Can we talk about the recurring use of water as coping mechanisms/way to block out the negatives/cover up dark things in eyewitness. Literally everything had to do with water; Lukas throwing the gun in the quarry, Gabe and Helen forgetting the world in the canoe, Bella hiding by the shore before she got taken home, Philip being afraid to swim/go canoeing, Sita’s suicide from the bridge, Kane hiding the evidence in reservoir, Philip using the tap water to calm himself down, where Lukas was shot/Philip had to save him, where Kane went when he kidnapped the boys/went to die, even the title sequence is over the water. This show used the extended metaphor of water washing away the sins of the past. It’s pretty extraordinary how much they’ve worked it into it the story.
so in let’s play minecraft - most dangerous game x, ryan mentions that michael usually cleans the office, which leads me to this:
vicious, poster-boy-for-anger-issues, famous criminal michael jones who cleans up after everyone else in the crew in his typical angry way: by picking up their trash, storming into their various rooms, and throwing it about while yelling at them about “fucking being CLEAN, like fucking human beings, and not leaving shit everywhere like it’s fucking spring break in fucking florida or some shit, i don’t give a fuck, this shit’s been here for a WEEK because NO ONE FUCKING FEELS LIKE PICKING UP THE FUCKING LIVING ROOM ONCE IN A FUCKING BLUE ASSHOLE, NO, IT’S GOTTA BE FUCKING MICHAEL TO ACTUALLY DO SHIT WHILE EVERYONE SITS ON THEIR FUCKING ASSES AND SHITS ALL OVER THE FLOOR”
gavin is the biggest offender when it comes to leaving a trash trail everywhere he goes, and squawks the loudest when michael is emptying the trash can out on his bed.
ray doesn’t give a shit, and usually lets michael rage around his room with red bull cans while he continues to play tetris on his phone.
everyone call tell when hurricane michael hits geoff’s room, because of the audible “oh, COME ON” and the various aborted attempts to reason with the lad as various gold-plated and pink-colored objects are smothered in fast-food wrappers.
as jeremy is rarely in his room — he can rarely sit still for long, preferring to be out and about, tinkering with the cars, or working out — he often has the unique opportunity to watch the hurricane building as michael plows through shared spaces, muttering to himself at increasing volumes, and as such usually slips out the door before michael has the chance to go off on him. (mama dooley didn’t raise no bitch, but she certainly didn’t raise no fool.) sometimes, he even plays the instigator before making his escape, sidling up to a murderous michael and asking with barely hidden glee, “whatcha doin’ there, buddy?” when the storm breaks — after jeremy’s out the door — michael just throws some shit into his room with an angry “not even FUCKING HERE” and moves on.
in stark contrast to the first few times this happened — during which she got just about as pissed as michael and would yell back at him — jack is utterly calm about it, and usually the last stop on michael’s route, because a) he’s usually almost out of trash at that point, and b) she just sits there with her arms folded and stares him down until he runs out of steam, and can always be counted on to help him pick up whatever’s left and follow up michael’s tantrum with stern warnings to the boys.
ryan is the only person who does not get affected by cleaning day, because he keeps fairly clean and michael knows it. this is not to say he’s immaculate: there are staggering amounts of diet coke cans left on the kitchen counter every day. but they aren’t left lying all around the house, and that’s what michael cares about. (plus, every saturday morning, ryan washes out the soda cans and puts them in a bag for recycling, drives them out to a “can man” who weighs the bag and gives him money for the cans, and then donates the cash however he sees fit, usually to an animal shelter or buying a homeless person a meal. so the cans don’t remain in the kitchen for very long. he’s crazy, not heartless.) and while his room is untidy as all get out — that’s where all the cans are strewn about — ryan tends to keep his mess contained and out of the general living space.
the one time michael did try to include him in the tempest, the can he was attempting to chuck at ryan’s head was suddenly impaled by a throwing knife. it was extremely sobering.
i may have lied. ryan’s not the only person to be safe from michael’s wrath on cleaning day. nobody pulls that shit on lindsay and lives.
hard, sometimes, so unbearably hard for Ryan to stay.
are days and weeks and months when he doesn’t think about it, where
this crew is everything he needs, everything he could ever want, and
nothing on earth could tear him away. But then there are those
moments, terrifying and bleak and inescapable in a way the rest of
the crew will never really understand.
a paranoia that seeps through, ideas he can’t stop himself from
imagining. The way he thinks about the ease with which he could snap
Gavin’s neck, soft and vulnerable, already tucked underneath his arm
while the movie plays, explosions more than loud enough to cover any
sound. The way the ever growing bounty on Geoff’s head is burnt into
his brain, not temptation so much as reminder, this wanted man who
doesn’t even stop to think about the danger of falling asleep in
Ryan’s presence. About how easy it would be to mess with the
explosives Michael gets him to hold, how no one would ever suspect
anything but a faulty timer, a tragic accident. How Jack has him
check her parachute when she doesn’t have time, blind faith that he
would never let her fall. The unprotected slope of Jeremy’s back,
walking ahead down the tunnel, utterly unconcerned by the loaded gun
Ryan carries, unaware of the way his spine is in the sightline even
with the gloom.
not fantasies, there is no secret wish to hurt his crew, this
mismatched collection of disturbing affection, it’s
just the deep unshakable knowledge that he could.
That nothing and no one could stop him if he were so inclined, not
with how unsuspecting they are, how trusting.
forgotten, he knows, inexplicably forgotten all the ways that they
are different, the ways he is not the same. This pack of junkyard
dogs, who are scrappy survivors, downright vicious when they want to
be, but not savage. Feral, maybe, but not wild like Ryan is wild, the
wolf they have welcomed into their midst without truely understanding
what that means. What he is. What he will always be. They’ve let time
and familiarity blind them, dangerously desensitised by fondness,
like they can no longer see his ruin.
It’s not like it’s easy to miss. It’s not like
outsiders don’t notice immediately. Maybe
that sense of unknown dread, bone-deep wrongness setting off
primitive alarm, is what has the Vagabond’s reputation spreading as
far and wide and feared as it is. There’s something
heavy and inescapable in being a real life bad example, being the one
thing every man, woman and child is taught to avoid. To be known as
pain, as violence, as death, to be inevitable betrayal before you
even open your mouth. A relationship that ends in bloodshed before it
even starts. The kind of stain that never washes out.
Ryan has never really resented that part of
himself before - he made his choices after all, created the Vagabond
and relished in his rise; he’s only got himself to blame, but all of
a sudden it feels like it has cost him something. Like all the guilt
he refuses to feel has reformed into a different kind of punishment,
an awareness that he cannot keep the best thing that has ever
happened to him, that he’ll have to leave before this, too, is
tarnished. Maybe he
can play lost pet for a time but the wilderness in his blood is
always calling, the lonely cry of the hunt keeping him up at night,
relentlessly pulling him back no matter how hard he tries to resist.
Ryan knows, in those moments, that this can’t last. That no matter
how much he wants to stay eventually he’ll have to break away again
and leave them all behind.
whenever it comes up, whenever it’s all too much and Ryan is just
secretly working out what he has to pack before he leaves, his crew
goes and smacks him over the head with their feelings on the matter.
are the days when Gavin will look up at him, smiling so soft and
sweet and terrifyingly harmless that it takes Ryan a second too long
to recognise the blade pressing up between his ribs, or into the
hollow of his throat or the base of his spine, freezing with a
startling shot of adrenaline even as Gavin pulls back, eyes alight
with wicked mischief as he laughs and skitters away, singing gotcha
over his shoulder like
catching the Vagabond unaware is a petty party trick.
Geoff will take one look at Ryan and send him away on a long job, or
pull him off what he was doing and keep him close to base instead.
It’s incredibly frustrating; Geoff offers no explanation or remorse
and the orders rarely align with what Ryan wants to be doing, but one
way or another they always seem to be just the thing to make him
shake off the restless jitters.
Michael drags Ryan out to practise close combat and drops him to the
ground over and over, defies Ryan’s greater size and usual physical
dominance in a hurricane of fists and flashing teeth. The way he
laughs and jeers and riles Ryan into true annoyance, into drawing
blood, and still sends him crashing down as often as not, an oddly
comforting display of bloody competence.
Ryan turns that cold detached gaze on Jack and finds her already
looking back, eyes narrowed and calculating, thoughtful. A simple
look that sends the same flare of shocking panicked fear through him as
he gets when she lets a jet plummet from the air, laughing wild and
reckless, ruthlessly jolting Ryan back into himself.
Jeremy invites himself along on one of Ryan’s less savoury jobs,
matches him hit for hit, threat for threat, nudges Ryan away and
takes over when things get truly nasty. The way he leans into Ryan’s
side and looks for critique when it’s over, as calm and friendly as
ever, like this darkness isn’t the thing that defines them.
is Ryan’s crew. His pack of dogs demonstrating just how clearly they
hear the call of the wild, how violently capable they are of keeping
up. The FAHC, who fight tooth and nail and no regrets, who’ve dug in
their claws and don’t plan on letting go, who’d go toe to toe with a
wolf without an ounce of fear just to prove he’s already home.
unspeakably hard, sometimes, for Ryan to stay, but leaving would be
so much worse.
Every week, we follow the boss of a different organization as they go undercover, and figure out what’s really happening. Are things going as they seem? Or is someone keeping a secret from the chief? You’re watching Undercover Boss: Castle Krakenburg.
King Garon sat on his throne, scowling.
This is King Garon, the current monarch presiding over the kingdom of Nohr. Right now they’re fighting a war to conquer the land of Hoshido and bring glory to the homestead.
Garon stepped out of a closet, dressed as a butler, with no crown, wearing one eyepatch, and with his hair styled into a ponytail.
Today, Garon will go undercover as a butler named Ryan.
Pairing: Raywood WC: 6395 Summary: Ray had always been good with his hands. Which sounded really sexual, but honestly just meant he had an obsession with building things and origami when he was young. When he entered High School he took an optional ASL class, and kind of fell in love. Now it’s how him and Michael manage to get away with not paying attention in boring required college classes. Ray just wasn’t anticipating the new professor to be so fucking hot.
ASL had never gotten him in so much trouble.
A/N: So I pretty much love ASL and have wanted to learn it for most of my life. One of my close friends mentioned that she got away with a lot of bullshit in classes because her and her best friend would just talk in sign language. I knew immediately I wanted to write a story where Ray and Michael do just that. Let me know what you think!
Could I please get a Ricky Imagine where you are FaceTimeing him and the rest of the boys are teasing him, and you, on the other end?
”Hey, who’s that you’re talking to?” You heard Chris’ voice in the background.
“Non of your god damn business!” Ricky shouts back glancing at the curtain on his bunk. He turns back to you. “Sorry about that they are always hyper after a signing. They get food and sugar and gift cards and shit.”
“It’s okay.” You smile. You love the guys, they are Ricky’s brothers and sometimes you have to put up with their shit.
Suddenly there is a commotion on the other end and Ricky vanishes. You slide between his mattress and the wall hearing a scuffle.
“No! Get off! I’m talking to her! Fuck off! Chris don’t!” You hear Ricky but all of a sudden see Chris’ face.
“Hey, babe.” Chris says with a grin.
“Get off me, Devin! Chris give me my phone!”
Chris laughs and shows you Ricky being sat on by Devin. “Why can’t you share her with all of us we wanna talk too, wiener boy.” Chris says.
“Pass it here.”
Suddenly Balz is in front of you. “Hey, how you doing?” He takes a bite of his sandwich. “Ricky’s kind of held up so you’ll have to talk to us.”
“That’s fine just don’t hurt him.” You can’t help but chuckle.
“Hey, Devin don’t hurt Rick she wants him in one piece.”
Suddenly there is Ryan. “Hi.” He gives a smile.
“Hey, Ryan. How’s Allie.”
“She’s good at home with the cats. How are you?”
“I’m not bad. The washer broke so I can’t wash clothes until it’s fixed.”
“That sucks. I hope you get it fixed soon.”
“The repairman is coming tomorrow.”
Chris takes the phone from Ryan. “Make sure you wash that lingerie Ricky is so fond of.”
“Shut up, Chris you’re such a creep.” Ricky shouts from the floor.
Devin’s face appears. “Hi.” He smiles.
“Give me my phone!” Ricky demands.
“You’re tiny little boyfriend is having a tantrum on the floor like a baby. Dump him and go out with me if you want a real man. I grow an awesome beard.” Devin teases.
“Oh Ghost, you know my heart only beats for you but I’m with Ricky and with Ricky I will stay.” You play along dramatically.
The guys laugh and finally Ricky is let up and given his phone back.”
“God damnit!” He straightened his beanie. “I hate all of you!”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t.” Chris teased. “C’mon we’re going to get some food.”
“We can talk afterwards, babe okay?” You say.
He sighs. “Alright. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He kisses the camera making you smile before vanishing.
cont. and then the line “holding your hair back in a bathroom stall” yeah yeah
it’s about Sarah because Sarah could got in the men’s restroom and it
Although I 100% agree that it is super THROAM and super ryden…to be fair, a bathroom stall isn’t specially meant for male restrooms. Those would be the urinals. HOWEVER, it is most likely referring to those drunken nights and Brendon being there for the after effects of alcohol and the hang overs and GOD they were so stupidly in love. Brendon has been known to take care of Ryan. Remember he would wash his hair when it got all gross???
A shade of gray tinted the room as the sun barely started to rise through the window. Stormy blue hues stared blankly at the ceiling, barely making out silhouettes in the room. The sound of a piano resonated throughout the house keeping anyone lucky enough to be awake, listening. The smooth transitions between each chord was mesmerizing. This sound had been there since the start of the week. It wasn’t distracting nor bothering, but rather relaxing.
Bryce was deciding whether he should go see who was making the melancholic song or just enjoy the song from where he was at, Bryce tossed and turned in bed, knowing already who it could be. He made up his mind and got up quietly from where he lay. Creeping around the halls was easy for him because he knew the layout like the back of his hand. He got to the doorway of his music room and noticed that the door was open. Quietly opening the door, he leaned on the doorway as the song continued to play.
The song got to a part where two people were supposed to be playing together, but the pianist did just fine on his own. Bryce decided to grab his guitar from the corner near the wall. He hoped that he would be able to join in if he ever got the courage to confront the mysterious musician. Bryce noticed that the song changed, and this time, the song was slower, deeper. To Bryce, he could see how much this song meant to the other.
What Bryce did next was what he needed to. The song was a different one from before and hadn’t been played once. Bryce put his guitar away, sat next to the man playing his heart out and began to sing along to the tune. The song wasn’t one that he listen to often, but he knew enough.
“This is Gospel, for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber… Assembling their philosophies from pieces of broken memories. Woah… Gnashing teeth and criminal tongues, conspire against the odds, but they haven’t seen the best of us yet… If you love me let me go~”
The song had abruptly stopped playing, but Bryce kept singing along to silence. He knew he couldn’t stop now. “Cuz these words are knives and often leave scars. The fear of falling apart. Truth be told, I never was yours. The fear, the fear of falling apart…”
At this point, Ryan stopped not out of shock, but because he wanted to listen to Bryce sing. His voice was soft and comforting. They were close friends and when Bryce heard that the other was having trouble back home, he invited him to stay at his place if it would make it easier. The other hesitated for awhile before agreeing and moving in. They set a pace for each other during a week and Ryan eventually got comfortable.
“Don’t try to sleep through the end of the world and bury me alive because I won’t give up without a fight. If you love me let me go~ If you love me let me go. Because these words are knives and often leave scars. The fear of falling apart; the fear, the fear of falling apart. The fear of falling apart…”
Bryce opened his eyes the first thing he noticed was that Ryan was crying. His worried expression was replaced with a soft smile and kind eyes. Bryce opened his arms and Ryan fell into them. The two stayed there until the sun was pouring all over the room. Their faces were bathed in sunshine as comforting words were spilled. Ryan stopped crying and just stayed there where he felt most at home after everything.
Bryce’s smile never left as he bent down and kissed the older man on the lips softly. “Come on Ryan, let’s get back to bed.” Ryan refused to move until he had a question answered. “When?” he asked not looking up at Bryce. Confused by the question, Bryce did some thinking. Did he mean about the songs each morning or about his feelings. “About the songs each morning? I noticed it the night you moved in.”
Ryan frowned and gripped the other’s shirt tightly, “That’s not what I meant. When?” Bryce stopped and thought about it for a while. Did he start when he moved in? No. Before? Yes. The question that lingered was, When? He knew it wasn’t when they first met, it would’ve been to early. Then he got it.
“Hmm, I guess it was as we started to play more together back in earlier year, not exactly when we met, but shortly soon after. I noticed I felt a certain way about you and I couldn’t quite place it until now.” Satisfied with the answer, Ryan looked up at Bryce and replied, “Me too…” A tired wave washed over Ryan and he let out a yawn.
Bryce let out a chuckle, “Come on sleepyhead, let’s go back to bed.” Ryan nodded as Bryce pulled him up from the piano bench and grabbed his hand, squeezing a little bit. They walked back into Bryce’s room and fell into the bed. Ryan pulled the covers over both of them and they laughed after the tense atmosphere from before. Ryan gave Bryce a kiss on the lips before falling victim to sleep.
“When I was 13 I got my first job with my dad carrying shingles up to the roof. Then, I got a job washing dishes at a restaurant, then at a grocery store deli, and then in a factory sweeping cheerio-dust off the ground. And I’ve never had a job in my life that I was better than. I was always lucky to have a job. And every job that I had was a stepping stone to my next job.”
- Ashton Kutcher
First, allow me to say that I’m not too good to be a barista. My coworker, who has a masters degree, is not too good to be a barista. My shift lead, who teaches special education by day, is not too good to be a barista.
I’m a member of Mensa, the international high IQ society. I fall into the 98.8 percentile of the entire world. I’m am, quite literally, a certified genius. I am still not too good to be a barista.
I’m a professional actress and director. When I say this to people, they make snide comments about me working at Starbucks, an alternative to waiting tables. To them I say to Google a very humbling photo of Ryan Gosling washing dishes in a restaurant long after he was famous. But at the end of the day, I get paid to do what I love. I’m still not too good to be a barista.
I go out of my way to be nice. I thank bus drivers and wish them a good day. When someone takes my order, I ask them how they are and actually wait for an answer before I ask something of them. I linger behind when class is over to thank the teacher for a great lesson. I compliment your shoes or your hair or your engagement ring because I mean it. I tell women that they are beautiful when they need a reminder. I met my soon-to-be-fiance (who also works a food service position) at the supermarket and he asked me out because I was shockingly kind and polite. I’m still not too good to be a barista.
So when you say to us, “you’re just a barista,” remember that we are people too. I have hopes and dreams and ambitions. I have ticks and habits. There are things that make me very happy and things that make me very sad, like how rude people can be to us “lowly” baristas. I am someone’s daughter, sister, girlfriend, granddaughter, niece, and best friend. My feelings get hurt, just like yours do. I’m not a Starbucks robot, built to service you and you only, making sure that your coffee is just the way you like it. I’m a human being, doing my best to pay my bills and save money for a wedding, or for a vacation, or for a house, just like you.
A/N: Hi, my name is Shelby and this is my first reader insert fic that I wrote just to test the waters out. I also haven’t branched out to the community and Kelsey graciously is letting me submit this to her blog. If I could get reception of the fic then I’ll probably make my own writing blog for song prompt fics with the RT/AH guys. My URL is skylordsimon.tumblr.com so please send me your input on this fic!
[note from Kelsey: I want her to write more, show her all the love]
Pairing: Ryan x Gender Neutral!Reader
Rating: NC-17, sexy times and swearing
Word Count: 1,379
Warnings: Sex, swearing.
Summary: After finally coming home from work at a decent hour, something catches you by surprise.