#michael’s a wanker
Note
Okay last one- for now
Michael x female reader hate smut-
Michael is a straight up bully to reader, they always argue and never get along, but one night readers car breaks down confidently in front of his home- doesnt help that its raining so she is getting soaked, she tries calling her roommate but because its night they dont pick up.
Michael comes out to see whats going on and he spot her, he rolls his eyes and makes her get inside instead of staying in the cold, grumbling that he will fix it in the morning and she can sleep in his room, he even lets her have some of his clothes- but he makes her sleep on the floor, she refuses to saying its cold and after a bit of arguing he grabs her and kisses her quiet, telling her he knows a way to keep her warm if she wants
Reader consents and the rest is up to you 👀
Okay, so I’ve never written for Michael before... but I had way too much fun with this. I wrote it kind of like a comedy with smut because I get perverse enjoyment out of bullying Michael lmao. Hope it’s to your liking!
Warnings: smut nsfw, vaginal sex, creampie god I hate that word swearing, bad car knowledge, reader and Mike are both kinda arseholes, Will cameo, a joke about a dead parent, yes ik it sounds bad, but give it a chance cos that’s funny af irl.
Driving home from the shop, you double flick the windscreen wipers as the hammering rain only gets worse. You’re already wet from the 10 seconds you spent outside, your jeans clinging uncomfortably to your legs and dampening the seat underneath you.
Mumbling a ‘for fuck’s sake’, you turn down another residential road, still over two miles from your house, the quick nip out for fags having taken up way too much of your night.
Its then that the worst sound possible could be heard. Your engine packing in, squealing like a stuck pig in a fence, followed by a juddering thud as you’re mercifully able to steer it up the curb outside a house, before it completely dies on you. To be honest, you’d know that this shit-raft hadn’t had long left but really, tonight? Right now? So far from home? After you’d just spent a fucking fortune fuelling up? Bleeding typical.
You get out of the car, no umbrella or jacket to speak of and are wet to the bone before you can even get to the bonnet and peer inside. Seeing smoke depressingly coming from some part of the vehicle you couldn’t name.
“What the Hell are you doing here?” Someone behind you says, emphasising the ‘you’ with disgust. Of course you turn, ready to give someone the mouthful of profanity you were saving for this limp cock of a car. You recognise the tallish, messy haired lad immediately and curse in annoyance. Fucking great: it’s Michael Afton.
You found him such a silly ponce. And he you, a nasty prick. Having known each other since college and now finding yourself studying at the same Uni, your animosity towards each other having grown and matured into a smouldering hatred that caused arguments anytime you were in a room together. Only yesterday morning you’d given him a mouthful for how he’d acted towards you in a Costas. And so, seeing him now, you almost laughed at how this night probably couldn’t get any worse.
“You’re really here to give me shit now?” You sigh, trying to keep a level head as he probably had a better chance of fixing this car than you. “My car’s dead as a dodo.”
“That...” He smiles at you meanly, enjoying the sight of you soaked through and looking damn right miserable. “...is a shame.” He turns to walk up a drive into a house you assumed was his, grinning at your anguish.
Giving him the wanker gesture behind his back, you pull out your phone, registering the sound of a front door closing, whilst your shaky, wet hands tried to dial your roommate. Eventually you succeed, but it goes straight to voicemail, their phone clearly dead or off. Leaving you stranded as your parents were out of town and no one else was local, it being summer hols and you being home from Uni. You put your hand on your head, desperately trying to find a solution to your freezing cold predicament.
From inside his house, Michael peeked through his curtains surprised to see you still stood outside in the rain. Surely, you’d have the common sense to get back in your car or something. But no. He watched you looking like a stray cat for a few minutes before his decency took over and he goes to the door to see if you’re alright.
“You standing there all night, y/n?”
You laugh sharply, tears of frustration threatening to spill. “Just fucking might.”
“You wanna come in while you wait for someone?” He says, sighing at having to spend time in the same building as you, but still feeling a shred of pity.
“I ain’t got anyone to come get me.” You say, hands rising to an irritated shrug.
“Still wanna come in for a bit?”
And although you’d usually rather stick a spork in your eye than sit around with Michael Afton, it beat standing here, or sitting in your car. But only narrowly.
He leads you through his front door, showing you a bathroom and after you heavily hint, giving you some dry clothes to wear whilst your own dried on a radiator. You thank him reluctantly, going inside said toilet to put on the joggers and hoodie he’d given you. Scowling to yourself in the mirror as you can smell him on the clothes.
You come out after promising yourself to not let him wind you round the bend. Finding your way to a kitchen, where stood leant against a counter, after nicely, he’d boiled a kettle for you.
He hadn’t expected the movement in his trousers at seeing you in his clothes, it felt intimate and kind of sexy. And for a moment he just saw you as a good-looking lass, not the witch that had been haunting him for 4 years.
“Thanks for the clothes and the hot drink- I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, you should. I was tempted not to invite you in.” You smile sarcastically at him, walking over to the rack of mugs you’d spotted on the counter, grabbing some kind of fancy-arse tea bag.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. My parents are out of town.” You briefly explain to him, using the mug to warm you aching hands. To which he stood silently, watching your arse in his trousers as you did so.
“If you promise to keep your mouth shut, you can stay here.” He offers unenthusiastically.
“Why would I want to do that, Mikey?” You laugh.
“Feel free to go back out-fucking-side.” He gestures with his hand in the rough direction of the door, a very familiar sneer on his face.
And what else could you do? Sleep in your car outside in a neighbourhood you didn’t know that well? So you agree, not hiding the look of despair the prospect gave you. Which only doubled when he told you his dad would be coming home so you’d have to sleep in his room. On the floor. Like a dog.
~
He threw a couple of pillows on his carpet, then a paper-thin blanket, looking at you with a stupid smug expression on his stupid smug stupid fucking face.
After about 10 minutes of shivering on his floor, your back already throbbing from the lack of mattress, you grow tired of hearing the shit tik toks he was watching.
“I can’t sleep here, this is ridiculous.” You sit up, making him jump a little at the abruptness. “What did you just shit yourself for? Forget I’m here?” You say somewhat meanly, a snicker accompanying it, standing up and cracking your neck.
“Shut up. Where are you gonna go like?” His voice takes on a cutting mocking tone, “Get in here with me?”
You walk over to him, face a picture of annoyance. “That what you want Mike? Me to get in fucking bed with you?” You laugh, bringing you head down to his level as he was sat. “To think, all this time I thought you were a cunt to me because you hated me. When really you just want to fuck me.” Shaking your head, you point a finger at him, “God that’s fucking pathe-”
Your further insults are cut short when he grabs you and kisses you harshly on the mouth, the only thing he could think to do to get you to shut the fuck up for once. And you’ll admit, you respected the bollocks on him for it.
Maybe it was the frustration of the night’s events. Maybe it was built up hate between the two of you boiling over. Neither of you are sure. But you let him pull you on to his lap, kissing him back, tongues and hands quickly becoming involved.
You feel the urge to call him names when you feel the hardness of his cock pressing against the inside of your thigh. But you stifle it, grabbing his hand to make him take his hoodie off your frame, not having to tell him to do the rest because he did so quickly. Rushing to unhook your bra and palm your tits, whilst you pull up his shirt, then down his trousers to gain access to his cock.
There was no finesse to it, just hurried grabbing and heated biting of lips of necks. Both of you wanting to assert some level of dominance and fuck each other before it dawned on you that you hate one another. And so, it wasn’t long before he yanked you forward to pull his joggers down and your knickers aside, his thick cock spreading you open as sit atop him. It surprised you how good it felt to have him thrusting up into you, whilst your hips rolled fuelled by dislike and desperate to cum almost immediately.
You did when he pushed you back, making you lay backwards before climbing on top of you and shoving himself back inside you. The new angle more than welcome, making you grunt as your orgasm neared. Hitting you hard as a freight train when his pace doubled to selfishly chase his own release, which due to the tight fluttering of your walls was closer than he realised.
“Oh fuck.” He spat, pressing you flat into his bed as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist eager for more of his hammering pace. “That's it. Shi- God you feel fucking good.” You had it in you to laugh then, his whiney voice cracking as he neared his end enough to make you smirk. Though it was wiped from your face when his thrust faltered and stuttered as he came inside you, seemingly unbothered about the consequences.
Though in that moment you didn’t think about that either, too focused on the feeling of his release inside you.
It wasn’t the last time you’d be experiencing that tonight.
~
The morning quickly rolled around, and you slip out of Michael's bed to go and get something to drink, more than thirsty after last night. Bare feet pattering on wooden floorboards, you struggle to find his kitchen again as the house was unfamiliar. Eventually you get there and with your now dry clothes in hand you sit down with a much-needed glass of water.
You weren’t sat long when you register the sound of footsteps descending stairs, a prickle of dread as you thought it might be Michael.
"Who the fuck are you?" A gruff voice makes you turn your head towards the door of the kitchen, where a bloke you'd never seen before stood.
"Could ask the same for you." You raise an eyebrow at his curtness. "I'm Michael's... mate." You half-arse explain. The man leans on the doorframe a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he walked into the room smirking and started messing about with a coffee machine.
"What's funny about that?" You ask looking at him, there was resemblance between the two, but Mike would look 10 years younger stood next to his dad.
"Nothing." He looks you up and down. "Credit to him: you're alright." He answers through a smirk aimed at you. You just laugh, turning your attention to your phone. Not noticing when Mike came to find you.
Glancing up at him you give a nod of acknowledgement before going back to your scrolling. Completely missing when his father gestures towards you with his head, mouthing the word 'respect' to his son, who looked mortified.
"Stop being a dick, pa." Michael snapped. You look up to see what was going on, catching Mr Afton looking away from you with a laugh. And give Michael a raised brow smile, whilst his dad leaves the room, not without another glance in your direction.
"What are you grinning at?" His tone reaks of irritation. Only growing when you point to the empty door saying,
"THAT explains so much." Through a teasing laugh.
"Fuck off."
"I'm trying to, but there isn't a bus for half an hour. And my car is fucked, remember?" He rolled his eyes, going to the coffee machine himself and mumbling when asking you if you wanted some. You did and told him as such.
"Ay, thanks." You say as he sets it down in front of you. Having the curtesy to sit with you while you wait, lest his dad hear his footsteps and sneak in like a fox in a chicken coup.
"You alright?" You ask him, unused to the sensation of being pleasant with each other and so rejecting it, poking him in the ribs.
"Can you be quiet for like 5 fucking seconds?" Each word is near hissed at you.
"What kind of scene would this be, if I was?" You roll your eyes as you take a sip of the coffee he made you. Laughing as you thought of another way to piss him off. "You're one to talk anyway, with all the ‘talking’ you did last night." He turns to your words, face a clear warning.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck. That's it. Like that. Shi- God you feel fucking good-" You mock moan, accompanying it with a lewd gesture that made him look over his shoulder to check his dad hadn’t returned.
"Shut the fuck up!" He rises, "like you didn't have a good time." He says through a face of disgust. You continue giggling, loving how easy it was to wind him up.
"Practically drooling over my cock, like a dirty bitch." You just laugh again; he couldn’t even touch your feelings with that shit.
Letting silence fall over the two of you, you go back to your phone, giving him a smidge of respite. But he throws it back in your face after a mere two minutes.
"Will you stop tapping your foot, its driving me fucking nuts." And there's your green light to go at him again.
"You're a prick sometimes, Mike." You say, shaking your head. "But your dad- oh, no. He's really hot. Like scary, but scary sexy you get me?"
"Yeah... so's your mam." He snaps, his cheeks red. Instantly looking down when Mr Afton pops back in for something, unsure if you'll continue prodding and dreading if you did.
"Uhhh... my mam is dead, really funny there, mate." You say, your face falling still, and voice cracking on the last part. His whole demeanour changes, as does his father who stands like he's at attention in front of the squadron leader, both as tense as a spring.
"Oh shit, really? I'm sorry I-" He starts, panic flooding his face as he thought you were going to cry.
You laugh out of nowhere, "No. she isn't, Mike. But your fucking face." Mr Afton laughs from across the room, coming over to see the fallout that was about to occur, seeing the indignation on his son’s face and being unable to pity him.
"Ah you've got to bring this one back, Michael. She's fucking class." He says, grinning like a wolf. Mike scowls, despising you even more for ribbing on him with his own fucking dad.
"I should kick you the fuck out." He says exasperated, filled with dislike for you again. Sitting back down but not looking at you.
"Uh.” Mr Afton interjects. “You are not kicking my future daughter-in-law out of this house." You smirk, surprisingly feeling a tickle of guilt at being such a cock to him.
But you have a feeling that you'll make it up to him later.
#fnaf#fnaf au#fnaf michael afton#michael afton smut#michael afton x reader#fnaf william afton#fnaf smut#fnaf 18+
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hi neil !
i’m DYING to know if we’re going to get that deleted scene from the script book where the angels visit aziraphale the day he opens his bookshop. “michael ? michael’s a wanker” is one of my favourite lines (is it a line of it isn’t said out loud ?) and i just know david would do it so well !!!!!
Not in Season 2.
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the more that ive thought about it (it of course being the argument clip), the more that i need to get something off my chest and defend aziraphale - not necessarily against anyone, not saying anyone is attacking him, but whilst crowley is my special apple crimble crumble boy, aziraphale is the goodest lil dude and there is nothing i wouldn't do for that messy man-
i think what a lot people forget about aziraphale is that he is so fucking clever, he is arguably more intelligent than crowley, but has the irksome, painful dichotomy of being kind. what kinda upset me in the clip is that crowley almost addresses aziraphale as if he's stupid, when he's anything but. aziraphale is fully aware that gabriel, michael, uriel etc are all wankers, he's not oblivious to it, but aziraphale is an unfailingly empathetic and compassionate angel, and will try to always see the best in people.
the fandom sometimes mistakes this for naivety or even ignorance, and it's not - aziraphale is not naive, he knows that these angels are shits and treat him poorly, but aziraphale has a pretty strong view on what an angel should be, what they should embody, and even though he knows deep down these other angels don't really follow the same blueprint, he hopes and he tries to remain optimistic and see the best in them. he hopes to be forgiven for his trespasses just as he forgives those who trespass against him✨
and so by the end of s1 i think he really does give up on being an angel ("just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" got the most satisfied, bashful grin on him we've ever seen) and instead is just a good person. and i think crowley fails to realise or accept this - not bc he's stupid either, but i think he sometimes really underestimates aziraphale and possibly because he thinks (possibly due to his own trauma- the apocalypse as well as the Fall) that god will never love a being that isn't good and godly at the same time. he can't accept that that the two things, being good and being godly, are entirely different concepts, and that in aziraphale the two must go hand in hand.
aziraphale understands the difference, and knows that he can still be loved by god even if he doesn't align himself with heaven anymore. so therefore its a real foreign idea, a ludicrous concept, to crowley that aziraphale is still being kind to gabriel, being compassionate, when in his mind this is the angel that wanted to kill them both and is a first class wanker to boot.
but i think that does actually show that, not in any way maliciously or intentionally but likely just as a projection borne out of anger and possibly self-hatred, crowley is thinking appalling little of aziraphale right now. does he really believe that the angel that he slithered up next to on the wall and who not only didn't smite him on sight but also conversed with him and listened to him and sheltered him from the first rain whilst not even bothering to shelter himself is incapable of being kind without being heaven's puppet?
so yes i totally get where crowley is coming from, and whilst it kills me a little inside to think that crowley might consider himself so unworthy of kindness and affection unless it originates from a systematic compulsive side effect of being a Holy Entity, i think he's being grossly unfair to aziraphale in not realising even after 6000 years of knowing him that aziraphale might just simply be a really kind person.
#good omens#good omens season 2#corr big feelings being discussed here tonight lads#theres a lot more i could say about this theres so much to unpack#and noone is at fault in this but yeah i think bc of the ✨comedy✨ and 🤌angst🤌 value in this scene#aziraphale isnt being given due credit for just wanting to help a lost and lonely person?#like i joked about it but this is NOT gabriel? as far as we can tell atm this is just a person that looks like him???#aziraphale is the goodest purest person in the world and truly is the only rep on earth that actually seems to embody ✨god✨#gomens shitpost
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Michael after everyone finds out their secret relationship with Dagon.
D: angel, it's fine--
M: no, it is not fine...! This is not how I--WE planned for things to turn out!
everyone is shocked, (except maggie and nina) I mean who would imagine a wanker getting a love life
#seeing michael so done with everything is precious to me#good omens s2#angelfish#good omens#ineffable administrators#dagon good omens#michael good omens#can they be the institutional problem
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So. I just listened to MAG 200, finally finishing the fever dream that is The Magnus Archives, and all I have to say is: Holy shit. Just. Good lord.
Look, I knew it was going to be sad. I've been on Pinterest. But Jesus. I was not prepared. Now I'm shaking and will certainly be curling in the fetal position later, sobbing and screaming into the void. I mean, I'm happy for Basira, Melanie & Georgie of course, as well as our beloved Admiral, but God. Jon and Martin, I love you, you deserved so much better, I see why all your fanfics are fix it. But even just thinking about everyone we have lost, all the characters I got emotionally attached to. Sasha. Tim. Daisy. Michael Shelley. Even thinking about all the avatars (I'm a sucker for a villian, what can I say?) makes my lungs spasm with love and want. I shall miss them all for eternity.
And so ends possibly the greatest experience I've ever had with a fandom, at least until I recover enough to start tmagp. Everything about tma is just pure amazingness. Everything. It's funny how much you can grow to love random people just by hearing them voice act a character and laugh in bloopers. I love them so much, the whole cast. The two blooper episodes brought me more joy than I think I have ever experienced with a piece of media, trumping even the mighty Good Omens, which is saying something (To be fair though, Not with that thong on! and Oh god, I'm knackered, I've been doing all this labelling! would make anyone crack up, although perhaps not continue hysterically giggling for over fifty minutes... They still pop into my head sometimes and I'll just randomly snort in really inappropriate situations because I'm gonna buy some 'ead and shoulders, 'cause I found one on the road this mornin'! and Gertrude's been on the sauce, need I say more? Yes? Alright then,if you insist - Happy little DOORBELLS! FifTy MInUteS eArLY! and Fuck you, Jonny. God, he drags the rest of us down. What a wanker! I could go on, but I feel these brackets have already gotten way longer than they have any business being). I love these strangers more than I love anyone else I've actually met before, except my partner. They are everything to me. And I cannot wait to re-listen to all five seasons yet again, definitely screaming and crying and laughing and screaming while I do so. I have never before listened to and experienced something so perfect. Alex and Jonny, you have legitimately changed my life in all the best and worst ways possible, and I hate you and love you for it. You have my utmost gratitude and admiration, also kindly piss off.
Seriously though, the genuine adoration and idolization I hold for all the voice actors is sort of concerning. VA for Simon Fairchild gets a special mention, as well as Michael The Distortion because how is it possible to fall in love with a person after listening to only their voice for thirty seconds-
#the magnus archives#the magnus pod#the magnus protocol#i can't wait to listen to tmagp#i'm gonna die aren't i#might as well have descended as the fucking messiah because holy shit this podcast saved me#highly recommend#whole experience a cross between WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN#reading memes made the whole thing 20x better#this episode killed me#i am deceased#mag 200#god i love it so much#tma#tmagp#tma spoilers
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No offence, but you are kind of eye aligned. To get the first wave of fear, the victim must know that the door was never there. Then they must feel enough curiosity to open it even when they fear what they might discover. Sorry Michael, you’re feeding the ceaseless wanker. Hate to break it to ya
NO. NO NO NO. I REJECT THIS THEORY ALLTOGETHER, DONT SCOURGE ME WITH A LABEL OF KNOWING. NEVER PASS YOUR GAZE THROUGH ME, I AM AN IMPOSSIBILITY, A COMPULSION, AN IMPULSE, I DO NOT MAKE SENSE, DONT YOU DARE TRY TO SEE ANYTHING FURTHER THAN THAT. I AND THE EYE DO NOT CROSS, THE EYE AND I DONT TWIST FOR A SIGHTLINE IS STRAIGHT AND I WRAP AND CONSTRICT IT, I WOULD SOONER CHOKE IT LIKE A BOA THEN FEED THE WATCHER.
#tma#the magnus archives#michael distortion#the spiral#tma the eye#(ooc: obvs im not mad dont worry grublin i just like writing mad michael#ily)
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“I refuse to eat while this miscreant is seated at our table,” says Michael, fists clenched at the side of his plate. Roy is beginning to think of him as a middle-aged toddler, albeit a toddler with quite an impressive vocabulary. Jane seems entirely unconcerned by his behaviour, happily channelling forkfuls of peaches into her mouth.
“You’re missing out, Dad,’ says Anya. “It’s delicious. You’ve really outdone yourself, Mum.”
“Yes, it’s great, thanks Jane,” says Roy, though it doesn’t compare to Sonia’s cobbler, with its melt-in-the -mouth dough and perfect cinnamon-to-brown sugar ratio. Michael sends him a poisonous stare.
“Anya, I know I can’t stop you moving into this man’s apartment, but I want you to stop and ask yourself if you are making the right decision," Michael says. ”Because clearly he is not to be trusted. Nor is he a person of strong moral character.”
“Why do you say that?” says Roy through a mouth filled with cobbler.
“Because you lied to me," says Michael, his eyebrows flaring. “You told me that you and Anya were getting married, which was an outright lie.”
“I was just yanking your chain because you started spouting all that armchair psychology bullshit,” says Roy. "Which was a total load of crap, by the way. I'm way too secure in my skin to feel diminished by the fact that my ex-wife prefers muff."
“Dad," says Anya. "Seriously, what on earth-"
"And for the record, it was Anya who pursued me, not the other way round," says Roy. "Not that I'm complaining. I'll be forever grateful. But you need to get your facts straight, Michael. And stop pigeonholing me as some narcissistic wanker who's only interested in a trophy-wife. I'm in love with your daughter. And to suggest I'm with her for any other reason is pretty damned disrespectful. Okay?"
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michael goes with daniel to the hospital 1.5k of Daniel&Michael for the platonic friend fix
“I want you to go with them, Michael.”
It wasn’t a question; Christian was already pulling at Michael’s headset and taking it from his neck, pushing him towards the car idling at the edge of the garage.
“But Blake can…there are others more suited, surely.” Michael had trailed off.
The level of emotion outlined in Christian’s severe frown surprised him into giving up whatever he was going to come up with to get out of it. He looked at the concrete floor instead, at the rain still pooling along pit lane, like he was intruding on a private moment. Maybe then he would have been able to swallow the lump in his own throat.
Daniel was fine, he reminded himself.
“I want you to keep me informed. Help him keep it together, that sort of thing.” The hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the back of the garage had felt like a noose instead.
By the time they are in the back of a car together, the choked feeling has migrated to his chest as Michael can’t work out what is appropriate to say at a time like this. What will be the first thing he and Daniel have said to each other in probably months.
“How are you feeling then?” Is the generic phrase that he goes with. The last thing he needs is Daniel yelling at him again, accusing him of being unfeeling.
Cold-hearted wanker is the word he actually thinks was used last time.
“Like I probably should have hit the McLaren instead.” Daniel snorts, and although he’s got his head leaning back against the headrest, Michael knows him well enough to tell that he’s smiling. Even if it’s in sarcasm.
“I mean, it all happened so fast. I doubt anyone would have blamed you if you did.” Michael tries to assure any lingering guilt.
“I’ll keep that in time for next time I crash out then, shall I?”
It’s biting and Michael doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. Eyes on the front, he concentrates on the two doctors who sit up in the driver’s and passenger seats of the SUV—one from the medical centre, the other from RedBull— who are arguing in German about the best way to leave the track. Cameras and fans crowd the vehicle making it hard to see anything out the windows and when Michael turns back, Daniel has his head tilted once more to the ceiling, eyes closed, conversation apparently over.
He’s not asleep though. The broken arm is strapped carefully tight to his chest but his thigh is jiggling, teeth gritted, yet he still tries to breathe deep through them. It makes a little wheezing sound that has Michael pursing his lips. He wonders how much—if any— pain medication he’d been given so far.
Not caring about offending Daniel’s delicate sensibilities, or how to approach the stalemate between them, Michael reaches for Daniel’s good wrist to check his pulse. The stupid idiot can rant and rave for all he cares, it’s his job to help.
(He needs to make sure Daniel’s ok.)
The pulse is consistent enough, considering. Michael checks his pupils too— almost fully dilated, which means he’s running on adrenaline only.
“Why didn’t you let them give you anything for the pain, you moron? Now is not the time to start playing the martyr.” Michael scolds. Whilst Daniel may have been too tired to protest his manhandling, Daniel bares the censure less gracefully.
“This isn’t that kind of trip, mate.” And Michael knows the last word tacked on to the end is meant to be mocking. Hurtful. He tries not to let how much show on his face.
“I know you don’t think I like, have any”, Daniel continues, apparently not done with settling the score, “But somebody’s gotta have at least some sort of control when they’re deciding the future of my career up there.”
Tilting his head, he motions towards the two doctors out front, who haven’t spoken a word to Daniel about how he’s doing or what to expect since they barked at him to keep his arm above his heart as soon as the door was closed.
But instead of pity, the reminder of RedBull and their exacting levels of control over Daniel’s life has Michael angry.
“What happened to, it’s nice to finally be with family? People who really care about me?” Michael throws back the words Daniel has been spouting to every tabloid ever since his return to the sport.
It’s petty but Michael doesn’t care. It had felt like all their years of friendship being thrown back in his face. Still does. Serves the selfish fucker right to feel a bit of that back.
But Daniel’s not playing that game with him anymore it seems.
“Got me there!” He jokes. But his head is bowed, smile mocking somehow in its complacency. Michael thinks it might be regret.
“You were always telling me I never did have the best instincts, right?”
It’s probably the most of an apology he’s ever going to get. And combined with the struggling, broken look Michael swore after last year he never wanted to see on Daniel’s face again, his first instinct is to fix. To make it better like he always has.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him of Horner’s concerned frown as he’d pushed Michael into the awaiting car to be with him, to help him. But he can’t help but selfishly think of his own feelings still burning away inside of him.
How Daniel ought to know what it felt like for him as his heart had leapt right out of his chest the second he’d hit the wall. What it felt like for him when Daniel cut him out of his life like that because he dared to offer a different perspective on his life decisions like any good friend would.
Michael berates himself immediately and wonders when it became a competition between them. An us versus them kinda deal. Him or RedBull.
Wonders if he was this much of an asshole all along.
Daniel had asked, he’d answered. No. No, he did not think it a good idea to go back to RedBull. But Daniel had taken it with all the grace and comprehension of an elephant. Accused him of being non supportive when he was only trying to be anything but. Just like he’s trying— failing— to do at the moment.
Sighing out loud, Michael lets the opportunity to say I told you so go. Lets it all go. Because it’s not about him. Or them. Then or now.
“Look.” He starts. “They love you so fucking much I have no doubt that they’ve already lined up an IV full of stroopwafles for you. The best money can buy.”
“Is that so?” Daniel says, practically preening under the attention of the admission. Michael just sees how fragile he looks.
Even when you take away the bandages, the sling, even the bags of exhaustion under his eyes, he knows that cocky bravado is just a front for all Daniel’s insecurities and the things he won’t say. How he’s hanging on Michael’s words to believe him.
The car comes to a stop. They’re at the hospital now. Michael feels Daniel tense up beside him. He scoots closer, as if to hide Daniel from the hoards of fans tapping at the glass. He knows they only mean well but they are still demanding time and attention from him now, phones at the ready and already pointing in their faces like weapons.
Michael moves again to make sure their knees are touching. Smiles when it’s enough to still Daniel’s own.
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah I do. This is your show, man.”
“And what if I said I wanted to steal a wheelchair before they start thinking about cutting me open and harvesting me for parts to give to the junior program?”
Michael looks to where the doctors are already out of the car, shaking hands with someone from the hospital emergency department to greet them in a white coat—obviously another doctor. Someone pretty important with the way three nurses follow in his wake.
All for a broken arm, Michael scoffs.
This level of scrutiny, of care, should hardly surprise him. RedBull have invested way too much money into Daniel and his body for them to give up the chance of losing it and the skills it’s cultivated now. He’s not gonna tell Daniel that though.
From the tone Daniel had used— half-softening the blow from his own depleted expectations, half cautious— Michael is aware Daniel is checking if he’s as committed as he says he is. If he can be trusted with the truth of how scared about this all he actually is.
Michael knows what to say this time.
“Then I’ll get you a scalpel to fight back with. Whatever it takes.”
And he means it. Especially later, as he’s standing back in the paddock, listening to Daniel’s order of events. He’s scowling at Marko for constantly interrupting to find out exactly when Daniel will be back to full function again.
Daniel plays it up. The grin on his face and the erratic movement of his one, good arm says he’s thoroughly enjoying the way he’s keeping him in suspense. Helmut’s eyebrow seems to climb higher and higher the more Daniel ignores him, continuing his story about when they were plastering his arm. At how lost in translation the word mummy had got and the extra concussion tests they made him do because of it.
To the side, amongst Daniel’s laughter, Christian slaps Michael on the back and says, “Everything turned out as well as it should then.”
“Yeah.” Michael agrees softly, leaving it at that.
Of course he could tell Christian about the way he had to bribe Daniel to get into the cat scan machine— just in case— giving him a running commentary on the topography of his brain like a David Attenborough video to keep him still and calm in the enclosed space.
Or about the fact that Michael had to fill out all the forms presented to them because he apparently knows more about Daniel’s medical needs and history than he even did. Or their doctor.
Or even how he ended up calling Daniel’s parents for him to tell them he was fine— not even a concussion, Grace. Not a screw any looser than what it was, I promise— because no one at RedBull apparently had yet.
But he suspects Christian already knows all this.
That’s why he sent him, after all.
Knowing he needs to get back to the garage, to Yuki and his actual job, Michael gives Christian a single, appreciative nod. Giving respect where respect is due to the only other person he trusts here to do what’s best for Daniel and not just a driver for RedBull.
Coming up behind them, he gives Daniel a conspiratory wink as he interrupts the conversation, “Just so you know, I do happen to own a scalpel.”
Helmut looks confused. Michael doesn’t care. Simply enjoys the sound of Daniel’s laughter, the way he dares him to whip it out right there in front of their bosses.
Daniel is fine.
#look I have no idea what this is#the discord was wondering where all the d&m was and I though I could#but I’m not really sure?#everyone has their own theory on what happened between them#I tried to be diplomatic and assign blame to both#but also vague enough to not get in the way of your interpretation?#idk#I really don’t like the way I changed tense purposefully there at the beginning#but I’m trying it on for size#like michael#michael italiano#daniel ricciardo#daniel x michael#f1 rpf#my fic
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Something that would be amazing seeing Michael or William for that matter call someone they don't like a wanker because British slang
Scraptrap sees Henry or something at the Pizza Sim location, and he just begins insulting/calling him something along those lines.
#Masqueradenoir#Asks#Not a Quote#Scraptrap#I’ve never heard that before or anything else#But Michael and Scrap Baby can just hear their father shouting
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Michael: Just getting some books.
David: What books?
Michael: Books from my library.
David: Is it the fucking Twilight books?
Michael: Three billion dollars worldwide, chum.
David: Wanker!
[David gets up and leaves]
Michael: No! No. Don't you bring Harry Potter in! Do not bring Ha... right.
~~~
Michael: Anna’s got me painting.
David: Ohh, she there with you?
Michael: Yeah, she is. We were up early this morning, ‘to capture the dawn’.
David: Well, our family all sketched pineapples yesterday.
Michael: Oh, how did you get on?
David: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
*shows him*
Michael: Very good.
David: Yeah? And yours?
*shows him*
David: You did that?!
Michael: Yeah, just this morning.
David: You did not paint that this morning!
Michael: Yes I did!
David: You did not paint that this morning!!
Michael: I DID!
David: I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!
Michael: YOU DREW THE PINEAPPLE.
David: MY PINEAPPLE IS SHIT!
Michael: Ooh, just needs a bit of shading.
David: Oh, shut up!
Michael: Little charcoal.
David: When did you learn so much about art?
Michael: I learned it for a role.
David: Which role?
Michael: David Frost.
David: Oh could he paint?
Michael: Are you angry with me for having a hobby?
David: Evidently, yeah.
#michael sheen#david tennant#staged#love them#it’s so funny#bbc staged#currently rewatching#staged quotes
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Michael Noonan - Fine Gael
Michael Noonan, former Fine Gael finance minister. A bull of a bald man, with piercing, dark eyes.
How comes Ireland gets so many handsome, solid, sensible politicians, whilst here in the UK we are stuck with a stream of thick (i.e. stupid), ugly, incompetent wankers?
Wouldn't say no to that.
Looks good with his specs on as well.
Don't make him angry,,.
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More of Crowley writing spiteful limericks to piss of the angels! Warning for language, and keep in mind that limericks are historically far, far filthier than anything you'll see me write here.
There once was a wanker named Metatron
Whose subjects he did love to piss upon
He declared unto them
With a flourish of pen
All forms of pleasure are NOT ON
The splendor of archangel Uriel
was clouded by rancorous smells
they lead a witch-hunt
to find the foul cunt
and realized that oh, it's just Michael
There was a right bastard named Sandalphon
who fantasized but could not act upon
the effort he made
in secret each day
because his knob looked like a prawn
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Mr. Crowley. I have, as the humans say, fucked up.
Someone told me to ask eric something so i did but i didnt REALISE and now theyre going to hate me forever i think im going to go back to heaven and stay there and give the bookshop to someone else and never come back to earth again that way they wont have to look at me or see me or talk to me ever again and
ERM. I…I don’t think you’re supposed to say that word but—not important
Okay, let’s just. Take a deep breath, explain what happened. I’m sure we can fix it, just…yknow, don’t jump to anything that drastic just yet.
Besides, who would look after the bookshop if you left? You’re the only other angel I trust with it, for one. They’d probably send Michael down, and Michael’s a wanker.
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A very quick take on a different ending. Still kind of tragic, still a cliffhanger, still sets them up to be separated. But less upsettingly out of character, at least according to my own understanding and ideas.
...
"Tell me you said no!"
"Listen, Crowley! It wasn't a job offer, it was a threat. The terms they offered—demanded—were intolerable. But I haven't said no, yet. I needed to talk to you first. Because if I don't accept the job, they're going to give it to Michael."
"Michael's a wanker!"
"Michael is implacable, and ruthless. You remember what happened to Lucifer, at the end of the War."
"Yeah, I mean, we've all heard the stories."
"I had a front-row seat. I'm not going to forget that in a hurry."
"Oh."
"So you see, I may have to consider taking on the job. Because it's about Earth. Michael doesn't care about Earth, doesn't understand about the dolphins and the ducks and the gorillas. And the humans. I can make a difference."
"And the intolerable terms you mentioned?"
"Oh dear. Well, I'm afraid they want you to come with me."
"What's so bad about th—"
"To be reinstated as an angel."
The outburst that followed was noisy and incoherent.
"Your howls of outrage are extremely gratifying. I had the most awful time trying to keep a straight face, when Metatron told me. But you see the dilemma."
Crowley made a series of noises, which gradually grew less offended and more considering.
"Ehhhh, 'spose I could maybe try it? Would be a change, that's for sure."
"What! Crowley, NO!" Aziraphale in his turn was reduced to spluttering. "I don't want angel-you! I want YOU-you!"
"I'd still be me, though. Wouldn't I?"
"I don't know. And I don't want to risk it. Whatever they did to Gabriel turned him into a completely different person! Don't get me wrong, you were a very impressive angel. I was so in awe of the way you started the engine, and brought that nebula into existence. But…that's not the demon I fell in love with."
"In…wait, you lo—"
"Yes! Of course I do. Though I've never told you properly. I was going to, at the dance, and then it all went pear-shaped."
"Aziraphale." Crowley said the angel's name so gently, and everything went soft-focus, just for an instant.
They both reached out, and pulled each other close, and kissed, frantically. It didn't last long enough.
Because suddenly Crowley was pushing Aziraphale away, showing all the signs of having had a sudden idea.
"Angel!" he roared. "I do believe I have been insulted."
"Well, yes," started Aziraphale, but Crowley hastily shushed him.
"The very idea of you going back to Heaven purely for the sake of having vast amounts of power and influence is extremely upsetting! And to think that I would ever agree to join you in your schemes."
It took a fair amount of eyebrow-waggling and frantic winks, but Aziraphale was finally catching on.
"I should have known that you could never truly be redeemed. Foul fiend."
Crowley grinned. "It will be just like old times."
Abruptly, Aziraphale dropped the act again and sagged in on himself. "I'm going to have to go, aren't I. Oh, Crowley! I don't want to leave…the bookshop."
Crowley kissed him again, gently. "Be brave, angel. Nothing lasts forever."
"Keep it safe for me. I know you will."
"I will. Metatron is coming back now, I'd better storm out. Convincingly."
"Good luck, Crowley. Mind how you go."
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I'm waiting for an angel or demon to show up and check in on Azira's or Crowley's "punishment" (Lily and Bea) for being traitors like "Hey, wanker! Just stopping by to make sure you're enjoying your curse/blessing!"
Michael: hello earthbound fool, how is your divine reckoning going?
Aziraphale: oh positively terrible. do you want the strawberry or vanilla ice cream, my darling girls?
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So... I try not to write meta because I usually end up saying sonething stupid but... it's crazy how manipulative the Metatron is and some of the shit he does seems kinda a bit like love-bombing even? He certainly works really hard to make Zira feel validated and special and uses and ton of flattery. I remember after season 1 people talked about how similar Heaven is to a real-life cult, and how Aziraphale's behaviour lined up with that of someone who is trying to leave.
He did "leave" after season 1, and Heaven has ignored him since ("they don't talk to him anymore") and they don't even say his name in Heaven, just call him a traitor, and particularly insist on that with Muriel, who is a bit naive and inexperienced and very low ranking... that's very similar to what cults do when someone leaves, and how they talk about them especially with younger members.
Now, Metatron has found out that 1) Gabriel is in no way fit to lead Heaven anymore because he doesn't want armageddon and 2) the other angels are... kind of incopetent, really. It looks to me like the Metatron has decided to take matters in his own hands (I don't think it's a coincidence he's a floating head all the way up to Gabe's trial but then he suddenly has a body when he comes for Zira. He's trying to humanize himself and look closer to Zira), and he wants someone to manipulate who will do whatever he says. I love Zira, but he is gullible.
So here's some of the stuff the Metatron does that seems super manipulative to me:
He scolds the archangels, and sends them away like they're naughty children. He's trying to look like Zira's protector, like he's helping. He lets Muriel be, because they seem to be the only other angel who Zira gets along with or at least actually likes for reasons other than "they're an angel and therefore good and therefore I must like them". He then singles Zira out, saying "it's just you and me", like they're different (and better) and understand each other.
Metatron comes with a coffee, he gives it to Zira. Everyone seems to know that Zira loves food, so this is a good way to butter him up. Metatron also tells Zira to just drink it, and that Metatron "has ingested things in his time"... notice that Metatron doesn't drink. He's priobably lying, but he's doing this to make Aziraphale feel validated, and feel like Metatron is not so different from him after all. (He does the same with Muriel, telling them it's good to read but he doesn't seem to have known they were reading before they explain).
Metatron then asks Zira to talk alone, so Crowley can't be there to question everything and making Zira doubt Metatron. Metatron tells Zira that Michael "doesn't have the slightest bit of sense", and we know that Zira doesn't like Michel much at this point, and most importantly we know that Crowley agrees and thinks Michael's a wanker. Metatron is trying really hard to mimic the behaviour of Zira's only friend.
We know that Zira is insecure and weak to praise. Metatron tells him he's "a leader" and that he "neeeds him" to lead "enormous projects", that "he's just the angel for the job".
Then, Metatron offers Zira the one thing he wants the most: Zira gets to be in Heaven's good graces again, he gets to be in charge so surely he wouldn't let anything bad happen again, and make Crowley an angel again. Metatron presents Zira being supreme archangel being the only way his "partnership" with Crowley can be acceptable. Yes, Zira has just seen Gabe and Beelzebub get their happy ending, but he's also seen them be shunned by both Heaven and Hell for it. Zira thinks he's cracked the code. That he can be loved by Crowley AND Heaven at the same time.
Crowley and Zira talk. It goes terrribly bad. Metatron comes in IMMEDIATELY after, not leaving Zira time to think or process what just happened. He's like "Oh, well. Ready to start?" Zira still has doubts, but Metatron doesn't let him think too hard about them. Muriel will tend to the bookshop, it's in good hands. Zira dawdles, so Metatron presses him again, but disguised as caring for him: "do you need to take anything with you?" Metatron then just up and leaves, forcing Zira to either follow or not
Finally, Metatron tells Zira "he can't think of a better angel to wrap things up" "we need an angel of your talents" and "familiar with how things go on Earth"
Metatron calls the next step "the Second Coming"... that's armageddon! The Second Coming of Jesus is when (making a very long story short and oversimplifying) the Earth becomes Heaven/the new Eden, all the living die, the dead are risen and sorted into those who repented and those who didn't (and only the former get to live forever in the new Eden), there is no Hell, and no Satan. It's the ultimate victory of God/Jesus/Heaven. Sound familiar? I feel like it's basically the same as what they called armageddon in season 1, but that was always explicitly the Earth being destroyed and a big war between Heaven and Hell, and Metatron is just rebranding the "armageddon 2.0" that Gabe nah-ed and making it sound nicer.
#good omens spoilers#good omens 2#gos2 spoilers#good omens meta#meta#I'll probably regret writing this but oh well#I know it's a bit incoherent bear with me#my post
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