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moody-alcoholic · 2 months ago

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On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 7 - Well This Is Awkward

CW: Angst, mention's of alcohol, mentions of panic attack's, mental health, mentions of injuries, mentions of death.

Did I mention I like medical dramas?

Previous parts - masterlist - next

Your therapist is nice. You’ve been going to her for the past 3 months, you were only supposed to go for a single session. Then the army insisted on more. Johnny was sent home on medical leave a few days after you left. He came to see you and stayed the night.

The next morning you had to tell him to leave, it just wasn’t the same.

‘I’ll be staying at the house if you want to visit?’

Shit, you forgot about the house. The place you all pitched in to buy, so you all had somewhere to stay when you were on leave. Everyone’s flats are too small to accommodate all 5 of you. Besides, flat hopping everyday across London was expensive.

‘I’ll talk to John when he’s back.’ All you want back is the deposit.

“Do you feel guilty?” She asks you. It snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at her.

“No.” You say, she hums. You hate it when she does that. You don’t know why it is a particularly tough session. You just want to go home. “They hurt me. I don't feel guilty about that.”

“You left the unit though.” Bitch. “It’s okay to feel guilty about that.”

“Okay fine. I feel guilty about leaving Johnny and Kyle.” You snap back. Anything to get her to sign you off so you can go. You look up at the clock, you still have at least 40 minutes left in this season.

“Have you got your letter from the university yet?” She asks changing the subject. You nod. After a few weeks of crying on the bathroom floor and drowning yourself in bottles of vodka you decided to get your shit together.

“That’s good, what's the plan going forward?”

“I’ll be posted on a base somewhere where I can get hands-on experience in trauma care. With studying on the side.” You say without going too much into the complications.

“So the army is actively helping you, that's good.”

“Yeah I think they’re willing to do anything so long as I don’t sue them.” You scoff under your breath. She hums.

You don’t know how true that is, maybe it’s just something you tell yourself so you don’t feel so conflicted over how accommodating they’ve been. They’re paying your uni bills and even got you one some army teaching program aimed to fast track you through the ranks.

“What about Kyle and Johnny? Have you heard from them since you spoke to them last?” Fucking bitch. You sigh, turning away from her. The last time you spoke to them was almost a month ago. They text you from time to time, try to call you.

You’ve ignored them, so much that you feel like anything you say to them will just be meaningless.

“Yeah, they’re deployed.” You lie. She smiles. You look back up at the clock.

30 minutes to go.

______________________

Iraq is hot. That you expected but the hospital’s electricity is sketchy at best. You have to keep the air-con off to make sure the ventilators don’t cut out. The US built this place, you’re only supposed to be here for another week at least before you’ll move again.

As soon as the electric is fixed it will be handed over to the UN to run, until then it was getting a dry run as a combat hospital. Lots of blown off limbs and bullets to pull out people. Lots of death.

You told Johnny and Kyle where you were going when you got your placement. You’re trying to patch things up with them after basically leaving them on read for almost 3 months. Your therapist said it would be a good thing to do.

The sun is setting, you're sitting outside watching as it touches the top of the distant mountains. The place is busy, friendly forces are still pretty much living here. It’s the only safe zone in this part of the desert, why the UN wanted a hospital out here you’ll never know.

Something about re-urbanisation of previously controlled territories. You don’t care, you're here to pull bullets out of people and save lives. Other than your mentor-Dr. Sands-you’re the only other doctor on the base. Doctor is a loose term, you’re technically still a student, but you ace all your skills labs, and the army is begging for help apparently.

You let out a breath, finishing the rest of your drink and getting up and pulling your white lab coat on.

“Well, fancy seeing you ‘ere.” You hear a familiar thick accent behind you. You turn to see Johnny standing behind you.

What the fuck.

You’re hugging him before you can stop yourself. You see Kyle, John and Simon stood behind him. They’re all geared up, weapons slung over their chest or back.

You thought you would feel something when you saw them. Maybe you'd want to run, scream, cry, anything. You feel nothing, just numbness.

“What are you doing here?” You ask.

“Oh you know, Shepherd says jump, we say how high.” he says nudging you, it makes you smile and you shake your head.

“Finally going for the MD?” He asks, pointing at the student doctor tag on your coat.

“Yeah well, you like putting bullets in people. I like pulling them out.”

“Oh yeah not even the occasional love tap?” He jokes, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

“Only the bad guys.” You reply. You look up at Kyle who’s smiling. Then John and Simon.

“You look good.” John says.

“Yeah well that’s what 6 months of therapy will do to you.” It’s bitter, harsher than you expected it to be. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him in 6 maybe 7 months. He hasn’t changed a bit. He still smiles at you, his body language open, his hands on his hips.

Simon stands with his arms crossed, his presence is looming, making hairs stand up on the back of your neck.

“It’s good to see you again.” Kyle says, you nod at him.

“Oh when we’re back we should catch a bite to eat.” Johnny says enthusiastically, moving away over to Kyle.

“You can tell us what to avoid in the mess.” Kyle adds. You smile again. You go to open your mouth but your pager beeps. You look down at it. It’s the doctor.

“Yeah, when you’re back, come find me.” You say turning into the building.

“Stay safe!” Johnny calls.

“Yeah you too!” You call back pulling your radio off your hip. When you make it through the door you squeeze your eyes closed for a second and let out a long breath.

Now you hate this hospital even more.

______________________

It’s dark out now. You look over at the clock and it's almost midnight. You’re sat at the nurses station listening to them talk about whatever drama is going on in the next base. You still can’t believe you ended up in the same base as 141.

They’ll be gone soon, even Johnny seemed surprised, maybe he thought you’d be gone by now. Now you have to eat with them at some point. Johnny and Kyle at least.

The doctor left an hour ago to go to another base for a surgery. You’re used to this taking the night shifts. Normally you just sleep and get woken up a few times for the nurses to ask for medication changes. You’ve only ever had one trauma come in at night and the doctor was there to help you with the limited night time staff.

You tried to sleep but you couldn’t, you were restless trying to think about what they were doing here? Who were they after? How long would they be here? At least at the nurses station you can listen to the nurses and let their gossip distract you.

The red trauma phone rings. For a second you think it’s a joke, it’s the normal phone. Nope, the red light is flashing on it. You stand up picking it up.

“Trauma.” You say.

“Got one incoming, ETA 15 minutes. GSW to the chest, breathing unconscious. 30 year old male.” You hear an American voice say as you write it down. You don’t have time to worry or be nervous. This is what you live for, you let the adrenaline pump through you. It clears your mind as you take down the information.

“Copy, what’s the name?”

“Riley.” Your heart stops.

“Say again?”

“Riley, Simon Riley.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You’re squeezing the phone in your hand, the pen has fallen to the floor. You look over at the nurses already pulling gowns on and getting into position in the resus bay.

You don’t even register saying copy and putting the phone back. You turn away from the nurses braising yourself on a filing cabernet.

Simon’s shot. All you can see is his face, his body covered in blood. He’s always so careful, he’s always the one dragging people out the field not getting shot. Something must have gone horribly wrong.

You weren't there. He’s shot and you weren't there to save him.

You suck in breaths of air, the adrenaline isn’t helping now.

“Doctor?” You hear one of the nurses call. You turn to look at them, you have to keep it together.

“Page the doctor.”

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tidetfs · 11 months ago

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Dan stared at the bottle he had ordered. Never thinking it would actually have arrived from the sketchy online seller, the liquid within shone a bright orange. Bringing the bottle to his nose, the 20-year old nerdy college student recalled the ad: "become a hot, dumb, smelly, musky, blonde himbo Aussie surfer dude with long hair!" - what he initially thought as ridiculous and something that would only live in his fantasies, he began to think the ad might have been a little real as he popped the cork and gave it a sniff, recoiling. It smelled like the combination of the sea and a high school locker room!

The ad had promised a transformation time of 30 minutes, and for the effects to last forever! Dan looked around at his room...did he really want to do this? Leave his nerdy life behind? As soon as he began to have doubts, he forced himself to rip the cork off the bottle. Before the smell got too bad, Dan imagined the stuff was just a shot of vodka he always saw his hot roommate taking, plugged his nose, and downed the whole bottle.

As he finished the last drops of the nasty liquid, Dan felt the effects immediately. His stomach felt warm and gurgly. A wave of heat and energy washed over his body, causing him to drop the empty bottle and fall to his knees. He suddenly felt rejuvenated, as if he could go outside right this instant and put his pudgy body through a fifty mile run, while at the same time feeling a strong urge to vomit. As Dan tried to stand, he felt another wave of heat coursing through his body. Dan screamed as his veins felt like they would burst out of his skin, falling back to the floor.

Dan moaned again as the heat began to become unbearable, his shirt becoming wet with sweat as he struggled to pry it off. Panting, Dan struggled to remove his shorts too, almost feeling as if he was basking in the hot summer sun. Once his clothes were all off, Dan laid there on the floor, a puddle of sweat surrounding his body. Suddenly, the vomiting urge disappeared, and was replaced by a new one.

"I-I'm horny..." Dan mumbled as he reached down to stroke his hardening cock, a few inches long. He had never been able to get hard, and certainly had never had a wet dream or orgasm, let alone masturbate. But now, Dan couldn't stop himself from touching his cock, and the feeling was electric. It had never felt so good before!

"What is this?!" Dan gasped as his cock seemed to pulse with each stroke. Dan was in heaven, his whole body tingling as he began to play with his nipples, never before having considered that area pleasurable. He didn't even notice the slow growth of hair on his arms, chest, and legs. As Dan began to furiously stroke his lengthening cock, small blonde hairs began to peek out of his head, and a thin patch of pubic hair sprouted. Dan moaned and thrashed about, his cock pulsing with pleasure as it slowly became longer and thicker, surpassing 9 inches and growing to the width of a beer can. Dan began thrusting into his hand as the pulsating head spurted precum like a fountain, dribbling down to his new mess of blonde public hairs that was still growing, becoming an out of control forest reeking of fresh sweat.

"Oh fuck yes" Dan moaned as the rest of him began to grow. Dan's feet began to pulse and crack spreading across the cold tile floor as wild, bushy tufts of bright blonde hair sprouted between his toes and grew up his feet, soon surpassing size 12 as Dan cried out in pleasure. His legs began to swell, becoming thick, toned and covered in sweaty, sticky blonde hair, reeking of male scent and...gnarly waves? Dan began to question how he would know this smell, but the heat overcame him again as his legs pushed him taller to a striking 6'2. His thighs and ass swelled, his hips and waist widening with them as his muscles grew stronger and thicker, his ass cheeks soon swelling to the size of a small chair cushion and bouncing with every move, his hips wider than the doors as he was left with a small, round, bubble butt that shook like jello when he moved. Here too, a jungle of smelly, sweaty blonde hair consumed his ass as Dan screamed in pleasure, his hands kneading the soft flesh as he thrusted his cock into the air.

"Yesssssss" Dan cried, as the heat began to spread up from his crotch to his abdominals. His stomach began to grow outward, the pudge melting away and giving way to a firm, chiseled, rock hard 6-pack abs that glistened with sweat. Dan's nipples became dark, sensitive nubs of flesh, his pecs swollen with muscle as they began to pulse. Screaming at the pleasure coursing through his chest, Dan ran his hands up the chiseled surface of his abs, feeling them become coated in a sheen of rancid sweat that would never truly wash away. As he began to grope and massage his bloating man tits, the blonde jungle from his crotch began to consume his chest and underarms, his armpits turning into a wet, sweaty pit that would forever stink, the blonde hair growing thicker and curlier with each second. Even with his arms resting at his sides, the pits would still spill outwards, a mountain of hairy flesh and sweat. His chest became swollen, the pecs now growing large and round, a pair of thick, perky, sweaty man tits that would shake like water balloons with any movement. The hair on his chest went into overdrive, thickening and spreading as a trail formed up the middle of his back, ensuring any shirt he wore would be ruined by sweat, no matter the number of showers he had.

As Dan continued to massage the still-growing mounds of muscle on his chest, his arms began to pulse with the summer heat. With each wave, Dan screamed in ecstasy, as the veins and muscles underneath his skin swelled, becoming thicker and bigger. The reeking blonde jungle from his crotch and chest, now complete, consumed his biceps, triceps, and forearms, growing into a dense mat that would only grow and grow until the day he died, a permanent, rancid stench that would make him the subject of attention wherever he went. Dan moaned as his arms began to flex, his hands reaching up to the ceiling as his hands swelled, growing longer, larger, and thicker, the hands of a brute. As he used his new hands on his raging cock, he felt the heat once more as his shoulders began to pulse, feeling them widen as his back grew thick and powerful with strong muscle, his broad shoulders bulging with the same power.

"O-oh f-fuck..." Dan moaned, as he flexed his arms, feeling them bulge with raw strength, biceps and triceps thicker than a normal person's thighs, the smelly blonde jungle making them seem even bigger. He breathed deeply as his cock continue to leak, his whole body dripping with sweat, as the heat began to travel up into his neck as it grew thicker and wider, giving him the appearance of the jocks he wanted so much to be like. Dan moaned, feeling his voice drop deeper and deeper into a low, sensual baritone as his Adam's apple pushed outwards, forming a thick, protruding knot.

As Dan reached down to play with his hairy ass, his face began to tingle. His eyes fluttered and closed as his nose cracked pushed outwards, giving the slightly crooked appearance that it had once been broken as his lips grew plumper and fuller as his longer tongue licked their edges. Dan's teeth grew dull and slightly crooked, a perfect set for the dumb surfer boy he was becoming. A low, sensual chuckle came from deep within his chest as his jaw cracked, growing larger and wider as his cheekbones bulged.

"Heheheh" Dan chuckled again, his new, low voice reverberating throughout his body, as blonde stubble began to appear on his face and neck. Dan's hands caressed the smooth, baby-like skin of his face, before it erupted into a wild, dense jungle, covering his entire head. The smell was unbearable, but Dan could do nothing but moan in ecstasy as he raised his muscular arm to huff the sea of hair spilling from his pit. He breathed deeply, smelling the mixture of his rancid male musk, salty sweat, and the ocean, feeling a nostalgic sense of returning home. He moaned again in his new, low voice as his skull began to grow a thick set of curly, sweaty blonde locks, only adding to the smell as the last of his short, black hair changed color and began to spill behind his ears. Dan moaned again, the sound of his voice sending shivers down his spine, as his mouth filled with saliva.

"Fuuuuuck" he moaned, his tongue swirling around in the saliva, causing some to spill out as drool onto his still pulsing cock, earning Dan another wave of pleasure as his greasy locks grew even more curly, reaching the back of his neck. Dan opened his eyes, the pupils now a beautiful aquamarine, and watched his hair grow in the mirror, the light from the window glinting off the golden blonde curls.

"D-do I have long hair?" Dan mumbled, his mouth filled with spit, as he stood up and walked over to the mirror. Dan's cock bobbed with each step, precum flying everywhere, as he stared at his new, sexy, handsome body.

"I-I look like a surfer" Dan said slowly, looking at his long, wet, curly locks, shining like gold in the light. He looked at his strong, muscular arms, the blonde hair shining as it cascaded down to the jungle on his hands, before continuing to his chest. Dan's hands moved to his pecs, feeling them, before his hands traced the outline of his six pack. "I'm strong..." Dan muttered, watching his cock twitch and bob. Dan looked up to the mirror again, his new model-like face staring back at him. He looked at the blonde curls, his thick, wet, red lips, and his aquamarine eyes, feeling the drool dribble down his chin and the scent of the sea and man sweat fill the room.

Suddenly, Dan realized the potion had one more surprise for him as he felt a splitting headache, his hair growing even faster and longer.

"Owowowowwwwww" Dan moaned, grabbing his head and bending forward. His hair grew and grew, his hands running through the wavy curls, slick with grease, salt, and sweat. He looked in the mirror again, noticing a subtle shift in his eyes as he quickly realized what was happening. "Wait, n-no-" he started, as he quickly began going over calculus facts from his advanced college course, before the pain became unbearable.

Dan cried out, the words and math in his head becoming more complicated and foreign as the pain slowly morphed into a gentle, pleasant vibration. The words and math slowly slipped from his mind, his once brilliant brain turning into a dumb, empty hole, as it became harder and harder for Dan to picture even basic metal math. "Fuuuuck" Dan moaned again as the pleasant vibration consumed his whole being. "Fuckin A..." Dan whispered in his new, deep timbre as complex thoughts became harder and harder to imagine, almost feeling like he was high. He chuckled again, as the words and math disappeared from his mind. "N-nooo, I'm dumb..." Dan slurred, his voice sounding slow and drunk.

Dan blinked and chuckled, as his mind turned completely empty, only capable of simple, primal thoughts and urges. "I'm horny..." Dan growled, his voice sounding like the sexy, rugged surfer he had always dreamed of being. His new, handsome, chiseled face broke out into a stupid grin, a look that would become the new himbo's default expression. "But the fuck am I doing here..." Dan chuckled again as his dorm room began to shift and morph. He blinked and giggled as the white, clean walls turned to a worn, brown wood. He blinked and laughed as his desk shifted and molded, becoming a simple bed frame and dresser, his computer changing into a surfboard and a cooler.

"Oh fuck yessssssss" Dan moaned, his cock pulsing and dripping precum. "I'm at the beach!" Dan cried, looking around his new room. There was a small, circular window where his door had once been, allowing the sunlight to illuminate his room. Even the time on the clock changed as the heat accosted Dan one final time, this time in his vocal cords.

"Owowowow" Dan groaned and coughed as the final effects took place. His vocal cords became even more raw, coarse, and masculine, his voice dropping an octave lower. "What the fuck, mate" he gasped, his accent changing as he spoke. Gone was his once boring, nondescript American accent, replaced by a low, gruff, sexy Aussie drawl, his words slurred together and slow as he vigorously jacked his still-hard cock, his blonde pubes caked with sweat.

"Oh fuck, oh shit, uhhhh" Dan moaned, his balls beginning to pulse as the heat traveled from his neck down his spine. "G-gonna...cummm..." Dan moaned, feeling the pressure build in his nuts. He felt them begin to pulse, and then he exploded, the biggest, loudest orgasm of his life erupting from his cock, the stream of cum enormous as the windows fogged up and the floor began to soak. His cock pulsed and pulsed, a seemingly endless river of cum.

"Ughhh" Dan grunted, as his orgasm finally began to subside. "Awww shit, my dick's really fuckin big" Dan giggled, the sound reverberating through his room and causing the glass in the window to vibrate. "Mmmm, but my balls are so heavy" he groaned, cupping his fat nuts and letting the weight settle.

As he heard the final change, a small crackling noise coming from his brain, he realized the beach was gone, his old, boring life was gone, and a whole new world had opened up for him. He would never forget his old life, but it would always seem to Dan as a distant memory. Dan giggled, as his brain finally stopped working, replaced with a dumb, happy, empty void, incapable of stress or worry.

"Fuck yeah, mate!" Dan cried, his stupid, happy grin returning. "I'm a surfer dude!" he yelled, his accent slurred. He jumped around his new beachside shack, the dumb himbo bouncing around the room. He was naked, and the heat from the sun warmed his sweaty, blonde, hairy body. He breathed deeply once more, the salty, fresh air filling his lungs, the scent of the ocean mixing with the pungent smell of his own rancid, musky male scent, before walking to his dresser, his cock still hard and leaking. "Man, I gotta get my trunks on if I'm gonna score tonight" he giggled. Dan's mind was empty and happy, only able to process the most simple of thoughts, and that was good enough for him.

As he grabbed his favorite swim trunks and slipped them on, he walked back over to the window, looking out onto the beach. There were hot girls and guys, all scantily clad and tan, running about, playing in the waves and lounging. He could feel the sand between his toes, and could almost taste the cool, crisp water of the sea. He was finally free of his old life, and now he was here, the happiest himbo surfer there ever was.

#dumber #himbo tf #male tf #surfer tf

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pandakong · 4 months ago

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Botober day 16 - Cabled Sins.

Kinda abstract, I was thinking about where “sins” can be found

#botober #botober2024 #ID in alt text #fountain pen #twsbi eco #noodler’s ink #sketchy sketch #my art or something #I made this in like 30 minutes #pretty good time #more to say when I reblog maybe a

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auadd · 19 days ago

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Article transcribed below:

(The front cover of Broadcast Magazine May 2024. An image of Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton wearing black tie suits, looking out at the viewer, their faces lit by a vertical sliver of light as if from an opening door.)

The text reads: After No. 9.

On the bittersweet task of bringing their black comedy anthology series to an end.

Writers and stars Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith are pulling down the shutters on their black comedy anthology Inside No. 9 after nine series. They talk to Robin Parker about the show's sketchy origins, why an old-fashioned weekly drop was key to keeping audiences gripped, and wrestling with the best kind of send-off for their labour of love.

Such are the mind-games played by Inside No. 9 that when Reece Shearsmith says he felt "like a rabbit in the headlights" thinking about how to end the show, it's just possible that he's referring to the hare statue that fans are challenged to find in every episode. But it is the ultimate paradox: after nine series and 55 episodes, how do you wrap up a show that resets each week? They were tempted to replay former glories with sequels to favourite episodes or returning characters, but that wouldn't have felt true to the show, Shearsmith says. "We tussled with the enormity of the fact that it was the last series, but then decided it should be like any other: six new stories. Some we'd had for a while, and some seemed to fit that it was series nine. No ending could put a neat bow on 55 separate worlds." While they've acted in other writers' plays, series and films - and, in Pemberton's case, appeared on Taskmaster - this has been their chief focus for 12 years. How does it feel to be stepping off the treadmill? "We hope it's seen as a fitting send-off," Pemberton says, but he admits it's nice not to have to think about the next series as soon as the current one ends. "While it's been a total privilege, the pressure has never gone away." Whatever comes next will require some recalibration of their writing brains. "We've become so honed into this structure where you get in very quickly, you get a lot of exposition in - or hide it - and then blow it all up within 30 minutes."

Limitless imagination.

The duo have enjoyed unprecedented freedom with the loosest of concepts. From writing an episode entirely in iambic pentameter to experiments in animation and fixed-rig, they've let their imaginations run riot. Inside No. 9's origins are almost laughably sketchy. With enthusiasm waning for a third series of their BBC2 comedy Psychoville, they looked back on an experimental episode - itself a late addition, due to some leftover budget - that was filmed on one set and looked to be shot in one take. "We said we wanted to tell a different story every week," recalls Pemberton. "Sent away to write two, we came back with a domestic comedy and a paranoid, psychological thriller. Everyone enjoyed the contrast, so that idea of doing very different episodes crept up on us. At no stage did we do a pitch document, or hand over a list of ideas for the next series."

While aware of the fortunate position afforded to them by The League Of Gentlemen's pedigree, Pemberton says Inside No 9's success offers general lessons for commissioning. "You can become far more creative by a) putting boundaries on things while b) just being two writers left to come up with whatever you come up with," he says. Having developed their talents through sketch writing, where there are few outlets today, he lays down the gauntlet for commissioners to consider more anthologies. "It's a brilliant way to bring on new writers with either a common theme or sense of tone. It's tough for commissioners - there are fewer singles every year and I think it's a great shame." They feel the limitations imposed by the show have changed them as writers. "Taking on something seemingly undramatic - someone doing a crossword, or four people sitting around at a restaurant table with all the information coming into that room, always feels like an achievement," says Pemberton. Discipline coupled with creative freedom has created a unique contract with the viewer. "It's satisfying to tell a story in 30 minutes and we enjoy exploring how to tell them in different ways," says Shearsmith. "People feel we're a pair of tricksters, so it's partly a game we play in terms of what viewers are going to get each week." Yet Inside No. 9's repeated ability to pull the rug from viewers is arguably wedded to the fading era of scheduled TV viewing. After all, the thrill of a live episode going wrong is hard to replicate on iPlayer. Shearsmith's proud that to the end, the BBC released it weekly. "Each one is its own mini event; you don't want people to binge them and you don't want all the endings and surprises out there. "I like the fact that it's drip-fed in the old- fashioned way - it's an agonising but fun wait for the next one. A lot of fans want to watch it when it goes out, which is a great testimony to its currency." Pemberton extends kudos to the BBC for allowing some of its more outlandish flourishes. "On episodes like 3 By 3 or Dead Line, we were lying to our audience and to journalists, to give that really satisfying moment of surprise and awe where they can't believe what they're watching." Which begs the question: have either of them lied in this interview? Shearsmith quickly says no, though, of course, that's no proof. Maintaining the surprise One last try at gleaning more on Inside No. 9's finale, then. Most series have concluded with an episode that erupts into full-blown horror. In its closing moments, will we be left with a smile on our face or fear in our hearts? Pemberton flashes an enigmatic smile. "We like to do a bit of both. That's the joy: even halfway through an episode, you're not quite sure what direction it might take. So the less we say about it, the better." To understand Inside No. 9's impish heart, he says, look at series five's magicians episode, Misdirection. "Each of our episodes is like our own little magic trick. We don't want you coming behind the cloth and seeing the Wizard of Oz pulling his levers - we want you to enjoy skipping down the yellow brick road." And, of course, if you live at number nine, there's no place like home.

'DEFINING MOMENTS: THREE OF INSIDE NO. 9'S STANDOUT EPISODES.'.

THE BREAKTHROUGH. The 12 Days Of Christine (series two, episode two, 2015). A disorienting series of moments are revealed to be Christine's life flashing before her eyes. Steve Pemberton: We weren't sure what we'd written. We didn't think it was a comedy, and we were a bit scared about the reaction, but it blew us away. Adam Tandy (exec producer): We thought if we could make this ep work, we would have almost reached the zenith of what we hoped to achieve. It was a very big, early win that put us on the map creatively. We haven't sought to repeat it - trying to do the same kind of emotional sucker-punch again wouldn't have come off.

THE LIVE EPISODE. Dead Line (live Halloween special, 2018). With echoes of the BBC's legendary Ghostwatch, sinister things start happening in the studio during the advertised story.

Reece Shearsmith: Keeping a lid on Dead Line going 'wrong' was great. I thought it would get out somehow. We leaned into the overarching notion of a live episode, blindsiding everyone to watch it in case we got our lines wrong - that's why most people watch live episodes of Holby or EastEnders. I was pleased that some people turned off - it meant it worked. SP: We couldn't monitor what was going on, other than we were live, being filmed, looking at our own phones - we didn't want props - and seeing the live Twitter reaction to what we were doing in the moment. It was surreal, exciting and an episode I'll never forget doing.

THE LATE SWAP. 3 By 3 (series eight, episode five, 2023). Viewers expecting an On The Buses spoof featuring Robin Askwith, as teased in publicity shots, get instead what seems to be a gameshow fronted by Lee Mack. AT: Most of the work to suggest a supposed change from the billed episode to the real one happened in the 15 minutes before TX. The broadcast chain being what it is, I was on Zoom calls of more than 30, soothing them and ensuring we made the changes to the EPG and iPlayer. At 9.55pm, we gave the continuity announcer a new script to say, "Unfortunately, we're not able to bring you this episode of Inside No. 9, here's something else." It still surprises on iPlayer, because even though it says it's Inside No. 9, it doesn't look like a regular episode.

Interview with Adam Tandy, Executive producer.

WORKING ON A UNIQUE SERIES.

Inside No 9's final series opens with one of its most ambitious shoots yet. Boo To A Goose is not the first episode set on a train but, unlike 2015's La Couchette, it was filmed not on a set but a genuine Mersey Rail carriage. Along with an episode featuring a full symphony orchestra and a rare period-set episode, it's a demonstration of where the show has been able to scale up in the two years since production moved to Manchester and qualified for the high-end drama tax credit. "In the early days, we'd have about 45 cast and crew - on this series, it's sometimes up to 100," says executive producer Adam Tandy. As ever, the mix allows for more intimate episodes, including the series' only two-hander between Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton. "Because we have a notion of there being no house rules, whatever they deliver, as long as I can achieve it, it's fine by me," says Tandy. While he finds it hard to quantify the working relationship with the show's creators beyond "hard work in a spirit of friendly engagement", he says he will miss the unique trust they've built. After 20 years on comedies from The Thick Of It to Detectorists, this show has made him a "much more complete producer", Tandy says. Effectively, he's learned a new skillset on every episode, from the authentic 1970s studio production of The Devil Of Christmas to this series' Mulberry Close, which is told through a video doorbell. After a slightly "theatrical and traditional" start, he reckons Inside No. 9's ambitions took off with series two. He credits exec John Plowman with quietly championing the show, and then BBC head of comedy Shane Allen for asking not to read scripts so he could avoid spoilers. "For four or five years, we'd have no contact with the commissioner between commission and delivery," he marvels. Endings are bittersweet, but Tandy isn't giving up hope of more from Pemberton and Shearsmith. "I'm not guaranteeing anything, but I think it won't be long before they come back with something else in the same sort of vein. They've been constantly creating the show all this time, which can't have been easy when it's just them doing it. I think they're too good at it to want to leave it alone for long."

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