#sorry Ryan for calling you middle aged

[casperghosty]

Great horny minds think alike

x x

[sunlightmurdock]

My Future In You | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, angst, drama etc etc, enemies to lovers if you wanna call it that, no major warnings in this chapter

…

“No, I dated someone with that name.” Bradley decides, shaking his head as he sips on his Diet Coke. You narrow your eyes at him.

“If we’re going to rule out names because of your love life, our kid is going to end up with a name from the seventeenth century.” You complain, grabbing some fries as you look over the girl’s side of your list.

Bradley chuckles softly, amused by your comment. He squeezes your ankle.

“Fine. Let’s talk boy names first because I have one that I really would like.” He tells you, stroking his thumb tenderly along your calf. You’re both sitting on your bed, you by the headboard and him with his back to the wall, your feet in his lap.

“Okay.” You nod your head at him.

“Nick.” He decides.

You scoff as you grab your drink and sip from the straw, “Sure, if I’m giving birth to a middle aged man with credit card debt and a wife he hates.

Bradley stares at you.

“I mean — that’s an old man name. Baby Nick? — It sounds like he’s balding already.” You reason with him. Bradley’s lips quirk, amused by you trashing the name so much. He knows something you don’t. You stare at him, trying to figure out why he’s looking at you like that.

It hits you.

“Oh shit, is that your dead dad’s name?” You gasp.

Bradley shakes his head and strikes a line through the name, “The world has been without a Nick Bradshaw for like eighteen years, I guess it can go a little more.”

“I’m sorry.” You wince.

Bradley shrugs, lifting his napkin to wipe his hands, “Let me hear your names.”

The two of you go back and forth, sharing names and insulting each of them in turn. You throw yourself back against the pillows, draping an arm over your face, groaning in frustration.

“Our kid isn’t going to have a name, they’re going to be baby Seresin for their entire life because we can’t agree on anything!” You growl.

“Baby Bradshaw.” Bradley corrects you, sipping from his straw, still looking down at his own list. A pillow hits the side of his head, almost making him drop his sprite. He turns his head and raises his eyebrow at you.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, honey.” He comments, throwing the pillow back, his lips quirking as it hits you in the face. You bolt upright and glare at him.

“Pregnant or not, I’ll kick your ass.”

Bradley’s lips tilt upwards into a grin. He sets his drink down and shrugs his shoulders, “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been attacked by a Seresin.”

He’s such a cocky asshole when he wants to be. You set your list down and push up onto your knees, shoving at his chest.

Bradley smiles. He lifts his chin, smirking at you defiantly. There’s a split second where he thinks that you might just take the leap, lean forwards and kiss him.

“Hey…”

Both of you jump apart and turn together. Ryan’s standing in the doorway, one strap from his backpack on his shoulder. He looks between you and Bradley. Both on your bed, notepads pushed to the side. You’re on your knees, your hand is on his shoulder.

A muscle in Ryan’s jaw ticks.

“Am I interrupting?” He says quietly. He’s a pretty patient guy, and he really likes you - he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. But, at some point, he passed the need to jump and has now arrived to the conclusion all by himself.

“No!” You leap up from the bed. Bradley has the sense to grab both notebooks and pull them onto his lap, then close them both.

“Ryan, how’s it going, man?” Bradley starts to push himself up from the bed. You turn quickly and glare at him. He closes his mouth and remains on the edge of your bed.

He sits silently and thinks about how he should have kissed you and taught your boyfriend to take a hint and back off.

“What’s going on, baby?” Ryan’s voice is soft, tender. Bradley stills, realising he wouldn’t have reacted that way. Bradley’s eyes fall down to look at the sweater covering your developing stomach. He looks back up at the Ryan’s softened expressions.

He just came over to find his girl sitting in bed with another guy, and he’s still giving her the benefit of the doubt.

That’s probably the kind of guy that would be a good influence around a baby.

It might not have been Bradley’s first instinct, but Bradley can be like that too. He’s certain of it.

“Bradley needed tutoring, the idiot failed Public Relations twice now.” You tell Ryan. He looks at Bradley. Bradley smiles stiffly and nods his head — the idiot comment is something to address later.

“You’re… tutoring him?” Ryan looks between the two of you, unbelieving. You nod your head quickly.

Solely in the interest of proving that he isn’t an idiot, Bradley flicks back a couple of pages in his notebook and holds up the notes for Ryan to see. They’re from when Bradley was tutoring someone a while ago, but the different pen colours and comments sell the story.

“Oh.” Ryan nods softly as he looks over the page. His gaze flickers back to you. You smile sheepishly at him.

Bradley stands up finally, “Well, I should go. Thanks for the help. I’ll see you on tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” Ryan asks, looking at Bradley instead of you.

“Oh, it’s Jake’s birthday — they’re having a thing over at their place.” You explain, watching Bradley step past Ryan and out into the hall.

“You didn’t mention.” Ryan comments. Bradley cocks an eyebrow at you. Kind of odd that you didn’t invite your boyfriend, in his mind.

“Well, you’re invited, obviously. It’ll be fun.” You force yourself to smile at him.

“Guess I’ll see you both there.” Bradley smiles.

The hour drive home gives him time to think. He knows you and Ryan are probably arguing right now, and that it’s somewhat his fault. It’s not his fault that you refuse to tell your boyfriend.

Bradley had a realisation the other day. Ryan has been spending most of his time at your place. Almost every day from what he hears. Sure, there’s a chance that this is because of how much you guys like each other. Bradley thinks otherwise. Your parents still aren’t talking to Jake, which means they absolutely aren’t speaking to you. Bradley hasn’t seen you shed a tear about it since before New Years’.

Ryan’s a distraction.

By the time Bradley’s home, he has a couple of texts waiting to open. Most notably, one from Kenzie - last Bradley heard, she had a boyfriend. Clearly not anymore because twenty minutes later, he’s letting her in and she’s leading the way to his room. She remembers where it is.

Bradley can’t pretend that he hasn’t missed her. Kenzie’s a great friend. But, she and Bradley hook up regularly when they aren’t seeing other people, so she tends to disappear each time she gets a boyfriend.

And each time they reunite, it’s just as good. Bradley groans softly as he runs his fingers through his hair, trying to catch his breath. Kenzie pulls open the top drawer to his nightstand and grabs the box of tissues. She wipes her chest off and moves to put the box back.

She frowns slightly.

“Um… Bradley,”

Bradley lets out a heavy breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead, lifting his gaze to look at the girl beside him in his bed.

“What’s this?”

He knows exactly what she’s talking about the moment that she asks the question. He sits upright quickly and glances down, like he doesn’t know.

Truthfully, he had forgotten that it was in there. The spare sonogram photo that he was meant to pass on to Jake. His is safely hidden behind his driver’s license in his wallet.

“I have no idea.” Bradley decides that’s the best answer to go with.

Kenzie turns to look at him and raises her eyebrows in disbelief. He glances down at her bare chest in a moment of weakness and immediately realises that he has just made the incorrect choice twice in a row.

“Oh my god! — What is the matter with you?” She shrieks, leaping up from the bed and grabbing her underwear from the floor.

Bradley takes a moment before he answers this question.

“It’s not what it looks like,” He tells her, shifting to the edge of the bed and standing up. He grabs his boxers and pulls them up his legs as she searches for her jeans.

“It looks like you got someone pregnant!” She bites back.

“Okay, well… I did, but-“

“Oh my god!” She shrieks again. Bradley winces at the sound. She throws her jeans at him, he narrowly dodges and frowns at her.

“I am not a homewrecker, Bradley! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this! — I could kill you right now!”

“I’m not dating her! She has a boyfriend! — I barely know her, she’s just Jake’s little sister.” Bradley realises how bad that sounds as he’s saying it, but he commits to the sentence anyway.

“You got Jake’s little sister pregnant and he let you live?”

She’s a cheerleader, she knows about the team and its intricacies. She’s also a lot smarter than people give her credit for, and she knows Bradley well. She knows that he and Jake barely get along at the best of times.

Truthfully, he might make every bad decision he can, but Kenzie loves Bradley. She gets him. She has sat with him in the library more times than she should have. She’s hurt that this is the first she’s hearing about this.

“Just about.” Bradley chuckles in agreement. He lifts her jeans and extends them towards her as somewhat of a peace offering.

She shakes her head and snatches them out of his hands. Bradley scratches the back of his neck sheepishly as she steps into them, knowing that he’s in trouble. Kenzie zips and buttons her pants, then folds her arms over her chest.

“She’s keeping the baby?” She asks curiously.

“Uh-huh. Due at the beginning of August.” Bradley nods his head.

Kenzie stares at him seriously, then raises an eyebrow, “And… you’re going to be involved?”

“Yeah.” Bradley mumbles.

Kenzie steps forwards and wraps her arms around his waist. He hugs her uncertainly. She pulls back and looks up, then presses her index finger into his chest, her face stern.

“You need to get your shit together.” She tells him seriously.

Bradley frowns slightly.

“I mean it, Bradshaw - if you screw up this kid then I’ll personally hunt you down.”

His face softens as he understands what she’s talking about. He leans his head back and sighs, she steps away from him and pulls one of his t-shirts over her head.

“Her new boyfriend has his shit together,” Bradley mutters, reaching for his shorts and stepping into them. His head hangs low, he’s not meeting her gaze. “He’s a photographer, musician - he’s got a job lined up after graduation, here in the city with her. I’m going to be halfway across the country. Even if I was here… I’m starting to think he’d be a better dad than I would.”

“He probably would be.” Kenzie agrees. Bradley lifts his head and frowns at her. It’s harsh, but it’s what he needs to hear. “Well, I assume he would be. Because he’s with her, and you’re still being a little boy, screwing around.”

His lips part. He scrunches his brows together, hurt, “What am I supposed to do? - I can’t come between them, she would hate me.”

Kenzie sighs.

“I’m not telling you to come between them, idiot - because you’re right, she would hate you,” Kenzie explains herself. Bradley shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “But, she might start to trust you a little more if you grow up and stop hooking up with random girls.”

“You’re not rando-“

“Just prove to her that you can give her some stability. I’ve been saying this for months - you’re holding yourself back. Pull your head out of your ass, grow up.” She says sternly.

Bradley nods uncertainly.

“Okay. Now, don’t you dare text me unless it’s an invitation to the baby shower.”

His lips quirk slightly, he gives her a small nod. Kenzie pushes up onto her tiptoes and kisses her cheek, then leaves him.

Bradley spends all night thinking about what she said. He didn’t want to grow up. He wanted to be selfish. He spent twenty years trying to hold it together and be as good as he could for his mom, he didn’t go to the academy - he went to college, he cared for her when she was sick. Without complaint, and he would happily do it again. That’s why he never felt guilty for his behaviour recently.

He had begun to realise that it’s easy to be selfish.

After everything he had been through, Bradley figured he deserved the easy route.

But then he found out about the pregnancy, and he agreed to step up. It’s just that now, he’s starting to realise what that means.

He leans against the kitchen counter as Jake greets his guests. You arrive with Ryan and it’s clear that something’s wrong. Bradley’s brows furrow, your cheeks are flushed and slightly blotchy - you’ve been crying. You split off from Ryan and corner Jake as soon as you arrive.

Bradley watches. Jake doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grins at you, hugs you, the two of you talk happily for a few minutes. Then, Jake takes the gift bag from you and you turn off towards the downstairs bathroom. He leaves his drink on the counter and follows after you.

“Slow down, hey - hey,” He calls to you. You groan and lean your head back, resting a hand against your abdomen as you slow down and turn to look at him. Bradley’s eyes fall down to your hand placement, then widen. He reaches out for you, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine! I just need to pee, really bad.” You shift impatiently on your feet, wondering how you’re going to take almost five more months of this.

“Is something up with you and Ryan? - You look upset.” Bradley says softly, stepping closer to you. You sigh.

“He thinks I’m lying to him, and I am, and I just feel like a fucking awful person. I need to tell him and I can’t do it. Okay? - Can I pee now?” You groan out, turning away from him before he gets a chance to answer. You lock the bathroom door behind you.

Bradley glances back over his shoulder, finding your boyfriend making himself a drink in the kitchen. He looks back at the bathroom door, and then makes his decision. All of this stress isn’t good for his baby. He’ll do the hard part for you.

He turns and walks into the kitchen, certain in his decision.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Bradley asks softly.

Ryan rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his drink, “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

As far as he’s concerned, your older brother’s friend has a crush on you and is trying to ruin what you have with him. Ryan doesn’t like Bradley and he isn’t going to pretend that he does.

Bradley narrows his eyes. He doesn’t like your boyfriend’s tone. Nor does he like the look in his eye as he glares at him.

There goes the plan to do this nicely. Bradley changes his mind on how he’s going to deliver this news.

“I was thinking that you and I should probably get to know each other a little bit better,” Bradley explains, leaning his hands against the counter. “Since we’ll probably be spending a lot of time together.”

Ryan scoffs quietly.

“How do you figure that?” He asks. He does not plan on spending any more time than absolutely necessary with Bradley Bradshaw. He’s just here because you asked him to be.

Bradley keeps his gaze on the party.

“Oh, you know — because of the baby.” He explains calmly, clearly. There’s no room for misinterpretation. Bradley makes sure that Ryan hears what he says.

Ryan stills. He pulls back and turns his head towards Bradley, brows scrunching together, in confusion and annoyance. He wants to smack that smug look off of Bradley’s face more than anything and he really isn’t a violent guy.

“What? — What baby?”

Bradley shrugs his shoulders and turns his head, stoic and far too confident for his own good, “Mine and your girlfriend’s.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Ryan stands up straighter and squares his shoulders. Even like that, Bradley’s still a head taller than him. Bradley’s ego soars as he stands upright and squares his shoulders in the same way, towering over Ryan.

“Oh no, she didn’t tell you?” Bradley says gently, lips quirking upward into a smirk. Ryan’s brows scrunch together. Bradley shrugs his broad shoulders, “She’s starting to show, man — I dunno how you haven’t noticed.”

Bradley says the last part lowly, stepping slightly closer to Ryan. He gets the reaction he wants, Ryan shoves hard at his chest. Bradley smiles at him, silently daring Ryan to make one wrong move here.

Jake, in the middle of a conversation, does a double take. His eyes widen slightly as he finds Bradley and Ryan in the kitchen, glaring at each other, their shoulders squared and their chests pressed together.

“Fuck, hold this.” Jake shoves his drink into someone else’s hands and rushes for the kitchen.

“You’re lying.” Ryan shakes his head, frowning. Bradley pulls his wallet from his front pocket and opens it. Ryan’s eyes land on the sonogram picture, his lips parting slightly. His heart sinks. His gaze flickers back up to Bradley’s. He sets his drink down on the counter and turns.

“Ryan, wait.” Jake sighs.

“Fuck this.” Ryan’s voice cracks slightly as he waves Jake off and heads for the door. Jake turns to Bradley and narrows his eyes at him seriously.

“We had a deal.” Jake whispers angrily.

Bradley shrugs his shoulders and sips at his beer, “He needed to know.”

…

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[frecklystars]

I never really thought about sexuality much even when the people around me started showing interest in relationships. So at first I thought I was bisexual, because I had the same amount of interest in men/women. Then I realized that gender wasn't really an important factor to me in attraction, so I called myself pansexual. Then I realized most of the people I'd ever felt attraction towards were fictional, so these days I mostly just use aspec/queer to identify myself.

All of these labels (to me) are just a tool for helping you understand yourself a little better, and you don't need to force yourself to use one you don't feel fits anymore.

I remember seeing a post on tumblr ages ago talking about identity that was like 'show me a permanent state of self' because you're constantly changing as a person as you learn.

Anyways, sorry for the rambling, just wanted to let you know you're not alone, sorry about the sexuality crisis, hope your day gets better

AWW thank you for taking the time to send this to me sweetheart. "sorry about the sexuality crisis" made me burst out laughing; I know you didn't mean it to be funny, you are being kind, but that's just funny to me that multiple people have sent me messages in my inbox/dms saying "so sorry you think you're a lesbian and it's making you spiral and cry in the middle of the night" like I just never expected people to send me a message like that haha. thank you, genuinely thank you for saying that though, because HOO i am STRUGGLING here bro... but it's ok i'll figure it out eventually <3

I have heard that's very much an aro/aspec feeling, to say "well I don't feel much preference for any gender, so maybe I'm bi/pan". I watched a video on being aro/ace and I related to some of it but not all of it entirely, so I know I'm... I'm ace, for sure. and I think I'm aro somewhat? Women™ are a big big big piece of the puzzle and the only reason why I don't feel fully aro is bc my attraction for them is There but at the same time I don't know if I feel it... as... much(?) as I am "supposed" to. or maybe my lack of physical affection/lack of feeling totally safe in a relationship is just bc of actual life experience and not like, who I am as a person? question mark???

I also think the realization that maybe I am not changing from bi into possibly lesbian, but I might not have been bi this entire time has hit me like a ton of bricks and is what's hurting me so bad. I was so confident I was bi for yeeeears, because I assumed I'd felt attraction to men, even if it was short and fleeting and practically nonexistent, but all this time I don't think I have felt attraction to men, not truly. but again -- does bisexuality have to include men? if I'm a cis woman I mean, would my bisexuality HAVE to include men or can it just be "I am attracted to literally anybody Except Men." and like, hey, maybe I haven't met enough men?? most of my experiences with men have been kind of um. uncomfortable and creepy. maybe I would feel attracted to a man in the future?? I used to joke with my other bi friends "oh my standards for men are SO HIGH, they have to meet a whole checklist of requirements for me to feel attraction to them, but for a woman all she has to do is exist and I'm in LOVE with her" and like... that could be.. a lesbian feeling sdfhldhfskldf or I'm just bi with 99.9999% attraction to women and 00.0001% attraction to other people, which might include men but like, only two unobtainable men who are celebrities (Ryan Gosling and Nick Blaemire) which don't count because they are... unobtainable celebrities. MAN WHO KNOWS!!!!! I DON'T KNOWS. is it still valid attraction to men if it's an unobtainable celebrity? It's still a real life man, right? Even if you know nothing would ever come of it? Me feeling romantically attracted (or I guess crushing lol) on a male celebrity feels just as real and big and pure and whole as me feeling romantically attracted to an obtainable non-celebrity woman standing in front of me. AGAIN, WHO KNOWSSSSS

I like how you said labels are a tool and I don't need to force myself to have one that doesn't fit anymore. I just feel really like, panicked if I don't have a label, for some reason. Maybe "WLW" or "Sapphic" can be my placeholder. I like being bi but man I don't know if I was ever bi at all if I don't feel attracted to men unless if they're celebs/fictional?? It doesn't feel like I've gradually changed into something else, it feels like I've woken up from a dream-like state where I thought I was bi but it turns out I'm actually Not. unless if, like I said, I could be bi with just, the strongest attraction to women possible LMAO. it doesn't help that I'm ace because it makes it a little more confusing to figure out. soooo many people have told me "oh it depends on who you'd sleep with" but I don't want to sleep with anyone. y'know. never ever had that urge, no matter the gender. WHY IS IT SO CONFUSINGGGG BRO

anyway thank you for sending me a message and helping me feel heard/listened to. giving you hugs and flowers 💖💐🌼🌸🌻🌷✨🌹🌺🌈✨💖💝💟🌸💘✨

[hedwig123]

Back to the Counselors & Taylor Swift

Let's discuss exactly how much a Swiftie each of them is

(Just for the record, one of the first things I did after watching the game was make a TikTok about how unrealistic it is that the game takes place in the summer of 2021 and yet not a single one of them makes a joke about "not dying before hearing the 10 minute version of All Too Well" and I STAND BY THAT)

But anyway, I think the certified Swifties of the group would be Kaitlyn, Dylan, and Emma. Kaitlyn and Dylan based on vibes and Emma based on the fact we share a name and have almost nothing else in common, so she's a Swiftie because I say so.

Dylan's the longest serving Swiftie. I think he's pretty much always been a music boy, and when he first heard You Belong With Me at like age 8 he was going through his first kiddie crush on a boy in his class, and just went "This lady gets it. She has my undying devotion."

Kaitlyn's been one since 1989 (age 14) because she doesn't do country music. Even as a tween she was very firm on that stance. (She eventually made an exception for Taylor but it took like a year of obsession with 1989 for her to go "alright what else has she got")

Emma's actually a post-Reputation Swiftie. Like completely missed the drama of 2016 and just caught the LWYMMD music video at the VMAs when it premiered and went "OK slay?" and advanced from there. (She's sad to have missed the OG Red era but THRIVES in the Red TV era if she lives to see it)

None of the others would call themselves Swifties, but in order from closest to farthest from it:

Max is honestly pretty close to being a Swiftie. Like he had Ariana Grande playing in his car at the start of the game, he feels no shame whatsoever in listening to pop music. His favorite album is Lover, because duh.

Laura listens to Taylor almost as much as Max does, but he usually initiates it. She doesn't have a favorite album, but her favorite song is Blank Space.

Jacob doesn't listen much but he could name most of the singles. He's definitely made a TikTok to a Love Story remix.

Abi does not give Swiftie vibes at all, I'm sorry to say. Post-game Emma might convert her, though.

Ryan, my sweet boy. I love him so much and it is with a heavy heart that I say he does not listen to Taylor Swift. NOT in a toxic masculinity way, he just doesn't vibe with pop music. On the other hand... Sarah is a baby Swiftie. She's played music where he can hear it enough that he can actually name some songs and say his favorite is My Tears Ricochet. (Also he has a soft spot for Shake It Off after Dylan played it for the kids at camp a bunch of times) (Also also post-game Sarah does a midnight listen to Red TV and Ryan hears his middle school age sister sobbing across the hall to ATWTMVTVFTV and has to interrupt like "Who hurt you?? Should I be worried???") (Also also also when Midnights comes out and Sarah or Dylan plays it for him, Would've, Could've, Should've makes him cry and he doesn't know why)

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

What was the rick mayall comedy with ade that rheyre two old fucks living in an apartment together... ik thats so vauge but im trying to remember the name of it to watch it again 😭 i just re watched all of tyo and neeeddd to find it again lol

Also hope your doing well its been awhile since ive been on tumblr to see or ask about ur page but i think abt u occasionally and im like yeah i hope theyre doing well keeping the tyo fandom alive

Also is there no charictor limit on these asks now????

Hi! Sorry it's taken me a while to answer this.

It sounds like you're describing Bottom, the '90s sitcom where Rik and Ade played two broadly middle aged bastards at the bottom (get it?) of society, loafing about, being pervy, and causing chaos. It isn't quite as surreal as The Young Ones, but it does feature lots of slapstick violence - Richie and Eddie have at least one very creative physical fight per episode - and there are occasions where something extra mad will happen, like the ceiling caving in, underpants being filled with custard, and fire farts (to name a few examples). Christopher Ryan also appears in a few episodes as one of Eddie's mates, Dave Hedgehog.

One of the original inspirations for Bottom was Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, which Rik and Ade both loved and thought was funny. It was one of the things they bonded over at uni, and the two of them got to star in a run of it in the early '90s (again, with Christopher Ryan).

There were three series of Bottom from 1991-1995, totalling at 18 episodes. All episodes were available on Dailymotion the last time I checked - in fact, I have a post somewhere on this blog with links to them, though it may very well be outdated by now. If you have a mooch around online, you should be able to find them.

The reason I'm guessing you mean Bottom is because Richie Richard and Eddie Hitler live together in a (disgusting) flat in Hammersmith, and there are some episodes set entirely within this horrid hovel. However, Filthy, Rich and Catflap also sees Richie Rich and Eddie Catflap sharing a (not quite as disgusting) flat, but these characters were a bit younger - and, to be honest, Bottom is the more highly regarded of the two sitcoms, though I don't think FR&C is anywhere near as bad as some critics made out.

Rik and Ade made five live stage shows for Bottom (Bottom Live) between 1993-2003. In fact, the fifth Bottom Live was the last substantial work they did together. All five of these have been available on YouTube for some years, so I assume they still are. I personally just slightly prefer the sitcom (or maybe I'm just jealous I can't go and see Bottom Live 😂), and I think a general rule of thumb is the quality does decline a little across the five (apologies to my comedy gods, although I think Ade might agree with me), but they are all absolutely worth a watch. Rik and Ade break character in them from time to time, and they're allowed to say fuck.

They also made a Bottom film in 1999 called Guest House Paradiso, which features Simon Pegg. Rik and Ade play the same characters, but now they run an appalling hotel on the Isle of Wight and their surnames are different (which Ade acknowledged when I went to see him touring with his autobiography was inexplicable). The film is not for the weak of stomach, certainly not for anyone with emetophobia, and unfortunately it does suffer from the curse of most sitcom movies apart from Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa in that it doesn't quite translate. To be fair, they didn't have a massive budget, and it happened only a year after Rik's accident (they were both meant to direct it, but Ade took on full directing duties as a result of this). Still, it's not unfunny, and I think it's available on Dailymotion; if you like Bottom, you should give it a watch. I wonder what a Bottom film set in the original world of the sitcom would've been like...

I have an inking who you are, although I might be wrong. I hope you're well, anyway. 😂 I'm fine, just trundling along, coming up to my last semester as an undergrad. Tumblr may well have changed the character limit on asks, though I honestly couldn't say for sure.

Thanks for the ask!

[beardedmrbean]

Hey Huey zoomer, well magical negeroes was a flopped, but those poor black actors, they were pointing out the racist roles they were given throughout their careers. Especially justice smith

Wait

Oh he was in that recent dnd movie, which I heard will be a cult classic soon

Oh he was also in the Jurassic World sequel

Waaaaait, I seen him before

Like in a certain pop culture milestone that made him a household name

Oh right

HE WAS THE STAR OF DETECTIVE PIKACHU

(He also biracial as he played Ryan Reynolds son in it)

Sorry it just yes Hollywood put a lot black actors (and everyone else especially if they were from a poor backgrounds)

Also the white people in the trailer…while I’m estranged from them. My little sister still see our mostly white stepfamily as family. And the white people they bitch about seem upper middle class

…who probably are descendants of those social Darwinists weirdos. Not saying they are as racist, but yeah Hollywood and a lot of it structure was form during social Darwinism and Jim Crow America and yes many black people groups found success in Hollywood during those rough times.

And not to mention most civil rights activists was trying to let working class black people piss in the same bathroom as a white person much less being the heads of Hollywood

This trailer resonated me and a lot of other “marginalized groups” than magical negros did

https://youtu.be/i0MbLCpYJPA?si=JztSsnHBw827_-DU

Sorry like a critic said, this is stick of dynamite, did someone probe my brain with the pigeonholing white liberals did to black writers?

I see you American fiction crew members

I shall buy the 4k or blu ray when it out as a toast

But sorry for ranting…you know I started my creative trend after talking to an Indian woman about Rowling weird lore about American Wizarding society. Which eventually lead me to learning about the “Queen” of New York City Glided Age

Sorry probably it because I’m a midwestern and in general a lot of famous people from here are what Gilded Age Queen would call new money IE Micheal Jackson, Walt Disney, and Henry.

Perhaps another anon, hell I just realize something even both Disney channel cartoon and Sitcom pointed out how different a magical society in America would be due to our melting pot culture.

glad to hear it flopped at least, and the racist roles they've been given, this was one of them and it's not like they didn't accept them this isn't the 1930's where you're under contract with a studio and have to make what they tell you to make.

Don't know justice smith, but I'll take your word for all that.

who probably are descendants of those social Darwinists weirdos. And not to mention most civil rights activists was trying to let working class black people piss in the same bathroom as a white person much less being the heads of Hollywood

Upper middle class people be like that ya, you hit a certain point on the income tree and things like race, gender, and sexuality start to matter less and less as you shift towards how can I make more money off of all of these people.

Not a hard and fast rule, but it seems to happen a lot. Segment from a Trump interview in the late 90's I think it was talking about guys who like guys, he's just like 'I'm happy for them, not my thing but more power to ya'

Oh this is delightful also feels like something certain members of the black community would call racist, educated well spoken black man tends to get called all manner of awful things, hardcore leftists are some of the worst about it too.

But sorry for ranting…you know I started my creative trend after talking to an Indian woman about Rowling weird lore about American Wizarding society. Which eventually lead me to learning about the “Queen” of New York City Glided Age Sorry probably it because I’m a midwestern and in general a lot of famous people from here are what Gilded Age Queen would call new money IE Micheal Jackson, Walt Disney, and Henry.

Mrs. Astor had the money and the pedigree to do that, not that it's right to look down on people but as folks go that would have the ability to do that she's pretty high on the list.

Cathy Bates did a wonderful job as "The Unsinkable" Molly Brown in the Titanic movie, split the difference between old and new money, her still being uncouth and what not.

Not Duck Dynasty level, but they don't actually care if they fit in or not, also I imagine a bunch of that is an act.

Perhaps another anon, hell I just realize something even both Disney channel cartoon and Sitcom pointed out how different a magical society in America would be due to our melting pot culture.

That and guns, post on here about the American exchange wizard at Hogwarts that casts Glock-19 or something like that.

Also I'm gonna nominate the Bass Pro Shop pyramid as our school location.

[vvatchword]

What Things We Have Done

Fontaine jumped out of the bathysphere grinning. His opponents called it a bastard grin, a cocky smile he usually appropriated just before smashing a business off of the map. A couple of years ago, Ryan would have corrected them: “I find his boyish enthusiasm appealing.”

Fontaine just laughed. Let 'em talk. I’ll give them action.

Two big mooks strode on either side of him, smoking cigars, armed with pistols. Fontaine was smoking a cigar, too, an unnecessarily big one that stank terribly. As he strode into the center of the skyscraper that bore his name, he stopped in the middle and looked up. Office upon office. And below…

He laughed and blew a smoke ring.

He took the elevator. He made sure to stand in the center, with his two mooks standing on either side of him. They puffed away like a factory. The other occupants of the elevator leaned away, coughed politely into handkerchiefs, and rubbed their eyes; most of them got off on the following floor. When Fontaine finally left, the remaining occupants glared after him. He didn’t seem to notice. There was a spring in his step as he sauntered up to his office.

“Hello, Mr. Fontaine,” said the secretary. An old woman he’d dredged up from the Fisheries. He would have liked to fulfill his little fantasy of a cute button-nosed girl to be his secretary—someone to fuck in the downtime, on the sly—but loyalty and ability were worth a thousand fucks. So he stuck with Miss Phipps, a spinster who knew how to keep her mouth shut.

“Hey, Granny,” he said. “You got the mail already?”

“Yes, sir. I put it on your desk.” She said it all in that cold angry voice that said, I’d quit if I could, and then you’d be sorry.

He laughed and winked at her, then passed into his office. I pay you too much to quit, you old bitch, and you know it.

It was the ugliest office in the city. He’d made sure of it. Huge ceiling, big windows gazing down on the city, big fucking portraits of his family in luxury attire (which was half the joke, since they had been stuck in a tenement with four other families and his father only showed up on weekends to beg his mother for drinking money), towering bookcases full of books he never planned to read, and garish taxidermy: a moose head, a swordfish, a huge fucking polar bear. He liked the polar bear. He dressed him up for holidays.

The mooks spread out a little and began a cursory examination of the room, as was their wont. Not that anything would happen. Fontaine had enemies, but they were enemies who only knew how to fight with capital.

Paid to be careful, though, you were always careful, you always covered your tracks.

Fontaine stopped in front of his desk and tapped a few ashes into his crystal ashtray, then took the newspaper from the mail pile and shook it out.

RAID ON FONTAINE FISHERIES, said the headline. THIRTY SMUGGLERS APPREHENDED. Beneath, a big photograph of Captain Sullivan strong-arming a darkly tanned man into a bathysphere.

“Good luck getting them to talk, Captain,” he said, and threw the paper on the desk. He looked at the headline for a moment, then up at his walls. There, in several frames, were dozens of news articles he had carefully clipped out and pasted to cardboard. He fit them together like puzzle pieces.

FONTAINE OF FONTAINE FISHERIES: ENTREPRENEUR OF THE YEAR, said one headline, yellowed with age. Beneath, a large paragraph by Andrew Ryan. “Mr. Fontaine has transformed the fishing industry. He has invested in the services of engineers to develop submarines with increased hold capacity and longer fishing times, all while consuming less fuel. He has streamlined his factories, increased his catches, and discovered new ways of luring fish and other sea life into nets and traps to further reduce fuel consumption. In the process, he has lowered costs for consumers, and provided outlets for rising stars in the engineering field. There is no part of Rapture that he has not touched. If anyone embodies the Rapture ideal, it is Frank Fontaine.”

Another headline screamed, PLASMIDS MAKE A WAVE. Fontaine, younger and less stocky, stood in front of a glass window with a big grin and his hands on his hips. Behind him, a shoal of herring in a holding tank; beside him, a woman with frizzy hair, cut off by the edge of the photo. All he could see of her was her shoulder and right eye, which stared out at him sharply. Below, the caption: “The impossible is possible! Fontaine Futuristics rewrites genetic code of herring.” And below that, in the text, Andrew Ryan: “Fontaine is the future.”

Shit, Fontaine had liked that line so much he made it the tagline on his business cards.

Several frames down was the big angry headline, FONTAINE CONNECTED TO SMUGGLING INDUSTRY. Nothing from Andrew Ryan in that one. He had put that one into its own frame. He suspected that Ryan didn’t know what to do for a while, because most of the articles on the subject included the line, “Andrew Ryan unavailable for comment.”

One article showed Ryan Security infiltrating the wharfs down in the Bounty. There were the headlines about raids and the danger of smugglers and associating with dark-skinned strangers, and then something small about Ryan Security and the Wharfmaster teaming up to stop the smuggling problem. One article read: “Citizens have raised concerns about the autonomy of businesses. Should Ryan Security step into the private affairs of the Neptune’s Bounty wharfs? Andrew Ryan of Ryan Industries could not be reached for comment.”

Paragraphs of praise exchanged for two words. “No comment,” said Ryan of Ryan Industries. “No comment. No comment.”

Fontaine chuckled and looked down at his desk, and hesitated.

“Wait,” he said. “Why the fuck did I come up here again?”

He paused, then stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He gave it a cursory glance. The letter had come by special courier earlier that day. One word printed on it, from Dr. Tenenbaum: “Success.”

Chuckling, he turned and marched out of the door. His mooks tailed him.

“Did you find the mail?” said Miss Phipps. By the tone of her voice he could tell that she was saying, You didn’t notice it again, did you? The fact I organized it? I spent twenty minutes organizing it.

“Nope,” he said. “I’ll be back. Forgot that I was supposed to go the other direction.”

She grunted, and he left without looking back.

He took the elevator down to Floor 11 and stepped out. It was a single room with a single door, locked with the latest gizmo from Minerva’s Den. He set his hand on the screen, punched in the code, and then swiped his card. The machine beeped, and the door swung open.

“You guys, stay out here,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

He swaggered into the common room. Three big men in black lounged around it, smoking and carrying shotguns. The secretary there—who was a cute button-nosed thing with bobbed hair and big blue eyes, but too far away to take advantage of properly—waved him through.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fontaine,” she said.

He inclined his head. “Afternoon,” he said. “Dr. Tenenbaum in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He passed through the door into the testing facility.

Sterile, white, silver, clean. Lines of desks on either side, mystery liquids in various vials and flasks, big machines he couldn’t remember the names of that purred, the air heavy with the stink of chemicals. Scientists darted around him holding clipboards and boxes of God-knew-what.

“Hey!” Fontaine shouted. “Where’s Brigid?”

“I am over here,” said a woman frostily.

He glanced around the room. “You playin’ hide and seek today, sweetheart?”

Brigid raised her head. She had been staring into a microscope’s eyepiece so long that there was a pink circle around her eye. Her hair was frizzy—she must have gone home last night and washed it. That happened what? Once a week?

Fontaine swaggered between a few desks and slipped up beside her. She waited for him, staring at him impassively. She almost never smiled. She wore the same stained cardigan he had seen her in a few days before. There were three cups of coffee sitting beside her on her left, one untouched and cold. On her right were four overflowing ashtrays and the greasy wrapper from a sandwich. Most noticeable was her bared forearm. There was a number tattooed there.

He leaned close to her, dropped one hand onto the small of her back, and tapped the ashes of his cigar off on the floor.

“I got your message,” he said. “Success where? With what?”

“If you would to please get your hand off of my backside,” she said, “I will tell you.”

He raised his hand. The Kraut was so touchy. “Sorry, sorry. Just tryin’ to get friendly.”

“This is business, not party.” She stood tall and turned. “Come with me.”

She took him to a little door in the wall and swiped her keycard. When they stepped inside, the back of his neck prickled, and his smile fell a little. The room stank like a farm. God, he hated it. Reminded him of the tenement. When he was a kid, he had left every day just to escape the stench.

“Clean this fucking place, will ya?” he said.

“We cleaned it.” Tenenbaum turned to glare at him. “We clean it every day. Twice. We can not have subjects getting sick. Hard enough keeping them alive as it is.”

The room was packed with cages and pens. There were rats, mice, guinea pigs, cats, monkeys; pens of pigs, dogs, goats, miniature cattle. There were twenty hundred-gallon aquariums flush against the wall, where baleful black sea slugs covered with bulbous glowing pustules crawled. There were only two narrow corridors between the cages. Tenenbaum led him down the right-hand one.

By all rights, the room should have been noisy. Instead, it was notable for its silence.

The animals were pale and dangerously thin. They leaned against the walls of their cages, or lay on their sides panting. The ones with energy wandered in meaningless circles, jerking spasmodically, foaming at the mouth. Every eye glowed like a little light bulb, yellowish and sick.

“Any luck modifying the slugs?”

Tenenbaum snorted. “No. I grow them larger, they develop sickness, they die. I get them to make more ADAM, they develop two heads and extra organs, they die. I try to make it easy to harvest ADAM without killing slug, they die. I try to inspire reproduction in captivity and… ach, almost impossible. The larvae spend part of life cycle in upper water columns, they require such exact parameters…”

“I didn’t come here to hear you bellyache.” Fontaine stopped at a pen and leaned over the fence. “What was successful? Tell me that it’s the cow.”

The cow he was looking at labored to breathe; she leaned against the wall of the pen, her head hung, her legs shook. He had envisioned cows that he could milk ADAM from, like they milked Guernseys.

Tenenbaum shook her head. “It was too hard. Too many processes involved. The cows die after maturity and make only a little ADAM.”

“Then which of 'em worked?” Fontaine said. He looked at the rats.

“Why you look at those?” Tenenbaum said sharply. “They go mad and tear each other apart. Especially males. Males and ADAM production not good combination.”

“All right, now you’re just making me wait. You want apologies for me touching you? Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll never touch you again. Show me.”

“This way.” She gestured to the end of the room, where there was a cage with thick iron bars. She pointed at the corner, and he looked in. He didn’t speak for a moment.

“Are you shitting me?” he said.

“No.” Tenenbaum rapped the bars with her pen. “Mary. Get up, Mary.”

The huddled bundle on the mattress raised its head, blinking. It was a girl, dressed in a stained, wrinkled hospital gown, with tousled hair. There was brownish-red dribble on her chin. Her eyes glowed like lamps.

“Holy God,” he said. “I thought you said it didn’t work with humans.”

“Wrong. Only didn’t work with adults. Killed every adult within two days.” Tenenbaum leaned against the door. “Something about this little one. Maybe it is because her body is still changing, she produce different amounts of hormones… ach. I will be honest, we do not yet understand. But from what I tell, we feed her a spoon full of ADAM, we induce regurgitation, she spit up ten times amount. We do this by ADAM modification and surgical implantation of ADAM slug, instead of changing embryo into ADAM slug hybrid, like with other animals. Understand?”

“Yeah,” he said, slowly. “So you need to try and replicate this experiment?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Little kids. You know how hard it is to get those?”

“This is not end-all be-all,” she said. “New subjects are necessary. I am going to surgically implant ADAM slugs on bigger animals, younger animals, see if we get same result. But this is the one that worked first. Sort of lucky. She was only one we had.”

“I’ll find some way to get more kids to you, then.”

He backed away. The little girl sat up on the mattress. She couldn’t be more than eight or so, all skinny stick-limbs and big eyes.

“What’s she in for?”

“Stealing food in Farmer’s Market,” said Dr. Tenenbaum. “I think.”

“Miss Tennabaum?” she said, looking at Fontaine. “Why are there bears in the ocean?”

“Not important,” said Dr. Tenenbaum. “Come here, Mary. I have ADAM for you.”

The little girl rocketed to her feet and sprang to the cage door. Dr. Tenenbaum reached into her pocket and pulled out a small baby bottle full of something red and faintly luminous. She handed it to the girl, who yanked it out of her hand and ran back to her mattress. She jabbed the nipple into her mouth and sucked. The entire time, she stared at Fontaine.

Fontaine scowled.

“And soon we have a gallon of ADAM,” said Dr. Tenenbaum. “Will take her about four hours to regurgitate.” She straightened and fastened her emotionless eye on Fontaine. “You will come back to see?”

“Nah. I’ll take your word for it.” Fontaine had backed up across the room. “If I get you more kids, can you up the production?”

“Yes.” The doctor stared at him, unblinking, slumping a little, her eyes sharp and hard. It was a horrible picture. The doctor standing across from the cage, where a eight-year-old with glowing eyes sucked at an infant’s bottle for the last dregs of ADAM.

I’m going to have fucking nightmares.

“Good.” He nodded. “Then, uh… keep up the good work. Keep me updated.” A pause. “I’ll give you a bonus.”

Dr. Tenenbaum shrugged. “Thank you.”

As he left Floor 11 and collected his mooks, he couldn’t seem to regain the spring in his step. He felt sick. He knew what it was, of course. It was the animal smell of the testing room. Brought him right back down to Earth faster than he could count to three. God, if he never had to go back…

But he had to make sure the Kraut stayed on task. Yeah, she was the best at what she did… but some things, you couldn’t leave up to chance.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

This Chapter on AO3

[marrissacooper]

I have just catching up on your blog, and as a fellow Marissa stan, wanted to say THANK YOU! Love your thoughts on the show. One thing that stood out to me was the q's about BM tension. By 314ish (there's the butt slap at the start of 310, the 'getting busy' ad-lib in 314). I think they were both done with the storyline tho. M has mentioned how toxic the set became and we see her isolated from the main cast shortly after and a lot of jokes made about mental health. (1/4)

It's hard I’m sure for those to not be taken personally. My hot take is that a lot of things on the show were aimed personally too, the RM fight in 2.09 Mindy has mentioned on the podcast if something happened between BM because it seemed real. And I think Mischa’s reaction in that scene is real too (that dialogue could have been aimed at Marissa and Mischa tbh), the fact that Mindy would think that B might react like that to M says a lot. All those mental health 'jokes' too (2/4).

Which isn’t surprising, because despite their chemistry on screen by 3.25, there seems to have been a total breakdown between them by mid-S3 that they never recovered from (I think they have had many, starting in S1 with their own personal romantic tension, lol). He is the only cast member to have not come out in her support once she was fired (he just called her 'a cast member'!) I think the Model Home scene in the finale is a genuine scene by Mischa – particularly the apology line. (3/4) 

---

Sorry for taking so long to reply! I hope you'll still see this... First of all thank you for taking the time to go through my blog 😊 I think you're right about the BM tension. Their chemistry definitely changed in the middle of s3, might be the bad writing, might be real life issues. I think they managed to switch it back on at the end of s3 for old times' sake. I'm not sure but they probably knew Mischa was leaving by then? So it might have been easier to forget about all the BTS drama and only remember the good times (the same thing that was happening on screen if you think about it.)

They definitely wrote personal things into the show, I think there's an Adam interview in the s1 dvd bonus where he says Josh did that a lot. The fight in 2x09 is already hard enough to watch as fiction, but if they were also saying these things to Mischa that's more than messed up. She was literally a teenager in a grown up world, no matter how "bad" her behavior was on set, this was not the way to address the issue. There's definitely something very real in the scene when Ryan says "You want to make a mess of your own life, FINE" and Marissa flinches. It could be good acting and directing, but you never know. That scene was brushed off too quickly and Ryan's apology was unsatisfying to say the least.

Honestly if BM really dated, it doesn't really paint Ben in a good light. That age gap was not insignificant.I can understand being mad at someone you care about because you think they're throwing away their life, but he was an adult man and Mischa was an 18 yo it girl in 2000s Hollywood. I love the model home scene (if you've been through my blog you know lol) and I LOVE Mischa's delivery of the apology. She put so much sincerity in it. But the implication that she was responsible "for all the craziness" is disappointing, especially when they mention Oliver right after like it's some private joke instead of a boy who held her at gunpoint. I do very much love this scene though, and if it was genuine on Mischa' part that's very sweet.

[shakapuffin]

^Alert 1x06 promo “Tim and Andy”

Alert 1x05 “Miguel” Review

here’s my thoughts for this past weeks episode, 1x05 “Miguel”

- okay sooo…. i wasn’t that impressed… sorry y’all i really thought it would be better but idk it just wasn’t for me! after last weeks episode i had high hopes but i guess not now. and it’s the 5th episode… we’re literally half way through the whole pilot season!

- to start off, the whole case this week was just so… so… weird? idk if that’s the right word but it was very peculiar for a network procedural! it was kinda giving midsummer vibes… just a little bit… but those vibes shouldn’t be happening on network tv! like what’s the point of capturing women and forcing them to have kids all to save a tribe or a community? idk but that’s just a bit odd for me. maybe it’s based on a tru story.. i have no idea, hopefully it’s not tho, that would be horrific and they shouldn’t make an episode about something as serious and messed up as that.

- i don’t know how much more i can take of nikki calling everyone baby… haha idk if it’s just me but it’s definitely getting on my nerves! also everyone seemed a bit off tonight, even scott sorry to say. like he wasn’t bad by any means, i still think he’s the best on the show, he’s literally carrying it (i may be a bit bias haha) but it almost seems like the cast is tired and overworked… which i totally understand, they’ve probably been working 5-7 weeks nonstop by this point. but everyone was just a bit bland, it didn’t seem cohesive, it was like every actor seemed to have their own interpretation of the scene but it didn’t come together at the end. that may also be a fault of the director and how he’s giving direction on how to act and shoot the scene. idk it might’ve been just me tho. i did like ryan broussard this week tho, i enjoyed his acting… but the character mike was kinda annoying this episode haha!

- i really didn’t think there was a need for kemi’s father and that whole weird ass storyline to come into play. it was like when we got introduced to C’s grandfather (or father? i forget) and saw him for 2 more scenes and never again, which wasn’t even needed in the first place. i mean i get it… this plot line will probably last longer than that but still. like we already have SO MUCH going on in this show, we don’t need another freaking storyline if we haven’t already figured out the whole keith situation. idk it added nothing to the episode except for kemi getting distracted and nikki continuously reminding her to focus… i stg nikki told kemi to focus like 5 times even when nikki herself is almost never focused on the cases!!

- as i said before mike lowkey got on my nerves this week. he just kept insisting on being by the book and following the rules, and i totally get it, he does seem to be the person who follows the rules the most on that task force, but like come on man… you literally hooked up with nikki in a closet at headquarters in the middle of a case! he can’t say anything! also i really don’t think jason is that unhinged, like ya he doesn’t follow all of the rules but he isn’t going completely insane like mike is insinuating.

- also the nikki/mike relationship/drama either needs to come to a close or find a resolution… they just keep rehashing the same exact argument every single week and it’s kinda getting old. i wish they could just break up or get back together! make a choice lmao!

- so we didn’t learn too too much this week about keith… we now know that there was a body in the lake and it was a male between the ages of 10-14. so maybe that the real keith idk? then we have sidney spying on keith getting a gun… i totally understand her concern, that gun did seem real or at least not a pellet gun. i thought the end was interesting when keith was sleeping in the basement… i think this is the point where jason and nikki have to put him into therapy or something. idk how they didn’t before… that’s absolutely insane to me but if they don’t this week then i might just have to boycott. lol! no i won’t but i can’t believe this type of series wouldn’t show the importance of therapy and mental health… like the kid just got kidnapped and he is just basically living life and being forced to readjust on his own with his parents being literal cops who see kidnapping victims every single day!! makes no sense to me!! ahhh!

- “C” was okay… he was just okay. there’s always something quirky with him, which can either be a good or bad thing, but idk i just don’t really understand the whole “talking to bones or dead people.” idk what exactly is being accomplished by doing that… it just kinda makes him a bit of a weirder character. i never know if his character is there for comic relief or if he actually has a purpose on the show… he does very minimal tasks that could easily be done by kemi, she’s a very intelligent woman!

- i really want an episode that’s not case related just to see how different it would be and how character driven they would make it. i’m assuming that has to be coming up soon… at least for the season finale! but i get it, it’s a procedural cop show and the case to case stuff is what brings a lot of the audience in.

- for some reason i have a weird feeling that the show is going to be picked up for a season 2… just because of jaimie foxx, not because it’s actually good. again it’s kinda sad because i want to see scott in something good, because he really is a good actor, but i just don’t think this is doing it for him.

anyways i’ve rambled on for much too long, per usual, haha! those are just my opinions, i’m probably looking way too deep into this show ngl! i hope next week is better! let me know what you guys think! i luv talking!

[fritzi2405]

Coffee

summary: Erik and two of his men go to enjoy a hot cup of coffee only to be met with a wild Karen

warnings: KAREN, mention of social anxiety

a/n: back at it again with the Erik content. I can and will not stop to write from him.

wordcount: 1536

Erik was already having a bad day. While he was making himself Tea after waking up, he dropped and broke one of his favourite Mugs, when walking into base he ran into a wall and hit his recently healed leg on the corner causing it to sting for a good half hour and he was already buried in paperwork even though he just came back from medical leave. But this damn Karen was probably going to be the reason the normally very composed Captain finally snaps. It started with him and two of his soldiers going to a Cafe close to base. The Men from base frequent this Cafe since its close by and the Coffee as well as the Tea and Food is amazing. All the Workers are incredibly kind and the Owner, a warm-hearted old man, is ex-military himself so they sometimes gave discounts to or served the orders of active soldiers or veterans first. Erik often chatted with the old man since he reminded him of his grandpa when he was still alive. Like always when the men entered the staff waved to them with an inviting smile and almost like he sensed it the small whitehaired man with his cane appeared from the back and came over to greet them. After some easy Smalltalk the old man walked back to the breakrooms being called by his wife who also send the Soldiers a warm smile when she saw them.

While the one soldier split of to secure a table Erik and the other went to the counter to order their drinks. The soldier with Erik was a rookie, having joined recently, 3 and a half months ago to be exact but Erik quickly took a liking to the young man though he still seemed a bit nervous around his captain. The young lad came from Ireland, his name was Ryan, and he had short red hair. It was cold out now but in the summer his face would be covert in freckles. Erik got his coffee and walked to the table where his other soldier was sitting. The man sitting with him was one of his sergeants and has been serving with him for a bit now. They were chatting about anything that came to mind until they heard the high-pitched voice of a woman with a thick American accent. “Excuse me you need to move I want to order for me and my Kids now.” Erik looked up from his steaming coffee to see where the voice came from. He was searching the room until his gaze landed on a middle aged woman standing behind Ryan tapping him on the shoulder, with a haircut that just screamed let me speak to your manager. Ryan turned around look at the woman with a questioning gaze not knowing what she meant. Erik knew Ryan had some troubles in social situations picking up on his anxiety quickly after he joined them, so he decided to keep an eye on the situation. The woman gave an annoyed huff when Ryan didn’t move and repeated her sentence again this time slower. The Red-haired man looked at her again confused and said, “I’m sorry ma’am but it is my turn to order now but I’ll be done in just a moment.”

At this the woman took a step towards Ryan, him instinctively taking one backwards bumping into the counter behind him, his hand falling to his side where a weapon would normally sit. “Are stupid or something I said move.” At that Erik got up and made his way over to them both, pushing through the few onlookers that had gathered watching the scene unfold.

Ryan swallowed a lump that had started to form in his throat “No ma’am I will not move it is my turn and you will wait for yours.” Though he tried his best his voice was shaking. The Karen now had her Hands on her Hips and huffed again looking like a Child right before a temper tantrum, “My Husband works in the military, so I am entitled to get served first.” The Irish man started to plug and pull at the cloth of his pants finding it hard to keep eye contact with the angry woman in front of him “Ma’am I am also in the military; doesn’t that make me just as entitled to be served.” The Karen did not like that answer, now she really looked like she was going to throw a tantrum.

She again stepped closer to the young man, raising her voice “I don’t believe you; you don’t look or act like a soldier.” Ryan didn’t know what to say now, he was overwhelmed with the whole situation, and he could feel his breathing pick up. At that moment Erik reached the two and put a comforting Hand on the rookie’s shoulder. “What seems to be the problem here Miss?” he asked in his best costumer service voice. The Karen looked up the man with a pissed off look in her eyes “This idiot doesn’t want to move and let me order, I’m the wife of a soldier I am supposed to be served first.” The Blond man sight, pinching the bridge of his nose, he was to tired for this. “Miss, Private Murphy here is in the military, just like me and my friend over there.” He said in calm voice pointing at back at their table once he finished his sentence.

The woman having her full attention on Erik took a step closer to him now probably trying to intimidate him which did not work since the 6.2f man towered over the 5.4f frame of the woman. “Well, you don’t look like you are, you’re not wearing any uniforms.” She was right, Erik and his two men decided to throw on some civil clothes since they were on break, and it was more comfortable. He took in a deep breath slowly losing his patience.

Looking at the counter he could see that Ryan’s coffee was finished, the barrister was scared to intervene so she just placed it down hoping it would be spotted. He tapped his Private on the shoulder making him look at him. “Your coffee’s ready lad, go to the table I’ve got this.”

The Young man looked at him like he just saw an angel decent from the heavens. Thanking his captain, he grabbed his drink and started to walk towards the Sergeant who’s also been watching, seeing if he had to come help as well. The Karen didn’t seem to like that at all, when Ryan’s back was turned to her, she went up to grab him and get him to stop and stay. This action caused the young to stumble and spill a good portion of his coffee on himself and the floor.

Acting on instinct Erik grabbed her arm, pulling her away from Ryan and turned it pinning it behind her back. Now he was really pissed. The woman immediately started to scream at him, saying he broke her arm, which he had not. But she quickly went quiet when Erik went full Captain mode and yelled at her in the voice he normally reserves for the field.

“That is enough, you come in here, demand to be treated like you own the place because your husband serves, not even you, your husband, then you harass and insult my soldier not backing up even when he asked you to and now you have the audacity to lay your hands on him. I have never seen such disrespect and it is disgusting, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

A few moments later the owner of the cafe came from the back together with his son who basically worked as makeshift security for the store. They also scolded the woman and took her from Erik’s hands forcibly removing her from the caffe. At first, she threw insults at both the old man and his son but when the owner mentioned calling the police, she shut up quick. Erik turned towards Ryan who was busy trying to somewhat clean his shirt with napkins.

“You alright son?” he asked. The young man looked at the captain having a thankful look in his eyes “Yeah, I’m alright. Thank you again Captain, I just didn’t know what to do.” Erik padded him on the back trying to give him some comfort and they both went back to the table where the sergeant was sitting with a small grin on his face “Enjoyed the show?” Erik asked also starting to relax again. The sergeant only laughed, and they drank there now lukewarm drinks and chatted until they had to leave and go back to base. The owner later apologized and promised the three men free drinks the next time they come back. After the events that took place in the caffe Ryan relaxed a bit in the presence of his Captain. One morning Erik found a new mug on his table that looked very similar the one he broke. He smile to himself knowing who probably bought it remembering when he told the Private that he had accidentally dropped his old one that morning.

[fruitflavoredcancersun]

3

part of me wants to stop thinking and do things. i want to sleep with men twice my age at fifteen. their bodies live in my mind. i want to drink the cans of beer and bottles of sangria my parents leave lying around the house and in the mini fridge so i can feel drunk for the first time. i want to accept a puff bar thrown my way, or a wheel, or a kiss. i want to ask my friends for weed to get a feel of high really is like other teenagers do.

there is also part of me that wants to do things the right way as im told so one day the hard work will pay off and somebody will sweep me off my feet and take care of me and my dependence. that's the one that's currently active. i listen to parents and teachers and policemen with guns in arms reach, i take the rewards and punishments of doing or not doing tasks, and i help other people do the same. i've always been promised a huge reward in the end even if every adult i've talked to said there isn't one. i guess i'm just too hopeful as people my age.

it's weird. we're all fifteen but i still feel like i'm in middle school. everybody is hooking up, hanging out in hot tubs, attending poorly planned house parties, blowing bongs in treehouses, attending public gyms, stirring fistfights at sports events, taking pictures of their nude bodies, applying to work in fast food restaurants, getting suspended after flipping off teachers. me and my friends are still clearing out our activities and calling our moms to drive us to the same three places after school. and i'm sitting here writing to you.

i'm jealous but i don't feel shitty admitting that. i really need somebody to drag me out and do something daring like that. not to be mean to my friends, but i feel like they're too judgmental about people who break the laws. i wan't to hit a vape with my already broken lungs. i want to drink and have sex and go to parties and have fun!  i just need the right person to come by. eventually.

i'm sorry if this is too much or weird to say out loud. i know most people's answer to this would be to "just do it" or "if you dont do it then you'll be stuck like this forever", which is true. i'm just figuring out how to do it, something nobody ever really answers realistically. i hope whoever sees this help give get out of my shell but also dont because fuck you. see? i'm already learning how not to care.

ryan beatty — in the end

[castle-dominion]

4x16 linchpin

So yeah the part 2 of the silly little episode.

Open your window before u go in, if u can. Girl just loosen the seatbelt all the way & climb out... you're skinny enough... if the water is flowing in that fast... idk. Mythbusters did a thing on this. Yep I just watched both clips, they be dead. It's true the water would be hard to look thru & the front would sink first, but they would not be quite so deep until they lose the majority of their air. Castle's gurgle shout I love it. & there we go, it begins to sink faster except they still have too much air. Girl maybe grab the flashlight to break the window? idk. Castle should def be up by now tho. Rly scary. Although again if she's stuck like that she should not try to unbuckle her seatbelt but make it slack.

& here they are! They be living! y r they so far away from the ambulances tho? KB: Thanks. Am, um…thanks. RC: You’d have done the same for me. KB: Yeah. Probably. RC: ! Me: you said u would break him out of prison, remember the galaxy of greg? RC: That whole, uh, sinking car thing – much cooler in movies than it is in real life. KB: And for the record, I prefer watching spy thrillers to being in them. JE: So…tell me…how can your victim look like Nelson Blakely when he supposedly died ten years ago? KB: Yeah, I… RC: Yeah, weird, isn’t it? JE: Yeah. Weird. Fake deaths, car in the water— don’t you think now is a good time to tell us what the hell is going on? RC: Uh… KB: I’m sorry, Javi. It’s classified. [first names <3] JE: I was Special Forces. I used to eat classified for breakfast. And yet Writer Boy can know? Caskett: JE: Okay. I’ll be over there with Harbor Patrol, trying to figure out how to get your unit out of the drink. JE: *starts to leave and pauses* I’m glad you’re okay. *leaves for real*

lil bro just said castle x dr parish (lanie) would be parle/paril (peril? death? get it?)

Lanie & alexis when they see the cia fellows pick them up

Beckett's hair is so great half dried. Poor gal wearing whatever they had for her. Finally they are off the case.

Castle just yelled cia in the middle of the bullpen (after she called rysposito & accidentally got an audience for mom & dad fighting) RC: Well, you heard what Sophia said. I’m a reckless, immature, self-centered jackass. If you’re stubborn enough to keep going, I’m stupid enough to go with you.

*alexis in the background when rick yells he slept with people, I mean,, you know that you were conceived through intercourse probably unless my trans rick headcanons are legit*

RC: Well, it doesn’t matter who she is because I am never going to see her again. Now go to bed. AC: You know, if you’re going to keep secrets from me, I might start keeping secrets from you, too. RC: At your age, I’m thinking that might be a good idea. *Castle sighs and drops his keys on the table. He’s startled by Sophia sitting on his bed, who he just said he'd never see again*

Oh he just has his beckett murder board there for all to see

Ooh who is that pretty detective with the purple shirt who lowkey looks like my health & safety teacher?!

RC: Where are the boys? KB: They’re canvassing chess parks, looking for anyone that knew Blakely. RC: And why aren’t you with them? KB: Because my car is at the bottom of the Hudson, [or you could take backseat] and Gates won’t issue me another one until I write up an incident report, which I can’t do because this case is classified. [or you could write up an incident report & black out classified information & hand it in to her like that...

KR, rubbing his hands together as if he put on hand sanitizer but that's probably my covid brain, he's probably cold which is my canadian brain: What do you think this is about, huh? JE: It smells like an intelligence op. KR: CIA, NSA, DHS? JE: Same letters, different alphabet. [interesting way of putting it.] I had some buddies from the service volunteer for intelligence ops. KR: Yeah? how’d they like it? JE: They all died. Oh. I mean like, yeah.

Ryan looks so so so pretty, & then esposito also looks hella pretty today. I like them in their coats like this

Janacek Spivey. Good name. (btw it is a y j not a dg j nor a h j.) I like this professor he's rly cute. & I get to see more Ryan clothes & I love it, look at that sweater. I need to take pics of rysposito in the park as well as ryan's sweater here. v nice. KB, whispering: I've got t borrow your car KR: *nods* KR: KR: *looks at her as if he is concerned, as if she will drown his car too* Is that ryan's car, esposito's car, or a shared partner car?

finley, blakely, AND mcgregor? lots of names. *opens the door* *sees inside* *immideately closes it* Who would have a mind map thing like this? It's creepy af. But I love the artistry of it & the audio & stuff is so good.

KB: This can’t be real. No one can predict all of this. RC: Maybe not, but a bunch of people smarter than us think he can. He was killed to cover it up.

Flashbang? No destruction of evidence Gage is being chill I'm sure he can end up not being the bad guy Then again preventing them from communicating? idk... You DID kill the one guy tho bro Paranoia is so hard to deal with, you need to be able to differentiate between normal somethings-is-wrongs & dangerous smths-is-wrongs I would not give her name if I were you TG: My own people are setting me up! I'd believe that

They did that in fablehaven! Vanessa saved them from the hay golem!

girl could be someone like the kid of a politician. Hold on who is mcgrath? Blakely is the professor who came up with the linchpin & died right outside of beckett's car. I said "You DID kill the one guy tho bro" but he might not have killed those two. Wait tracy mcgrath is the girl who died in her house

The way they go back & forth with questions is good I like it. you saw HIM so you know he's a him? KB, who is so smart: Are you sure he’s lying? He’s not expressing any of the physiological traits.

ST: Turns out, all we had to do was outspend them. So true

MAN'S DEAD?? & the exit wound was nasty, as they are. finally.

Oh & now hackers are involved. They just have random animations playing. Probably bc cool animations reduce anxiety while a buffer symbol increases anxiety. Oh it was him. That "You can do that" was telling. They just have these animations going lmao

Oh man speaks english french & mandarin. Just like my lil bro! How does he just escape? Where is the elevator boy? *gasp* He's in on it too! *hacker voice* I'm in She's kind of pretty tbh

People are so annoying.

Castle is a genius! Run the mountains not the girl!

Woah beckett's pretty shoulder holster, neat! Oh a girl-girl conversation. Not relevant but my t key is getting worn down in Such a way bc it is Just in the wrong place & I can't easily reach it & t is a very common letter. It is just a dash in morse code! ST: Well, we fought it for months, and then…and then we just couldn’t stand it anymore. (soft chuckle) But afterward i—it was like, that tension was all we…had really, and without it, all we were left with was that… Well, those things that drove us crazy about each other. I mean, you know how he can be. This does not bode well for caskett

Ah sunrise. Hey this analysis looks legit tho, it reminds me of what the laser engraver tracker looks like. Not enough school logos.

Yeah lol money is borrowed into existence. that's what's going on. Yay get rid of the military! I'mma join a commune I swear.

Older bro: You & what army? RC: Us & what army?

You know, she seems hella sus tbh, not taking other ppl with her... Danberg is the cia man, I almost forgot lol I thought this was a skating rink XD What about the boy? Oh nvm he's with her

Nice nondescript black car, as usual. Evil mastermind monologue moments Why is the daughter with him on his business trip tho? Ok but what if I want to read the cryllic? The captions say "(speaking russian)" & the translated subtitles are already translated. I want the russian too!

Castle's dad? She's making it up. Ryan? Oh danberg. What if HE orchestrated it?

Ooh audio. He wouldn't just do it here like this tho, the actual death would be more complicated. Beckett just jumps him like that & then they have to pretend there Was No assassination attempt, But he just doesn't fight back & escape or make a scene or make it seem like the assassination was supposed to happen at all?

*Esposito & Ryan watch Danberg talking with Beckett and Castle in another room* JE: So, what do you think this was all about? KR: They didn’t tell you? JE: What? Th— KR: Huh. *walks off (almost certainly pretending) as if he knows* JE: Th- they told you? *follows Ryan*

Ah she did mention the fall of soviet stuff

Danberg looks like Such a Normal White Guy.

Better than new? They bugged her car. Music... *talking about his dad* KB: Must be tough Me: No his dad was the inventor of whipped cream KB: *actually not talking abt the dad, she was talking about Sophie*

This ep was great & all but really if THIS was two episodes (yeah it was great it was fine u can make it two episodes long) then you REALLY should have made the fenton o'connel arc two episodes long. I would have LOVED that. Esp bc Ryan was just undercover for like a day & a half??? this time around? Like last time it was over a year! Totally would have been more fun & honestly made more sense if it took maybe three days, or a whole week. (tho that would be a long time, there is usually one week between the episodes.) & if it was two eps long we could have seen more of the rest of the team & their reactions & feelings & their side of things. Could have added so much, made the plot a bit longer. Not necessarily more complicated, just... more steps.

But this is not about an episode a season later, this is about today's episode. Which was fun.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Less Drastic Measures

Counting. Ryan Turner kept counting the books on the table. Every time he got past a count of twenty, his eyes glazed over, and he lost count again. Starting anew.

With a groan of frustration, he stopped rifling through the messy stacks of books. He did not understand why he was counting them, only that he had to. It made no sense, yet he tried to make sense of his pointless task.

Until it all clicked. The lettering of the titles blurred to the point of being illegible. A strange haze obscured the world around the edges of his vision.

He had to be dreaming. The room around him did not exist, it only resembled a fancy study that he had never seen before in his life. A composite of different pieces, cobbled together from different memories and impressions. Libraries, offices, and even things from television shows. A warm glow from a desk lamp, antique chairs and tables, all framing motes of dust that danced in the light pouring in through the window.

The outside world blended a dreamy blue sky with a bright white fog. Strange clouds drifted across that surreal horizon, melting like ice cream, beneath which no real world could have ever existed. No nature, no buildings, no streets, no people. Nothing. Just cloudy skies.

He stopped counting the atlases. Looked for an exit. A single door led in and out of this dream-like study.

The brass doorknob squeaked as an invisible hand twisted it.

The door opened.

In stepped a middle-aged man, wearing a pair of large glasses. The dark brown blazer over a beige shirt, paired with the jeans and the shaggy beard and messy short hair lent him a disheveled look, like some hipster who had just rolled out of a bed and thrown on a slapdash outfit. His worn white sneakers squealed on the shiny marble floor when he swiveled.

Inquisitive eyes stared out from behind those thick lenses, scanning the books on the shelves until resting his gaze on Ryan.

“Fascinating,” said the mystery man. His voice was soft and pleasant.

“Hey. Hello,” Ryan said.

“Uh, hi. I have to figure out what to do with all of this,” said the mystery man, gesturing at the room around them. “This is new.”

“Hey, man, I know I’m dreaming. It’s cool. Just help me count these books, and I’ll wake up soon.”

The mystery man readjusted his glasses, staring into Ryan’s eyes.

Burning into his soul. Like magnifying glasses, set to focus light until they set parched paper on fire. An inner fire of unease.

Ryan’s voice rose and cracked with insecurity when he asked, “Am I dreaming?”

The mystery man shook his head and said, “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Finley Fisher. You can call me Fin. Or Fish. I’m not really fussy about it either way.”

So lucid. Unexpectedly so.

The flames of unease grew. Finley’s presence stoked the coals.

Something about all of this felt too real to be a dream. That realization sank in until it formed a pit in Ryan’s stomach. The unease transformed into fear.

“Wait, no, seriously—am I dreaming? What is going on here?”

“Oh, no. You are most certainly not dreaming. And you are? Who are you exactly?”

“Uh, well, I’m Ryan Turner. What is this? What—if I’m not dreaming, uhm—what is this? What’s going on here?”

Finley wriggled his mustache, then thumbed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He buried his hands in his pockets and offered no reply to that question.

Either he was pondering the answer, or—

“Let me guess. I won’t remember this when I wake up,” Ryan babbled on, giving his growing fear space.

That air only fanned the flames of unease. The pit in his stomach knotted. Twisted. Churned.

“Oh, no, no, no. You probably will remember this. And that’s the problem here.”

Finley stared at him. That stare carried weight and purpose.

Underlined by a smile, he might have looked friendly under any other circumstances. Curious, even. Yet the smile never reached his eyes. Eyes that carried something cold. The gaze of a shark.

Ryan began to back away and bumped blindly into the desk, causing the lamp to rattle.

“Why? Uh, why is that a problem?”

“So, just to clarify—you don’t remember how you got here?”

Finley took a small step towards Ryan.

It felt like an unspoken threat.

“No, and don’t you dare—”

“Don’t dare what?” Finley asked.

The smile widened into a grin, now reaching his eyes with dishonesty. On the surface, he appeared warm, bright. The intelligent light in Finley’s eyes was welcoming, standing in stark contrast to the next step he took towards Ryan.

Ryan shouted at him, “Don’t you dare dodge my questions!”

He wanted to retaliate with a threat of his own. Fear of possible repercussions—possibly violent ones—however suffocated the words before they even remotely reached his lips.

The not-dream-world quaked and rumbled in response. The lamp on the desk clattered when it toppled over.

Finley’s gaze wandered, scanning their surroundings, and his eyebrows arched.

“Did you—just, like, black out? Do you remember going to sleep, or—what is the last thing you remember doing before—before here? Before now?”

“I don’t know, yeah, sure. Uhm, no, wait. I was at a bar? I think. There was the really catchy song on the radio or something, and I started dancing. Then I was here? I assumed I—uh, y'know, I don’t actually know?”

The pit in Ryan’s stomach only tightened. He hoped that his obliviousness and natural charm might help him here. Protect him.

The mystery of this mystery man made it impossible for him to guess any consequences to his words or actions. He had no inkling of whatever was the smart thing to do here.

Finley just nodded and cocked his head back, looking down his nose at Ryan.

“Dancing, huh? Huh, I see.” He winced. Clicked his tongue. “See, you weren’t supposed to do that.”

“What? Do what? I don’t get what you’re saying at all.”

Finley clicked his tongue again and tilted his head.

“What are you? You look like customer service to me. Do you work in customer service of some sort? Phone operator? Front desk secretary?”

“No, I’m an accountant at—”

“Tut-tut-tut,” Finley interrupted him, whipping out a flat hand to shush him in gesture as well as words. “I don’t need nor want any specifics. I’m just guessing here.”

“What are you getting at?”

Finley shook his head. Sighed.

“No, you still look kind of like customer service to me, like a shop clerk of sorts.”

“And I’m telling you I'm—”

“I don’t really care, Ryan Turner.” Finley pronounced every syllable of his name with the sharpness of a knife.

Like an accusation.

Ryan stammered, enfeebling his demands. “I—I-I’d like to wake up now, so I’ll be leaving.”

Raising his hand again, this time splaying his fingers, Finley gestured for him to wait.

“Are you okay? Does your head hurt?”

“No. Fuck. Yes, a little bit. What’s your deal, man? This really isn’t a—a dream, is it?”

Finley puckered his lips and his chest heaved as he took an almost theatrically deep breath.

“Going to have to level with you here, Ryan Turner. Yes, this really isn’t a dream. You’re standing on the edge of a,” Finley’s words trailed off. He chewed through the next sentence before uttering it, choosing every phrase with deliberation. Hiding something. “This is a space that normal people shouldn’t be visiting. Heck, buddy, you shouldn’t be able to visit this place in the first place, and how you got here is a profound mystery that is bound to give me a headache until I figure it out.”

Fear transformed into panic and Ryan considered jumping out the window—just bursting through the glass, ready to find out if he would fall forever through an infinite skyscape. Though this was supposedly no dream, it still somehow felt like it.

Somehow.

Not enough to be certain, though.

That same uncertainty only fed his fear. Paralyzed him with rapidly circling thoughts, all concerned with strange consequences that might not make sense, while making up the fabric of his worst nightmares.

“Well, can I go now? I’d like to go now,” he said. Meek, mousy, pleading.

Finley’s face twisted in cringing, and he sucked air in between his teeth, hissing with disappointment. “No, I’m afraid not. We’ll have to work something out,” Finley said, feigning sadness.

The corners of his lips twitched and the bushy, scraggly beard followed suit. Under other circumstances, Finley might have looked like a friendly neighbor or colleague.

Here, now, his unassuming appearance only lent him more of a sinister air.

Like Finley was an agent of evil incarnate.

Smiling through that scruffy beard. Cold, dead eyes. The eyes of a killer.

“We can work something out,” Finley repeated with melody, only deepening that sense of malice.

It all felt like a dream, yet Ryan had no concept of control over it. Instincts urged him to grab a book and throw it with all his might, to make a run for it. Run right past Finley, get out of that door.

What was behind that door?

Finley’s warm, fake smile broke, giving way to a more serious mien.

“We can work something out, so that when you step through this door behind me, everything will be back to normal for you. You’ll have no idea what’s behind the door, and, well, trust me—you don’t want to know what’s behind the door. The consequences of that would be,” Finley paused. Licked his lips. “Devastating. For you, that is, but I don’t want that kind of thing on my conscience, either. I don't—well—I don’t want to do bad things to you.”

He retracted his hand, dug around in his pocket, and pulled his fist back out, causing Ryan to flinch. As Finley’s fingers unfurled, he had produced a small pink pill on his palm, round and shiny.

Upon its tiny surface, an etched cartoon smiley stared back at Ryan.

As vaguely menacing as Finley himself looked.

The panic subsided but the unease stayed.

“Oh, so I pop that and everything’s back to normal, huh? That’s not fishy at all.”

“Hah! You missed an opportunity to make fun of my name. Or was that intentional?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just take this pill, and—yeah! Nothing to worry about. Life will go on as normal for you, and you’ll be none the wiser about what’s behind this door.”

“What if I say no?”

Finley smiled again.

“You don’t really understand how much of a life-or-death situation this is, do you?”

Ryan’s heart pounded. Only now did it dawn on him how clear his vision had become. How acute his hearing. How he felt everything, down to the tingle of dread in his digits. The confines of his own body, the shiver down his spine. The smell of dusty old books in the study around him. A faint waft of deodorant coming from Finley.

This was real. All real.

Too real.

Finley, continued, “Look, this really is my way of shooting for less drastic measures. There’d be a whole stink if I let you walk through that door, so just pop this pill and we’ll never see each other again. You will get to live the rest of your life. How about that?”

“W-what’s the alternative?”

The smile faded. Slowly. Surely. Finley’s eyes glinted with something dark.

Murder flashed in them.

“You and I both know it’s better if I don’t have to say it out loud.”

He raised the hand presenting the pink pill.

Ryan swallowed. Felt dizzy. Helpless. The door was right there. He could dash. Maybe they would fight. Finley was unarmed. But Finley was clearly also more than met the eye. Unassuming, someone who would blend into any crowd, but exuding a dark air of hidden hatred.

Perhaps, Ryan could catch a glimpse of what was behind that door, even if he failed. The truth tempted him. The fear, however, kept punching him in the gut. Conjuring up new scenarios of his demise. Bleeding out slowly. Painfully.

Finley waited with the patience of a saint. Ryan gave up. Gave in.

Stepped forward. Snatched the pink pill from Finley’s palm and popped it into his mouth.

For a split second, he considered faking it. Pretending to swallow and spitting it out later. Once that moment passed, Ryan considered otherwise.

He gulped it down.

And it was gone.

The warm smile returned to Finley’s face. Finally, it reached his eyes. Genuine relief.

Had Ryan just made a deadly mistake?

“Thanks! That’s a real load off my shoulders. See you again never, Ryan Turner.”

He winked.

Ryan’s knees buckled, and his dizziness sent the world spinning around him into overdrive. Losing his footing, he stumbled backwards. Instead of bracing against the desk, he fell over it, sprawled out across its surface, knocking over several atlases. No pain came from the remaining books, uncomfortable edges digging into his back. His limbs refused to respond, flailing only for seconds until they sagged off the edges of the desk.

No longer able to move his head, he could only look out the window, the vomit-inducing spin of the world rendered upside down.

No longer did that window show him a serene image of an infinite sky with drifting clouds.

Instead, he saw his workplace. That temple of daily grind that he visited five days a week, from eight to six.

The cold and corporate white and gray of a large office space. So alien and familiar to him alike. A place he had to be. A place he escaped to whenever weekends ended, to escape his own thoughts and little fears. A place he escaped from, come six o’ clock sharp on every weekday, to escape the droning pointlessness of crunching numbers and occasionally cooking the books.

Looking through that window was like looking through Ryan Turner’s eyes. Muffled through the glass, even sounds from the office reached him.

Sounds from that life. Whether he only imagined it or not, he sensed the presence of coffee growing cold on his desk. Mark’s stink from the adjacent nearest workstation, reeking of cigarette smoke and cherry-flavored chewing gum.

The buzz of another life reached him through that window. So close, yet so far away.

Fingers frantically tapped away at keyboard keys. Two people conversed in hushed tones near the coffee machine. Someone talked into a phone. A copying machine whirred.

Back at work.

Ryan Turner’s body was already back at work. Going through the motions. Carrying out his life. A robot, following a script.

Ryan Turner’s mind lay sprawled out on that desk, immobilized. Trapped. Forced to watch it all play out.

“Thanks, by the way,” Finley murmured behind him, out of sight. “It’s not every day that we get an easy pony to provide extra juice in here. Easiest time I’ve ever had. Anyway, I hope the Ryan Turner show isn’t too boring. Then again, I don’t really give a shit. Bye now.”

The door clicked shut.

Finley Fisher indeed never visited him again.

Ryan could only watch, forever separated by that window, while Ryan lived out his life, oblivious to the reason behind any of this.

He would never learn what was behind that door. Or who Finley Fisher was. Or why any of this was happening.

All he knew was what he sensed. That whatever was behind the door now sapped the life from his very soul.

And it grew.

It fed and festered.

—Submitted by Wratts

[k8fics]

Your Jackass

summary: johnny knoxville x (jackass member) reader; headcanon

rating: unrated - all stunts are performed by professionals

- obviously, you guys met on set, but he didn’t talk to you very much.

- you were a couple years younger than him (around bam & ryan’s age), he just thought you guys had nothing in common.

- but once he got to know you, he's a very talkative man. johnny and you would talk about nothing for hours; music, fashion, gossip, whatever.

- he would realize he liked you when you jumped off a hotel balcony into a pool or something. he just thought you were so cool.

- he began to be really touchy with you like; placing a hand on your back as encouragement, holding your hand/wrist to back you up from a situation, helping you with “gearing up” for stunts, things like that.

- he’s still an asshole though, he will tease you nonstop for the littlest things.

- if you trip a tiny bit, he’ll laugh his ass off and try to get you to trip again.

- if you hit yourself a little too hard during a stunt, he’ll coo and comfort you in the worst ways possible.

“That sounded like it hurt.”

“It did. Stop rubbing the part of my head I hit, or I’ll kill you.”

“You’re being feisty! Must be the concus- OW!”

- you like him too, but there’s no way for you to know he likes you back when he acts like this towards you.

- although one time, the entire jackass crew went to a bar that was nearby the hotel you guys were staying at. he would be hanging around you the entire time, arm on your shoulders.

- when johnny went to get you another drink, a guy rushed over and started flirting with you. nothing creepy he was just talking about being a big fan of jackass and you’re very pretty.

- johnny came over and paused behind him, looking rather confused. he came over, putting the drinks down in between the two of you, and stepped behind you to put his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder.

“Dude! You’re Johnny Knoxville! I’m such a big fan.”

- he immediately perked up, like a dog who just got its name called, saying his hello and thank you’s. finally coming back to his senses.

- after the guy left, who you learned was named paul, you asked him what was up with him. he responded by grabbing your face and kissing you.

- you were shocked and confused; why would he kiss you? were you guys really that drunk? 

“I’m sorry that was intense, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No! No, it’s okay. We’re both pretty drunk right now, I get it.”

“Yeah.. We’re both really drunk.”

- thing got a little awkward after that, he would walk away from you when you came near him or you guys would make subtle eye contact for a few seconds.

- once the guys began to notice, they interrogated johnny for half an hour.

“What’s the deal? You guys are so weird now.”

“It’s getting really uncomfortable for us.”

- that’s when johnny decided to come clean to the guys, then you.

“.. and I think I'm in love with her.”

“Dude just tell her.”

“You’re so stupid, you honestly think she doesn’t like you back??”

- he came to your apartment at 2AM, banging on your door for what felt like decades. when you finally answer the door, you were too tired to think.

“Johnny? Are you-”

“I really like you and I need to tell you before I lose my mind.”

“... What?”

- you were, understandably, confused. once you understood the situation; you just hugged him, invited him in, and you guys talked for hours.

- you both decided to keep your relationship a secret for a while, just while things were playing out.

- it wasn’t that hard for you guys when the cameras were on, but when you were both intoxicated (which was a lot), it’s not easy to be hands-off.

- everyone was catching on after a week or two. although you thought you hid the relationship well, they knew almost immediately.

- i guess the holding hands, whispering in each other's ears, giggling like a middle school couple, didn’t help keep the secret safe.

- that’s when you guys stopped caring about not showing pda, though you guys didn’t like showing affection on camera.

- johnny will share everything with you; shirts, hats, cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, basically everything.

- i think he would be a big cuddler, just being around you makes him feel warm inside.

“Get off of me please.”

“But you’re warm and you look so good in my shirt.”

“You would look better if you were off my ass.”

- also you have to make custom shirts with him, we all know he draws graphics on his shirts.

- also loves showering with you, not in a sexual way, but in an “i wanna be around you. wet and all, i don't care” way.

- speaking of the sexual stuff...

- this man LOVES to eat you out and is fucking amazing at it.

“You taste so good baby, do you want more of daddy.”

- calls himself daddy and you hate it.

“Come on, doll! Just call me daddy like a good girl.”

“You’re a perverted old man.”

- loves when you degrade him or when he degrades you.

- either way, he’s horny.

- because you’re around him at all times, he has a hard time when you or he is away.

- he’ll text and call you nonstop.

Johnny <3: Hope you’re safe, everyone misses you. -PJ

My love: Miss you & love you very much!! Also, you do know you don’t have to sign off at the end of texts LOL

Johnny <3: Shut up. 

Johnny <3: Love you.

- calls you all types of nicknames: love, baby, doll, sweetcheeks, dumpling, pumpkin, muffin, poopsie, sugar lips. 

- the guys hate it, you think it’s sweet.

- will hold your things with no hesitation

- your bag; he's got it. your drink; don’t worry, lovely. your tit; his specialty.

- you guys cheer each other on, even with the stupid stunts you come up with.

“You did so well gorgeous! Wanna do it again?”

“Did it look good?”

“It looked amazing Johnny, maybe don’t do that again though.”

- comforts you when a stunt goes wrong.

“Oh no, you’re actually crying! Awe, baby!”

- i don't think you guys would fight often, but it can get messy at times.

- he’s a grumpy old man that can be so brute at times.

- he doesn’t yell or insult you, but he’ll glare at you and barely give you enough time to explain your point of view.

“He was obviously checking you out Y/N!”

“That’s not my fault, Johnny!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have pulled me off of him. He got everything he deserved!”

“You could’ve been arrested!”

“Fine. Whatever.”

- then he’ll leave you alone for a couple of hours and come back with gifts & apologies.

- he’s an asshole, but at least he’s a caring asshole.

- he just cares for you a lot and doesn't know how to show it accordingly.

- both of you go to each other’s movie premieres and photoshoots.

- which creates mass horniness around the jackass fandom.

- you guys are both just so hot.

“Okay, Y/N can you get a little closer to Johnny?”

“Not too close, I’ll get a hard-on.”

-

i don't think i like this

[mr2swap]

-What are you looking at? What if I exercise? Of course! Do you think I could get these huge muscles sitting in front of a desk all day? What do you say? What do you want to touch them? -

Suddenly one of the doors of the garage where Bryan was opened and an old man entered, somewhat plump and with his hair full of gray hair - Dad, I'm going to work and I need... What are you doing? - Ryan quickly gave a pair He took steps forward and took the cell phone that was in front of him, pressed a button and the phone stopped recording saving as soon as he turned it off.

-Oh… I'm sorry champ I was just playing a little with your phone you know a video for taktik- the man in front of him sighed and brought one of his hands to his face in a way to show how frustrated he was.

-First it's called TikTok and second- the sound of a phone interrupted him, and he took an old Smartphone out of his pocket -Oh shit! he is your boss! Listen, we'll talk about this after I get back from work, just don't do anything embarrassing until we get back to our bodies, okay?- The older man moved his little old legs to the truck in front of Ryan and got in, starting the car and answering the phone as he got out of the garage.

-Hello...boss, if you'll excuse me I know it's time to start and I've been absent all last week, I swear it won't happen again I'm 5 minutes away from arriving...- Ryan could only watch in silence as his son Eliot took his car and went outside to do his job, they had swapped their bodies a week ago and he was still having trouble getting used to their new lives, well at least Eliot.

For Ryan, the father, going from an overweight middle-aged man to his hot, muscular 19-year-old son was like being on vacation. especially for not having to go to work every day, despite only spending a week in his son's body Ryan quickly discovered a very easy and fast way to earn money selling videos of his son's hot body, Unbeknownst to the real Ryan, his father had gained a large number of fans around the world who clamored for a little more of the hot body he had.

Meanwhile his son had to spend the rest of the day in front of an old computer taking calls and pretending he knows what he's doing. well in case Eliot got fired from his father's job Ryan could support them both by selling pictures and videos of his hot cock all over the internet. they might even be able to afford that fishing trip they planned years ago.

And while they would both never truly know what caused them to switch bodies at least Ryan was happy to be a hot young man again.

If you want to see more of my stories and want to support me please take a look at my patreon page

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Morgan’s best friend Peter

I’ve seen these incredible posts going around by @fearlesstarker : so I just had to write a little something. Fluff ahead, kids.

Morgan tries to take a moment to really think about it.

She sits back and straightens her spine; the way she does in class when she’s about to prove that everyone in the room- including her professor- is a moron. She cocks her head, examines Peter Parker opposite her, and thinks about it. Truly thinks about it.

“Yes,” she concludes after a moment, all the data filing away neatly, everything coming up a match.

Peter looks up at her, eyes rimmed-red with tears, hair a brown, scraggly mess atop his head. “What do you mean?” He sniffles, still in his pyjamas, still smelling like cologne too expensive to be his.

“You and my dad.” She says, nodding, “Yes.” She gets up and heads to the kitchen. She has a studio-apartment, of course. Her dad would settle for nothing less.

Peter follows at her heels: radiating anxiety. “Morgan, I-”

“It’s fine, Peter. Do you want some tea?” Never espresso’s for Peter, he has enough energy as it is. She pulls down two white ceramic mugs.

“Morgan.” He says again, voice firmer this time. Deeper. She still remembers hearing it break when they were both thirteen, curled up together in a tent on the school’s camping trip.

They’d been shit at building their tent. It had collapsed in the middle of the night and they’d lain there, under stars, sharing secrets. His voice had cracked for the very first time, and she was the first person to know, and she’d held his hand and-

“Morgan.”

The mugs are shaking in her hands.

“Morgan, look at me.”

His hands then, on her shoulders, turning her round, and she’s being hugged by her best friend. By her brother. By Peter B Parker.

He’s taller than her- but only in the physical sense, and she buries her face in his chest and tears come and he holds her so tight- like he doesn’t remember how strong he is. Like he thinks he’s still that scrawny thirteen year old who needed Morgan to protect him from bullies. But he isn’t. Not really.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into her hair, then thinks better of it. He pulls away and looks into her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Morgan. I’m sorry I slept with your dad. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to. I’m sorry for keeping this a secret. I’m so, so sorry.”

She wants to tell him it’s okay, but she’s crying too hard.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” He vows, his voice breaking, “it was a one-time thing. I won’t- I won’t pursue it. Not if you’re not okay with it. I’m sure- I- I know your dad feels the same way.”

“It’s just so…”

“I know.” Peter cuts her off, pained, “I know how it looks. But I promise- it isn’t like that. We connected last summer, remember? When he helped me fix up my car? And-and it was like we were seeing each other for the first time. He’s a good man, your dad, I swear, Morgs, and-and-please, please don’t hate me-”

“God, Peter.” She laughs, watery and honest, “I’m not upset because of any of that! “ She smacks his shoulder. “How can you know me so well and be so blind? I’m scared I’ll lose you. You’re mine, Peter Parker, d’you hear me?”

His face breaks into the most glorious smile, and she knows she loves him the way she loved him when they were thirteen. When she understood family was so much more than blood. “All yours.” He promises. “That will never change.”

She believes him. She sighs, and wipes her cheeks, and nods, pulling herself together. “Well alright then,” she breathes, “but don’t think for one second I’m calling you dad.”

His laughter sounds like music.

***

Evidently, she’s not the only one who thinks so.

Because a month later, she’s sitting at the dining table, and her dad’s setting down something that looks dangerously like home-made spaghetti, and there are candles on the table, and it’s subtle- but she can see it.

Her dad’s sweating.

“Looks good.” She says, even though it doesn’t, trying to calm him down.

Tony gives her a knowing look. She grins at him.

“Don’t sass me, baby Stark. I spent all day on this and in spite of DUM-E’s best efforts, there weren’t even any fires.”

“Not any?” She arches her eyebrow.

Tony winces.

Peter...laughs.

Morgan watches how her dad lights up at the sound. How he brandishes his serving spoon at Peter warningly, and their eyes meet, and there’s a moment- something soft- and raw- just like the meatballs.

“I’ll get us take-out,” Morgan says gently, and she’s worried for a second, that they don’t hear her. That this is how it’ll be from now on- she used to be both of their number ones, and now she’s both of their number two’s.

She orders from the Chinese place across the road- the one that knows them, and the three of them sit in front of the TV and settle in for a movie.

Peter dishes out, and he serves Morgan first. All the spring-rolls and the crispiest noodles.

Something small- bright and lovely- burns within her as she takes her plate.

And when, during the film, she and Peter begin to doze off- it’s her who gets the blanket first. Draped lovingly over her by her dad. It’s her head he kisses before he tends to Peter and she knows- she hasn’t lost anything.

She has only gained.

*

The Press-

Don’t care. It’s weird. Morgan keeps waiting for the backlash. In fact, all of Tony’s team seem to be waiting, but it never comes. It seems that most people expect handsome billionaires to have boyfriends half their age.

“Huh,” Peter says, in a new, custom-made suit that compliments his skin-tone, “I guess that means you’re old news, Tony Stark,” and he kisses the edge of Tony’s mouth. Morgan pretends not to watch.

Her dad turns to Peter, grinning, mischievous, young in a way he hasn’t seemed in a while. “Don’t worry. I can do something about that.”

*

Proposing to Peter on the red carpet for GLAMOUR’s man of the year award does spark the headlines.

“Really, dad?” Morgan laughs, phone nestled into the crook of her neck because she can’t find her airpods.

“What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic.”

“More like a flair for the idiotic.” Comes another voice, a little muffled, and Morgan smiles.

“Is that Peter? Tell him I say hi.”

“Morgan says hi.”

“Oh! Say hey back.”

“Peter says hey.”

“Is he coming up for the LA workshop?”

“Are you coming up for the- hey, you know what, you talk to each other.”

“So grouchy in the morning.” Peter teases, and there’s the sound of kissing, and Morgan faux-retches.

*

When she thought about it, way at the start, she did the pros and the cons. Their obvious compatibility, mutual interests, and potential were some of the heaviest pros.

There were cons, too.

When she makes the drive up, through snow and sleet, back to Stark Tower. Back into New York. In the middle of her academic year even though her dad told her it was fine (and she knew it wasn’t fine) she sees him sitting in his lab, buried deep in work.

“Dad.” She says quietly, ruffling his hair.

“Sweetheart,” he says gruffly, voice rough from dis-use. “I told you, you didn’t have to come. Tell me you didn’t drive in this weather. I would have had Happy-”

“Dad.” She says again, because she’s learnt from watching Peter how to deal with people who are just a little too clever and a little too impatient. Who does he think she gets it from?

She rests her head on his shoulder and Tony sets down his instruments, but Morgan’s already seen the way his hands were shaking.

“You guys will be okay.” She promises, because she’s a genius but also because there are some things you just know for sure. Without a doubt.

*

She finds Peter at a bar outside of Cal-Tech.

He’s nursing an orange juice, but he smells like whiskey.

He cringes when he sees her. “Morgan, I know this must be so awkward-”

“A whiskey neat.” She tells the bar-tender, who squints at her like he’s trying to figure out her age, before recognizing her and stumbling in his haste to obey. “Nothing to be awkward about.” She says. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I love you both. Let’s just drink and maybe do some karaoke.”

Peter peers at her, as if trying to gauge her sincerity, and he slides back onto the barstool. “Okay,” he says eventually, “but only if it’s High School Musical. And only if I get to be Troy.”

“You can be Ryan.”

“If you’re Chad.”

They grin at each other.

Everything’s going to be okay.

*

Morgan’s the one in a white dress at the wedding and that feels...right, somehow. Weird. But right.

Her dad’s in some designer ocean-blue suit. It looks effortless on him. Peter’s in a deep burgundy, a bordeaux, and he cups Tony’s jaw in his hand and whispers something that makes Tony’s entire body ease. Tensionless. Free from burden.

Morgan hasn’t seen that very often.

There’s crying (theirs, Morgan will insist to the tabloids, and not hers at all) and there are doves, and the beach, and food, and dancing and golden rings on fingers.

A little after midnight, she’s about to head back to the hotel when she sees them. Two lone figures under the stars.

“How was that?” Tony whispers, arm around Peter’s waist, voice soft as waves.

“Pretty good for a first wedding.” Peter teases, kissing the underside of Tony’s jaw. “It was perfect, Tony. But everything’s perfect with you.”

“I’m not perfect,” he whispers.

“No.” Peter agrees, smiling, and he wraps his arms around Tony’s neck. “We are imperfectly perfect together. I love you.”

Tony kisses him like he can’t help himself, before he pulls back and traces Peter’s eyelashes. “I love you.”

Then, both of them, together: “We love you too, Morgan.”

She gasps, and darts back into the shadows- all fruitless, of course. They’ve seen her. They will always see her.

But then the taxi comes and she sees her own face in the rear-view mirror.

She’s smiling. Just as hard as they are.