crooked room

alluroa  asked:

is it bad im not over ur FANTASTIC jily genderswap n im hopin this doesnt come off as rude but i'd kill for some more !!

“I’m going to piss in your coffee. You hear me? If you don’t hurry up I will literally piss in your literal coffee. Actual urine, Evans.”

Liam doesn’t look up from tying his shoelaces. “At least wait ‘till we’re out of the street.”

“I’ll piss wherever I want, thanks.” Jane says, as Liam straightens and she hands him his piss-free drink. “Now we’re going to be late.”

Liam can’t believe her. “The only reason you’re even out of bed right now is because I said I’d pay for coffees, and you’ve repaid me by swearing the whole way here and threatening to piss in the beverages I paid for.”

Jane smirks, all teeth. “’Beverages’” she does air-quotes around the word, spinning so she’s walking backwards facing him. “We get it Evans, you read.”

“You’ve won this English prize three years in a row. You read too.” She is not watching where she is going and is absolutely going to hit something, most likely a person.

“Yeah, but when I read it’s cool. When you do it’s sad.”

“Your favourite book is Love in a Cold Climate. By what stretch of the imagination are you cool.”

“I refuse to have the Love in a Cold Climate argument again because you haven’t even rea-“ her heel hits a fire hydrant they’d both missed, and he sees her go backwards like it’s in a film or something. He reaches out like a shot, grabs her arm, pulls her forward to his chest. She grabs his shirt, almost popping a button, and the whole thing lasts about three seconds but feels vastly longer.

His heard is thudding, and with her fingers a fist in the middle of his chest, he becomes inexplicably aware that she might feel it. She breathes out, hard, and he hears her swallow. “Clumsy.” He mutters, one hand still on her arm and the other on her back, fingers spread over her spine.

She looks up at him, mouth parted slightly, glasses still broken from Black’s house party last weekend. “I play soccer.” She says thickly, looking from his eyes to lips and back again. “I- I am most absolutely not- clumsy…“

She keeps mumbling, and he leans closer, their faces almost touching. She trails off, eyes darting all over him, and how odd it is- still, that he can make her nervous. He flexes his fingers on her spine, and her breath hitches.

“We’re going to be late.” He says, his mouth practically touching hers, “and your ties twisted.”

She blinks, lightly shoving him backwards. “Leave my tie alone or I’ll piss in your beverage.”

“Save the jacket” Sarah coughs, vomiting again. Jane rolls her eyes.

“It’s leather. It’ll wipe off.” But Jane takes it off her anyway, letting go of her hair to peel back each of the arms. Liam, sitting with his legs spread out over the grass, puts up a hand, and she throws the jacket to him.

“Black, don’t take this the wrong way,” Liam says, looking up at the moon, “but I don’t think you can do five shots in ten minutes and feel nothing.”

“Get fucked.” Sarah chokes, gagging again. Jane grins.

“You fac- face is crooked. Wonky nose.” Jane slurs, grabbing at his face again.

“Cheers, Potter.” He goes sideways through the door and untangles her legs from around his waist, laying her on the bed. “Let go of my neck.” He commands.

“The- you whole ro-oom is crooked,” she’s gone crossed-eyed, drunkenly pleased.  “Crooked room, crooked boy.”

“Clever girl.” He says, softly. She unwinds one arm from around his neck and presses a palm against his cheek, thumb brushing over his lips. He says nothing, rooted to her. Her hand drops, eyelids drooping.

“Stay.” She mumbles.

“This is my room.” He says. When he looks down, she is holding is hand.

“If you were there it would have been different.” Liam accuses, opening his fridge.

“Why?” she’s sitting on the bench, kicking her legs at him, “Because I’m the only one who finds you funny?”

“Precisely.” He throws an apple to her. She catches it. “Now Parsons’ just thinks I’m a twat who seriously thinks coal is the energy of the future.”

She grins, taking a bite of the apple and watching him cut a slab of butter from the block. “Please don’t.” She says, knowing that he will, and he spins to face her, shoving the entire stick into his mouth. “I’m never going to kiss you again.” She lies.

“No worries. I have other options.”

Jane, through a mouthful of apple, laughs. “Like who?”

“A cardboard cut-out of you?” He tries.

“Please. My cut-out has standards.” He takes a step towards her, laughing, not even bothering to shut the fridge. “You haven’t shut the fridge.” She points out, and he puts his hands on her knees, leaning forward. She can see every single freckle on his nose. “I am not going to kiss you.” She says, firm. He continues to lean forward. “Evans, I-“

He smacks a kiss against her cheek, letting go of her knees to swing around and shut the fridge door. “Now you have butter cheek.” He says. Grinning, she gives him the finger.

“Is it necessary to slide in the mud every time you score a goal?” Liam asks, sitting on a bench in the abandoned boy’s locker room with his ankles crossed together.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Jane answers, walking to him.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Liam says.

“This is a women’s soccer match. No one’s supposed to be here.”

“I meant in the boy’s locker room.”

“You know the girl’s showers are full.”

Liam tilts his head. “Well actually I don’t, because I don’t make a habit of wandering into changing rooms that aren’t mine.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me” Jane says, and Liam abruptly sticks out his tongue and pulls his legs up so his feet are flat on the ground. “What are you doing?” She asks, confused.

“Acting like I wasn’t waiting for you.” He says. She grins.

“’That what that looks like, is it?” She’s standing over him now, his head tilted up to see her face.

“Clearly.” He answers. She can feel a bruise ripening on her knee, swelling purple already. He says nothing for a minute, just looking up at her, and then reaches out to trace nonsense shapes on the side of her thigh. Her heart, still thudding from the match, slows.   

She brings up a hand to touch his neck, thumb running along the underside of his jaw, and he shudders right there in the boy’s locker room. She swings a leg up over his knees, straddling his lap and getting dried mud on his legs.

Looking him full in the face, she can see the remnants of supporter’s paint under his eyes that had been rubbed away by the rain. He comes to all her games, wears her old team jerseys as a joke and cheers louder than anyone when she gets a goal or Sarah fouls someone. She brings up her other hand to brush hair off his face, and he keeps looking at her.

She leans forward, because they just won, and he belongs to her, and she is so unbelievably grateful for it. “I love you, stupid boy.’ she breathes into his ear, and she can see his goose bumps.

bluebelladon  asked:

So i had an Idea but I can't think of anything past the concept (+ yr writing for this kinda thing is like 200% better than mine) but what if the Lads founded the Fake AH crew and recruited the gents?

Ooh that’s fun – i’ve seen versions where they were two little gangs who combined into the FAHC but the idea of the actual Fake’s starting as the Lads is definitely interesting.

There were a lot of names tossed around at the start; it’s the part of forming a crew no one really talks about, the vaguely embarrassing period of building an image, choosing a name, defining yourselves. Like band names there is a lot of bad before the good. Like band names ‘good’ is wildly subjective, particularly when determined by a pack of teenage boys. The humour behind ‘Fake Crew’ isn’t particularly high brow and not a single soul outside the original four Lads, including and especially their future members, have any idea at all what the AH could possibly stand for. Most think its mysterious, assume something clever or at least meaningful, but the shifty looks the boys shoot each other when pressed tell a different story.

Still, they’ve made something of a name for themselves in Los Santos – the FAHC, who pull off unbelievable stunts, who lack any semblance of respect, dangerous in the way of feral animals, of wildfire. In the foolhardy way of children, who care far more about making sure you hurt than they do about protecting themselves. It’s enough to keep other gangs wary, to buy themselves a little breathing room with reckless gestures and bared teeth, but not exactly the glory they are looking for. Not quite the trembling respect they’ve dreamed of.

For that, it seems, they’re going to have to think bigger, smarter. Be clever not just in the tricks they play and jobs they pull but in the way they twist their image, they way they recruit, build their crew. Just being more won’t do it, added thugs for the sake of numbers; it would take an astonishing amount to really match the size of some of their rivals and the Lads don’t exactly play nice with strangers. No, they have to be strategic, have to select a few choice additions who can help them rise, and after much discussion they settle on three names they’d like to pull in; Ramsey, Patillo and the Vagabond. Lofty goals to be sure, but then, delusions of grandeur or not, the Fake’s have always considered themselves to be rather magnificent.

Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Vagabond; none of them will admit it (Ray will admit it, Ray doesn’t give a fuck) but the Lads all have hearts in their eyes every time the Vagabond slinks around, all follow every rumour, gossip over every job. Something between hero worship and healthy respect, without any of the fear normal self-respecting individuals feel, is the perfect cocktail to have the four of them plotting outlandish ways to pull in the mercenary. Patillo has an incredibly solid reputation for someone with no real ties, invariably thought to be smart, dependable, one of the best drivers in the country and definitely not a woman to be trifled with. That she and Ramsey seem to have some kind of relationship, worked together back in the day and while going their separate ways don’t appear to have had any kind of blow up, will hopefully work in the Lads favour. Last, but certainly not least, there’s Geoff Ramsey; the rouge Rooster who’s been traversing the country, constantly on the move and pulling all kinds of jobs from hilariously wacky to darkly perverse. Maybe the Lads are looking a bit outside their paid grade but with Ramsey reportedly looking to build his own crew they can’t not try, not after realising that their crew is unfortunately in need of a proper leader.

Because none of the Lads are leaders, not really, especially not back then. They aren’t incapable, are clearly wildly talented and loyal enough to one another to defer a certain kind of leadership to whomever has the best idea or the most experience with whatever task they’re facing, but no one individual is capable of being the permanent boss. No one individual actually wants that role, not really, they’re all too young, too impulsive, too eager to abandon necessary goals at the drop of a hat.  

Ray, who has arguably the least interest in being the boss of all, is less leader than lone wolf; when he’s taking point a lot of his orders tend to involve stealth, hanging back while he picks off targets, only charging in when long-distance is no longer an option. Necessary for particular jobs, and it’s certainly not an easy task keeping the other three in line until it’s their turn to burst into action, but it’s not a method that works for every task.

Michael makes a magnificent leader, fierce and fearless and unwaveringly loyal, protective of his crew until the bitter end. He is, unfortunately, utterly devoid of tact, of the patience to put up with any kind of shenanigans from anyone he doesn’t personally like, the ability to create and maintain necessary relations with anyone outside his crew. Michael himself knows he makes a far better Lieutenant, busy with duties he actually cares about, walking the line between following orders with absolute obedience and unapologetically calling out anything he disagrees with, reliable and relentless in equal measure.

Jeremy is meticulous, when he’s in charge he plots and plans and double checks, the very image of the perfect boss except for one flaw; more often than not he’s easily swayed. Will put together the perfect stealth plan only to agree when Michael makes a convincing argument for the importance of rocket launchers, conduct an ideal heist until Gavin begs to go after something shiny or Ray inquires about abandoning the sensible get away car for hilarious motorised scooters.

When Gavin is on his game he is fucking glorious, a flashbang of reckless laughter and terrible ideas none of them can resist, the promise that come hell or hand-grenades they will all be going home with a story. When Gavin plays leader he needs a lot of faith, needs the others to trust in things that don’t seem remotely feasible, but the payoff is always worth it. Except for the days when his words are too sharp, his eyes too cold, when he wants nothing more than to pick a fight with the most dangerous crook in the room, to swagger around the LSPD’s station unmasked, jump from a plane without checking his parachute; dancing with death just to see if he can. If they’re not careful on those days, if they missed the clues, the rest of the Lads would follow him down, unable discern between Gavin’s usual absurd genius and those streaks of genuinely aimless apathy until they’re all careening towards destruction.

So, as grating as it seems, there is an undeniable argument for a permanent leader, someone to keep them all on course, to take the responsibilities they don’t want, someone who can captain their ship without trying to push them all overboard. Still, you can’t just walk up to one of these infamous criminals and hand them an invitation; selling yourself – your dream, your crew, your city – takes time, takes planning, so in the end the FAHC’s first recruitment isn’t even one of those big three.

It’s pure luck when Michael meets Lindsay; finds her twirling a nail-studded bat in the wreckage of a bar, sipping a cocktail like she hadn’t just caved a man’s head in, and really nothing on earth could have stopped Michael from offering her a place in the crew. From talking them up in a way he’d never really bother with normally, because honestly how could he not. It doesn’t take much to get the other three onboard, Lindsay was a perfect fit, a seamless addition, and with her the FAHC is unquestionably more efficient.

Strangely the Vagabond is actually far easier to get on board than any had anticipated. After they start actively seeking his attention Ryan can’t help but watch the Lads. Not because their jobs are impressive (they are, actually, but Ryan’s in high demand, so very many crews out there are impressive enough) but because they are endearing eager; nothing like the pathetic begging of so many others, no attempt to convince Ryan he should be desperate to work with them, just genuine enthusiasm to prove themselves worthy of his time. They’re funny, something akin to a pack of reckless puppies; certainly capable of outrageous damage but equally likely to trip over their own oversized paws in their excitement, and in this business Ryan really shouldn’t find it as charming as he does. They take to leaving him all kinds of gifts; generally intriguing , often amusing and near always utterly gruesome, and after a month or so of hanging around the city toying with them they manage to get a former Rooster onside to run the show and Ryan’s run out of reasons to say no.

Gavin’s the one they sent after Geoff, when the Lads decide they’re ready to try to bring the notoriously creative, fortuitously crew-seeking man into the FAHC. Gavin’s first approach, full of deferential respect playing to Ramsey’s ego, is a complete bust; Geoff thought he was sweet, called him kid, laughed in his face and sent him out the door with a crack about coming back when he was old enough to drive. The second approach involves pulling a full blown job on Ramsey, one that starts with the man unknowingly buying Gavin a supercar and ends with the priceless tailored suit he’s wearing being pinned to the wall with a nail gun, Gavin grinning away like a particularly bloodthirsty shark, and all of a sudden Geoff can’t say he isn’t tempted. Deigns to finally listen to the recruitment spiel, as though he’s got any other choice right now, and despite himself is quickly sold on the whole crew.

Jeremy goes out one day and comes back with a handful of people, some they’d been discussing as a group, some the others hadn’t heard of, but all perfectly capable of holding their own agains the Lad’s disgruntled dissent. Steffie, who takes a look at their set up, rolls her eyes, then pulls out her phone and starts making a list, talking dealers and bases and possible new hires. Trevor who immediately sets to soothing ruffled feathers, sidling up to Gavin and gushing about some ridiculous theft, questioning Michael about his preference in heavy weaponry, ignoring the way Ray is skulking around behind him. Matt they’d all agreed on, welcoming the chance to push off all computering nonsense onto someone else, and Mica assures them all that she’s got no interest in sticking around, will work contracts as requested but isn’t about the stationary crew life. In the end no blood is spilt, no tempers flare too badly, and Jeremy is reasonably sure he isn’t going to wake up with a gun to his temple, so all in all it goes pretty well.

The last missing piece, Jack, is actually tracked down by Ray in the end; he wanders off one day and comes back with a very amused woman in tow, decked out in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and driving an obscenely nice Lamborghini. Apparently after finding her, not particularly difficult considering she wasn’t trying to hide, Ray simply told Jack all about Geoff’s fumbling attempts to simultaneously familiarise himself with the mess that is Los Santos, integrate himself into, and begin to take control of, an already close-knit, functioning crew, and do it all while pretending he’s not at all rattled by the Lad’s unwavering fascination with the horrifically notorious assassin who insists on sticking a straw through his mask to pound down a truly irresponsible number of diet cokes. It took a while for her utterly joyous, completely uncontrollable laughter to die down, but when she finally calmed Jack immediately started packing.

The Crooked House of Windsor has been a tea room for the past 30 years. Until 1592, on market days, local farmers met at the town’s original market cross, where Queen Victoria’s statue is currently located. In 1592, when Queen Elizabeth I was still on the throne, Market Cross House (traditional name), was built. Over the centuries the building has housed many types of businesses and a secret passage to Windsor Castle is now blocked. It’s famous tilt is due to the use of unseasoned green oak.


I’ve seen this movie 3 times now, and every time my hopeless romanticism is reaffirmed. Lumiere has a promise to keep to Plumette, and I’ll leave it at that.

Tagging some folks who may want to see it: @batbobsession @rootbeergoddess


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By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream.
—  Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

a Seven Minutes In Heaven drabble based off this fanart drawn for @nammjoons because I couldn’t resist. I thought about that drawing all day at work and just had to write something lolol.

Zayn glares at Niall as he toes the slowing bottle, just enough that it lands pointing to the man beside him and directly across from Zayn. His jaw tenses, his face a mask of irritation towards because of his best mate though his heart leaps up into his throat.

“S'you Leemo,” Niall cackles, clapping Liam on the shoulder. The other lad is hunched over some, fingers agitated against his knees as he nods awkwardly, eyes everywhere but Zayn. His face is the darkest shade of red, a beautiful shade that Zayn has tried to perfect countless amount of times while painting and has never been able to.

“Alright, come on then, ” Zayn murmurs, swallowing down the other things not so nice things he wants to say to Niall as he stands up to walk coolly over to the waiting closet door. He knows his best mate did it on purpose, not just because of the shit eating grin on his face but because Niall is constantly trying to set it up so Zayn has to tell Liam how he feels.

Head over heels maybe, a bit in love, but Zayn will deny it every chance he gets. He isn’t pining over the fit footie lad like Niall suggests, okay?

He is just fit. Strong in every way possible, from his jaw to his abdomen, that Zayn has glimpsed - has been tortured over, really, a few times during his games. The bulge of muscles rippling down his arms, which are revealed by the loose tank top he currently wears, the emblem of their frat stitched to his chest. 

And his back, oh god his back -

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An alternative reason why Izuru wasn’t in Kibougamine Academy at the start of dr1 based on a small conversation with shoyslayer. Izuru made Matsuda think on his relationship with Junko and how messed up it was, thus unintentionally saving his own skin (and perhaps dooming Matsuda, but…). It’s a plausible reason why Matsuda appeared before Ryoko/Junko pretending to be Izuru as a method to test her love for him.

To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if the school planned to euthanize him after receiving all of the info they could on who was behind the Incident. They were praying Murasame wouldn’t wake from his coma so they wouldn’t have any liability issues because he was a witness/victim, and considering Hinata sold his life to them in order to be operated on…there is plenty of room for crooked work behind the scenes.

Man, I think Matsuda and Izuru would have fairly good chemistry had they interacted (as in friendship and not romantically). Both are wickedly smart, sarcastic (at least on Matsuda’s part), and know what it’s like to be a certain someone’s pawn.


jackfrostjensen’s 25 Days of Destiel Christmas: Day 1 (which is a few days late oops)

Read the others here (x)

Sam’s plan was foolproof.

His brother Dean was coming home for Christmas with his best friend, and college roommate, Cas.

Cas had stayed with the Winchesters over the summer because he wasn’t close to his own family. Sam didn’t know why and whenever he asked Dean he was met with an awkward silence and Dean changing the subject.

The entire summer had Sam rolling his eyes every time Dean and Cas so much as looked at each other. They had each clearly fallen for the other while living together and neither of them had noticed. It was both sweet and irritating.

So, as soon as Dean told him that Cas would be joining them for Christmas, Sam began to formulate a plan to get the two ‘lovebirds’ to realise and admit their feelings for one another. 

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Preference #23 First Time He Sees You On Your Wedding Day [Requested]

Scott: Despite directional instruction, Scott had wandered down the wrong corridor in search of the restroom and he’d never felt more fortunate to have made such a trivial mistake. The werewolf’s hand tautens on the brass doorknob, warm tears blurring his vision as the oxygen dispersed from his lungs in an awestricken gasp. An ethereal glow emanated from the fallen angel standing before the colossal oval mirror wedged in the furthest crook of the room. The strapless ivory mermaid dress hugging the curves of his beloved in a discreet sense of beauty, emitting an aura of grace and royal sophistication. “You’re beautiful.” His voice felt rough in contrast to the fragile and timeless elegance of the moment.

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Heels & Lingerie [3]

Ultimate Masterlist

BTS Masterlist

Part- One Two Three Four Five

Originally posted by kthmyg

Finally the day had finished for him and he could go upstairs to lie down and sleep completely forgetting about the love of his life was currently relaxing from the many rounds she had put up with just for him. Quietly he entered his room still seeing her asleep tightly wrapped in his blankets on his bed just as it should be if she was his as well. He got out of his clothes and placed the picture into one of the draws before lying down next to her and pulling her into his arms smiling as he inhaled her natural scent.

Yet his sleep was not peaceful as the picture burnt constantly in the back of his mind.

Yoongi groaned as he opened his eyes for the hundredth time that night, carefully glancing at the clock before stretching his arms and getting ready to start the day well that was until he felt a gentle tug at his arm. A gentle smile fell onto his lips as he laid back down with her crawling closer to him, laying her head against his chest with contentment. Again he closed his eyes and relaxed into her only for a while though as he needed to get up. Slowly but surely he sneaked out from your grasp and got changed into his normal clothes sliding the picture back into his pocket. “Yoongi” she mumbled sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Go back to sleep Luck, you need the rest” Yoongi replies not daring to turn around to witness her sleepy figure otherwise he would give in. “Call me Neasa, Neasa Murphy” Neasa mumbles still rubbing her eyes to get rid of the sleep that remained in them. “Neasa” Yoongi repeated smiling at how well her name fitted her. “Neasa I’ll go get us breakfast then I have something to show you” Yoongi states before leaving the room and quickly looking into her room to see it newly decorated, he smiled as he saw everything on display just like he asked it to be. Carefully Yoongi took the picture that was in his pocket and stared at it once more he heart again began to twist as he saw the women he loved cuddling a little girl who looked just like her. “They could just be sisters” He mumbled to himself before putting the picture back in his pocket before leaving to collect the breakfast she was probably dying to taste.

The silence surrounded her as she observed the coldness and plainness of his room, he didn’t normally sleep her. He has a fancy apartment somewhere she just guessed that he stayed here only when he had too. The room was pure black woven into every inch and crook of the room. Everything looking just as bland as everything else. Fake just like everything in this dreaded building. Nothing showed of personality or like people actually lived her instead of worked here. Yet it was her day off and she was still here, she could go home, go anywhere but she chose to stay. Maybe it was because she was probably to sore or because he was her reason to stay. Everything about him was perfect yet she didn’t even know his real name. “Suga” she repeated in her head trying to see anything that would link him to his true identity but he isn’t stupid, why have a fake name if you can trace his real one.

Neasa waited and waited for Yoongi to comeback but it felt like forever and the longer she waited the more impatient she became and soon began to loose faith that he was actually going to return or whether him ‘checking on something’ was just a cover story and he would arrive once she went. Of course she didn’t want to believe that but then again this was a manager and owner of a strip club so can you really trust him? Her betraying thoughts were cut short as he entered with a tray full of food all for her and guilt washed over her tired face with a small smile as he approached her placing to tray next to her.

Carefully Yoongi sat back down next to her and helped her sit up trying to be as gentle as possible with his rough hands and undeniable strength. His eyes closed in peace as he leaned against the headboard of the bed as she tucked into the food he had brought up. He sighed as he took the picture out of his pocket and mumbled a “You never said you had a kid?” Yoongi asks just placing the photo in front of her just so they both could see. As soon as the words left his mouth she started chocking on her food looking up at him with wide eyes. Once she had swallowed she looked down at the photo at loss for words. “I mean you didn’t really have to tell me and I’m sorry for snooping but I had a surprise for you and I needed to know what you liked.” Yoongi states casually as if he wasn’t nearly as scared as he was right now. He was terrified of loosing her, he was scared she’d hate him and think of him as some creep who looked through her stuff.

“Well, I had her when I was 17 and it was all one big mistake but I love her either way. She currently lives with my mum and I am only working here to support her” She explains taking another bite of her food and looked surprised expression which covered his face. He had so many questions, questions which he didn’t know how to ask afraid whether they will offend her. “What’s her name? She looks so much like you” Yoongi asks a small smile forming on his lips knowing that she is single due to her daughter not living with the father. “Cara, after my nan and anyways, what’s your proper name?” she asks sending a cheeky wink his way.

“Min Yoongi” He replies a smile and a tint of blush forms on his cheeks.

-Admin Kira

Hello, Nurse

im terrible what did you expect this title to be?

some jeremavin sin because Michael is a shit and keeps wearing very wild things at lpl and i just have to do something about that


Michael would have loved to blame this on alcohol. Would have loved it. But he was sober when he bought the costume, (mostly) sober when he put it on, and still pretty in his right mind when he made his way back to his room to touch up.

And he’s not going to blame himself for shooting off texts to Jeremy and Gavin, asking them to come to his room. He’s gonna find something else to blame. Maybe it’s the outfit? Fuck it, he doesn’t know, sure. He’ll blame the outfit. Maybe the headband’s a little tight. Maybe he got the wrong size shoe. Whatever. He’s certainly not blaming his shitty judgment and putting the responsibility on himself.

God, these fucking heels hurt.

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