It occurred to me that I was singing it from the perspective of someone in danger of committing suicide. (...) It's someone saying, you're my last hope. But in the second verse, that hope it's not happening, and I'm singing like that".

I don't think it's coincidence that after all the issues they had Noel was the one who mainly sung that song himself live in the late 90s and then gave it a tone of devastation and sorrow as he switched to playing it Ryan Adams way for a long time. The collapsing of their relationships brought out the frustration rather than the hope in the song.

As to Liam and Noel's thoughts on the songs, while around 95 they weren't critical of it, seemed quite proud of it, and Noel even said it was part of his favorite/best songs with Live forever, they changed their tunes years later, that said it could only be due to the reluctance and irritation of being seldom seen as 'that band that did Wonderwall'.

For example Noel claimed in 2006 "I don't much like 'Wonderwall,' but the effect that song has on people, I can't deny it," he said. "Great music is in the ear of the beholder." and that it's one of his least favourite Oasis songs because it's "unfinished". If I could somehow twist time and go back there, I’d probably pick a different song for our calling card. Probably Some Might Say."

But one comment from Liam struck me as extreme even for him, In 2008, Liam said during the press run for Dig Out Your Soul, “At least there’s no ‘Wonderwall’ on there. I can’t fucking stand that fucking song! Every time I have to sing it, I want to gag." So it could be its popularity or the fact Liam had lost his voice, but I've never heard him talk so critically about an Oasis song, it sounded personal. Just like when Noel recently said he's glad he's singing that one as it's a better song.

So I still think that while they're honest saying they don't want Oasis to be summed up to one tune, but their uneasiness playing the song live was due to its meaning. Noel even stressed the band couldn't find a way to play it right live, which is not exactly true, considering the famous live where Liam stares at Noel during the chorus.

So there's that.

[neil-gaiman]

hi neil !

i’m DYING to know if we’re going to get that deleted scene from the script book where the angels visit aziraphale the day he opens his bookshop. “michael ? michael’s a wanker” is one of my favourite lines (is it a line of it isn’t said out loud ?) and i just know david would do it so well !!!!!

Not in Season 2.

[drconstellation]

A Tale of Two Peacocks

The Relationship Between Gabriel and Michael

Some weeks ago I said I would take on the challenge of looking at the relationship between Gabriel and Michael, then I got sidetracked writing something else* - which is not always a bad thing. But I want to return to this because its too good not to do a post on it, and before I get too deeply involved in the other writing.

This is definitely going to involve some NSWF language - hey, I can't help this, its in the script - so the bulk of this is going to be below the cut. But the short of it is, they have a fairly low opinion of each other.

We need to go back to S1, where there is an interesting set of parallel scenes we should start our discussion with that spells it out for us. The first one is in S1xE2, and the other is actually in one of the deleted scenes from the cold opening of S1xE3, and they both use parallel characters to inform us of what Gabriel and Michael think of each other.

It turns out I've already talked about the first one, in this meta here, where I discuss how Newt is a parallel for Crowley.

Then [Frobisher] power-walks past. Newt is not even worth her time stopping for. "Need a hand, Dick?" *Snort* - and ouch. That's a below-the belt joke. She's just called him a wanker. In the US you might use the term jerk instead. Someone who's a bit egotistical and more in it for themselves than others. (and I never thought I'd be fact-checking the meaning of this word ever, but there's always a first time...) She's basically just equated him Gabriel, in my book (and in more ways than one.)

And I wrote all that months before I started writing my Crowley-Gabriel parallel/foil series, too.

The other thing about this first parallel scene is the character of Frobisher, who is dressed very much like a demon, but is actually the parallel character to Michael, as we see later on in the paintball fight at Tadfield Manor.

(Er, I know this is all a bit 2nd/3rd hand evidence, but the second scene is a bit more direct, so bear with me.)

The second one, in S2xE3, is the deleted bookshop opening scene.

Source: Script for the unaired scene of Aziraphale opening his bookshop in 1800

Oh, look at that. Somebody is being called a wanker. Again. This time it's Crowley calling Michael a wanker, however, and its only one step to the side with Crowley being a parallel character to Gabriel (and I challenge you to watch s1 again in this light after finishing this post, and see how many similarities you can see between Crowley and Gabriel showing through even back then.)

OK. So we've established that Gabriel and Michael both think each other are wankers at this point, but what else can we find out about them?

Peacock Fighting

I've written a couple of posts about peacock symbolism. Firstly, Michael is strongly associated with having many eyes - their Ophanim ring, their costume has eye motifs, and they are essentially head of surveillance for Heaven. So this made me think they might be the peacock referred to in the Job minisode.

But later, after more research, it became apparent the lines paraphrased in Job were definitely referring to Gabriel. (See also Judgement Day.) There are associations with both royalty and vanity there.

They are both peacocks, but for different reasons.

And they are also both in competition with one another.

Gabriel Doesn't Have A Desk

Desks are a symbol of power in western society.

The bigger, and more solid the desk in a corporate office, the higher up the person is.

The teacher at the front of the room, the authority in the room, has a bigger desk than the students.

Those desks offer protection to the person in authority sitting behind them. They mark a separation between that said authority and the masses they command on the other side. Only the most trusted get to come around to the same side that they are sitting on to be more intimate with them.

At work, your desk is connected to your identity there. Its your place in the organization. You may even individualize it with decorations.

Just take a look at what Newt was bringing on his first day to work in S1xE2:

Pens, a pen holder, notepads, a ball of rubber bands, a plant (a bromeliad, a plant that does well in fully shaded damp environments, just like Hell) and some rations. Er, I mean lunch. Given to him by God Frances his mother.

The travesty of the modern trend of "hot desking" is de-personalizing the employee. They are no longer a valued employee with a valued place, they're just another faceless cog in the grind.

We see Michael behind a desk as Duty Officer in S2. It's starkly clean and sharp and made of glass, as we would expect to find in Heaven. It's used a shield and badge of office when we see them fulfilling that role.

Michael doubts Gabriel has a desk, although Gabriel insists he does, even though we have never seen it. Yet he still requires the proverbial archive box for moving locations?

I'm just going to leave the parallel between Newt and Gabriel there for further discussion. Please do remember the bottom falls out of Newt's box in the car park, leaving him with an empty box, too.

(Muriel has a glass desk, too, but interestingly they don't have a chair. You might like to compare their encounter with Aziraphale in the Job minisode to the escapade with Crowley in the present day. There is volumes said without words.)

Just while we are on the subject of desks, thought you might like to compare Crowley's and Aziraphale's desks as well. They are always on about how much paperwork they have to do!

Sovereign versus Disciplinary Power

This is eventually going to turn into a discussion about fate versus free will at some point, but I do need to talk about the different types of power first, because I haven't done my long promised Power and Authority meta yet. The two concepts are closely related, and Gabriel and Michael are each acting as foils for a side of the concepts.

Gabriel represents sovereign power, the supreme legitimate power of the state. Power and action trickles down from the top, and punishment is almost a show of entertainment, but one designed to educate. "Oh, those angels Fell - if I do something bad, I might Fall, too!" And so Gabriel expects to Fall when he is given his trial, and Aziraphale when he lies to save Job's children.

Michael is representing disciplinary power, something that lies at the heart of society today. This is where power is spread among individuals, and individuals are more likely to do their own discipline merely because of an overhanging threat of a possibility they may get caught if they do.** Are they being watched? Who might see and report their transgression? Michael has eyes (and ducks) everywhere... So does Orwell's book 1984.

This is a very simplistic view, of course - reality is more complex than that, and is usually a combination of the two, but we have to start somewhere.

Now lets throw the fate vs free will components into the mix. Let us revisit the story of King Cnut and the tide.

The story, if you are not familiar with it, is that Cnut had his throne set on the beach and commanded the incoming tide to halt where it was, and not to wet his robes or feet. Of course, the tide kept rising and splashed the king, where he leapt up and declared his might and power as a king worthless compared to that of God. The story is meant to demonstrate his piety before Heaven, and that he was not the ultimate controller of all things - his sovereign power was limited.

They say time and tide*** wait for no man - we are at the mercy of what ever fate they bring us, and we can't manipulate that. That's decided by the supreme power, the ultimate sovereign power, so to speak.

Gabriel tends to take this line - he does not have control over the summoning of the Four Horsepeople, they are just happening as they supposed to, and that's not his department. Plausible deniability, baby! Back channels? What back channels, Michael?

So if you did want to have some power over it, some free will to control outcomes? But hang on - every one else has free will as well. Sounds a bit chaotic. Who's in charge? Nobody. Everybody. Welcome to Michael's world. They want the power, they're prepared to fight for it, for what they think is right - but so is everyone else.

But what if you were the creator of free will itself? Would you be The One to have control over time and the tides?

Tadfield Manor, Again

Michael is the archangel who throws Lucifer down from Heaven, and we see this play out at Tadfield Manor during the paintball fight, when we are shown that it is actually Frobisher/Michael who shoots the shot that hits Norman/Lucifer in the heart - although we are initially made to think its Nigel/Gabriel who did it. (One day I will teach my self how to make GIFs and make a GIF of this.)

Frobisher is the more competitive one at all times - she is the only other employee besides the naive Newt to put their hand up when Nigel asks who is looking forward to the Training Initiative and she asks Crowley and Aziraphale "Who's winning?" as she runs past them inside - to which Crowley presciently declares "You're all going to lose."

If you look at the extended scene in light of the above, you can see sovereign authority of senior manager Nigel/Gabriel is still floating around as a rather toothless tiger to the whims of fate, while everyone else is exercising their free will and disciplinary powers to try and control one another. And, as Crowley says, nobody wins. It's a lose-lose situation.

Michael is competing for an empty dream.

Gabriel is trying his best to survive something that is not what it seems.

And...I think I'll leave it there. Thanks for reading.

*I've started writing a multi-chapter human AU fanfic. But I'm a slow writer, and I'm not writing it in a linear fashion - because it has to be stuffed full of meta, of course - so I decided I better pull myself out of it before I got pulled in too far and finish a couple of things off so you didn't think I'd disappeared completely. I wasn't planning on doing one, but you know how these things go - one day an idea just pops into your head, the next thing the characters are talking to you and taking on their own life and a couple of thousand words later...

**There was a post about the oculus, (found it! thanks to gallup24) the round skylight window in the roof of the bookshop and the Panopticon, an infamous prison design where the prisoners can all see each other but can't see if the guard is watching them, but of course I've lost track of it, haven't I.

***The tides are controlled by the Moon and Sun, and ostensibly for this argument, by Heaven as well. They are fated to continue in their set orbit and/or path through the sky - or the Earth on it's orbit around the Sun, is probably the better way of looking at it.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

the more that ive thought about it (it of course being the argument clip), the more that i need to get something off my chest and defend aziraphale - not necessarily against anyone, not saying anyone is attacking him, but whilst crowley is my special apple crimble crumble boy, aziraphale is the goodest lil dude and there is nothing i wouldn't do for that messy man-

i think what a lot people forget about aziraphale is that he is so fucking clever, he is arguably more intelligent than crowley, but has the irksome, painful dichotomy of being kind. what kinda upset me in the clip is that crowley almost addresses aziraphale as if he's stupid, when he's anything but. aziraphale is fully aware that gabriel, michael, uriel etc are all wankers, he's not oblivious to it, but aziraphale is an unfailingly empathetic and compassionate angel, and will try to always see the best in people.

the fandom sometimes mistakes this for naivety or even ignorance, and it's not - aziraphale is not naive, he knows that these angels are shits and treat him poorly, but aziraphale has a pretty strong view on what an angel should be, what they should embody, and even though he knows deep down these other angels don't really follow the same blueprint, he hopes and he tries to remain optimistic and see the best in them. he hopes to be forgiven for his trespasses just as he forgives those who trespass against him✨

and so by the end of s1 i think he really does give up on being an angel ("just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" got the most satisfied, bashful grin on him we've ever seen) and instead is just a good person. and i think crowley fails to realise or accept this - not bc he's stupid either, but i think he sometimes really underestimates aziraphale and possibly because he thinks (possibly due to his own trauma- the apocalypse as well as the Fall) that god will never love a being that isn't good and godly at the same time. he can't accept that that the two things, being good and being godly, are entirely different concepts, and that in aziraphale the two must go hand in hand.

aziraphale understands the difference, and knows that he can still be loved by god even if he doesn't align himself with heaven anymore. so therefore its a real foreign idea, a ludicrous concept, to crowley that aziraphale is still being kind to gabriel, being compassionate, when in his mind this is the angel that wanted to kill them both and is a first class wanker to boot.

but i think that does actually show that, not in any way maliciously or intentionally but likely just as a projection borne out of anger and possibly self-hatred, crowley is thinking appalling little of aziraphale right now. does he really believe that the angel that he slithered up next to on the wall and who not only didn't smite him on sight but also conversed with him and listened to him and sheltered him from the first rain whilst not even bothering to shelter himself is incapable of being kind without being heaven's puppet?

so yes i totally get where crowley is coming from, and whilst it kills me a little inside to think that crowley might consider himself so unworthy of kindness and affection unless it originates from a systematic compulsive side effect of being a Holy Entity, i think he's being grossly unfair to aziraphale in not realising even after 6000 years of knowing him that aziraphale might just simply be a really kind person.

[shynrinn]

Michael after everyone finds out their secret relationship with Dagon.

D: angel, it's fine--

M: no, it is not fine...! This is not how I--WE planned for things to turn out!

everyone is shocked, (except maggie and nina) I mean who would imagine a wanker getting a love life

[rossary-of-the-rose]

So. I just listened to MAG 200, finally finishing the fever dream that is The Magnus Archives, and all I have to say is: Holy shit. Just. Good lord.

Look, I knew it was going to be sad. I've been on Pinterest. But Jesus. I was not prepared. Now I'm shaking and will certainly be curling in the fetal position later, sobbing and screaming into the void. I mean, I'm happy for Basira, Melanie & Georgie of course, as well as our beloved Admiral, but God. Jon and Martin, I love you, you deserved so much better, I see why all your fanfics are fix it. But even just thinking about everyone we have lost, all the characters I got emotionally attached to. Sasha. Tim. Daisy. Michael Shelley. Even thinking about all the avatars (I'm a sucker for a villian, what can I say?) makes my lungs spasm with love and want. I shall miss them all for eternity.

And so ends possibly the greatest experience I've ever had with a fandom, at least until I recover enough to start tmagp. Everything about tma is just pure amazingness. Everything. It's funny how much you can grow to love random people just by hearing them voice act a character and laugh in bloopers. I love them so much, the whole cast. The two blooper episodes brought me more joy than I think I have ever experienced with a piece of media, trumping even the mighty Good Omens, which is saying something (To be fair though, Not with that thong on! and Oh god, I'm knackered, I've been doing all this labelling! would make anyone crack up, although perhaps not continue hysterically giggling for over fifty minutes... They still pop into my head sometimes and I'll just randomly snort in really inappropriate situations because I'm gonna buy some 'ead and shoulders, 'cause I found one on the road this mornin'! and Gertrude's been on the sauce, need I say more? Yes? Alright then,if you insist - Happy little DOORBELLS! FifTy MInUteS eArLY! and Fuck you, Jonny. God, he drags the rest of us down. What a wanker! I could go on, but I feel these brackets have already gotten way longer than they have any business being). I love these strangers more than I love anyone else I've actually met before, except my partner. They are everything to me. And I cannot wait to re-listen to all five seasons yet again, definitely screaming and crying and laughing and screaming while I do so. I have never before listened to and experienced something so perfect. Alex and Jonny, you have legitimately changed my life in all the best and worst ways possible, and I hate you and love you for it. You have my utmost gratitude and admiration, also kindly piss off.

Seriously though, the genuine adoration and idolization I hold for all the voice actors is sort of concerning. VA for Simon Fairchild gets a special mention, as well as Michael The Distortion because how is it possible to fall in love with a person after listening to only their voice for thirty seconds-

[avatar-of-the-blank]

No offence, but you are kind of eye aligned. To get the first wave of fear, the victim must know that the door was never there. Then they must feel enough curiosity to open it even when they fear what they might discover. Sorry Michael, you’re feeding the ceaseless wanker. Hate to break it to ya

NO. NO NO NO. I REJECT THIS THEORY ALLTOGETHER, DONT SCOURGE ME WITH A LABEL OF KNOWING. NEVER PASS YOUR GAZE THROUGH ME, I AM AN IMPOSSIBILITY, A COMPULSION, AN IMPULSE, I DO NOT MAKE SENSE, DONT YOU DARE TRY TO SEE ANYTHING FURTHER THAN THAT. I AND THE EYE DO NOT CROSS, THE EYE AND I DONT TWIST FOR A SIGHTLINE IS STRAIGHT AND I WRAP AND CONSTRICT IT, I WOULD SOONER CHOKE IT LIKE A BOA THEN FEED THE WATCHER.

[treason-and-plot]

“I refuse to eat while this miscreant is seated at our table,” says Michael, fists clenched at the side of his plate. Roy is beginning to think of him as a middle-aged toddler, albeit a toddler with quite an impressive vocabulary. Jane seems entirely unconcerned by his behaviour, happily channelling forkfuls of peaches into her mouth.

“You’re missing out, Dad,’ says Anya. “It’s delicious. You’ve really outdone yourself, Mum.”

“Yes, it’s great, thanks Jane,” says Roy, though it doesn’t compare to Sonia’s cobbler, with its melt-in-the -mouth dough and perfect cinnamon-to-brown sugar ratio. Michael sends him a poisonous stare.

“Anya, I know I can’t stop you moving into this man’s apartment, but I want you to stop and ask yourself if you are making the right decision," Michael says. ”Because clearly he is not to be trusted. Nor is he a person of strong moral character.”

“Why do you say that?” says Roy through a mouth filled with cobbler.

“Because you lied to me," says Michael, his eyebrows flaring. “You told me that you and Anya were getting married, which was an outright lie.”

“I was just yanking your chain because you started spouting all that armchair psychology bullshit,” says Roy. "Which was a total load of crap, by the way. I'm way too secure in my skin to feel diminished by the fact that my ex-wife prefers muff."

“Dad," says Anya. "Seriously, what on earth-"

"And for the record, it was Anya who pursued me, not the other way round," says Roy. "Not that I'm complaining. I'll be forever grateful. But you need to get your facts straight, Michael. And stop pigeonholing me as some narcissistic wanker who's only interested in a trophy-wife. I'm in love with your daughter. And to suggest I'm with her for any other reason is pretty damned disrespectful. Okay?"

[flo55i]

michael goes with daniel to the hospital 1.5k of Daniel&Michael for the platonic friend fix

“I want you to go with them, Michael.”

It wasn’t a question; Christian was already pulling at Michael’s headset and taking it from his neck, pushing him towards the car idling at the edge of the garage. 

“But Blake can…there are others more suited, surely.” Michael had trailed off. 

The level of emotion outlined in Christian’s severe frown surprised him into giving up whatever he was going to come up with to get out of it. He looked at the concrete floor instead, at the rain still pooling along pit lane, like he was intruding on a private moment. Maybe then he would have been able to swallow the lump in his own throat. 

Daniel was fine, he reminded himself.   

“I want you to keep me informed. Help him keep it together, that sort of thing.” The hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the back of the garage had felt like a noose instead. 

By the time they are in the back of a car together, the choked feeling has migrated to his chest as Michael can’t work out what is appropriate to say at a time like this. What will be the first thing he and Daniel have said to each other in probably months. 

“How are you feeling then?” Is the generic phrase that he goes with. The last thing he needs is Daniel yelling at him again, accusing him of being unfeeling.

Cold-hearted wanker is the word he actually thinks was used last time. 

“Like I probably should have hit the McLaren instead.” Daniel snorts, and although he’s got his head leaning back against the headrest, Michael knows him well enough to tell that he’s smiling. Even if it’s in sarcasm. 

“I mean, it all happened so fast. I doubt anyone would have blamed you if you did.” Michael tries to assure any lingering guilt. 

“I’ll keep that in time for next time I crash out then, shall I?” 

It’s biting and Michael doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. Eyes on the front, he concentrates on the two doctors who sit up in the driver’s and passenger seats of the SUV—one from the medical centre, the other from RedBull— who are arguing in German about the best way to leave the track. Cameras and fans crowd the vehicle making it hard to see anything out the windows and when Michael turns back, Daniel has his head tilted once more to the ceiling, eyes closed, conversation apparently over. 

He’s not asleep though. The broken arm is strapped carefully tight to his chest but his thigh is jiggling, teeth gritted, yet he still tries to breathe deep through them. It makes a little wheezing sound that has Michael pursing his lips. He wonders how much—if any— pain medication he’d been given so far. 

Not caring about offending Daniel’s delicate sensibilities, or how to approach the stalemate between them, Michael reaches for Daniel’s good wrist to check his pulse. The stupid idiot can rant and rave for all he cares, it’s his job to help.

(He needs to make sure Daniel’s ok.) 

The pulse is consistent enough, considering. Michael checks his pupils too— almost fully dilated, which means he’s running on adrenaline only. 

“Why didn’t you let them give you anything for the pain, you moron? Now is not the time to start playing the martyr.” Michael scolds. Whilst Daniel may have been too tired to protest his manhandling, Daniel bares the censure less gracefully. 

“This isn’t that kind of trip, mate.” And Michael knows the last word tacked on to the end is meant to be mocking. Hurtful. He tries not to let how much show on his face. 

“I know you don’t think I like, have any”, Daniel continues, apparently not done with settling the score, “But somebody’s gotta have at least some sort of control when they’re deciding the future of my career up there.” 

Tilting his head, he motions towards the two doctors out front, who haven’t spoken a word to Daniel about how he’s doing or what to expect since they barked at him to keep his arm above his heart as soon as the door was closed.

But instead of pity, the reminder of RedBull and their exacting levels of control over Daniel’s life has Michael angry. 

“What happened to, it’s nice to finally be with family? People who really care about me?” Michael throws back the words Daniel has been spouting to every tabloid ever since his return to the sport. 

It’s petty but Michael doesn’t care. It had felt like all their years of friendship being thrown back in his face. Still does. Serves the selfish fucker right to feel a bit of that back. 

But Daniel’s not playing that game with him anymore it seems. 

“Got me there!” He jokes. But his head is bowed, smile mocking somehow in its complacency. Michael thinks it might be regret. 

“You were always telling me I never did have the best instincts, right?”

It’s probably the most of an apology he’s ever going to get. And combined with the struggling, broken look Michael swore after last year he never wanted to see on Daniel’s face again, his first instinct is to fix. To make it better like he always has. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him of Horner’s concerned frown as he’d pushed Michael into the awaiting car to be with him, to help him. But he can’t help but selfishly think of his own feelings still burning away inside of him. 

How Daniel ought to know what it felt like for him as his heart had leapt right out of his chest the second he’d hit the wall. What it felt like for him when Daniel cut him out of his life like that because he dared to offer a different perspective on his life decisions like any good friend would. 

Michael berates himself immediately and wonders when it became a competition between them. An us versus them kinda deal. Him or RedBull. 

Wonders if he was this much of an asshole all along. 

Daniel had asked, he’d answered. No. No, he did not think it a good idea to go back to RedBull. But Daniel had taken it with all the grace and comprehension of an elephant. Accused him of being non supportive when he was only trying to be anything but. Just like he’s trying— failing— to do at the moment. 

Sighing out loud, Michael lets the opportunity to say I told you so go. Lets it all go. Because it’s not about him. Or them. Then or now. 

“Look.” He starts. “They love you so fucking much I have no doubt that they’ve already lined up an IV full of stroopwafles for you. The best money can buy.” 

“Is that so?” Daniel says, practically preening under the attention of the admission. Michael just sees how fragile he looks.

Even when you take away the bandages, the sling, even the bags of exhaustion under his eyes, he knows that cocky bravado is just a front for all Daniel’s insecurities and the things he won’t say. How he’s hanging on Michael’s words to believe him. 

The car comes to a stop. They’re at the hospital now. Michael feels Daniel tense up beside him. He  scoots closer, as if to hide Daniel from the hoards of fans tapping at the glass. He knows they only mean well but they are still demanding time and attention from him now, phones at the ready and already pointing in their faces like weapons. 

Michael moves again to make sure their knees are touching. Smiles when it’s enough to still Daniel’s own. 

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah I do. This is your show, man.” 

“And what if I said I wanted to steal a wheelchair before they start thinking about cutting me open and harvesting me for parts to give to the junior program?” 

Michael looks to where the doctors are already out of the car, shaking hands with someone from the hospital emergency department to greet them in a white coat—obviously another doctor. Someone pretty important with the way three nurses follow in his wake. 

All for a broken arm, Michael scoffs. 

This level of scrutiny, of care, should hardly surprise him. RedBull have invested way too much money into Daniel and his body for them to give up the chance of losing it and the skills it’s cultivated now. He’s not gonna tell Daniel that though. 

From the tone Daniel had used— half-softening the blow from his own depleted expectations, half cautious— Michael is aware Daniel is checking if he’s as committed as he says he is. If he can be trusted with the truth of how scared about this all he actually is. 

Michael knows what to say this time. 

“Then I’ll get you a scalpel to fight back with. Whatever it takes.”  

And he means it. Especially later, as he’s standing back in the paddock, listening to Daniel’s order of events. He’s scowling at Marko for constantly interrupting to find out exactly when Daniel will be back to full function again. 

Daniel plays it up. The grin on his face and the erratic movement of his one, good arm says he’s thoroughly enjoying the way he’s keeping him in suspense. Helmut’s eyebrow seems to climb higher and higher the more Daniel ignores him, continuing his story about when they were plastering his arm. At how lost in translation the word mummy had got and the extra concussion tests they made him do because of it. 

To the side, amongst Daniel’s laughter, Christian slaps Michael on the back and says, “Everything turned out as well as it should then.” 

“Yeah.” Michael agrees softly, leaving it at that. 

Of course he could tell Christian about the way he had to bribe Daniel to get into the cat scan machine— just in case— giving him a running commentary on the topography of his brain like a David Attenborough video to keep him still and calm in the enclosed space. 

Or about the fact that Michael had to fill out all the forms presented to them because he apparently knows more about Daniel’s medical needs and history than he even did. Or their doctor. 

Or even how he ended up calling Daniel’s parents for him to tell them he was fine— not even a concussion, Grace. Not a screw any looser than what it was, I promise— because no one at RedBull apparently had yet. 

But he suspects Christian already knows all this. 

That’s why he sent him, after all. 

Knowing he needs to get back to the garage, to Yuki and his actual job, Michael gives Christian a single, appreciative nod. Giving respect where respect is due to the only other person he trusts here to do what’s best for Daniel and not just a driver for RedBull. 

Coming up behind them, he gives Daniel a conspiratory wink as he interrupts the conversation, “Just so you know, I do happen to own a scalpel.” 

Helmut looks confused. Michael doesn’t care. Simply enjoys the sound of Daniel’s laughter, the way he dares him to whip it out right there in front of their bosses. 

Daniel is fine. 

[minervas-hand]

Ineffable May Day 29: Metatron

Day 29 for @blairamok's Ineffable May 2024

AO3 link here

[S2. Ep 6. The Metatron arrives in the bookshop.]

Michael was yammering on about the Book of Life, the total wanker. Crowley was just of a mind to step in when he saw the figure enter the bookshop.

In his shock he looked to the confused faces of angels and demons alike. They - they don't know who this is. 

Why don't they know?

It was the one thing he couldn't forget. Empty rooms, mostly, from Before. But the shape of the furniture that's missing screamed at him: dire enemy.

A not-memory of a face, a Voice -

  thundering over him

  over them all

  noise more than words

  the final crack splitting open the plane of Heaven

  and Falling

- and now the angel was broadcasting "something's wrong." 

He wanted to leap up and insert himself between them. But he forced his corporation to stay slung on the chair without a care. Look harmless. Don't escalate. Give the angel his space, his move. 

Fuck angel don't take the - okay. 

The angel's looking at him now. He forced nonchalance. "Go on. The day can't get any weirder."

As the angel moved past, leaving - the enemy's face devolved into a pointed glare. 

The door closed and he flung himself up from the chair. Fear fluttering, useless. Should have intervened, should have grabbed the angel, miracled them away, something.

Angel, be back soon.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

Something that would be amazing seeing Michael or William for that matter call someone they don't like a wanker because British slang

Scraptrap sees Henry or something at the Pizza Sim location, and he just begins insulting/calling him something along those lines.

[whovio]

Michael: Just getting some books.

David: What books?

Michael: Books from my library.

David: Is it the fucking Twilight books?

Michael: Three billion dollars worldwide, chum.

David: Wanker!

[David gets up and leaves]

Michael: No! No. Don't you bring Harry Potter in! Do not bring Ha... right.

~~~

Michael: Anna’s got me painting.

David: Ohh, she there with you?

Michael: Yeah, she is. We were up early this morning, ‘to capture the dawn’.

David: Well, our family all sketched pineapples yesterday.

Michael: Oh, how did you get on?

David: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

*shows him*

Michael: Very good.

David: Yeah? And yours?

*shows him*

David: You did that?!

Michael: Yeah, just this morning.

David: You did not paint that this morning!

Michael: Yes I did!

David: You did not paint that this morning!!

Michael: I DID!

David: I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!

Michael: YOU DREW THE PINEAPPLE.

David: MY PINEAPPLE IS SHIT!

Michael: Ooh, just needs a bit of shading.

David: Oh, shut up!

Michael: Little charcoal.

David: When did you learn so much about art?

Michael: I learned it for a role.

David: Which role?

Michael: David Frost.

David: Oh could he paint?

Michael: Are you angry with me for having a hobby?

David: Evidently, yeah.

[anomaly-hivemind]

It’s the Anomaly Hivemind’s very first Kinktober! We’re excited and we hope you lovely worker bees are too, this was a lot of work so we hope you show plenty of love and enjoy the sloppy spooky season!

Week One MasterList

Note: All One-Shots will be posted at 12:00 P.M EST

Day 1: Down a Peg || Pegging w/Loid Forger x Yor Forger

Day 2: Is That the Grim Reaper || Role-Playing and Titfucking w/Mitsuri Kanroji x Male! Reader

Day 3: Their Toy || Bukkake w/Ghostface, Michael Meyers, and Jason x Fem! Reader

Day 4: Brothels, Monsters, and Sex… Oh My! || Teratophilia, Rimming, and Prostitution w/ Paul Vesper x Elizabella Julliato

Day 5: Collar ID || Collaring w/ Yuri Briar x Afab! Reader

Day 6: Is this Enough || Dubcon and Frottage w/Jinpachi Ego x GN!Reader

Day 7: Candle-Wanker || Waxplay w/Reigen Arataka x Afab! Reader