#of his mind and that shit is expensive Michael)

[kandicon]

I love the "he asked for no pickles" meme with doorkeay bc I've only ever seen it with Gerry being the one talking and u just KNOW it's not bc Michael doesn't want to correct the food staff, but that it wants to correct them a little too much. Gerry has to step in otherwise they'll be there for at least another hour of Michael spinning some philosophical bullshit and scaring some poor fast food worker, and while Gerry doesn't necessarily mind Michael doing that in and of itself (he knows the thing he's in love with), as the only one of the two of them who actually needs material food he would like to eat that food before it gets cold tyvm.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Happy 1000 followers!! I absolutely eat your writing right up.

For Kess, can I request:

"Happy anniversary!" "It's not-" "It's the one year anniversary of when we moved in together!"

Only if you feel up to it 💛

He's the sort of goofball that gives you a heart attack at least once a month with shit like this, but he's also very sweet so is forgiven. 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

When you open the front door to Michael stood in front of a giant banner made of sugar paper and sharpie that says 'Happy anniversary!' with a present in his hands you start to panic. Before this moment you would have said that you were absolutely certain that your anniversary was not in April but in October, but this? Oh, this has you panicking, has you second guessing everything you know as you drop your bag on the floor and stare up at Michael's goofy happy grin.

"Happy anniversary!"

"It's not-" Your voice is high pitched, panicked as you step further into the living area, only to be interrupted.

"It's the one year anniversary of when we moved in together!" and that singular sentence has you heaving a sigh of relief, bending over at the waist, hands on your thighs because you were certain that you were about to have to apologise for forgetting your actual anniversary.

"Never do that to me ever again." He's frowning now as he watches you calm your heart rate, bridging the distance, present dropping to his side because you should be happy but you're snappish right now.

"Baby?"

"I thought I'd forgotten our actual anniversary!" Your heart rate has calmed some as you return to stand upright, but your tone is snappy and irritated. You don't meant to be, but you're still riding the fear of having forgotten your actual anniversary, an unforgiveable sin in your books.

"This is our anniversary!" Michael's frown goes from concerned to confused, head rearing back a little at the implication that this wasn't an actual anniversary because it was. This was the day you moved in last year, the day that your lives officially and completely combined, the day he got to see you all the time except for roadies, one of the best days of his entire life.

"Michael, our anniversary anniversary, since when were we celebrating me moving in?" You stop yourself after his face falls, hurt, because you realise how you sound. You're being mean, not meaning to be, but still not fair...especially not when he was trying to do something nice, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap...I just, this is really sweet but a little warning next time?" You reach for him, arms wrapping around his waist as a form of apology. You feel the way he relaxes into you, free hand tangling in your hair as his chin leans on top of your head, too tall for his own good.

"It's okay, I should have prewarned you...you panicked, huh?"

"I thought I was going to have to grovel..." You groan into his chest, breathing in his cologne as the last remaining dregs of adrenaline start to leave your system. You're jarred as Michael huffs out a laugh at your expense, tugging with his hand in your hair to pull you back to look up at him.

"You're all good, baby, now open your present." It's shoved into your arms, a little box, smaller than a shoebox and wrapped in non-descript wrapping paper a little messily.

"But I didn't get you anything?"

"I don't mind, this is for both of us." He urges you on, watching like a hawk as you unwrap the paper from around a non-descript box, watches as you open said box to see two ridiculous salt and paper shakers. The salt is a little hockey player, stout and round, the pepper is a gigantic puck. You'd been eyeing them up in a little knickknack shop for weeks...finding it hard to justify the price tag for something so ridiculous, but feeling drawn to them nonetheless.

"Michael..."

"I know you've been looking at them...figured we needed a new salt and pepper shaker anyway." He shrugs at you like it's no big deal, like knowing how desperately you'd been wanting these stupid little things and not judging you for it, not denying you it, wasn't massive. Stupidly perfect giant.

"I love you." The smile you give him is so radiant that it stuns him for a moment and makes him think of about 30 other little things you'd wanted but convinced yourself you couldn't have. 30 things that he could easily afford. 30 things that he could give you to get that smile again.

"Should buy you novelty salt shakers more often."

"No!" You laugh at him as you move to put the salt and pepper shakers down on a safe surface, already thinking of how bad it would be if Michael went down that rabbit hole.

"What?"

"Don't do that thing mum's do because then we'll have like 200 salt shakers and not enough salt."

"Teapots?"

"Michael!"

[ebonyslasher]

Them Thangs Thanging, Unfortunately

Basically, reader is a woman who has extremely large breast. Aka ME, this shit isn't for the weak. Just wanted to write about a few struggles we have. This doesn't even cover half of it.

Big Breast!Reader x Michael Myers, Daniel Lamb, Chromeskull, and Ghostface (Danny Johnson)

-----

Growing up was a struggle. 

That statement is true for many, especially during early teenhood. Middle schoolers were the most ruthless and awkward looking individuals to exist. However, there was an extra layer of struggle for the girls who had very progressive physical development(s). Specifically, those who developed their breasts early.

That was you. And unfortunately, your breast kept growing and growing. Even through early adulthood, with your weight fluctuating, your breast kept growing. They were always big, mind you. But now, as an adult, they were humongous. And what other people called a blessing, you just called a problem. Many problems at that included: 

Price

Bra’s, already, were expensive. For one piece of specialized cloth was $30 to $40. Add onto the fact that you had big breast? Oh, now the price wanted to double. Good luck if you were so big that you had to order custom. Prepare for your soul and wallet to be hurt. Custom bras can set someone back at least $100 easy!

With Michael, it was an odd situation. He would hear you complain about the price, but never understood why. He could just steal them for you, either from the store or from a victim. You, of course, didn’t want a bra from some random, especially with blood on it. EW. His plan could work if he would remembered your size...and if they even had it in store. 

Well, price wasn’t an issue with Chromeskull! He already treated you like a queen. If you wanted, he would have someone find bras for you. That way, you don’t even need the stress of looking. You find the bras lined up on a table every few months for you to pick from. What a life!

Daniel listened to your problems and saw firsthand how much they could get up to. Eyebrows shot up at the $79 bra that sat on your screen. After his missions, he would steal money or cards off corpses to give to you. You’d find a pile laying on your desk when he couldn’t stay, with a note saying ‘For your bra troubles!’ He was so sweet.

Ghostface didn’t care. He didn’t have to pay for the bras, so not his problem! He barely listens, pretending to only see any bras you might get next. Pervert. He wouldn't mind you getting a smaller bra, trying to imagine you as those anime girls wearing the smallest bikinis. 

“So you want me to look like I'm from One Piece??! Natural breasts in real life don’t work like that dummy!”

Size availability

Speaking of One Piece, it felt like you had to travel through the seven seas just to find bras in your size. Trying to find cute ones? You’re asking for the impossible. Most stores didn’t have your size. Forget about places like Victoria's Secret and especially Aerie. Lane Bryant may have your size, unless your band size is small. So, that means you have to order your bras online. Sucks, since you couldn’t try them on before buying. 

Michael stood in the store, comically looming behind you, surrounded by multicolored bras. He noticed that your posture fell as you spoke with a store worker. “Unfortunately, we don’t carry those sizes in store. We have them online and you could get it shipped here.” No thanks. It’d just be better to get something shipped to your house. You sighed in disappointment. Michael squints his eyes at the worker. Maybe he could come back and look to see what they really have in the back…

Availability was no longer a problem thanks to Jesse. Your masked sweetheart hired a personal designer that would make bras tailored to you. And you can tell them just how cute you’d like the bra to be.

A comforting hand lands on your shoulder as you relay the issue of finding your cup and band size in store. Daniel listens on as you rant, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course, I’d be the one with a small band size and huge ass breast!”  While you talk, he peruses the internet for different online stores that may have your size. You two curate a list of some, avidly reading any reviews that pop up.

“Oh well, hey, maybe this gives you the excuse to not wear bras anymore. Heh, I definitely won’t mind the view,” Danny joked after you told him the news. You roll your eyes and tell him to shut up. He really doesn’t care about your dilemma, pushing you to go braless, so he could see those juicy tatas bouncing. Although, if you get on him enough and promise him something nice, maybe he could magically get you some bras.

Clothing restrictions

There were certain articles of clothing that you couldn’t wear. Sad, since there were some cute looks that you just couldn’t do logistically. Bralettes and button down shirts were the devil. You saw the bralettes trending and said, “Nope. No way I could do that”. Button down shirts were deceptive. It would work up until the point the button around your breast would pop open. Understandable, since the small button couldn’t handle the pressure of holding back such big bouncing melons. You tried again one day, hoping that the designs became better throughout the years. As you walked around, the buttons popped open. The image of soft brown breast were revealed to the world in…

Michael’s steel blues, which immediately pinpoint the wardrobe malfunction. His head slowly tilts. Michael stoically ogles, secretly licking his lips as he enjoys the view. He notices your embarrassment and frustration. He feels a little bad, but that was overshadowed by the deliciousness of your reaction. He loves seeing you get worked up. He wouldn’t mind watching you bouncing around to throw a tantrum.

Jesse’s eyeless mask gleams. He raises his eyebrows at the incident. You try to button your shirt back up. The button only stays a moment before it gives up, bouncing off the shirt for the sweet release of death. The button clinks against the marble floor. You look down in disbelief as Jesse’s shoulders shake in glee. This was the funniest thing he’s seen all week!

Daniel’s zenith blue eyes pop wide open, mimicking the poor button that flew off. His face was a light shade of pink as he observed the scene. “Oh Shit…,” he whispers. Trying not to stare at your obvious malfunction, he peers up at your face that looks beautifully frustrated at the button on the ground. His eyes were full of empathy as walks over. “How about we try another shirt, huh?,” Daniel asks as he chuckles lightly.

“Hallelujah!” Ghostface shouts as he zeros in on this fantastic view. His perverted chocolate eyes were glued to your happy accident. You scoff and cover the malfunction with your hands. The view of that amazing bosom was now obscured, which angered Ghostface. He marches over right as he says, “Hey! Don’t cover those. Ghosty wants to see!”

Back pain

These breasts weighed heavy as gravity worked against your favor. Lugging around these gigantic bust meant the pull and strain against your back muscles. Those back muscles were only so strong, which would get weaker as you got older. The random aches in the upper, middle, and lower part of your back plagued your existence. You tried your best to keep good posture, but it was tiring.

Michael will rub your back if you ask. Well, only if he gets something in exchange. Dessert, you bent over, a good meal, or a new knife. You choose and it better be the right choice depending on his mood. Be warned that Michael is heavy handed as hell. His digs feel like he’s punching through your body. It might be a while before his massages become beneficial.

Jesse will hire a professional masseuse when he's on a spree. However, he would never turn down the opportunity to knead your supple muscles. You don’t mind if he goes a little lower, right Princess? He’ll also treat you with a doctor to get some treatment options going. 

Skilled and dangerous hands rub your back, the heavenly sensation of warm oil glides with every movement. Daniel, the sweet man that he is, gladly volunteers to bring you temporary relief. If he’s unable to caress your lovely form, he leaves you some pain medicine and healing meds that he comes across. The healing meds were heavenly. He, later, suggests having a reduction so you won’t have to suffer anymore.

Danny will massage you only because he wants his hands on that perfect body. And lowkey wants you to stop complaining all the time. God, it was annoying. He frequently offers to hold your breast up as you walk around. “I’ll even hold them up out in public. Just think, you’ll have your own boobie holder everywhere you go.” That shit eating grin on his handsome face didn’t faze you. Your face scrunches at his perverted comment. You take him up on the offer…only at home. You wouldn’t admit that it was a big help for your posture. You didn’t need to, Danny could tell how much it was helping by your relieved expression.

[a-major-love]

Night Fever

Pairing - Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader

Summary - Of all people you could have met that fateful night, it had to be him.

Word Count - 1k+

Warnings - MDNI, fem pronouns, mentions of smoking & alcohol, no use of y/n

A/N - I always imagined dancing with Michael was incredibly fun but also probably intimidating. Enjoy!

1977

Spotlights pierced through the haze of smoke filtering the air, beaming down on the partygoers. Sweat rolled off their skin, mingling with the overpowering stench of perfume and cigarettes. The men and women’s eyes twinkled at you, sparkling from pressed glitter. Their bright, painted lips mouthed along to the stream of ABBA lyrics filling the crowded space. The music pouring from the speakers vibrated under your feet. Studio 54 was lively, and terrifying all at once. 

“Friday nights are always the busiest,” your friend – Alicia –  mentioned from beside you. Her stark black hair was pulled into a tight bun, revealing her teal colored eyeshadow. The sequined dress she wore hung off her bronzed shoulders, flecks of glitter dotted her skin. 

You glanced down at the denim jumpsuit you wore, with a thick belt secured around the waist. Somehow, despite the pumps digging into the soles of your feet, you felt mildly underdressed. You scanned the crowd, biting your lip as your eyes swept over the other dancers. 

“Let’s go, birthday girl,” Alicia said, nudging you towards the center of the room. 

You giggled. “I’m just trying to appreciate the atmosphere.” 

“Well, you can go appreciate it out on the dancefloor.” 

She grasped onto your forearm, pushing through the cluster of hot bodies that brushed against you two. You could feel the men’s gazes pass over you, their heavy eyes glancing over your form before looking away. Glasses with golden liquid, and pierced olives swung around you as the people got lost in the music. 

You finally approached the middle of the dance floor, where a bright, glowing disco ball hung above your heads. Alicia broke out into a grin, her pearly white teeth pointed to the ceiling. Her dangled hearings whipped around her face as she began swaying to the music.  

It was initially her idea, at first, to celebrate your birthday at Studio 54. All you knew about the nightclub was that the entrance fee was too expensive, and the line never seemed to ease up. As much as you adored Alicia, you couldn’t find a good reason to stand outside all night – in New York during the spring – hoping to make it inside before the place closed. If there’s one thing you understood about spring in New York, it was how cold the nights could be. 

So, how in the hell she pulled this off, you were sure she would take to her grave. 

You laughed, watching her bounce around, throwing her head back. Acting as if a plethora of eyes weren’t on her. You swayed your hips, letting your eyes close as the sweet sounding harmonies of the Bee Gees washed over you. It felt as if everybody on the dance floor was in sync, breathing and moving in time with each other. 

Sharing one heart, one pulse to the music. 

Your body moved and rocked, becoming bewitched by the entrancing tune. 

“Excuse me-

You suddenly bumped into someone, startling both you and the stranger. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said, whipping around to face them. A pair of oak, brown eyes crinkled at you as the strange man chuckled to himself. 

“It’s alright,” he assured, adjusting his blazer. “You’re not a bad dancer, you know.” 

You playfully grinned at him, “Have you been watching me dance?”

“I – uh didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered.

You scanned the man, taking in his wide doe eyes and large afro currently dusted with glossy confetti. A gold pendant rested between the dip of his chest, a sliver of deep brown skin peaking through the few undone buttons.

Somewhere, in the back corners of your mind, familiarity tugged at your brain. 

“Have we met before?” you inquired, furrowing your brows. 

“No, we haven’t,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly. 

You opened your mouth to reply, when he stuck his hand out. 

“Is it alright if we danced together?” he asked.

Heat creeped up your face, as you took his inviting hand – his skin was silky smooth and warm in your grasp. He softly smiled at you, as he tugged your form closer to him. Swiftly, he twirled you around, giggling at your reaction as you nearly stumbled from the sudden movement. You caught yourself in time, taking both his hands as you grooved to the deep bass coming from the speakers. 

His eyes remained trained on you, as if analyzing every motion and gesture you made. The music enveloped you two, as the dance floor fell away, along with the people surrounding it. The club was nothing but a blur of color, as the hot white lights radiated down on you two. The music pulsed through your skin, reverberating against your ribcage. The sweet, lingering scent of nicotine floated through the air. It was as if the dancefloor came alive from under your feet suddenly, a pulsating heartbeat belonging to the untamable beast known as music. His hands never left yours, as he pulled you into his side, before going into a spin. 

You watched, in fascination. “You’re not a bad dancer yourself.”

He bashfully smiled. “Well, I’ve been dancing for most of my life.”

“Do you do it for a career, or something?” “...You could say that.”

He twirled you again, interrupting whatever train of thought you were processing. 

The night went on endlessly it seemed, as if time had temporarily stopped. Yet, the crowd of Studio 54 never broke off. A stream of guests revolved in and out of the space, some dressed in dripping jewels that outshined the hanging disco ball or extravagant outfits that felt expensive to even look at. It felt as if you were in a lion's mouth, a wet, breathing cage waiting to clamp down on you. 

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your frame.

“Let’s get going, my feet are killing me,” Alicia groaned, already tugging you away. 

“Wait!” The man called out, feeling your hand loosen in his grip. Alicia squinted at him, trying to make out his features through the alcohol induced brain fog. 

“You look a little familiar...” she muttered.

“I’ll meet you outside,” you explained, nudging your friend back. Alicia glanced over at you, glossy lips pouting at your urgency. She finally caved, rolling her eyes as she knowingly nodded and began to maneuver her way through the crowd. 

You turned to face him. “I had a really great time, uh-

“Michael,” he introduced, squeezing your hand. 

Had he been holding it the entire time?

“Well, it was really fun dancing with you, Michael.”

His eyes flickered between yours, as if weighing something in his mind. Michael eventually sighed, reluctantly loosening his grip and letting your hand fall to your side. 

“I hope we get to do it again, sometime,” he said. With wistful smile growing on his lips. 

You returned the smile, clenching your hand from the sudden loss of warmth. Without another word, you turned and made your way to the exit. 

The bumping music followed you out the double doors and onto the bustling street of New York City’s nightlife. A breeze brushed against your bare arms, biting at your skin. Alicia was leaning against a car, impatiently tapping her foot. Her eyes finally landed on you, wearing a strange expression you couldn’t quite place. 

“Girl, I have several questions,” she started, opening the car door for you. 

You snorted. “Ask me when it’s not past midnight.” 

She sidled into the passenger seat, as you started up the engine. The bright, white lights of Studio 54 reflected off the hood of your car. 

You could still feel his presence, even during the drive home. 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Stuck On You

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dark themes, slut shaming, obsessive behaviour, smut.

Word count: ~6k

Summary: When her email is hacked and racy photos she'd sent to her boyfriend find their way onto Myspace, she becomes the social pariah of Oxford University. She turns to the only person she believes is intelligent enough to be able to help; Michael Gavey. Could uncovering the truth of the situation make things worse than they already are?

Author's note: Written to celebrate one year of my blog existing. Sorry for the delay. Crumbageddon beat the shit out of me. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Using a painting of that former duchess as a conversation piece, he describes what he saw as her unfaithfulness, frivolity, and stubbornness, and implies that he prefers her as a painting rather than as a…as a living woman,” her voice shakes, stumbling over her words, watching as her essay papers slip from her hands, fluttering towards the rug of the study.

“Sh-shit…I’m sorry,” she stammers, leaning down to snatch them back up, feeling her skin heat up with embarrassment as she attempts to rustle them back into order.

“Everything alright?” Professor Ware asks, shifting in his seat and clasping his hands in his lap.

“Distracted by her own portrait, I should imagine,” snarks Farleigh, cutting her off before she has a chance to reply. 

He smirks up at her, before returning his focus to the screen of his Macbook, fingers tapping quickly across the keys as he sits on the floor with it in his lap, leaning back against the armchair she currently sits in, his legs crossed at the ankle.

Of course he’d left it until the last minute to do his essay. Lazy prick.

“Stop it,” she hisses, knocking his shoulder with her knee.

“Why? It’s up again already anyway,” he retorts with a casual shrug, not bothering to look at her this time.

Her blood runs ice cold, dread gnawing a pit in her stomach. That would be the fourth time this week.

“Where?!” She demands, leaning down to snatch Farleigh’s Macbook from him, ignoring his protestation of “hey!” as she clicks on the minimised Internet Explorer window to see her Myspace profile already open.

Just as he’d said, there she is. Her profile picture depicts her in a lacy two piece lingerie set, laying on her bed, her cleavage, stomach and thighs on full display. She’d thought the angle flattering when she’d first held the digital camera above herself and snapped the picture, but now it’s splashed all over the internet for everyone to see. It makes her feel sick.

“I have to go,” she says hurriedly, shoving Farleigh’s Macbook back into his lap and stuffing her essay papers into her bag.

She almost trips over Farleigh’s long legs in her rush to escape the tutorial room, the air suddenly feeling too thick and difficult to breathe, as her heart hammers in her chest. Her feet carry her down the hallway in quick strides, no particular direction in mind, just eager to get away.

It had all seemed like innocent fun at first. She had felt excited on the second day of Fresher’s Week when a group of girls from the floor of her accommodation had invited her to go shopping with them

They had wrinkled their noses as she had beelined for the Ann Summers in Westgate Shopping Centre, lured by the big, red sale banner in the window.

“Oh darling,” India had cooed, “don’t buy that rubbish. We’ll get the train into London and take you to Rigby and Peller in Mayfair, if it’s lingerie you’re after.”

She had balked inwardly at the thought of how expensive that would be, but had simply smiled politely, stating “this is fine”, more than happy with the matching black lace set she’d picked from the sale rail.

Back in her room, she’d tried it on, loving the way the material hugged her curves and felt against her skin. Excitedly, she’d dug out her digital camera, contorting herself into various poses that she felt best displayed her assets, until she was satisfied she had several that looked good.

She hadn’t seen her boyfriend, Jake, since she had left for Oxford and he had gone to Brighton. Their reading weeks didn’t align, which meant they’d have to wait until the term came to an end to see each other at Christmas.

Emailing him the photos had felt like a nice way for them to maintain some sort of intimacy, despite the distance, and he’d certainly appreciated it, as a couple of hours later she’d gotten a text from him which simply said “wow!”

The high from that had left her with a smile on her face for days, until she’d stepped out of a tutorial a few days later to see a missed call and a text from him.

“What the fuck are you playing at?!” It had read.

She’d called him back straight away, the urge to vomit growing acrid in her throat as he’d told her what he’d seen, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she’d scrambled with shaking hands to free her laptop from her bag, to confirm what Jake was saying.

There it was. Her Myspace profile picture had been changed to one of the lingerie photos she’d sent to him. This one was a full length photo she’d taken, aiming the camera at the mirror in her room.

The hot prickle of tears had burned beneath her eyelids, as she’d drawn in a shaky breath. “Wh-why would you do that?” She’d whispered tearfully into the phone.

“It wasn’t me!” Jake had snapped angrily. “Perhaps if you hadn't taken those bloody photos in the first place then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you seriously blaming me?!”

“It just looks bad. I think maybe we should cool things for a bit, I can’t with be someone that—”

Tears had rolled down her cheeks as she’d pulled the phone away from her ear, seeing the call had cut off. She’d run out of credit. In a way, she was grateful; she didn’t want to listen to Jake ending their relationship, to continue to blame her for something that wasn’t her fault.

She had taken the photo down, changed her profile picture back to what it was before, and changed the password for both Myspace and her email. However, the damage was done, the whispers of “slut” as she walked to lectures had already started.

Another two days later she had entered the IT lab to print out her essay, and saw a group huddled around a computer, laughing together. They had turned, immediately quietening down, their voices hushed whispers as they looked at her. 

She had pushed them apart, already knowing what it was they were all looking at, but wanting to confirm it. Just as she’d suspected, her Myspace profile was open. This time her photo had been changed to an over the shoulder shot. The side of her face and her buttocks visible as she’d arched her back.

Running back to her room, tears of humiliation blurring her vision, she’d taken the photo down again and changed all her passwords. But once again, it was too little, too late. A print out of the photo slipped beneath her door that same day, with the word “whore” scrawled across it.

Her friends were already starting to pull away, the invites to the pub had dried up into nothing. When another photo had been uploaded, Felix had pulled her to one side.

“Look, I think it’s incredibly daring of you to be doing what you’re doing, and I respect the fuck out of you for it, really I do,” he’d said, eyes filled with sympathy as he’d looked down at her. “But a few of us really aren’t comfortable with how you’re going about…getting attention, so I just think it’s for the best if we take some space until you’ve figured out whatever this is.”

She had been stunned by his words, her eyes going wide as her mouth had dropped open. “You think I’m doing this to myself?!”

“Well, what else are we supposed to think? We’re worried about you. There are better…healthier ways to make yourself stand out. Just come clean and all of this can stop.”

Turning away in disgust, anger and betrayal flaring white hot in her chest, she’d walked away. This was happening to her, she wasn’t complicit in it, and yet people continued to act like it was her fault. She had started to wonder if she really was to blame. Had she tempted fate by taking those photos in the first place?

Today was the fourth time a photo had been uploaded and having fled from the tutorial with Professor Ware and Farleigh, she finds herself in the Bodleian Library, having walked on instinct. 

It serves as a quiet refuge for her in moments when she feels overwhelmed, hiding among the shelves, admiring tomes that are older than she is. She’d come here on her first day, when the influx of new people, sights and sounds had become too much, and she had crouched between the stacks the first time one of her photos had been leaked. The smell of old books and the peace and quiet feels safe.

Walking silently between the study tables she spots him, alone, as he always is; Michael Gavey. He is hunched over a notebook, scribbling furious notes, stopping occasionally to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

She had thoroughly embarrassed herself the first time she’d met him, the only time she had ever spoken to him. It had been the night of the fresher’s welcome dinner. She’d heard his outburst in the dining hall, heard how he had answered the subsequent multiplication sum flawlessly and been bowled over by how effortlessly brilliant he was. It was intimidating.

Yet, later that evening fuelled by the courage of five tropical watermelon flavoured Bacardi Breezers, she’d stumbled over to him in the rec room, ignoring how he’d recoiled slightly at her advancing towards him.

She’d wrapped an arm around his neck, taking no notice of the way he’d stiffened beneath her touch.

“Wha’s nine hundred and ninety nine divided by thirteen?” She’d slurred into his ear.

He had bristled slightly, before answering quietly. “Seventy six point eight five.”

She had giggled, patting his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. “Don’t even know how to check that, but I’ll take your word for it, genius.” 

Kissing his cheek, she’d stumbled away, leaving him to wipe away the sticky residue her lips had left behind, while Felix and Farleigh had fallen about themselves, laughing, finding it far funnier than she’d intended for it to be. She had ended up making him a laughing stock without even meaning to.

The memory fills her with shame. She really did find him impressive. He was precisely the type of person she had wanted to rub shoulders with when she arrived at Oxford, yet she had made a fool of herself instead.

She smiled at him whenever she caught his eye on the rare occasions they crossed paths, but he’d either look away or stare at her expressionless.

Perhaps now was her opportunity to make amends. She has no friends now anyway, so it’s not as though she has anything to lose.

Walking over to his table, before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, she sits down heavily in the seat next to him, depositing her bag onto the tabletop.

Michael’s pen pauses its movements, and slowly his head turns to the side, narrowing his eyes at her in silent question.

She suddenly has the urge to run, realising this was a terrible idea. She feels enormous discomfort beneath the scrutiny of his gaze yet, determined to push through it, she offers him a bright smile.

“You’re Michael, aren’t you?” She says, attempting to sound more cheerful than she feels.

“Yes,” he replies simply, placing his pen down and straightening in his seat.

“Thought so. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” he cuts her off. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” she swallows, shifting awkwardly in her seat. She hadn’t anticipated him being quite so blunt. “Well, I wanted to apologise for how I behaved on the first night. I thought maybe we could be friends?”

He scoffs, the corners of his mouth turning up into the faintest of smirks. “As if I’d be friends with someone who’s reading literature. Why pay all that money in tuition fees for a glorified book club?”

For a moment she doesn’t know what to say. Shock, offense and hurt swirl in a hot mixture in her chest. She fights the embarrassing urge to burst into tears. Her voice is small and weak when she finally asks “How do you know what I’m studying?”

Michael nods towards the desk. “There’s a book of Robert Browning poetry sticking out of your bag.”

“Right, yeah…” She feels her skin heat up, turning to slowly tuck the book further down inside, still able to feel his eyes upon her. It’s disconcerting to be observed so closely.

“Where’s that group of losers you usually hang around with anyway?”

The question takes her by surprise, and she laughs softly, though there is no real humour to it. “I don’t think they want to hang around with me anymore.”

“So you’re a Norman no mates too then?”

His expression has softened, a slight playfulness brightens his blue eyes as she looks back at him, and she can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up on his hand. “Hmmm. So they got bored of you then?”

“No…I–”

She sighs exasperatedly, running a hand through her hair, before digging through her bag to pull out her laptop. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”

Setting the laptop down on the table, she loads her Myspace page, the same picture she’d seen on Farleigh’s Macbook earlier still set as her profile photo. “Someone keeps changing my profile picture to this. I sent my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend…some photos and now someone has them and keeps doing this every time I change it back.”

Michael’s expression is impassive as he stares at the screen. “Have you changed your passwords?”

“Yes,” she sighs.

“So, you’ve been hacked.”

“Looks that way…I don’t suppose you know anything about computers? Maybe you could help me figure out who’s doing this?”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, staring intently at her, “so there it is, pretending to befriend the college nerd because you need computer help. Do you not think it’s a bit of a tired stereotype to assume that because I’m reading maths I’d be able to help you with your IT issues?”

“No, it’s not like that!” She protests, her eyes welling up with tears. She turns away, defeated, deciding this is a lost cause and closes her laptop. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

He sighs. “Well, there’s no need to cry about it. I can help you, just not right now. Are you free later this evening?”

She sniffles, her eyes going wide as she looks at him in surprise. “Really?”

He nods, closing his notebook and slipping his pen into his breast pocket. “I’ve got a tutorial in twenty minutes, but I can help trace the IP of whoever’s hacked you. I’m on the first floor of the Brasenose, second room left of the staircase. I’ll be back around five.”

Nodding, she immediately feels lighter, the possibility that this may finally come to an end instantly lifting her spirits. A chance to get her life back. “That’s perfect, I’ll see you then. Thank you so much.”

He rises, his gaze remaining fixed upon her. “See you later.” 

The way he addresses her, first and last name, sends a shiver down her spine as she watches him turn away and walk slowly out of the library. She wonders what she has gotten herself into, but with no friends and no other options there is little else to be done.

She is filled with restless energy for the rest of the day, unable to sit still or concentrate during the only other lecture she has that afternoon, until eventually she finds herself standing outside of Michael’s room at quarter past five, the hours leading up to that feeling as though they’ve lasted an eternity.

Where there is the faint sound of music or talking coming from the doors she’s passed already on her way here, she is struck by the eerie silence she is met with from his, and wonders for a moment if he’s even home.

Nervous excitement crackles like electricity through her body and her knock is louder than she intends for it to be. She hears shuffling from the other side, until the door swings slowly open. Michael stands poker straight on the threshold, staring down at her.

“Did you bring your laptop?” He asks.

Yet again she is taken aback by how forthright he is, but she nods, stepping in as he moves to the side to let her pass.

Looking around the room, she takes in the plainness of his bedspread, the shelves of mathematics and physics textbooks, the desk set up in the corner that has his laptop open on it. There is nothing that gives even the slightest indication as to who he is as a person.

The sound of him clearing his throat startles her attention back to him, and she turns with an apologetic smile to face him. “Sorry, always weird being in someone else’s room…”

“Right,” he replies, his gaze unwavering as he looks at her. “Laptop?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” embarrassment heats up her skin, as she rummages in her bag, taking it out and handing it to him.

He settles it next to his own on the desk, before taking a seat.

She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around, not quite knowing what to do with herself. “Um…where should I…?”

“Anywhere,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, not looking at her.

She settles on the edge of the bed, running her hands over the soft cotton of the duvet cover. It’s an odd sensation to sit so casually in the space that she knows he sleeps. It feels too familiar, too intimate.

Glancing to the side, she notices the shimmer of gold and purple in the bin. She smiles to herself, having learned something about him in spite of the lack of personal effects in his room. He has a sweet tooth, evidenced by the Crunchie bar wrappers in the bin.

“Password?” He asks, and her head snaps up towards him.

“Hmm?”

He turns in his chair, resting his arm on the back of it, glaring at her over his shoulder. “The password for your laptop, what is it?”

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Is it safe for me to tell you that?”

“It is if you want me to help you,” he sighs.

She squirms uncomfortably. He has the innate ability to make her feel small, foolish, but what’s most disconcerting is that she doesn’t dislike it, there is something about him that draws her to his condescension. 

“It’s Shakespeare,” she tells him sheepishly, “with a four in place of the first A.”

“What about the passwords for your email and Myspace accounts?”

“The same.”

“The same?!”

“I’ve changed the passwords each time a new photo has been posted, but it’s just easier to have the same one for everything.”

He groans, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you’ve been hacked, typical fucking liberal arts student.”

She lowers her gaze, fingers plucking nervously at the bedspread. “Different passwords for every account, got it.”

“Well, that’s a start, yes,” he tells her, turning back to the screens. “Has anyone but you had access to your computer?”

“No, it stays in my bag when I’m not using it.”

She sits watching him tap away at the keyboards of both laptops alternately for a few moments before she speaks again. “I’m not stupid, you know,” she tells him, her voice sounding meeker than she means for it to. “English Language and Literature is no less of a respectable course than Mathematics. I wrote an essay on the Robert Browning poem, My Last Duchess, recently. It’s a fascinating piece, focusing on the Duke of Ferrara using a painting of his former wife as a conversation topic. The Duke speaks about his former wife's perceived inadequacies to a representative of the family of his bride-to-be, revealing his obsession with controlling others in the process. Browning uses this compelling psychological portrait of a despicable character to critique the objectification of women and abuses of power. It’s a compelling commentary on social status and elitism.”

“What would you know about either of those things?” He asks, continuing to type.

“More than I’d like to,” she says quietly, “I don’t fit in here, not really. I earned my place with a scholarship.”

He pauses, stiffening, glancing over his shoulder at her with a “hmm”.

“I’ve managed to get into the access logs for both your email and Myspace accounts,” he tells her. “There are two sets of IPs that have accessed both accounts in the last week, but both are eduroam IP addresses.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that whoever is uploading those photos is doing so from the university.”

The revelation hits her like a punch to the gut, she feels paralysed, unable to speak as his words sink in. A part of her had wanted to believe it was Jake. To think there is someone at the university who is doing this to her makes her feel nauseated. Her mind races with the possibilities of who it could be. Felix? India? Farleigh? What reason could any of them possibly have to want to do that to her?

“What should I do?” She asks worriedly, staring at Michael with her brows pinched together. “Do you think reporting it would help?”

He swivels his chair fully around to face her and shakes his head. “Not if you intend to keep your scholarship. Rocking the boat over leaked nudes won’t look good to the university board, they’ll take issue with the fact that you even took those photos in the first place.”

“So I just have to let this keep happening?” She feels her throat tighten, wetness rims her eyes.

“Change your passwords,” he says matter of factly. “A different one for every account.”

She nods, expelling a shaky breath, before standing. “I should probably get going. Thank you…for everything.”

Before she goes to bed that night, she changes her passwords - a different one for every account she owns, and deletes the newest uploaded photo, returning her profile picture to its original state.

As far as she is concerned, that should be the end of it. However, her breath hitches, icy cold fingers of fear gripping her heart when she logs on the following morning. Not only has her profile picture been changed to another photo from the set she’d taken for Jake, but the “about me” section now reads “vapid cunt”.

On autopilot, she dresses, taking her laptop and walking the six minutes from Christ Church Halls to Brasenose College.

As soon as Michael’s door opens, she flings her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. He stiffens, not returning the gesture, until she finally pulls away.

He straighens, adjusting his glasses. His hair is rumpled from sleep, clad in a t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms.

“God, I’m so sorry, I woke you up,” she says tearfully, “I should go. I didn’t think, I just–”

“It’s fine,” he says flatly, ushering her in.

She sits down on the bed. It’s unmade, still warm from where he’s been sleeping in it. The feeling sends a shiver down her spine, despite her emotional distress.

Gingerly he sits next to her, keeping a respectable distance as she removes her laptop from her bag and opens it. “It’s happened again. I did everything you said to do, but it’s happened again, and it’s worse this time. Look–”

Handing him the laptop she shuffles closer to him, her thigh pressed against his. She can feel the warmth of him through her leggings. It causes butterflies to flutter in her belly, it’s been so long since she’s been this close to anyone.

Michael doesn’t stiffen at her touch this time, whether it’s because he doesn’t mind it or is too distracted by what he sees on the screen, she’s unsure, but it’s progress.

“Hmm. And you’re sure you changed your passwords?”

“Yes, all of them. I don’t know what else to do. If I report it, I risk my scholarship, but if this carries on I’ll lose it anyway, because how can I concentrate when this keeps happening?”

He says nothing, closing her laptop and passing it back to her.

“I’ve worked my arse off to get here, to earn my place, this can’t be what ends it,” she says miserably, tucking her computer back into her bag.

“I’d suggest focusing on your studies and less on your peers,” Michael says matter of factly. “You haven’t made the best choice of friends since arriving here.”

“They’re not my friends,” she whispers, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “At least not anymore. Do you think it’s one of them doing this?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he replies bitterly, “stay away from them. I’ve got a lecture this morning, but maybe when I’ve got some downtime, I can do a deeper dive, perhaps see if I can track the logins to a device type.”

“You’d do that for me?” She whispers, looking at him with eyes full of appreciation.

“That’s what mates are for, right?”

“Thank you…just…thank you,” she tells him with sincerity, holding his gaze.

She reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, desperate to kiss his cheek as a gesture of her gratitude, but remembers the first time she’d done it and cringes inwardly. Though Michael’s hand doesn’t clutch back, he doesn’t move it away and, after a few moments, she realises they’re simply sitting holding hands, looking into each other's eyes.

He is beautiful in his own way. His stare, though intimidating, is piercingly blue, and his lips are soft and plump. She swallows, lashes fluttering in embarrassment when she realises she’s staring at his mouth.

Chancing her luck, she leans in, planting a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back at lunchtime, okay?” She whispers, before standing and moving towards the door.

He simply nods, fingers raising to brush over the spot where she’d kissed him. The sight puts a spring in her step for the rest of the morning, almost enough to forget about her being hacked. Almost.

She stops at a vending machine in the rec room on her way back to Brasenose at midday, deciding to buy Michael a Crunchie, an additional thank you for him going out of his way to help her.

As awful as having her privacy violated has been, she is grateful that it has brought her and Michael closer together. She had started the term wanting nothing more than to be his friend, and had royally fucked it up.

Now it seems they have mended their rift, and the prospect of being more than just friends is on the cards. Admittedly, he isn’t her usual type, but there is something about him that excites her. She hopes that once this is all over, this can be a fresh start for her at Oxford; her and Michael, just the caliber of intelligence she had wanted to associate with when she’d first applied.

She knocks at his door, hesitating when he doesn’t open it.

“Michael?” She calls out, brow furrowing in concern when he doesn’t answer.

They’d agreed upon lunchtime to meet, where was he? She tries the door handle and it’s unlocked, gingerly she pushes it open, peering slowly inside. He’s not there, but if he’d left it unlocked then he’d surely be back soon and wouldn’t mind her waiting inside for him.

She steps into the room, finding it much the same as before, only this time the bed is made. Walking over to the window by the desk, she stops to admire the view of the church, startling slightly when her bag knocks the computer chair, disturbing the mouse and taking Michael’s laptop out of sleep.

As she is about to turn back to the window, she notices her Myspace profile is open in edit mode in his browser. She frowns, a feeling of unease washing over her, as she steps towards the desk, her hand trembling as she reaches for the mouse.

She minimises Internet Explorer, gasping when she sees a folder open on his desktop, filled with the photos she had sent to Jake, all of them, even the ones that hadn’t yet been set as her profile picture.

Her heart pounds as she selects all of them, deleting them before clicking on the recycling bin to empty it.

“You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to not create back ups, did you?”

Turning, she sees that Michael has returned, so quietly she hadn’t noticed. His fingers clutch at the USB stick that’s clipped to his cargo shorts, lips turned up into an expression of smugness.

Tears prickle her eyes, as her heart lurches, the only word that escapes her is “why?” as she looks at him with arched brows, her face pinched into an expression of emotional hurt.

“Why?” He repeats, cocking his head, advancing towards her as she shrinks back into the corner. “Because someone needed to take you down a peg or two.”

“You’ve ruined my life!” She cries, tears slipping down her cheeks, looking at him in disbelief.

This has to be a dream, it is too surreal. Any moment now, she’ll wake up and all of this will have been a terrible dream.

Only it’s not, it’s real, real as the heat of his breath that fans across her face as he looms over her, having backed her fully into the corner between the desk and the window. 

“What life? Pretending to play a part with people that don’t really like you? Using your pretentious choice in reading material to make yourself seem intelligent?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” She says defiantly.

“Oh, I know all about you. Hiding your scholarship from those vapid cunts, so they won’t sniff out your working class background and drop you. The variations of John Browning as your password - adding a different number to each variation doesn’t make it a different password, stupid girl.”

“I was nice to you…” She offers feebly, almost pleading with him.

He smirks, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gripping harshly, forcing her to look at him. “You felt sorry for me. But it’s not me that needs pity, is it? It’s you. Poor little scholarship slut. You love that My Last Duchess poem so much because you see yourself in it, don’t you? Think you’re being objectified, treated unfairly. Well, let me tell you something, you are like that poem, but in the sense that you’re better in pictures than you are in real life.”

“Stop it,” she whispers, trying to pull away from him.

“Truth hurt, does it?” He asks, his grip on her face remaining tight. “That’s a pity. I enjoyed those pictures, really enjoyed them. It’s a shame the real life version is so whiny and pathetic.”

“I’ll report you,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I don’t think you will, somehow. You love the attention,” he tells her, dropping his hand from her chin to her shoulder, turning her and backing her up towards the bed. “I’ve seen how you look at me. If I wanted to fuck you right now, you’d let me.”

“I–I wouldn’t!” She stammers, feeling her face grow warm.

With a gentle shove from him, she topples back against the mattress, and he is quick to move over her, caging her in. “Liar,” he whispers in her ear.

She shudders at the sensation, despising the way her body betrays her, as heat pools between her legs. She shouldn’t be turned on by this, yet she can’t deny the way he sets her pulse racing.

“I haven’t ruined your life, but I could and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He hisses.

The weight of him on top of her, his warm breath fanning against her neck, it’s dizzying. She wants to tell him to get off of her, to push him away, yet she cannot find it in herself to do so. There is a part of her that’s curious to see how far he’ll push this.

When she doesn’t say anything, he carries on, nimble fingers moving to the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down. “I’m going to treat you like the desperate, little slut that you are, and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

She whines, lifting her hips as he rids her of the bottom half of her clothing.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirks.

His gaze falls between her legs, tentative fingers reaching out to brush through the wetness that has gathered there. She sees a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and wonders if he has ever done this before.

She knows his moment of hesitation would be enough for her to push him away, grab her clothes and report him, yet she feels compelled to stay. If this is his first time, then she wants it to be her. She enjoys the dynamic of the power he has over her, while simultaneously being able to take something from him.

Wanting to bolster his confidence, urge him to continue, she sits up, eager hands unfastening his belt and unzipping his shorts. It flips a switch inside him, and he’s surging forward once more, pinning her beneath him as he pushes his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against the shell of her ear.

“I want this,” she mewls desperately, feeling the head of him resting at her entrance.

“You’re going to keep letting me do this to you, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll wear that tarty underwear from your photos for me, won’t you?”

“...yes.”

He presses forward and is met with resistance, not having fully prepared her. He draws back and pushes against her again, repeating the motion until he’s fully sheathed inside of her. It’s exquisite torture, a pleasurable hurt to be split apart by him, to feel so full.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he stills and she can feel his inexperience in the way that he tenses, but isn’t prepared to give up when they’ve already come this far. She rolls her hips against his, a breathy sigh escaping her as she feels her sweet spot rub up against the head of him.

He screws his eyes shut, jaw going slack, before beginning to move his own hips, pulling back to slam forward once more, quickly finding a rhythm that suits him. This isn’t careful, considered lovemaking, they rut against each other like animals, both of them allowing instinct to guide them as they seek out the movements that feel most pleasurable.

She clings tightly to him, meeting him thrust for thrust, their breaths coming in hot, shallow pants.

“Fucking knew this was all you needed,” he mutters, “someone to teach you a lesson, see you for what you really are.”

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands sliding down to his backside to push him in deeper, causing him to groan.

“F–fuck,” he stutters, picking up his pace when he feels her start to tighten around him. “Tell me you’re mine, you don’t need anyone else, just me.”

“‘M yours,” she gasps, pushing her hips against his, zeroing in on the precipice she is about to fall from.

A particularly harsh thrust is the final shove she needs, and white hot waves of euphoria wrack her body, as she cries out in ecstasy. Suddenly, Michael is withdrawing, leaving her to clench around nothing as he paints her inner thigh with sticky warmth.

He collapses beside her, and she stares into the lightly fogged lenses of his glasses, their noses bumping together.

“Are you still going to ruin my life?” She asks, hazy with pleasure.

For the first time, their lips meet, a messy clash of tongue and teeth, that’s sloppy and wet, their breaths still heavy and movements uncontrolled. 

“You’re going to let me,” he whispers when they finally break for air, “because you’re mine.” Resistance is futile, she will let him. She wants this, needs this. After all, Michael Gavey is the type of person she came to Oxford to associate with in the first place, and she’s gotten exactly what she asked for.

Part two || Series masterlist

[falafels]

hello will you please spare me any Gordon family crumbs you have 🤲

ADLER OMG HII!! CRUMBS OK LET ME SCOUR THE NOTES APP

-Jeremy Gordon is still trying to put off his Fiona Gallagher scale crashout and it’s mostly working. The fox he’d get on with best is Renee, and they have a brief conversation at Seth’s graduation before Nicky comes over to ask him how many times Seth was dropped as a baby. (seven, twelve if you count the time Jeremy and Marcus (and Ricky a bit but he was only 2) decided to play catch with him out in the yard. very aerodynamic baby is on Seth’s CV)

-Tabitha Gordon big time sufferer of older sister-younger brother disease where they would scrap fairly routinely until around the time seth was 12 and she went to put him in a chokehold for taking her jacket and he just launched her across the room into the dresser. and he looked down at his hands like he didn’t realise he could do that now either and got all smug like Ohohoho. No more banging my head on the wall or twisting my arm behind my back so you can do makeup on me (that one hadn’t happened for a few years at that point but he didn’t want it to happen again) or pelting me with old bullet casings found down by the creek. No no. There’s a neeeeew sheriff in town. alp holding his hand out in front of him like hes gonna repel her with The Force. and Tabby blinks for a moment. and he thinks this is it. and instead she gets back up and seamlessly transitions from physical abuse into verbal abuse.

-They all used to hang out (not usually with each other, each of them thought this was their super cool secret spot they would go to with their loser friends at one point or another) down at the creek. Scotty likes to go down there to “look at nature”, Jessie went down there to appreciate the gifts of nature and get stoned out of her mind, Seth liked to just fuck about in the water, Ricky and Jamie both called it “free time off work creek” because both of them separately chose to drink from it and got sick, Marcus used to meet his dealer there, Tabitha would get drunk with people from high school, Michael would go there to read (sometimes while Seth was fucking about in the water), and Jeremy would climb the tree that rose over the water and sit in it just to be alone for a moment. also to smoke

-Seth wasn’t actually the first of his sibling to overdose, but he didn’t know this for several years until Marcus mentioned it while they were throwing tyres and sorting shit down at Ricky’s auto body shop. because Marcus is a complete asshole, it’s entirely throwaway and at Tabby’s expense, some shit about “yeah new boyfriend let’s see if this one beats her to death or if she nearly beats him to it again lol” or something equally horrendous and Seth is like hold up what do you mean by that and Marcus explains that when Tabitha was about 16 she got really dangerously into injectables because of the guy she was dating and the group she hung out with and one day overdosed in a park with them and the guy just panicked and dropped her off in the front yard where Jeremy found her and took her to the hospital. and Marcus finishes telling Seth this story and immediately offers him loose pills he found at work

-Scotty is the most likely sibling to lose in a fight, not for being the youngest but for more or less growing up in a slightly different world because most of his siblings had learned a shred of emotional maturity by that point. Michael is the least violent by nature but would still absolutely wreck anyone’s shit if they picked the fight but wouldn’t swing first or second. He doesn’t like to fight but he’s still a Gordon so he knows how to throw a punch and take a hit

-Ricky has been really getting into telenovelas. His boss’s wife insists on having her soaps play on the shitty old tv down at the shop and Ricky and the other guys bitch about it but are actually fairly invested and Ricky’s also picked up some Spanish from it. his on-again off-again girlfriend Rita calls him gay for it (the telenovela not the Spanish) but Ricky insists he’s not gay because, quote, “he doesn’t even use deodorant”

-Jessie Gordon is almost entirely fearless, with the three exceptions being pregnant women, being sucked through a time warp back to medieval times and trying to explain electricity but not actually knowing how it works, and velvet leggings

-Jeremy is the best with a rifle and thought about joining the army as a sniper but didn’t have any interest in the culture and kind of wanted to start over with something different. Jamie is also a decent shot but tends to post up in trees to shoot pigeons or shit that Ricky and Seth throw up in the air and then gets stuck in the tree. Nobody is particularly actively pro-guns but it’s always just been part of life in Birmingham, which Seth doesn’t quite realise until he gets to Palmetto. Specifically after meeting New Yorker Matt Boyd, who always looks vaguely horrified when Seth mentions shooting hay bales for fun or the guys from his high school with assault rifles slung over their shoulders in prom pictures. Matt Boyd, who comes in to the dorm one day yelling that some crazy guy is outside with a gun and Seth sticks his head out the window to have a look and tells Matt that’s a Springfield 67C and it’s so dogshit the only way the guy’s doing any damage with it is if he beats them with the barrel, then tells the guy as much out of the window

-Jamie Jessie and Seth all have matching scars from trying to pierce their ears. Jamie’s got infected as fuck, likely not helped by Ricky pouring Tabitha’s premixed can of passion fruit martini all over it (logic being that alcohol would clean it out- sure, but fruit juice isn’t too good for it), and Jessie’s closed over so she re-pierced it but missed a bunch of times so now she has multiple earlobe piercings and wears little stars in all of them. Seth’s just bled a lot. Like a lot a lot. But he mentioned getting painkillers from the doctor and Jessie looked at him like he’d shot her, so for her sake he firmed it and for a good few months there he thought he was clean for good.

that’s all i’ve found for loose scraps of Gordon lore for now but i’m sure there’ll be more at some point

[toast-in-a-cowboy-hat]

I'll never get over Tex asking Michael if he has a brain chip, then immediately saying that Outlaw can take it out, and everyone acts like its The Most Casual suggestion one could ever have

Like yeah man, come on, it'll be fine, don't worry about it, just slap down a towel, get some of Outlaw's Backyard Brain Surgery, don't make such a big deal out of it

We can do it in the living room, you can watch some TV, Bluster might come in and say hi, just lay back and relax!

Also I assume he knows the general area that the chip wold be in, but also you need to know exactly where, so does he have an X-Ray Machine, or he just whipping out a metal detector in the middle of all this, homing in on it like "Hmm it's beeping real loud, let's try here... ah, nope, that's a beer tab, well we'll keep lookin', it's in there somewhere"

And I know maybe this is something to be done with a Calculator, but referring to it specifically as Brain Surgery and Michael saying he doesn't want Ty poking around his brain implies that its just regular (well "regular") surgery and so like...where did Outlaw get the equipment for this??

Where in the world is he getting this stuff, did he steal a copy of the Compound's equipment on the way out, is he going up to random hospitals like "Hey don't mind me just gonna duplicate your MRI Machine" or is he cobbling shit together in the basement??

Like you walk in and this man's defibrillator is made outta someones old toaster got some kinda machine in the corner partially made out of an old doodlebug hood, the computer screen's from 1995, but then again that's high tech compared to some hospitals so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also I imagine this is a Base only kinda thing, but what if Tex's just down at the bar offering people free surgery like it's on the same level as a ride home?

Can you imagine being in a bar with your buddies, you just went to the doctor, they said you need some kind of heart surgery, and you're there talking like 'Oh it needs to be done but god, its so expensive, my insurance only covers so much, the bills are just gonna kill me, etc, etc ...' Only for some other guy that you may or may not know to pop up, go "Oh, hey, I got someone that can help you out with that", call someone else over and be like "This is my guy-of-indeterminate-relationship, he's a scientist, he can probably hook you up with a lil open heart surgery, no problem :)"

Scientist guy asks you what the problem is, you explain it, and he's like "yeah, we can do something about that, gimme a couple weeks to get everything together, I'll give you a call when it's all ready"

And you're just like, yeah sure, why not, Weird Cowboy Scientist's gonna do my heart surgery, sure. Is he gonna buy the implant you need? Does he just have one lying around? Is he stealing it?? Who knows, you'll find out, it's fine, sure

2 weeks later, you do the finding out and apparently none of your guesses were right, turns out he's building all this shit himself, but hell, it's faster than a doctor's appointment and free to boot, so! Why not! Sure! Let's do it, definitely not gonna be getting any organs stolen, this is all completely normal!!

And then its actually fine.

Nothing bad happened, no infections, no internal organs missing (as far as you can tell), it was a basic surgery, everything went fine.

You go home. You decide you don't need to know. You decide you don't want to know.

You go to the bar with your buddies again, the guy is there, you buy him a beer, have a little chat, leave the conversation thinking "Wow, what a fucking dork", and on life goes.

And I mean, I guess it could work in their favor, like, folks around get to knowing about him, and he's out doing something odd or seemin' suspicious or something and someone asks about him, they can be like "Oh no, don't worry, don't mind him, that's just Outlaw, he's Tex's... bestie? boyfriend? sugar-baby-boytoy-situationship-type-deal??? ...British Friend, and yeah he's weird n' all, but it's cool, he's nice, he sometimes help's out with folk's health problems when they can't afford it, and Tex's band plays at the bar, which is cool, so ya know, we don't question the weird shit they got goin' on, like it works out, it's all good"

Like, there's just....

So much, so many things there, I could go on, as you can tell, I have many a thought but like, I just - it's - yeah

[lenoide]

Season of Love (2/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

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Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 2: Lights out, and away your feelings go!

Australia By mere luck, Toto had one of those sponsors' events in the afternoon, and he was wearing a Tom Ford tan suit with a white shirt, a classic ensemble, instead of his usual Mercedes kit.

And you, well, you looked so chic wearing a romantic Saint Laurent satin mini dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline paired with ribbon bowtie Jimmy Choo stilettos up to the occasion.

You wave Sam goodbye as she enters the car and returns to the hotel. And then Toto and you stay standing there, not knowing what to do next.

—So, at what time is the reservation? —Toto asks you.

—In two hours, it is downtown.

—Good. We are getting there on time, right?

—Oh yeah, we can go on my c... —You look at the empty space where your Lambo was parked - well, where Michael parked it, now empty and immediately take out your phone, shit! You left it on airplane mode. All messages and missed calls start to appear, red dots everywhere. Your assistant asked if you needed the car or if they had moved it to the hotel hours ago. Later, she sent the chauffeur to pick you up, but he couldn't reach you. He waited for you a long time and left.

—My team took my car, so...

—No worries. I can take us there.

"For sure you can!" you thought. Jesus, why were you so horny lately?

Toto then texts his chauffeur, and on your way, you two go; it was a quiet ride for a bit.

—So...

—So...

You both laugh at the back of the car.

—So our minds are connected, huh? —you joke, referring to your tendency to talk at the same time.

—It's becoming a bad habit, yes —Smiles. —I was going to ask you where have you been existing. Everyone close to me seems to know you, but they never mentioned it before; I feel left out; somehow, I have no idea who you are —Toto tells you.

—First of all, I take serious offense that neither Niki nor Sam mentioned me before; how dare they? And to answer your question in Belgium. I met Niki recently and Sam forever ago but she is pretty private so I guess that's why.

—Umh, I thought Sam and I had something special, but I'm calling it quits —Toto says. —She keeps secrets from me —putting on a fake sad face.

—Welcome to da' club. She's all Lewis's now.

-

Then, at the restaurant.

Toto and you were greeted by a blond supermodel-looking hostess who took you to your booked table. You entered the historical building - big old brown bricked walls, high ceilings with restored wooden beams, and dark marble tile floors - barely lit with just a couple of lights strategically placed reflected on the walls. The tables were small and intimate, and all the furniture was statement pieces - wooden carved and expensive textiles - the silverware and china were spectacular. The place was a printery back in the day, and it ended up in the middle of downtown and has now turned into a Michelin-starred restaurant.

The hostess acted extra caring with Toto, taking all the time to tenderly adjust his blindfold and explain every single step and detail of the dining experience. Since he couldn't see her, she went all handsy, relying on touch a bit much, and for obvious reasons, she tied your blindfold too tight. Really, girl?! Sorority like in where?

—So it's crucial for the experience when you give the food to each other, slowly savor the flavors and then start a conversation about each dish, what it made you feel, what reminded you of, what you thought it was, taking turns —she tells you two as she takes each your hand and makes you feel the space where a single plate full of finger food where to be placed - on top of a marble "lazy susan." —Please let me know if you need me —a lot of emphasis on "need me" and more addressed to Toto than you.

Wait, what?! Give each other the food?! What on earth?! You are so glad Toto isn't able to see you because, for sure, you are tomato red. Then you hear the hostess walk away.

—I frequent high-cuisine restaurants all over the world, yet I haven't dared with this one. It has so many mixed reviews —Toto tells you.

—I met the Chef at an auction gala for charity. He sat at our table and sold us the idea, which sounded exciting and intrigued me, so I told him I would stop by when in Melbourn —you add. He never mentioned that we had to feed each other during the experience.

A moment later, the dish arrived, and the experience began. Your hands were shaking a little bit. Your days went from ignoring Toto's bare existence to placing food into his mouth now.

—By all means, you go first —He offers you. Why did he have to be a gentleman?!

—Sure, thanks —You don't know where to start, so you pick a bite and stay there frozen when Toto notices it softly grabs your hand to guide you to his mouth to avoid you pocking him an eye with the food. Many "Oh god, oh god" fill your mind. You could sense him slowly biting the food from your fingers, his warm breaths on your skin, while hearing soft crunch noises.

He munches. And you wait, hand now resting on the table.

—Soft skin —he says.

—That is what it tasted you like?!

—No, of course not —Toto softly chuckles. —You have soft skin. The bite tasted like, amh, some sort of Gnocchi, but it wasn't. I'm not a big fan of this one and its flavor.

—So you like Italian cuisine?

—Everyone likes Italian cuisine, duh.

—Excuse you? That attitude, Sir! —you flirt, I mean, joke with him.

—Yes! I used to spend the summers in Italy with my family. It is a country that reminds me of my father. Cinque Terre has a special place in my heart.

—You miss your dad —You say before thinking, shit! Now he will assume that Sam and you gossip about him or think you Googled him. Shit! You are supposed to not know anything about him. Lol, if he knew. —It must be hard being away from family all the time with this busy schedule —Smart girl... Good save..?

He looks at you, a bit confused. —Ahm, yes. I miss my dad.

—Okay, it's my turn! —you shift topics quickly and naturally.

Toto picks up a small bite, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, guiding him to your mouth. Your thumb finger could feel his pulse, which weirdly relaxes you. You bite the food slowly, and your lips make a bit of contact, brushing the skin of his fingers.

—What does it taste you like? —he asks you. You try your best not to have dirty thoughts.

—Feet? God, this is awful —you answer while trying to chew the fucker.

Toto almost chokes on his water. Who calls feet a signature Michelin-star dish?

—I'm so hating this! I can't with pretentious places, to be honest. Uptight people are the worst!

—You tell me I live surrounded by those, but you will be fine. Why did you mention the uptight people?

—Send tips. Because there is no way an average person could have come up with this idea and this type of food! What are these flavors, honestly?!

—You are hilarious.

—Aw, thanks. What am I to you, a clown? Well, every circus needs one... I'm glad to help! Why do you keep laughing, stop!

—You are so right; F1 can be a circus! —Toto admits.

—So, what's your job at the F1 circus? No, seriously, don't laugh. TOTO STOP. Do you juggle or what? —You two keep reaching closer over and under the small table, knees now touching.

—Highly accurate! Or I could be that one guy on the tightrope! —He waves his arms.

—So meta. Listen, for us girls being the ones stereotypically called "catfight-ty," you guys...

—You have no idea! And it is just starting...

—Does the drama get too good? You are getting me excited! Don't play with my heart, Torger.

—I won't —Somehow, it sounds more profound and meaningful. Silence.

—Can we go back to the food, please? We are getting distracted from its delicious flavors —you say amidst giggles. —What? Don't you believe me? This dish is so good, "Latifi good".

Chuckles. Then you notice Toto left his right hand on top of yours this whole time.

With your free one, you pick up another portion. —Oh, you are going to love this one. Smells, uhm, so good. Wait for my soft hands to come closer —you tease Toto.

He loses it. People around you start judging you two; you are being "noisy."

—Why suddenly I don't want to open my mouth? I'm not helping you get there anymore. Find your way; if you miss it, then I'm so sorry.

—Oh, don't you worry, "Tots". I can always ask for more of these.

—Oh god, no.

The dining experience ended on the sixth small bite, thank Jesus. You two never walked out of a restaurant that fast, and none of you felt like staying to experience the drinks part, judging by the food.

But were in desperate need of refreshers. The night was now fully set, and the air was fresh. You two walk almost hand in hand on the sidewalk under the clear skies, choosing to explore the city, looking in the surroundings for a pub. You were lured by a very busy one - with live music - three drunk girls burst out of the door in a great mood, and it looked packed; then it must be good!

It was. —Do I ask to pour you a pint, too? Or are you on a diet or something? —Toto offers you on his way to get drinks. A great cover of "Your Love by The Outfield" played in the background. The singer had great vocals, and the guitarist was so talented.

—On a diet? God, no. I'm not that fit! Who gives that excuse? Who's that picky?

—There are people —Toto answers, a bit sad. You wonder if Sussie behaved like that. Of course, you don't dig.

While he goes on his mission, you find the last free table for yourselves. The place was what you pictured when someone said "pub". A classic, extensive wooden bar, tap beer, and tons of bottles on display. Small round tables, bar stools, and many empty frames hanging on the wooden panel walls mixed with art deco posters. It's nothing fancy but eclectic and cool.

As time passed, you two got drunk and the beers, too. You talked and talked and talked about everything. At least what you two wanted to share, obvious subjects were avoided. Toto didn't mention Sussie the whole time, and you chose not to reveal much about your "situation." The two of you formed a bond and had such chemistry none could explain. You were feeling so comfy with each other. He looked so happy and having a blast, and you were, too.

Then, the drinking contest started, and you sent your best knight to battle. You ended up sitting cross-legged on top of the bar with your short dress going up with your every move, surrounded by a group of people watching the spectacle - as well as the other couples of contestants - with Toto on his feet right next to you, resting one of his hands on your thighs. At the same time, you poured the beers directly into his mouth. The first one to finish a row of four pints with no pauses and successfully do "the loaded twirl" - four fast spins - then walk to ring the bell at the end of the counter - without falling - could leave not paying a penny, and win a cool metal medal too.

Toto sounded the bell first. And the place went fucking nuts.

By the end of your night out, you two couldn't even walk straight as you were being playful on the sidewalk on your way to meet your driver. At some point, you lost a heel while dancing, you knew how to move and rhythm was natural to you. Toto carried you around until a good soul gifted you his flip-flops; the poor unknown hero was so into you. Fantastic pubs and guys on flip-flops, thank you, Australia.

While rocking the stranger's flip-flops with your Saint Laurent mini dress, you were singing and throwing some moves on the street at the sound of "Notorious by Duran Duran" - it was the last song you heard the band played before leaving and got stuck in your head - it was around 4 a.m. by then.

Toto had his medal wrapped around his head, looking all stupid and hot. There is no sight of his suit jacket. He must have lost it when you took him to the bathroom - of course, you waited for him outside. He was too drunk to get there alone - or when you two started dancing, burning some of the alcohol in your systems.

There is something about him that makes you feel so many things, and you don't want the night to end. And you wanted to spend more time with him, listening to his voice, hearing his laugh, looking at his eyes, having his body near yours. You find him so attractive.

—I don't remember the last time I had this much fun; it must have been ages ago! —he says, way too loud and drunk.

—Me too! We should do this again! Are you sure it's here? —you reply, looking around. No cars in sight.

—Yes! I'm not that drunk. Here is where the pin marks —he says, looking too closely into his phone. His nose almost touched the screen, looking at the map.

—Let me see.

—Nein —He raises his phone, extending his arm, placing it out of your reach. You jump to grab it, failing miserably. You ended up bumping him instead. Balance isn't a thing for any of you at the moment. And you both get closer. At some point in the night, you two started to behave like magnets, unable to keep away from each other, all handsy. Toto places a hand on your lower back to steady you.

You aren't sure if the sensation you are feeling is the alcohol in your system or the butterflies in your stomach.

—You are so carefree. Zero pretentious. So fun. So captivating, so... —Toto says in such a dangerous voice, staring at your lips with his fingers, placing your hair behind your ear.

You two get closer.

—So..? —You beg him to continue, staring at his lips too. You take the lead and start closing the distance between you.

It's been a while since either of you had sex in your lives.

Or love.

He looks at you with desire and affection but without moving an inch. Then Toto decides to take a step back.

That distance feels like miles, and the car arrives. Ending an almost perfect night.

You feel ashamed since you overstepped and carried yourself away. None of you mentioned what just happened on the ride back to the hotel.

-

Spending time with you starts to feel like a necessity to him now.

Toto is standing there, left shoulder leaning against the bar wall near where the band is playing, sipping his beer, watching you dance with some strangers, glowing and smiling, and having fun among those girls while he admires your curves and body movements. You have the magic to make him forget about the rest of the world, its people, and its problems. Going out with you tonight felt like healing, like self-care. 

After days of being heartbroken, Toto called things off with Sussie, which was not an easy choice. She was the love of his life, or so he thought, and after spending a significant portion of your life with someone, saying goodbye to that person is never easy.

Even if tonight was great and felt like a lucid dream, he couldn't escape reality forever. This Cinderella story had an end.

Of course, he notices the way you look at him. The attention you pay to his every word, your excitement every time you make him smile, or how you lean closer to his touch whenever the two of you make accidental - or not - contact.

But he wasn't ready for you. Of course, he would love to make a move and enjoy the whole of you, explore your every corner, trace your hips with his hands, and feel your body beneath his, making you release sounds he would love to hear. He wanted to fuck you badly, but you weren't just for a one-night stand.

You deserved someone who could fully admire you. That worshiped you. And Toto wasn't able to be that guy at the moment. He felt wounded and needed time for himself.

So, when you had the courage he lacked to make the move, knowing that if he accepted that kiss, you would wake up tangled in his sheets, he stepped back.

Seeing your surprised, embarrassed, and hurt reaction spiraled him into coming days of somber mood and turned into a quiet ride back to the hotel.

-

Once you reach your destination, the driver opens the car door for you, and you step out of it, praying your balance has returned. After that fiasco ending of the night, all the alcohol in your system seems to have evaporated thanks to that emotional gut punch Toto gave. You glimpse Toto catching your step, walking now as normal as you.

You two may be walking seemly normal now but your looks scream drunks, loud and clear! - messy hair and clothes, not to mention your flip flops, a thing that made you smile as you remembered the now distant memory - as you passed by a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the way to the elevators.

The bellboy pushes the buttons to open the elevator doors for you.

—On which floor is your room? —he asks.

—Oh, no, we aren't...

—Eleven —you answer a little deadpan, interrupting Toto.

—Fourteen —he mumbles.

As you two go up, you start saying goodbye, also wanting to cut the tension a bit. —It was a fun night, "Tots"! My liver may disagree, but we'll see —you smile.

—Yeah, yeah, it was, except for that horrid food —he replies.

—Let's not, let's bury that part.

He nods with a small smile. The door opens on your floor. You smile at him one last time and head out.

Toto wants to say, "Wait!" or follow you down that corridor, inviting himself to your room and bed, but instead, he remains just standing there, and the elevator goes up.

-

You take your time to walk down the corridor, hoping there is still a chance, till you hear the sound of the elevator's doors closing and following it, total silence, no footsteps, no movement. So you let out a sigh and get inside your room.

You are left facing a feeling of emptiness and solitude as you walk across the empty and dark suite with your surviving heel in hand, and then you toss it across the room on the carpet. You enter the shower and start washing your make-up and body off, letting your mind wander to the idea that the two of you could be there right now.

So, a bit defeated by not having Toto's naked and wet body before you, you send yourself to bed, struggling to fall asleep and shut down your brain; after a while, you feel yourself drifting away in the arms of Morfeo - and sadly not Toto's.

-

—He thinks I'm captivating and have soft hands —you say while giggling like a teenager, adding sugar to your Chai at the end of the counter. Already in a better mood, trying to look at the bright side of things.

—Soft hands??? —Sam replies, making a silly face and grabbing a napkin.

You two meet on your way to get Starbucks, located two buildings away from the hotel. You are still hungover and need fuel before stepping into the paddock.

—You know, never mind. I don't want to know —Sam adds, biting her bagel.

—Oh, wait. No. Nothing like that happened —you wave your hands in concern.

—Calm down; you know he and Sussie are in the middle of a time-off. Nothing wrong if it had happened. He has been in such awful moods lately that I think he needs it to happen. This time, their breakup seems real.

—Really!?

—Can you at least don't sound that excited? Oh god, you are smiling. I hate love —Sam sips her black coffee, rolling her eyes at you.

—Leave me live my fantasy, alright? —praying sign, you joke.

—Now you will be all weird around him, won't you?

—Nooo, well, maybe a little. What? Like you don't ship us.

—Puff —Sam lets out.

—Oh, you fed me way too many details about him for years and set us up last night just because, huh?

—Okay. Fair. I sold you the idea. Am I clever, or what? Listen, I care about you two a lot, and frankly, I think you are great for each other.

—Ooh, so Sam Dobrev has a heart.

—Shut up! Please don't make me regret it —she replies, all done with life.

-

—Hi, big guy —Sam pops her head inside Toto's office, simultaneously knocking on the open door.

—You owe me one —Toto answers deadpan. Concentrated, looking straight at his iPad, not bothering to look at her.

—Why?

—That restaurant you made me go to was horrible.

—Well, I didn't pick the place, so no whines to me, but at least the company was fantastic, right?

—Umhju —Toto mutters, still looking at the screen. Then silence.

Sam interprets that answer as I'm not telling you anything else.

—Since you are here trying to gossip. Aren't you busy? If you have free time, you could help me with several things.

—Jeez, that mood. I'm not here to gossip. Here, sign this. Niki needs it.

Toto reads the paper Sam just gave him and picks up his phone. —I need to make a call. Would you mind closing the door on your way out? Thank you.

—Okay —Sam answers slowly and exaggerates the "O" while doing what was asked. Even she knows messing with a somber Toto wasn't a good idea.

Unfortunately for you, no gossip or insights of your night out were obtained from Toto.

-

It was a Grand Prix victory for Lewis. And a third place for Mick, but since it was his first podium, you guys celebrated as if he had just won the race. Sadly, Millie got pulled out of the track for a technical issue with the car.

You were hoping to chitchat with Toto at the podium ceremony, make him laugh a little, and watch his beautiful smile. Well, you hoped that the entire day, actually. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you spotted him in the distance, there was no casual way to start a conversation with him that way, and you didn't want to be perceived as pushy or desperate going straight to him. So you let the idea die. There was no rush.

If something was meant to be, it will happen without forcing things.

Right?

-

Azerbaijan

On the paddock in Baku, Toto chose to behave the opposite of that night in Melbourne. Serious, professional, and borderline unfriendly - but still polite.

That caught you off guard, and it was so confusing. After spending that great time together, you thought you two were on your path to becoming friends or more if luck was on your side. You didn't get the sudden change, and it was a bit hurtful when you went to say hi to him - all warm and smiling - and he gave the cold shoulder with a blunt "Good morning" and kept on walking.

You stood there looking a bit stupid, wondering if you did something to bother him or if he was acting Austrian. Maybe Toto was feeling really uncomfortable by how you approached him at the end of that night. Damn, drunk you!

But then, a couple of hours later:

"Unknown" is typing...

—Darci told me you left your office to have lunch. But I'm here outside your hospitality and don't see you - Toto.

Your assistant gave him your number. —Hi!!! Yes, I'm here having lunch.

—Where? I'm wearing my good glasses, and I'm sure you are not that bald guy eating a salad.

—Sandro is a very nice guy. Look up, grandpa!

—The rooftop? What are you, a pigeon?

No joke in reply, just an honest: —I like the view from here. It's peaceful! Bonus points for being private. No one bothers me here or intrudes. It's my secret special place. Do you want to join?

Toto finishes climbing the ladder and goes to greet you, kissing you on the cheek. As he does so, a crazy thought crosses your mind: What if you turn your head? Is stealing a kiss considered harassment? But you don't.

You two share your homemade Yakimeshi - you love cooking even if you have a private Chef, and you are damn good at it, well, according to everyone that has eaten your food, so you ask the hotel to get you the fresh ingredients you need - while talking about the day, sharing ideas, throwing shade, and enjoying each other's presence.

—What a diva! —you reply, grabbing a portion with your chopsticks.

—I know. I expected better, but engineers... you know —Toto shrugs.

—Ye! —you agree. Sometimes, they acted, well, a little bit challenging.

Toto was acting so relaxed and casual as you expected him to be, and not what was going on in the morning. You wonder so badly why there is a change in ways, but you don't dare to ask.

"What if he has bipolar disorder?" a question that came to your mind at some desperate point during your day. Not that there was something wrong with that.

The sun is setting, and you two enjoy the view, sitting next to each other - no space in between - He places his arm around you, palm resting next to your left hand, but without making physical contact.

This becomes a routine for you two, lunching together on the rooftop of the W hospitality, away from the rest of the world, in your private little bubble. It becomes your favorite moment of the day. And Toto's, too, even if he swore he would never like routine.

-

Miami

—Excuse me, excuse me, how did the tire taste you like? —you tease a very solemn Lewis walking past you on the paddock while you pretend to hold an invisible mic at his face, acting like a reporter. An instant smile forms on his lips.

—Roscoe attack! —Lewis commands.

Roscoe stares at him for a second and then wanders to sniff a palm tree, not caring.

—I think your trick didn't work —you get closer to greet him with a hug.

—He is too lazy for that —he tells you while embracing you.

—You are too cute; don't listen to that man! —you say with a silly voice, addressing Roscoe, letting Lewis go, and flexing to pet the dog, rubbing around his ears, which Roscoe seems to enjoy.

It was a Qualy of hell for Mercedes. Lewis's car's back tire flew out into the air before bouncing on a safety barrier at speed, almost hitting him back. Plus, George's car ended up in the gravel after losing power.

In contrast, Williams did great. Mick was one with the car, achieving the day's fastest lap.

—Feeling better, sweetie? —you ask Lewis with honest concern, after seeing the incident unfold and how he made it out of the car really distraught.

Although you must admit that even though that whole thing wasn't funny, the memes were pure gold, so you texted Toto your pick: the one where the tire hit the space station with a photoshopped explosion, the one with Lewis's face photoshopped on a baseball player hitting a home run, but instead of the ball it was the tire and your favorite, the one with photoshopped Toto, Lewis, and George riding the tire to the sky.

—Yeah. I'm good. A positive mindset always helps, thanks.

—I think I just saw you kicking, crying, and screaming in the bathroom, Mr. Positive Mind Set —Sam joins the conversation, teasing him.

—HA HA

—So, what's the plan for tonight-A? —she asks.

—Noone human says tonight like that. Not even Michael Jackson on drugs —you tell Sam.

—We are in Miami, chica! Aren't we clubbing?! —she replies.

—Are you high?

—I will if we go out...

—You realize we are here for work, right? —Lewis asks her.

—Like we haven't done it before. What's the worst that could happen? Toto finding out? You losing the race? Toto, finding out you lost the race because you went out clubbing with us?

—Yes! —you all answer at the same time. —To all of that —you add.

—Well, not if Toto comes with us...

Lewis starts laughing like a madman. —Sam, are you suggesting convincing Toto to go clubbing with us the night before the race so he doesn't get mad if he finds out we went clubbing?

—I got lost, mate —George arrives, earing that last part, trying to figure out what the hell.

—Well, I'll not be convincing him. Y/N is.

—ME?!

—If you really love me, you will —Sam pushes you toward the Mercedes' motorhome.

Gaslighting a bit much?

-

How am I supposed to do this? I'm going to sound so unprofessional. Although, technically, you two went out pub-ing?? and got drunk the night before the race in Australia. Okay, that made-up word sounds terrible; let's never use it again, so there may be a slight chance to relive that.

At least you needed to practice your words before going in there since "Hi, Toto, wanna go clubbing?" wasn't an option but destiny was a bitch; you two crossed paths before you had the opportunity to rehearse. Toto was on his way back to his office; he left his badge access on his desk. He seemed surprised to see you there; you were far away from the Williams' grounds. So you are forced to improvise.

—Are you looking for Sam?

—No, not really, not this time.

—Oh. Niki?

—Nope.

—Lewis?

—You.

Toto was now standing right before you with his hands in his pockets, all tall and handsome. You liked him even more when he wore his reading glasses.

You start a bit shy; Toto has a powerful presence. —I heard Miami has excellent places, and because last time I made you join me for that awful dining experience, I thought maybe we could go out and have a good time but in a better establishment.

—Tonight?

He sounds slightly judgy. You go on: —I was talking with the guys, and they mentioned "Floyd." It sounds great...

—The guys?

—Sam and Lewis, and George...

—Ooh, they sent you? Sam!

Oh boy.

—The cocktails sound goo...

—I'm not taking my drivers drinking or to a nightclub before the race or allowing it. It's ridiculous —Toto interrupts you again.

You look at him, now slightly nervous and bummed out.

—None of us is going; it's not happening —Toto adds firmly.

Yeah... He was a pro at the top of his game. Of course, he cared about discipline, mindsets, and winning races and titles; what were you thinking?!

You nod apologetically. Your eyes look a bit sad, well, because... You don't need to explain why. Just start turning around to head back and tell them the news.

—Wait! We could go to "Basement", which has a bowling alley and a DJ. But no drinking! Not even a drop for anyone; we must return to the hotel at a reasonable hour. Do you like that? That makes you happy?

—Sounds perfect to me —your smile is big and bright. Did Toto change his mind to please me?

-

To make things even, you end up bringing Millie and Mick. You wanted to make clear you weren't playing unfair tactics with your opponents. You earnestly desired to spend a good time with the people you began to care about.

The place was all for yourselves. It was a club slash bowling alley with colorful neon lights reflecting on the lanes, varying intensities and colors to the DJ's beats. It was a dope place.

Lewis invites Seb. They two took bowling seriously and had a years-long competition. They show you a list of their scores on Lewis's iPhone going back to the dark ages.

Bono also shows up, and Carlos and Lando, too, God knows how.

Lando starts stretching right in front of you, warming up, and making eye contact with you while doing his poses in a bit too sexual and exaggerated way. Samanta and you start laughing at him for acting all idiot. You two sit on the bowling benches while drinking Coke and eating popcorn.

—Every group needs a slut —you tell Lando.

—I don't think you are impressing her, man —Carlos joins, watching the spectacle, on his feet.

—It reminds me of when little children warm up before jumping into the pool —you kill Lando with your words.

—You have never seen legs like this —he tells you, overconfident. All of you laugh. —But, I will fight for your heart, malady. Is there another knight brave enough to face me in a bowling fight to the death?

—But what's the prize?! —Seb screams across all lanes.

—A NIGHT with the princess —Lando claims.

—Keep dreaming, sweetie —you reply.

—A KISS from the princess —he backtracks.

—Fine! Everyone, write your names here! —Sam takes a Post-it and a pen out of her purse - an assistant's habit - and passes them around.

—WHAT?! What are you doing?

Sam starts folding the papers and mixing them up. —The council calls Sir Hamilton to the pit!! Please choose your horse and weapon for the fight (lane and bowling ball) —Sam reads Lewis's name from the paper she picks up, and then she selects another one. —Warrior Dobrev to the fight! —cheers are heard, and Mick and Carlos pat Millie on the arm and back; Vettel massages her shoulders when she stands by her approach area. —Knight Wolff to the pit! And last but not least, Warrior Bonnington, too! —there were only five lanes. —You all brave souls are to fight buffoon Norris for a kiss of the Lady. Lord Vettel and I will oversee the combat.

—Hey! —Lando complains, pouting. Then, George starts motivating him, and they start making stupid grunts and jumps before the bowling round begins.

—The battle commences now! —Sam calls.

—You really need to stop watching House of the Dragon —you tell her.

—It's official: Bono is the worst player I have seen —Vettel interrupts, watching Bono be the first to get disqualified. —Is it okay if I leave you a second? If I don't go and bother Lewis every time to time, I get anxious —Sebastian sweetly tells you.

—Go, honey —You pat his hand and let him go. You two were watching the competition unfold together.

Lando, Lewis, and Toto were really good at it, but Millie was in a league of her own.

—How can someone so tiny have such a steady grip? —Lewis tells her she was in the lane next to his.

—Lew, I gladly would share with you all my secrets if I wasn't determined to win this —Millie replies.

—So you really want to kiss her? —he is curious, and a little smile forms on his lips.

—Look at Y/N, I wouldn't mind, but I don't want to. I think all five of us here hate losing... or love winning. Well, except for Lando, I believe he truly wants to kiss her.

"Not just him," Lewis thinks, looking in Toto's direction. After years of being teammates, he could read him like a book. It isn't just Sussie who has him shifting moods. Since you appeared, Toto began to act all weird. When Lewis noticed the looks you both exchanged, everything made sense to him.

And another fantastic strike from Lando.

Millie was almost right. Lewis loves winning and hates losing, but not when friends or feelings are in the middle. A lesson Sebastian taught him. So Lewis prepares and throws the worst shot he has ever made. His bowling ball bounces, hits the gutters, and invades the next lane, instantly disqualifying him.

Hisses and laughs fill the room. Lewis turns around, shrugs, smiles, and goes to take a seat. A minute later, he feels a thumb rubs his neck, caressing it. —Sir Hamilton, my good Sir, you sure are an honorable and respectable fellow —Sebastian tells him with his best Shakespearean voice.

—Stop talking like that, please.

—It doesn't please you how this low-grade peasant talks, good Sir?

The face Lewis gives him is priceless. Vettel laughs, and Lewis slides closer to him on the bench.

A loud "AAARGGH" comes from Lando as he dramatically throws himself to the floor. Wooff, what an awful shot.

—Luck next time, Lando! —Sam teases him as Carlos and George pass by, carrying him to the benches, one grabbing him by the legs and the other by the arms. Out of the competition, he was.

Now, it was a Dobrev vs. Wolff clash.

—Make our house name proud, niece! —Sam yells at her.

—You are having too much fun, aren't you? —you tell her.

—Sorry —Sam covers her face with her hands, monkey emoji-like. —Your knight made it to the final. Good for you, girl, but Millie is ruthless, so...

—I know! I can't watch any more. I'm too nervous! I feel like I will puke if Toto wins or if he loses.

—...she misses.

—WHAT?!

Okay, okay, this wasn't happening. Oh God. Sam turns to you and gives you a smile The Grinch will envy.

—Knight Wolff wins the battle! And takes the princess! —Sam announces. You shoot her a dead glare. —...'s kiss

Cheers are heard. Then everyone gets on their feet and starts chatting and bowling. Laughs and mocktails fill the room.

You pass Lando, still lying on the bench, on your way to get a drink. Now you need tequila in your system. —Oh, I'm so wounded! Only a kiss on the lips would heal me —he tries, offering his arms to you. The kid has the material to be an actor.

—Carlos!! Lando needs you!! —you joke back in answer, smiling at him. Lando gets on his feet in less than a second. —All good, I feel better! —he tells you, chuckling.

Toto is there when you reach the bar, sipping a whiskey on the rocks. —Not a drop of alcohol, you said? —you mock him.

—And you are here to ask for a Coke, right? —he teases you.

—A Paloma, please —you ask the bartender. —You could be a professional bowling player —Please let that become a meme, you think, and an image of a Toto in a complete bowling outfit surrounded by a group of senior citizens with white hair comes to mind.

—You picture it; that's why you are smiling.

—Nooo...

He arches an eyebrow.

—Fine. I admit it! —you sit on the bar stool next to him and rest an elbow on the bar counter, smiling like an idiot and gazing at Toto until he notices it and gets on his feet. 

—I haven't seen you play, let's go! —he tells you.

—Oh, if this really were the old ages and it was me who had to fight for your hand, consider yourself single for the rest of your life...

-

You all arrive together at the hotel and walk inside the lobby, making a lot of noise.

—Shuusshh!! Zack doesn't know I'm not in my room! —Lando whispers, looking around.

—Sure, he is hiding behind that plant, Lando. That old fart is so fucking asleep in his bed, mate! Calm down! —Vettel adds.

—Hey! You haven't kissed Toto yet —Lewis recalls and addresses you.

—Right! Give him his prize! —Mick adds.

You feel your cheeks turning red. —Are you all going to stare and make it all weird?

—YES! —everyone answers.

—You guys suck! —you complain, pretending to be annoyed at them.

—Not as much as I would like to. WHO SAID THAT?! —Millie dirty jokes, looking around.

—Millie Alexandria Dobrev! —Sam shouts, shocked. —I can't believe you...

Between giggles and two Croatians fighting in the background, you kiss Toto for the first time.

With your left hand, wrap Toto's bicep and rest your right on his chest as you reach his lips on your tiptoes. The kiss is brief, delicate, more like a brush of lips, but it is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go wild and to still be on cloud nine when you reach your room.

-

Monaco

You were so excited to be officially living in Monaco. It was your first week there, and you had never lived on your own before. And since Sam also resided there, you spent lots of time together. You two were enjoying the break and touring the city around.

Miami went terrific, and that kiss still made rounds on your head.

Sam and you were walking in the area close to your new place when you turned the corner and were greeted by this scene: A furious Monegasque girl screaming at the top of her lungs in French words that did not sound nice at all and throwing objects out the window while a man on the street was trying to picking them up and reason with said girl. Some people were staring, and others were rushing to pass by.

—Is that Charles?! —Samanta asks you, stunned, pointing to the guy crouched and picking up what looked like a pair of Jordan's.

Yeah, that was Charles Leclerc. You two look at each other concerned and rush to help.

—Hi —Sam shouts among the screams in French.

—Oh, hey, Sam —Charles looks pretty embarrassed.

You quickly offer him the almost empty tote bag you were carrying and speed walk to grab an open, worn-out cardboard box from the greengrocery next door. The three of you start getting his things inside while avoiding getting hit by the last objects thrown out.

—Thank you —he says to you. —My girlfriend went mental.

All of you hear a loud bang and look up; she shuts the windows dramatically. "More like ex-girlfriend now" you think.

—Merde —you hear Charles say. —My keys and wallet are inside there, fuck!

You can't avoid feeling bad for the guy. He looks so done with life right now.

—Ahm, Charles, if you want to join us, we are grabbing lunch. We can grab some cocktails, too; I'll treat you guys. You seem in desperate need of alcohol and a chat.

—You're right, I need alcohol, thank you. I would love to.

The three of you walk your way to a restaurant Charles loves. It was pricey, but you agreed to let him pick the place since you were spoiling him and trying to lift his spirits.

—Huff, why are all the streets in Monaco inclined? —you complain after climbing the fourth hundred stairs of the day. —On the bright side, tho, I just need to live here to skip leg day at the gym.

Charles laughs. That's good!

The face the hostess makes when you three arrive and place the second-hand cardboard box with Charles's things on the fancy counter - clothes, some books, sneakers, a Funko Pop of Charles himself for some reason, and what looks like Xbox controllers, a man's most prized possession - makes it worth it almost losing your legs to get there.

—Good evening. Table for three? Right this way. Terrace, as usual, Mr. Leclerc? —she asks.

—Yes, please.

You are led to your table. It was a sea-inspired high-cuisine restaurant. The ceiling of the place had a breathtaking art installation: A whale made from bamboo wind chimes. —The waiter is on his way; here is the food and mixology carte —she offers you. It takes you a long time to read the entire selection.

—Ask for whatever you guys want; the check is on me. Don't hold back —you offer them.

—Great, then! It would be two spritzes instead of one, please! —Sam gestures with her fingers at the waiter, who is already taking your order. Sam seems so happy and excited; for someone who grew up that rich, she loves getting stuff for free.

—I would like a Tequila and Tonic with two tequila shots, please —you finally choose.

—A margarita and two shots of tequila for me. To start —Charles orders.

The drinks arrive quickly. At the same time, you hear everything about Charles' toxic relationship, giving him the space to spit it all out; as more alcohol makes it to the table, the more details you get.

After a good couple of hours of free therapy, high cuisine, drinks, relationship advice, and tragic love stories, it got dark.

—Well, it was a damn good chat! I'm glad we were able to help you, my friend. But we better go —Sam says to Charles. —I'm walking you back to your place —she addresses you. —I have to wake up early tomorrow. Toto wants me to join the Mercedes' Zoom call at 7 a.m., and I don't want to see his annoying, angry face at me.

The thought of an angry Toto makes you bite hard the tiny chocolate cake you are eating as dessert.

—Oh, no worries! It's just all the way down the street; I will get there without problems —you say while savoring the remains of your cake.

—Are you sure? —She inquires. You forgot how protective of you Samanta was, even if she was younger than you.

—Yeah, go, go. It's never a good idea to make an Austrian guy angry —You joke.

Charles choked on his drink, laughing. —Sweet Lord.

Sam giggles, hugs you two goodbye and waits for her Uber.

—It's late, I'll walk you. There are plenty of good hotels near your building and the marina; since I'm not going home, I need to book a room —Charles mentions.

—If you don't mind, you can crash at my place; there's not much furniture yet, but you are welcome to stay —you tell Charles. He seems relieved.

Charles sees what you meant with "not much" - just a small table with no chairs, one kitchen counter stool, a mattress in the bedroom, another on the living room floor, and some boxes, making the place look way bigger - as you two enter your apartment.

—I just got the keys —you excuse yourself.

—Oh wow, this view reminds me of my grandparents' apartment view from growing up —He reaches the balcony fast. —Oh, look, you can see the old side of Monaco from here! Good memories! —He ignores your comment, not caring much about the furniture or decor.

He seems in a better mood than before.

—Well, let me know if you need anything. Sleep well! —you say, on your way to your bedroom.

—Thank you, good night!

You hear noises outside your bedroom's open doors a few minutes later. Charles moves his mattress nearer the plug on the wall and connects the charger you lent him to his phone. With that change in the arrangement, you are both placed facing each other in different rooms and with distance in between.

Since none of you seemed able to fall asleep that night, you better keep chatting, each of you resting your back against the wall, relaxing, and him crossing his arms behind his head.

—So you are besties with Sam?

—Yes, she was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Belgium —you answer and look out of your bedroom's massive floor-to-ceiling window to the beautiful sea and the tiny-looking lights of Monaco. He stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

—So, how was growing up here? —You ask him and were sincerely curious but also want to switch the subject of conversation from you to him.

He tells many anecdotes of his childhood and buzz about some of the high society Monegasque families. He seems to enjoy gossip, and you are here for it.

Until you feel your eyes shutting down and fall asleep with the sound of his voice.

-

Two weeks later, Charles was still staying at your place; there was no furniture yet, however. By the third week, you arrive home, and all of Charles' things are filling the space. He moved "his bed" to one of the guest bedrooms and packed the living room with boxes. His piano starts serving you two at your dining "table." You always ate there, sitting, standing, taking turns: breakfast, Charles, lunch, you, etc.

He is just one box away from officially becoming your roommate. Of course, you don't mind. After many years of feeling alone, you desperately needed a friend and its company.

Charles' wireless speaker is the most significant addition to the apartment; it was never turned off, both of you being obsessive music maniacs, constantly introducing new music and artists to each other.

It is your turn to pick a song, and you want to lift the spirits while unpacking boxes and arranging things, so you turn the volume all up and hit play. Bad Bunny's "Yo perreo sola" started blasting.

You start singing and dancing to the beat, shaking it, and then Charles joins you in the chorus, singing the lyrics perfectly and throwing some great dance moves. You two start twerking.

—You know this song? Wait, you speak Spanish?! —you ask loudly, almost screaming. The music is so loud.

—My mom is Colombian. Didn't I mention that? My dad is the Monegasque one. I know my reggaeton and merengues by heart —he screams back. —I know all the good clubs in the city with this type of music, we should go and dance our asses off.

—Oh, for sure we are!

Another level of friendship is unlocked.

-

The three of you are inseparable. It is the weekend, and Charles took you and Sam on his boat sailing to an excellent spot to take a swim. Coronas, good music, sun, and fresh water fill your day.

You came up with a competition to see who jumped out of the boat the funniest way because you three were dumb. Charles wins by jumping and agitating his arms and legs like an old cartoon falling or very Gaga at the Super Bowl. Your stomach hurts from laughing, and your face from smiling.

After that, you all lay flat on your stomachs like iguanas under the sun, getting tan atop the boat; you don't remember a day nearby when you felt so happy. You felt at home with those two by your side.

-

It was around 4 a.m. and pitch black when Charles was suddenly awakened by sorrowful sounds coming from your bedroom.

He rushes and quickly opens the door, not caring to knock. He finds you crying, curled in your bed; you look like a total mess with red eyes, messy hair, and softly shaking, and Charles reacts like a headless chicken, pacing frantically around the room before getting to his senses and starting supporting a very troubled you.

—I got an idea that could help you feel better! —he tells you.

—Yeah?

—You trust me?

You nod.

—Let's go! —he offers you his hand and leads you out.

You take the lift to the basement parking lot, where Charles' Ferrari is all poorly and crocked parked outside lines of your apartment's parking spaces - that man was a great driver but terrible at parking - next to it is his powerful Ducati Panigale black motorbike is waiting for you.

Soon, you two are on his bike, crossing the streets of Monaco at full speed. Getting further away from the city and into the road. You tightly wrap your arms around him as he tells you you are entering the highway, and he begins to speed, pushing the bike's engine.

You could feel the fresh nightly ocean breeze hitting your body and entering your pores, every time more violently as you moved and Charles kept speeding up. You could see the full moon reflecting on the ocean waters. It was a clear night, with no stars in sight.

You love the rush and adrenaline of this speed ride. Charles speeds even more, and you hear the violent roar of the motor, the bike reaching its maximum. Then, in that brief moment, you get why all drivers are passionate about F1. Now you get it. Your sad tears become happy ones. You have never experienced something like this before, and it makes you feel so alive. The air feels so cold and harsh at the speed you are going that you almost feel it cutting your skin. It is a sensational feeling.

Charles then starts to slow down till he parks the bike and turns the engine off, helping you get on your feet, and you two lay on the grass after arriving at the destination.

—What a view! —you let out. The two of you are far away from the city, and you can see Monaco at the distance from the cliff you are on top of.

—This is my secret spot. I have been coming here since I was young when I felt I needed to clear my mind or wanted to escape everything. This view humbles you and calms you down at the same time —Charles confesses.

—Thanks for sharing it with me —you say to him, extremely grateful.

—It's the least I can do.

You can hear the waves hitting the cliff rock below you, and you admire the infinite ocean in front of you. The two of you sat there for a long time.

—Whenever you feel ready to talk about it. To open up about your past, who you are, or why you cried tonight, I will be here to listen —Charles offers you, breaking the comfortable silence. He is a kind and sweet person, a good person. And you aren't used to that.

He places his hand on top of yours just briefly, and you feel so happy to have a friend, to have him, no love feelings, no desire in between, just genuine friendship and honest support. 

He deserves the truth, and you want to let him know, but you are afraid of the repercussions. You don't want to get judged or, worse, to lose him.

-

Charles has been paying attention to you these past weeks and has noticed how you avoid or change subjects whenever your past or private life gets mentioned.

Every day that passes, he gets to know you more. It is just a matter of time before the truth comes out.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

[kingaegond]

Michael Gavey x The girl with agoraphobia (part 1)

Part 1:

-Vacuous

-Do you mean shallow?

-

The red envelope was flushed under her single room door. Fuck not again. Not another one.

She opened the red envelope, inside, an expensive cream paper with the following message:

'You know where.

You know when.

You are invited.

Show up ;)'

She put the paper back into the envelope and put the red envelope next to the black one and the blue one and the green and the yellow one...

She had lost track of Felix's invitations. To be completely honest, she didn't know why she kept getting invited, I mean she knew but still.

Her dad and Felix's mum Elspeth had gone to the same school and knew eachother since very young, that before Elspeth went to uni and got married, and before her father got into his political career.

It was probably Elspeth idea to invite her, she just didn't know why Felix went along with it, he could just lie and tell his mum he send the invite. Why actually invite her? She caught herself overthinking. Of course, something so simple as an invitation and her head was already spinning with thoughts.

She went to the bathroom to wash her hands and get herself ready for the day. After that, she got into Math class just a few minutes late, her overthinking had made her late. She sat at the back as far from the others as she could and on the other side of the classroom, also at the back was the guy with his hand raised: Michael Gavey. Fuck, how did he know all the answers so quick?

The class went on and she almost fell sleep, boring as it was. She was a politics major and she couldn't care less about politics. It was just what her father wanted for her so she just went along with it. Perhaps I should find somehing I actually like. She was, again, overthinking, when someone's face completely clouded her vision: Gavey. Such blue eyes, if only I could get your glasses so I could see them well.

-Hey, hey.

-Yes... what?

-We're a pair, for the paper?

Her face blank.

-The proffesor said the 2 in the back?

-Ah sure

-Well, if you don't mind I can just do it and put your name on it. It will be faster.

She felt a little aggravated by his proposal, but one less thing on her plate couldn't hurt.

-Hmm. If you're sure, cool. Just tell me if you need any help i guess.

With that, she quickly picked up her backpack and went outside the class. Michael Gavey was left a bit dumbfounded.

-

At night, she was thinking about going to the party. Well we both know how that went the las time. As in 5 years ago. Get over it hun!. Nah we shouldn't risk it. Who needed people when you had such many voices in your head?

To avoid them, to avoid herself, she went to the library.

Surely, no one would be in the library on a friday night, much less on a Felix's Friday Festivity.

Wrong.

Sitting there, with a dark red swether, Michael Gavey sat near the window reading something.

Ok, I just wanted to be alone.

She went to another aisle in the library and sat alone near a window, finally at peace. She left her backpack on a chair and went to get a book she had been wanting to read.

Shit it's too tall! Fuck!

She tried to find the small wodden stair but it was nowhere to be found so she just tried to climb the bookshelves and get the book.

Bam!

Shit! Ouch!

She fell with no serious injuries, perhaps a bruised ego for the lack of completition of such unimportant task and then.

-Are you ok?- Michael's voice was softer, almost a whisper, even though there were no souls on the library apart from the two of them.

-Umm, yeah.

-Wait, you're bleeding.

Sure enough, there was a small gash on her arm.

-Do you wanna go to the infirmary? Do you want me to take you there?- he said very slowly.

-I didn't hit my head you know, just... I mean it's probably empty. Perhaps even the nurse is at Felix's party or something- A small laught scaped her lips.

-Were you invited?

She was figuring out how to tell him that she...

-It's alright. I haven't either... - He continued answering his own question- Who wants to be with them anyway? Vacuous cunts...

-You mean shallow?

-Hmm, yeah. Are you sure you don't want to go to the infirmary?

-Actually, there's somewhere I want to go.

I will go and tell Felix to stop sending me invitations. Yes! It sounds like a good idea!

Perhaps she had hit her head after all.

She stoop up.

-Care to join?

The injury had made her particularly talkative and particularly active.

-

Michael didn't know where she wanted to take him, but something inside him wanted to say yes. Perhaps morbid curiosity. Perhaps something else. But just like a few moments ago, he had convinced himself to help her, he had convinced himself to join her now.

-Where are we going?

-Felix's- she said with a wicked smile.

[siremasterlawrence]

Corporate Take Over

Jon Allen Michael Skarsgard Transportation Corporation Is worldwide renowned love and inspirational for this Corp who gives much back to the world and rare occasion is now being hashed out by his family after the death of a patriarch.The funeral is coming to a conclusion in a matters of moments this entire family will learn their faith and place in the world as I know that I own permanently and for all his life they have no choice but to obey every command I make. As the lawyer walks straight in to the room carefully sitting behind the desk as he drops the folder on to the desk and proceeds to explain the process of the will being signed over to me. Correctly so they are all in shock even though something more sinister is about to occur before they could related it and the needles pop into their neck as they all go blank and fall to the floor.

Frank Skarsgard is the eldest of the six kids of the former patriarch sitting still in a empty mindless state of mind as he approach him excruciatingly slow placing hand on to his shoulder because I whisper into his ears a single few world to trigger him. His mind slowly closes around him clouding him up as he wakes up standing by his car in a expensive leather brown jacket covering a three buttoned polo sweater and a tight blue jeans wrap onto his body hugging so tightly.He does not know why but he feels like he is supposed to be standing up infront of the mansion that use to belong to his family but now oh belongs to the man he works for now and he is happy to serve him without any question due to his devotion.

“Where is this motherfucker? He took my life some how.”

“Looking for me muscled pussy boi”

“Well I am here for work”

“Ok tough guy”

“Go inside and rip your clothes “

“Leave your under pants on”

“Yes Master”

“Leave your article of clothing on the table”

“Put these work clothes on”

“What the shit are these ?..”

“Get your blue collar ass do work “

“Or would you rather wreck your pretty clothes?”

“You are a ass”

“No! Your all ass”

“Ouch!”

“What pussy?”

“Don’t slap me so hard”

“I’ll do as I wish “

Frank can hear his phone ringing as his eyes roll back into the socket and he obediently answers the call then lets me know this his brother is arriving in the back of the home instructed and stripping naked as he exits the car awaiting by the pool as he looks in disgust of it all except he can’t stop staring at the clock on the wall. The more he stares the dial on the wall begins to spin round and round pulling him in closer till he walks into a chair slow he removes his clothes picking up and he swimming trunks from the chair as he slips them on happily and picks up the Swimming pool skimmer as he cleans up the pool area.

“I am the pool boi”

“I must do as he says “

“I clean “

“I love to “

“Live to “

“He is Master”

“Wait what?”

“You have fallen for me”

“Yes my King”

“Show off your pussy”

“God! You are damn fine”

“Oh! Thank you sir”

“Mind if I have some fun”

“Please sir”

“Oooooh Ggggooooddddd”

“Yyyyeeesss sssiiirrr”

“Who are you?”

“Your sweet, sexy and beautiful pussy boi”

His second and third youngest bois arrive ted to my new mansion in to the hottest fiery hot, raging red and absolutely beautiful and epic car I have ever seen speeding in to the side entrance blasting music so loud for all to hear.The car parks as a voice announces to them they must go to the pill house with the map going on fire and the alert system blaring as they walk into the pool house and the locks automatically switch on causing the doors to glow brightly. Every glass clearing form windows, mirrors, television, clear roof top, and any other sexy glass surface comes through shooting into both men eyes hitting him head on as he fell back to the floor as he is shook to the core in craziness.In something out of this world appears into the room raining down on him with a three dimensional man standing in the middle of the room and snaps his fingers as a rainbow blows into the room blinding him completely right now. The mind numbs right to their core as they are spinning out

of the control slamming both of guys into the wall forcibly making them beg and plead for me to help them as their minds are finally subjected to my power.

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I—I”

“Don’t know “

“Do you love me?”

“Nnnnooo”

“Yes”

“Obviously you do”

“Yes Master”

“I can see your mind going blank”

“Follow me “

“Strip it off strip it off”

“Fffuuuccckkk”

“I love you “

“I love you both”

“You are my puppets”

“Succumb to my will”

“Madly in love with me”

“Crave me in all ways “

The end

[mochikofi]

Michael Kaiser is a popular man indeed, he have all the things he wants. But there's just someone.. just someone who he can not have. He was indeed irritated but he can't help but actually fall for her.

How to make an empress (emperor) fall inlove with you - guide by Alexis Ness

no.1: Always compliment her.

--

You we're just minding your own business, not until a certain soccer player sat infront of you.

"Why hello there, Meine Liebe, you're looking beautiful as always." Kaiser said while smirking

"What do you want this time, kaiser?"

You we're always suspicious of him, like why would he always flirt with you? You're his Assistant for heaven's sake!

"Oh? Can't i compliment a pretty girl?"

Kaiser was always like this, giving you compliments everytime he sees you.

"i mean, you can but like.. it's kind of creepy."

Oof.

Now that hurts his ego like literally. He didn't expect that someone, especially his assistant would say that! He expected you to blush not hurt his ego!

While on your side, you we're weirded out by his silence. It has been 5 minutes and it seems that you left him stunned. You couldn't stand the uncomfortable silence so you just left while saying a quiet goodbye.

--

no.1: Always compliment her - Failed

no.2: Always give her gifts.

--

Now, with Kaiser gift giving is easy to him, he's rich after all. But the problem is, what do you like?

He was observing you 24/7 just to see what you like or what's your interests.

But he just couldn't find out what you like! So, there's only one choice...

"darling, i just can't help but ask, what are the things you like?"

Kaiser was expecting something fancy or something expensive, and your answer trully caught him off guard.

"I don't know.. food or something memorable..?"

Again, you left him stunned. He was thinking, what was your favorite foods? How can you gift someone something memorable??

Now with you, again uncomfortable with the silence, you just left.

--

no.2: Always give her gifts - Failed.

no.3: Always take her out on a date.

--

Now this is the hard part, Kaiser is popular indeed and that part is the problem. how can he take you out on a date without anyone recognizing him!?

Well, you being the usual "stoic" assistant, gave him an idea.

"Kaiser, the manager told me to tell you to book a reservation for a private event." That's it!! He will take you out on a private date on a 5 Star Restaurant!

"I'm so smart" that was all kaiser was thinking.

"Kaiser?? Are you listening?" You we're waving your hands infront of his face.

"let's go on a date." That was a bold move indeed, but again, you we're used to this.

"sure, but we'll have to find a reservation for the event." Well, that was easy. He though he had to convince you.

Kaiser noticed something.. it's like.. wait- we're you smiling?? Your smile looks so cute.. he'll have to make you smile often.

"you should smile often, Meine Liebe." Your smile turned into a frown.

"congratulations for ruining the mood."

no.3: Always take her out on a date - Mission accomplished!

no.3 part 2: find interesting topics to talk with her.

Kaiser couldn't find any interesting topics.

He knows you have no interest in football yet you're a assistant of a soccer player. I mean, money is money i guess.

So he decided to risk something.

"Darling, do you hve any interest in dating?"

Oh.

Dating.. your mind was always on making money 24/7 to the point that dating is nothing for you.

Now, this time he left YOU stunned.

Kaiser now feels kind of shit and uncomfortable. He couldn't stand the uncomfortable silence and the awkwardness between the both of you.

"well.. I don't mind dating.. as long as my partner will treat me good." Finally, you talked.

"will you date me if i treat you good?" Wtf. That came out of nowhere. Kaiser didn't know how and why he told you that.

Kaiser was embarrassed! he wished that he had shut his mouth so you wouldn't be uncomfortable! But he was surprised by your answer.

"Yeah." A simple "yeah" caught him off guard, yet again.

"but there's a special test for you, michael." That was the first time you called him by his first name.

"well, what's that 'special test' for me, darling?" Kaiser was confident that he could pass that "special test".

"you should be yourself if you want me to fall for you." Well, again, that caught him off guard.

He was shocked! How can you say that while having that stupid pretty smile on your face!

But.. how could he say no to that challenge? He wants you to be his, and he wants to be yours. And he's The Michael Kaiser for heaven's sake!

"Very well then, challenge accepted."

anime masterlist. - navigation.

[catchthatfart]

CHAPTER 1

The Bully's Slave

 Michael  Austin

A desperate homeless man, Austin, is lured into a twisted arrangement with his former bully, Michael. What begins as a promise of shelter turns into a nightmare of degradation, as Austin is forced into becoming Michael's 'fart slave' and 'toilet slave,' enduring unimaginable humiliation.

Austin shuffled down the dimly lit alley, his shoulders hunched against the biting wind. At 25, he felt older than his years, the weight of homelessness pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. His once-pristine clothes were now threadbare and stained, a stark reminder of how far he’d fallen. Skinny and frail, he clutched his tattered backpack close, the only possession he had left in the world. The city’s neon lights flickered above, casting eerie shadows on the grimy walls. He was desperate, his stomach growling with hunger, his mind fogged with exhaustion.

As he turned a corner, a familiar voice sliced through the night air. “Well, well, if it isn’t little Austin,” Michael drawled, his deep, mocking tone sending a shiver down Austin’s spine. Michael stood leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, his muscular frame filling the space with an intimidating presence. At 25, he hadn’t changed much since high school—still the same jock with broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and a smirk that promised trouble. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned Austin from head to toe, taking in his disheveled state with undisguised amusement.

“M-Michael,” Austin stammered, his voice trembling. The memories of high school flooded back—the taunts, the shoves, the humiliation. Michael had been his tormentor, the homophobic bully who’d made his life a living hell. Yet, here he was, standing before him like a ghost from the past.

“What are you doing out here, Austin?” Michael asked, his tone feigning concern. “You look like shit.”

Austin bit his lip, the words catching in his throat. “I… I’m just trying to get by,” he mumbled, avoiding Michael’s gaze.

Michael pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. His cologne, a mix of sweat and expensive aftershave, invaded Austin’s senses. “Get by? You’re homeless, aren’t you?” he said, more of a statement than a question.

Austin nodded, his cheeks burning with shame. “I… I lost my job. I couldn’t pay rent.”

Michael’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with something dark and predatory. “Well, isn’t that just sad. Here I thought you’d have your life together by now. Guess some people never change.”

Austin flinched at the jab, but before he could respond, Michael clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I’ve got a place. You can crash there if you want. No strings attached.”

Austin’s heart raced. A roof over his head? It was too good to be true. But Michael’s offer felt laced with poison, a trap waiting to snap shut. “Why would you do that?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Michael shrugged, his gaze flicking away for a moment before locking back onto Austin. “Let’s just say I’ve got my reasons. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got many options, do you?”

Desperation clouded Austin’s judgment. He was tired, hungry, and alone. Michael’s offer, however dubious, was his only lifeline. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

Michael’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk. “Great. Follow me.”

The apartment was a stark contrast to the squalor Austin had grown accustomed to. It was spacious, modern, and immaculate, with sleek furniture and walls adorned with sports memorabilia. Michael led him to a small spare room, the bed neatly made with crisp white sheets. “This is yours,” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “But there are rules.”

Austin’s stomach churned. Rules. He should’ve known there’d be a catch. “What kind of rules?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold. “You’ll find out. For now, just be grateful I’m not leaving you on the streets.”

The first few days were uneventful. Michael was rarely home, and Austin spent most of his time alone, trying to piece his life back together. But on the fourth night, everything changed.

Michael returned late, his presence filling the apartment with an air of menace. He strode into the living room where Austin sat, his eyes glued to an old sitcom on TV. Without a word, Michael plopped down on the couch, his body invading Austin’s personal space. “You know, Austin,” he began, his voice low and dangerous, “I’ve been thinking. You owe me for letting you stay here.”

Austin’s heart pounded in his chest. “I… I can pay you back. I just need time to find a job.”

Michael laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. “Pay me back? Oh, sweetheart, it’s not about money.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against Austin’s ear. “You’re going to earn your keep. And I’ve got just the job for you.”

Before Austin could respond, Michael shifted, his muscular thigh pressing against Austin’s slender frame. “You see, Austin, I’ve got needs. And you’re going to help me with them.”

Austin’s eyes widened in horror as Michael’s hand snaked around his waist, pulling him closer. “W-what are you talking about?” he stammered, his voice shaking.

Michael’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into Austin’s skin. “I’m talking about you becoming my fart slave,” he whispered, his breath warm and foul against Austin’s neck. “You’re going to inhale every fart I produce. Every. Single. One.”

Austin’s stomach churned, a mix of disgust and fear overwhelming him. “What? No, I can’t—”

Michael cut him off with a sharp laugh. “Oh, you can and you will. Unless you’d rather be back on the streets, starving and alone.”

Tears welled in Austin’s eyes as Michael’s grip tightened further. “Please… I don’t want to do this,” he whimpered, his voice breaking.

Michael’s expression turned cruel, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. “Too bad. You’re mine now, Austin. My little fart slave. And this is just the beginning.”

Without warning, Michael shifted his weight, his ass hovering inches from Austin’s face. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

Austin froze, his mind racing. This couldn’t be happening. But Michael’s grip was like iron, and the threat of being thrown back onto the streets was too terrifying to ignore. With a trembling hand, he parted his lips, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Michael smirked, his eyes dark with dominance. “Good boy,” he purred, his voice dripping with condescension. And then, without warning, he let out a loud, wet fart, the noxious smell engulfing Austin’s senses.

Austin gagged, his eyes watering as the putrid odor invaded his nostrils. He tried to pull away, but Michael’s grip was unyielding, forcing him to inhale the foul emission. “Breathe it in, Austin,” Michael growled, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Smell my fart. Worship it.”

Tears streamed down Austin’s cheeks as he obeyed, his lungs filling with the rank scent. Michael’s laughter echoed in his ears, a cruel soundtrack to his humiliation. “That’s it,” Michael taunted. “Take it all in. You’re my fart slave now, and this is your purpose.”

As the days turned into weeks, Michael’s demands escalated. What started as forced fart inhalation soon morphed into something far more degrading. One evening, as Austin sat on the couch, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger in his stomach, Michael emerged from the bathroom, a sinister smirk playing on his lips.

“Austin,” he called, his voice laced with mock sweetness. “I need you in here.”

Austin’s heart sank as he followed Michael into the bathroom. The room was spotless, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne. But it was the toilet that caught Austin’s attention—the lid was up, and Michael was standing beside it, his expression unreadable.

“What is it?” Austin asked, his voice trembling.

Michael’s smirk widened. “I need to take a shit. And you’re going to eat it.”

The words hit Austin like a physical blow. “What? No, I can’t—”

Michael’s hand shot out, grabbing Austin by the jaw. “You will,” he snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. “You’re my toilet slave now, Austin. And you’ll do whatever I say.” ’t argue, his body trembling with revulsion.

Michael’s eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure as he positioned himself over the toilet, his muscular legs bracketing Austin’s frail form. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice brooking no disobedience.

Austin’s tears fell freely as he obeyed, his lips parting slightly. The bathroom was eerily silent except for Michael’s heavy breathing and the soft whimpers escaping Austin’s throat. Michael grunted, his face contorting with effort as he began to defecate, the vile sounds filling the room.

A thick, steaming turd slid from Michael’s anus, landing with a wet plop into the toilet water. Austin gagged, his stomach churning violently, but Michael’s grip on his jaw tightened, forcing his mouth open wider. “You’re going to eat it,” Michael growled, his voice laced with dominance. “Every last bit.”

With a cruel smirk, Michael reached into the toilet, his fingers closing around the warm, shit-covered log. Austin’s eyes widened in horror as Michael pulled it out, holding it inches from his face. “Open wider,” Michael commanded, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

Austin’s sobs turned into desperate whimpers as he complied, his mouth stretching unnaturally wide. Michael didn’t hesitate, shoving the feces-coated turd between Austin’s lips. The putrid taste exploded on Austin’s tongue, the bitter, earthy flavor overwhelming his senses. He tried to close his mouth, to push it out, but Michael’s fingers pressed against his cheeks, forcing him to take it all.

“Chew,” Michael ordered, his voice cold and detached.

Austin’s tears mixed with the saliva and shit in his mouth as he obeyed, his jaw working mechanically. The texture was disgusting—soft yet fibrous, warm and slick. He wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but Michael’s grip was unyielding, his eyes daring Austin to defy him.

“Swallow,” Michael commanded, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Austin’s throat constricted, his gag reflex threatening to betray him. But Michael’s fingers dug into his jaw, forcing the shit down his throat. With a guttural cry, Austin swallowed, the vile mass sliding into his stomach.

Michael’s laughter echoed in the bathroom, cold and mocking. “Good boy,” he purred, his hand stroking Austin’s tear-streaked cheek. “You’re learning your place.”

As the weeks turned into months, Austin’s life became a never-ending cycle of degradation. He was Michael’s fart slave, his toilet slave, his personal plaything. Michael’s demands grew more extreme, his cruelty knowing no bounds. Austin was forced to worship Michael’s body, to kiss his feet, to lick his ass clean after every bowel movement. He was made to wear a collar, a constant reminder of his submission.

But through it all, Austin remained trapped, his spirit broken but not yet extinguished. Michael’s dominance was absolute, his power over Austin undeniable. And as Austin lay on the floor, his face pressed into the carpet, inhaling Michael’s latest fart, he knew there was no escape. He was Michael’s slave, body and soul, and his humiliation was only just beginning.

[witchinatree]

magnus protocol episode 26 ramble

the academic victim era continues. i like putting my lil personal bits at the beginning of these i think it humanizes me

ok. i have to pause mid intro song. i just hit my bowl of snap pea crisps and spilled them everywhere and i'm going to tweak

3 of them fell on the floor.. but they're kinda expensive so we don't get to have them very often.. is it worth it..

i ate them i don't care

this has become more about me than the episode i'm gonna unpause it now

we're so back

celia at work core!! she dgaf!!!

MEET HELEN. pls don't be a tory in this universe pls pls pls pls. i didn't fw human helen at all i am less excited than i was about basira but also basira was one of my all time favs forever

hiii aliceeee <333

magnusing is so me tbh if you think about it

so does alice's voice have a slight hint of that effect they use for chester and norris to anyone else or.. like she sounds computer-y and i don't know if it's just the microphone or something real

"take protection" "jesus christ!" "LIKE A BIG KNIFE OR SOMETHING" CRYING. see my mind didn't go there sam so what's up with that sam huh sam

the hell does celia have in her workbag wtf. queen what. it's the trauma "are you sure that thing is legal?" LMFAOOOOOO

ok i don't like you saying nauseas because i'm on TWO medications that make me nauseas and i just ate pls don't be gross

DAMN. i was gonna be like JARED? HOPWORTH? but it's jared 'smith.' gerard jared is kind of like michael

P.E. teachers creep me out but probably because the only one my high school has ever officially had got fired my freshman year for spanking girls in the locker room and they never actually replaced him they just had various sports coaches take over

yea this is freaking me out already i don't like it

oh that's so sad the dad fucking died poor kid omg

wtf was he possessed by the soul of cross country. what is the horror here. ohh running for his life ok thanks

oh so the horror isn't mr jared it's what happens to him i guess. sorry man i shouldn't have called you creepy

this is just how my friends describe morning cross country practice

yeah so i was right to quit cross country in 5th grade then!!! running IS the horror!!!!

NOT THE TAPE RECORDER WTFFFFF IS THIS ERROR. ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN ARCHIVIST.............................................................................................................................................................................................

AT A LOSS AT A LOSS AT A LOSS AT AT AT. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

we were right guyss it's an archivist...

IT SAID ARCHIVIST ALICE YES LOCK IN QUEEN LOCK IN SHE'S SOOOOOOOO HEHEHE SHE'S SO SMART I'M IN LOVE WITH U

yes alice connect those dots!!! connect them babe!!!!! i'm scared though to be honest with you

SHE DOESN'T THINK SHE KNOWS DUMBASS. PLEASE LISTEN TO HER OR I'M WRITING ANOTHER HATE POST ABOUT YOU. oh thank you sam i don't hate you

HOW I WOULD'VE EXPECTED HOW I WOULD'VE EXPECTED hey helen

has celia shut down. oh my god she sounds really scared. probably because helen tried to eat her in another universe.

CELIA'S SO SCARED HONEYYYYYYY. wait now she's bringing up the magnus institute LMAOO

bloody big basement lmao it's where they keep the bodies

at least 20 years? it burned down 20 years ago? who's reaching out after it burned what

HELEN'S LAUGH MADE ME JUMP LMFAOOOOO HELP

SAM MEETING JACK???? SAM MEETING JACK??????? THEY'RE SO CUTE WTF OMG ur baby's a tory HAHA

celia you are being watched honeyyy you are you need to connect some dots. alice style. obsessed with her.

calling her baby goblin after that baby episode that celia was mentioned by name in hello. hello.

ok sam let's go no longer being as selfish thanks sam.

awe that's adorable i actually think he's been really nice lately holy shit.

LMAOOO WHY DID WE GET AN AUDIBLE KISS ON EPISODE 26 I THOUGHT THEY DIDN'T LIKE THOSE

[archive-of-the-lost]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @i-am-so-strange

Your ideal match is…Michael Kaiser!

♡ This may be a surprising match for you, and honestly, it is for me too! I'm not sure what kind of SO I expected for him, perhaps someone with his dramatic flair and/or ambition. But after reading your info, I didn't have anyone else in mind for you, so here he is!

♡ Kaiser is undoubtedly the snobbiest guy in blue lock, and that's saying a lot, so you both didn't get along at first. Enemies to lovers all the way (again, my first matchup based on this concept!). I'm thinking the first time you both got along was when he made a comment on someone you both found annoying, and you couldn't help but agree, spending the new few minutes gossiping about that person with him until you remember your goal to think more positively about people.

♡ "Film school dropout and a frustrated writer lol". This is the line that put him in my mind and no one else could wedge themself in. Kaiser obviously has a connection to theatre/the arts given the professions of his parents, and he did have a period where he incorporated stage roles into his shit-talk. 💀 My point is, I think he would have a genuine interest in film and writing as a hobby. So he'd want to know more about this side of you, what parts of media/the arts that you like. Even why it didn't work out, if you'd tell him.

♡ Once he finds out that you play the piano and the guitar, he seems to make it his personal mission to get you to play for him. He pesters you every day about it, begging urging you to play him a song. When you finally do, he just stares at you the entire time, transfixed.

♡ One time he accompanied you shopping, offering to pay for anything that wasn't food in an attempt to court you rather than show off his wealth. You seem to be the type to insist paying for yourself, being independent and all, but he was persistent in offering to buy you that gorgeous but expensive coat you were eyeing. For Christmas. Did I mention it was snowing? He was lagging behind you for a bit when you stopped to look through a window of an antique shop. What a memorising sight it was, he just had to take a picture. Yes, his tiny smile was quite cute from the corner of your eyes.

♡ Throughout the first few months of dating, I can imagine the both of you sort of dancing around each other, too afraid to come off as "too much" or too vulnerable. You're both independent and not great at showing how much you care about someone, which leads to a honeymoon period probably more anxiety-ridden than it should be. He definitely did his research on traditional romance and brought you roses, chocolates and a fluffy stuffed bear. Very cute, but it took him a while before starting to get you more personalised gifts.

♡ Once the both of you become more comfortable with each other, the relationship starts sailing more smoothly. The two of you can joke with each other without worrying about the other person not finding it funny, playfully swat at each other, tease each other. Kaiser isn't the type to laugh at little things much, but when he sees you laughing, he can't help but laugh as well. That's the chemistry of love.

♡ Your ability to stand up for yourself is good for your relationship with him in the long run. There are times when he makes mistakes or even pushes boundaries, so you being able to tell him when you're unhappy (in a healthy communicative way) with something he did is vital to the long-term success of the relationship. He needs to know what's healthy in a relationship, what he can and cannot get away with.

Your sibling is…Barou Shoei!

♡ Your mentions of cleaning and dislike of disorganisation reminded me of him LMAO Okay, but seriously, you both sound like a great match! For living in the same house, that is! He'd appreciate those qualities of yours as he also loves cleanliness. It also means you're scolded by him the least out of his three sisters, haha. Though it helps that you're older than your sisters. You're more mindful of cleanliness.

♡ Is cleaning a hobby? Barou certainly thinks so. He often gets you to clean with him, not because he wants to give you work to do, but because he finds the activity enjoyable and sees it as a way to bond with you. He stated his ideal type as someone who can clean with him, which gives us some insight into his preferred way of spending quality time with loves ones: doing chores together.

♡ You're an INTJ, he's an XSTJ (not sure if he's I or E yet), so the both of you are quite similar in that way. Independent, organised. Even down to the being bad at expressing that you care for people part. But! While you're a "looks like could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll" type, he's a "looks like could kill you, will kill you" type all the way through. Yes, he does care for his family, but you're never gonna catch him doing anything sappy without looking constipated.

♡ Barou also looks down on everyone, not just certain people. He thinks his strength is his egoistical mindset, so you know he's even proud of it. 💀 Hey, maybe you learned it from him. But Barou isn't above respecting someone (kinda?) after they beat him in soccer, so he's also working on his tendency of looking down on others. Somewhat. In his own way. You guys can work on it together!

♡ Woah, the both of you are blunt and straightforward. I imagine that causes the both of you to butt heads when you disagree, because you mentioned you know how to stand up for yourself, so you're not the type to agree with him just to keep the peace.

♡ Barou mentioned that he hasn't cried since the day he was born, and by the looks of it, he hasn't laughed since he learned to walk either. When you have friends over and you're laughing with them, he gives you a weird look like having fun is a crime or something. He doesn't say anything though. At least you have friends, tell him that.

♡ I don't normally pay attention to appearance when doing sibling matchups (because a lot of bllk characters have natural colourful hair and eyes) but you and Barou totally look like siblings! Your tendency to wear corporate clothing suits the serious aura Barou always has around him. In general, INTJs seem to have rbfs or at least look serious/done with everything so I'm going to assume the both of you have this unapproachable aura. People can usually guess that you're siblings. You having dyed hair is making me wonder what your reaction was to Barou's new red stripes to celebrate his 100 million yen value.

[ghastlyfilters]

i decided to reread the jurassic park novel AND CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW MUCH OF A FUCKIN LITTLE RAT JOHN HAMMOND IS

spare no expense my ass mf

(reminder that we’re not talking about the film, we’re talking about where this all began. and i have different views on both versions of hammond. i don’t particularly mind hammond in the movie though he was still at fault for quite a lot that happened. although he had a difference about him compared to the darkness of john hammond in the original novel.)

1. this man does not give a shit about the animals. no. EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK ONLINE SOME WEBSITE OUT THERE ALWAYS DESCRIBES HIM AS “the greedy businessman” like yeah bro knew he was bound to earn that cash after you made the first official park for fucking dinosaurs (bad idea duh) but man.. what a cheapskate.. if you had the money to make the park look “presentable” you’d think he would pay his workers their fair amount. well.

2. WAS BLACKMAILING NEDRY REALLY THAT NECESSARY?? the man had set up national telephone lines, was quick with what he did, made a name for himself with how good he was, and hammond practically took the piss out of him.

dodgson was his last option in that situation, and yes even though it wasn’t the best of schemes, nedry went ahead with it.

hammond literally sees nedry as this fat slob but in reality, nedry had extreme potential with his job. the majority of hammond’s workers were payed utter peanuts. but seeing as nedry was the one in charge of creating the park’s systems, hell.. he really should have had his fair share.

and again, he was in CONTROL of designing security systems for the first park that contained living, breathing dinosaurs..

THAT’S A BIG DEAL.

but because he knew the lack of effort that was put into giving him his reward for literally doing what he was agreed to be paid for, there was no point in giving a shit anymore. he became sloppy for a reason.

hammond threatened to take this man to court if he didn’t get what he wanted 💀

and at the end of the day, nedry got his karma. but damn even that was brutal for someone such as nedry. to say he deserved that would be incredibly cruel.

but again, michael crichton’s novel showed no mercy for certain characters, which was actually a good touch to the storyline.

i don’t even think the intention for anyone to die when nedry continued out his plan was there? then again you let the dinos run loose.. what did you expect.. and of course he ended up getting himself killed..

novel nedry wasn’t the typical, greedy fat bastard everyone made him out to be. there WAS in fact a reason behind his actions. but if he were a handsome skinny man, the audience would be rooting for him, wouldn’t they? then they’d actually feel sorry. which is a bit shitty.

those like muldoon, arnold and the rest of them probably thought the same about nedry. but that’s because perhaps they unfortunately did not know the actual behaviour that went on between john hammond, ingen, and dennis nedry.

3. hammond in the novel had no filter like this man was cocky asf in front of anyone and everyone. whereas in the movie, you only saw hammond act unfairly to some behind closed doors.

BUT, the man went weeee rolling down the hill like a fucking easter egg, so as muldoon said and although this wasn’t about hammond..

“maybe there’s justice in the world after all.”

[dollywheeler]

September 28th, 1996

[Incoming call, Saturday September 28th 1996, 10:08 am]

*distant voices and laughter in the background* *sound of multiple car engines* *beeping of a car horn* E: Dusty-Bun, is that you? D: Hey, El! E: Hold on - *beep of a button being pressed* *thudding sound of a handset hitting a wooden surface*- you're on speaker! W: *mumbled* Good morning- *stifled yawn* or afternoon or whatever D: How was the game? *sound of someone shuffling into the room* M: *far away but getting closer* You’d know if you were here, asshole!

D: It’s called work, Michael. We can’t all have weekends off. M: Yeah, right, because an all-expenses paid trip is such a slag. D: You’re just jealous! *ring of a bicycle bell* D: You’ll never guess where I’m calling from. M: If you say the toilet again, I swear- D: That was a mind-boggling experience, jackass! You should have been more appreciative! M: We’ve been using walkie’s since fifth grade, dude, pretty sure you’ve called us while taking a shit before. D: I wasn’t in another state then! We’re not even on the same continent right now and - *motorcycle in the background getting louder before receding again* W: Just tell us where you’re at, Dustin. D: Fine - I'm in front of La Sagrada Familia! M: So you’re looking at a construction site? I’m sooooo envious- D: You so are! Both of my trip and my sexy sexy mobile phone! M: We- W: Stop bickering! *the slap of skin hitting skin* M: *rustling fabric* OW! This is abuse! W: Leave me at the altar then, you baby. M: Your baby. D: *over the sound of far-away laughter* You guys are a fucking nightmare. E: I should have stayed home. M: Yeah, you should have! *sound of metal rattling* *sound of books thudding to the ground* M: EL! You can't just come into our house and -

E: Be nice to me, then! D: El, when are you getting here? E: I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon - dad’s dropping me off at the airport at 2 and I have a layover in New York. I should land around 10 am local time. *rustling of fabric* *the creaking of the springs of the couch cushions* W: *getting farther away* Stop planning your trips in front of us! M: Yeah, some of us don’t have our flights paid for by the government. And SOME of us care about our friends! *sound of books getting picked up* W: *distantly* And family! M: Yes, thank you, babe. W: *voice getting louder, closer* It’s called homecoming for a reason, Dustin! D: How many times am I going to have to apologize? M: Until you’re actually here for homecoming next year! *sound of springs squeaking as someone flops back onto the couch* D: I’ll be there at thanksgiving! You could see me next week if you wanted to! M: Yeah, but you broke the tradition! Which means the streak is broken and there'll be less pressure to come next year so someone else won’t be able to make it and it’s all ruined and it’s your fault! D: Relax; no one’s going to miss it next year. I wouldn’t have either if I’d known you were going to be such a stickler about it. W: How didn’t you know? Mike’s always this whiny about this kind of thing. *fabric rustling* D: Hey, Will, you know, I could still introduce you to my colleague Steward? Offer's always open- W: Oh no, I agree with Mike, Dusty. His bitching makes sure I don’t have to whine about it - that’s exactly why I said yes to his proposal. M: *scoff* Yeah, that’s why and not the mind-blowing- W: Mike, think very carefully about what you say next and remember that until this is legally binding I can still take Catherine and leave! M: As if Catherine would choose you! *fabric rustling* W: Fuck off. *sound of air kisses* E: Dustin, I might just call Bernard and tell him to get me an earlier flight. M: You don’t have to be here, El, you’re the one that broke in at too-fucking-early o’clock- E: Mom and dad sleep in on Saturdays! I was bored! M: And we don’t? Some of us have to wake up at six every morning to get to work! E: Oh pish posh. W: *tiredly* Mike, don’t antagonize my sister. M: Will, don’t defend my ex-girlfriend. *springs squeaking* M: Will- No wait come back- *feet hitting the ground* *running footsteps* *shuffling and clothing rustling* *giggling* E: *loud sigh* I wish Max were here already. D: *crackling connection* Where are they? *cut-off yelp in the distance* *sound of head thudding against the wall* *giggling* E: They’re still asleep upstairs.

D: Did Lucas- *sound of someone grunting as they're pushed backwards* *sound of someone jumping over a couch* *sound of springs bouncing as El yelps* M: Wait a second - *sound of handset getting picked up* *clicking of a button* Will, can you and El start on breakfast please? *muffled protest in the distance* *confused shuffling* M: Thanks, babe. E: Why can’t I just stay- W: *distantly* El, just come in here! E: *muttered* whatever, stupid men...*couch cushions shifting* D: Is she gone? M: Yeah and I’ve taken you off speaker. D: SO? M: *fabric rustling* *couch cushions shifting* Okay, Lucas got the r-i-n-g, but he’s not sure when or how yet. He’s thinking of doing it at Thanksgiving with his family, but he’s worried Max might want something more private. D: She’s going to say ‘yes’ anyway. Tell him to do it with his family around. And to stop being a coward. M: I’ll let you tell him - they’re just coming down the stairs. M: *shuffling of a phone pulled away from a face* Lucas, Dustin wants to tell you he loves you! *distant voices* *sound of phone getting handed over* L: Hey, man D: Ask her around your family and stop being a coward. Hell, why not just do it tonight? *rustling of wind* L: Love you too, Dusty-Bun. *distant voices* D: You guys really need to let that go. Even Suzy has stopped calling me that - most of the times. L: Ew, I don’t need to know that. D: You’re the one with your mind in the gutter, dude! L: Anyway, we are going to help chaperone the homecoming dance tonight. D: Seriously, all of you? That’s so lame. We used to curse the chaperones. L: Yeah, honestly we’re not happy about it either, but Mike and Will don't have a choice so they signed us up against our will as well. We’re only here for the weekend anyway - and as we’re good friends that actually want to spend time together… D: I know you all miss my beautiful face but you guys really should stop whining about it. It's unbecoming. L: *scoff* D: You can still ask Max - it would be cute! Remember the snow ball? L: Absolutely not. I’ll probably spend the entire night holding Max back from spiking the punch, anyway. Mx: *yelling from far away* If I’m going to have to spend my evening around high-schoolers AGAIN, I might as well have a little fun. And seriously these losers need it - it’s like they all have sticks up their butts all of a sudden. L: *grinning* Remember Junior prom? *loud rattling in the distance* W: *far away* EL! PUT THE PAN DOWN! E: *distantly* DON’T MENTION THAT! L: *sound of phone being lowered* *voice more distant* Oh come on, El! It was funny! W: *distantly* PUT IT DOWN! WE GOT THAT FROM MOM! L: *grazing of phone against ear* Anyway, how’s Spain? D: Great - I had a symposium this morning but I’m free-roaming this afternoon. L: That’s great dude - Oh, breakfast is almost ready. Max, you want to speak with Dustin? Mx: *closer than before* No, you know I hate that guy. *sound of fabric rustling* *giggling* *sound of a hand being slapped away* D: Love you too, Max! Mx: Stay safe, Dusty-Bun! Don’t forget my fucking magnet! D: I won’t! Where did Mike go? L: He’s playing referee in the kitchen. I’ll tell him goodbye for you. D: Thanks! Talk to you guys later! *distant chorus from the kitchen* Bye!

[Call disconnects, Saturday September 28th 1996, 10:47 am]