#HE WAS WILDING IN THIS SCENE LMAOO

[lovecharmforyou]

“My little boy, Min-su!”

[gifti3]

right now i seem like im normal but i promise you that im not

[mediumdevil]

me and my horrible son 😗✌️

[poisonedpowder]

Jnx is a proficient player in several card games because she was taught by both Vander and Si/co at some point, and she's developed a level of unpredictability alongside it that makes it near impossible for someone to ever know if they've got her beat or not. Sev outright refused to play with her after a while. Jnx has made money from patrons at the bar from it.

[jaylalolz]

,,BEST PART’’ nicholas chavez

a/n : since none of yall wanted to make a fic about this lovely man.. imma do it myself

warnings : none

summary : in an interview, actress Madelyn Kennedy reveals her celebrity crush on actor Nicholas Chavez, sparking excitement among her fans. It quickly gets attention on social media, with fans buzzing about the potential chemistry between the two.

Madelyn Kennedy adjusted her microphone and smiled brightly at the camera. The vibrant buzzed with energy as the host, Jake Harrington, settled into his chair across from her. The air was thick with anticipation, not just for Madelyn's upcoming projects, but for what might unfold during the interview.

“Welcome back to Hollywood Spotlight! Today, we have the incredibly talented Madelyn Kennedy with us,” Jake announced, his enthusiasm infectious. “Madelyn, it’s great to have you here!”

“Thanks for having me, Jake! I’m so excited to be here,” Madelyn replied, her heart racing slightly. She loved these moments, sharing her passion with fans who tuned in from all over the world.

“So, let’s dive right in! Fans are eagerly awaiting Outer Banks Season 4, which is set to premiere on October 10th. What can you tell us about it?” Jake leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Madelyn took a breath, her excitement bubbling over. “I can’t wait for everyone to see it! This season is going to be the biggest yet. We’ve really upped the stakes with the storylines. There’s more adventure, more twists, and a deeper exploration of our characters. I think fans are going to be on the edge of their seats!”

“Sounds thrilling! Any hints you can drop about what to expect?” Jake pressed, a grin spreading across his face.

“Well, without giving too much away,” she said, playfully biting her lip, “let’s just say the Pogues face some serious challenges that test their friendships and loyalty. It’s a wild ride!”

“Now that sounds like something to look forward to! But let’s switch gears a bit. On a more personal note, do you have any celebrity crushes?” Jake’s tone turned lighter, inviting her to share something more intimate.

Madelyn paused for a moment, a playful smirk creeping onto her face. “Actually, I do!” she said, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “I have a crush on Nicholas Chavez. He’s just incredible!”

The studio erupted with a mix of gasps and excited chatter, and Madelyn’s cheeks flushed slightly. She could feel the buzz of energy in the air as Jake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.“Nicholas Chavez! That’s a popular choice! What is it about him that draws you in?” Jake asked, clearly enjoying the moment.

Madelyn laughed, her confidence returning. “I mean, he’s such a talented actor. I loved his work on General Hospital and recently Monsters, and he just has this amazing energy. Plus, he seems like a genuinely nice person. What’s not to like?”

liked by madelynkennedy and 356,789 others

nicholasalexanderchavez muah

view all comments !

madelynkennedy just fainted

⤷ nicholasalexanderchavez need any help?

user the crossover we didn’t knew we needed

user wait bc they would be such a hot couple…

user madelyn forgetting that she’s on her main instead of spam LMAOO

user oh i’m living for this

user i ship

user white boy of the month

user no bc that one scene in monsters when he only had a towel on… DROP IT😫

user need him in a romcom w mads

user nicholas just pulled the baddest bitch

[mandalhoerian]

(6) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

When a last-minute opportunity presents itself to become a distraction from the shame of not attending the reunion of your university friend group, you take it. One thing, though, yes, you might have been wrong for chickening out. But falling overboard in a storm, almost drowning, and getting saved by the biggest oddball of a skinny dipper out in the wild is a bit too much for instant karma, you think.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 13k | read on ao3

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note: apologizing for late chapters is getting old now i know, but i swear it would have come out earlier if it hadnt been for tumblr's ridiculous mature content label flagging issue . i've been wrestling with that bicth now ever since that update dropped on the 11h. all seal raf chapters are FLAGGED and i cant get them out of superhell. and apparently its their image recognition bot, i had to change the banner image. god if i have to deal with this bs AGAIN im crashing out i hope you enjoy the chapter

The wetsuit is half-zipped, clinging damp against your hips, something that doesn’t quite want to let go. You’re sitting on the flattest rock you can find near the lip of the cove, knees drawn up, elbows balanced on them, phone balanced precariously between your fingers. The mist is still stitched thick between the cliffs, and the morning sun hasn’t quite managed to cut through it yet. Cold air brushes against your bare arms, lifting the baby hairs, biting gently. Your knees are cold. Your mind is worse.

The group chat lights up again.

You scroll without reading at first, just watching the little cascade of names and icons — familiar and sharp-edged in ways you can't explain. It’s watching someone else’s memories keep moving while yours have stalled out in the same old frame. Same island. Same ferry. Same breath caught in your throat.

Yesterday’s conversation still occupies your mind, and you read through it once more.

"F4NT4STIC 4 REUNION ERA" (Yesterday, 13.37) [ tara ♡ ]: LADIES . YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT ISSSSSSS [ simone (👹🤙) ]: girl i already took the days off. if yall flake i’m showing up to macie’s with a suitcase anyway [ fleetwood mac ]: LMAOO i mean my living room is still 80% cardboard boxes but sure, suffer [ simone (👹🤙) ]: if there’s karaoke i’m unplugging the speaker with my teeth [ tara ♡ ]: also HELLO??? miss ferrymaster of heartbreak bay??? [ tara ♡ ]: we see you reading and not respondingggg [ tara ♡ ]: THE WAY SHE’S STILL NOT ANSWERING [ fleetwood mac ]: come online and disappear if you're alive. don't write anything if you’re still in love with your ex [ fleetwood mac ]: you’re still in love with him???? [ fleetwood mac ]: damn it didnt work [ simone (👹🤙) ]: she’s gonna come back in like six hours and act like nothing happened [ simone (👹🤙) ]: literally text back. we're not mad you couldn't come. stop acting like this is a break-up !!!

(Yesterday, 23.35) [ you ]: sorry. alive. extremely salty. [ you ]: had to scrub barnacle residue off my soul before texting back. [ fleetwood mac ]: SYBAU girl you disappeared like a victorian child into the mist 😭 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: anyway. macie's wine count is at 3. tara made a playlist. theo hasn’t cried yet [ you ]: bold of you to assume he won’t [ fleetwood mac ]: we placed bets. i give him until desert [ tara ♡ ]: also you were right, he brought the seal mug he made in his pottery course. Unironically. [ you ]: I feel the emotional blackmail all the way from over here … [ fleetwood mac) ]: i had to leave the room. i was spiritually unprepared [ you ]: move it like half an inch every time he looks away and pretend like nothing happened to freak him out that paranormal shit is going on. for my sake. please [ tara ♡ ]: That's horrible. How do you come up with stuff like this? Do you want us to get kicked out if he makes a scene? [ tara ♡ ]: I'll send you pictures 😘 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: we set a place for you vtw. it’s got a rock on it. and a fork. [ you ]: that’s exactly how i would’ve wanted it <3

Your thumb pauses above a message. Just names. Names that once belonged to cramped dorm rooms, midnight indomie, and mutual breakdowns in libraries that smelled of old glue. The kind of friendships that were lifelines — loud and chaotic and necessary. And they still are. But you’re quieter now. Less sure what part you should play in their world.

Tara’s already published several scientific papers, both on her own and with her teacher — ResearchGate profile overflowing with content. Simone’s backpacked solo through South America and made it look unreal the entire time, every photo gold-dusted and cinematic and you’re sure she lives in an indie travel documentary. Macie just got picked up for a docuseries pilot. The one who shall not be named passed his bar exam and launched a website in his name that has to be surely coded by a tech god and branded by a Parisian design firm.

And you?

You still have this wetsuit from sophomore year. A freezer full of discount frozen meals. A collection of ferry schedules memorized down to the second.

You still work shifts that stretch into your bones. Still sleep in the room with the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck to the ceiling at fourteen. Still get asked by tourists if you ever get tired of paradise. As if it’s not the same damn shoreline every day. They don’t know paradise comes with guilt-paid free health insurance and the inability to look into your parents' eyes without sweating through your shirt.

The museum front desk application sits untouched on your desktop. The deadline came and went while you were distracted by nothing in particular. There’s a half-written email to the local heritage center still sitting in your drafts. Volunteering was mentioned once, briefly, in passing, and never again.

You told your advisor you were taking a year. Time to figure things out. To recalibrate. To breathe.

But the year kept slipping. One month into the next. One season curling into the other. You started taking the same walk every morning. Then you stopped bothering with a route. Some days, even brushing your teeth was something that had to be earned.

You tried to make plans. Tried to start a spreadsheet. Color-coded your week and pretended it meant something. It lasted three days. Then the shame of seeing your own optimism undone by inertia sent you spiraling into the sea with your phone on do-not-disturb.

Sometimes you wake up already disappointed in yourself. Sometimes you manage to coast until lunch. The rest of the time, it sneaks up in strange places: folding laundry, stirring pasta, passing your own reflection and not recognizing anything urgent in your own eyes.

You keep saying you’ll get out. That it’s temporary. That you’re not stuck. You tell yourself that so often it’s started taking the shape of a prayer. Or a dare.

But every time you scroll, you feel it. That sharp, quiet pinch in your ribs. You're watching a starting line recede in the distance while your legs stay tangled in the sand.

A sharp twist of your mouth curls before you can stop it, too bitter to be a smile, too wry to be pain. You toss your phone a few inches further across the towel, willing the distance keep the elephant in the room away for a while longer.

And Theo. Of course he’s there.

Ha.

You sit still. A breath leaves your nose. The rock beneath you is cold, uneven, your palms flat against it. Wet grit clings to your fingers. You focus on that. The gulls loop overhead, shrieking into the pale air. Below, the tide moves against the rocks in shallow bursts, licking foam into the cracks and pulling it back again with a hiss. The world hasn't stopped, but it’s ignoring you on purpose.

No, you're ignoring it on purpose. 

A sleek head breaches the surface a few yards out, rising between two fingers of rock where kelp sways below in long green ribbons. A huff leaves him in a pfbbbth sound — short, damp, unimpressed — and he glides forward in a meandering path, stirring flecks of foam in his wake. The water around him flattens, then rolls behind his body in lazy spirals. Even the cove is used to making space for him.

You don’t smile. It almost happens, your face twitches because it wants to. But it doesn’t make it all the way. He’s watching you, waiting, head tilted just slightly.

"Someone’s a little restless today," you mutter.

He barks again. Short. With an imaginary question mark at the end of it. Surely it’s because he hasn’t received his usual cooing greetings and your, “Hi, hi, hi, my cutie pie,” — but your spirits are as gray as the weather. You can’t summon the cheerfulness.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming."

You slide into the water slower than usual, the cold biting at your ankles and climbing. Raf circles once, then again, but doesn’t dart off the way he normally does. He floats closer instead, trailing you as you wade out to the deeper part. When your feet finally lift from the sand, you turn toward him.

"I should’ve just gone," you say. "I don’t know why I’m so scared of a little get-together. Who cares if I’m not working yet? I should just say I’m taking a gap year… Like for uni graduates. Or say like I’m looking into Work and Travel but haven’t really liked any of the choices or something."

He tilts his head. How clueless and cute. Smooth brain. No ridges or lumps, no valleys or bumps; all ideas slide right off.

"You don’t even know what LinkedIn is," you mumble. “You’ll never have to. I’m so jealous, you don’t even know.”

Raf makes a bubbling snort.

You hate how bitter it makes you, sometimes. Hearing them talk about opportunities and networking and beautiful apartments with friends who leave them soup in the fridge. And you smile, as you’re supposed to. It’s good news. You’re proud. You are.

But it still seeps into the spaces between each of your vertebra, shapes you into a shrimp before the stateliness of ambition and purpose, making you feel small for not having more to offer, and worse for resenting even a flicker of it. There’s something sour in you that can’t be sweetened into a lemonade.

And you don’t want to be that person. You don’t. But you are. Quietly. Privately. The kind of ugly that you don't admit aloud unless you’re alone. Or talking to a seal.

"I hate that I get annoyed," you say under your breath. "Every time one of them says they’re doing great, I get that twist in my stomach like I swallowed a rock. Even when I’m proud of them. Even when I love them. What does that make me, huh?"

Raf offers no reply. Just a slow blink and inquisitive, a train’s choo-choo sounding breathing from his flaring nostrils.

"It makes me pathetic. That’s what."

Your throat tightens. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove and look up toward the cliffs, eyes still hot.

"There’s something you’re unlucky with. You know what?" you say, voice hoarse. "Of all the fish in the sea, you ended up with me. Should’ve gone for a marine biologist. Or a rich heiress with a yacht."

Raf surfaces again, blinking at you with deliberate slowness that mirrors a cat’s. Then, with a low chuff, he glides closer and presses the side of his head against your shoulder. You’re still floating when he wriggles around, flippers flopping clumsily, and half-latches onto your side, a wet, overgrown toddler trying to hug a pool noodle. His whiskers tickle through the neoprene.

You flip onto your back and float, arms out, hair fanning around your head with a seal glued to you. The sky above is pale and empty, the kind of soft gray that feels too big when you're already too full. You drift for a moment with your ears half-submerged, the world muffled except for the splash of Raf's flippers somewhere nearby. Clouds move. You don't.

"Watch. You’ll get discovered by some cute environmental documentary crew next and leave me behind. Get famous. Start an OnlyFans for your flippers."

Pause.

“OnlyFins,” you snort to yourself.

Raf lets out a long, wet blort, and disappears underwater with a cute bloop. 

You barely have time to curse before something nudges your ribs — hard. Then again. And then you’re yanked downward, the flipper hooked around your waist is basically an overly confident tugboat.

You surface with a gasp and a splash, hair in your eyes, sputtering.

Raf bobs a few feet away, grinning in the smug way only a seal can, going "AUUUUU," over and over again, following that up with a performative spin and a slap on the water.

"No more jokes, fine," you cough.

He dives again, leaving a trail of bubbles — pops up, and pauses, twisting back to look for you. His head bobs once. Twice. Then he disappears again, darting just beneath the surface, drawing a path for you to follow. A loop, a spiral, a flourish. He resurfaces ahead with a sharp snort and flicks water in your direction.

You blink water from your lashes. "Okay, okay, I get it. Impatient little show-off. Seashells aren’t going anywhere, let me go get my gear, damn."

He dunks under again, tail flippers wagging just enough to be smug about it.

And after your preparations, you follow.

Because if anything makes sense — if anything ever feels whole — it’s this. Salt in your mouth. Raf’s stupid flipper smacking water like an impatient bunny stomping his foot. A sky so wide you can’t get your arms around it.

You may not know how to move forward. But here, right now, you don’t need to.

Here, you can just be.

By the time the end of the day rolls around, the dive with Raf has dried to salt on your collar, and your limbs are already back in work-mode — anchored, alert, one hand on the wheel, the other near the comms, watching the weather shift with a sailor’s instinct and a whole life of knowing exactly when things stop making sense at sea.

The last round trip of the day is quiet in a different way today, though. No commuters or tourists, and no one but you on board.

A rare fluke of timing: your dad tied up with engine trouble on the backup skiff; the senior deckhand down for the count after slipping on ice during today's last unloading shift and sent home limping; the second deckhand called out with food poisoning from bad market shrimp; the engineer out for two weeks recovering from wrist surgery after trying to fix a rusted coupling by himself; the backup engineer already covering freight route duties on the north side; and the high schooler who usually mans the snack kiosk bailed last-minute for a school recital he 'forgot' to mention until this morning. Even the part-time lookout who mostly just watches Raf from the upper deck found a way to slip away.

You’d said yes before your dad even finished the ask instead of just cancelling the entirety of the day off — if a perfectly fine excuse for why you didn’t show up at the reunion made itself available to you, you would take it without question. It was serendipity, why let it go to waste?

And it was only one run, the weather wasn’t supposed to break yet. You knew the route. You could handle it.

Though, frankly, it felt good to be trusted with something this real and just empty your head for the rest of the day.

So it's just you, the hum of the engine, and a stretch of sea that's growing moodier by the minute.

You clock it before it starts showing.

The pitch is wrong.

Movement is expected, up-down, up-down, sometimes with more vigor and distance. No, it’s not that. It’s the angle, the timing, the tension underfoot that rolls in just a half-second too late. The swell pattern doesn’t match the forecast, the wind has teeth it wasn’t supposed to, and the gulls have gone silent over the water.

You glance up from the console, watching the sky fold itself into layers. That soft lilac haze from earlier has gone bruised at the edges. There’s a kind of waiting baked into the air now, the hush before the sky opens its mouth and howls.

You should’ve already turned back. You know the signs. You’ve trusted them before.

But the timing’s tight, and you know the shape of this route better than the lines in your palms. If you hold speed and cut between the outer channel markers, you might beat the worst of it. The system’s moving in fast — but not fast enough to make you fold early. Not if you don’t have to.

Besides, there’s only one round trip left back home. The radar isn’t red yet. The pressure’s dropping, but the water’s still got give in it. Dad made worse calls in tighter windows.

So you stay the course.

Pushing until everything starts pushing back.

The ferry bounces over a swell so hard you almost lose your grip on the wheel, rattling the life preservers along the wall with a thwack loud enough to echo inside your skull. Water sprays white across the decks, and something about the sound makes your bones ache. For a moment, you swear you can taste seaweed. Feel the drag of sea lines on your wrists, rough as rope burn.

But you catch yourself. Stabilize your footing, hands steady on the wheel, leaning into the rise and fall as they taught you in driving school all those years ago. The first day your father stood beside you and showed you how to balance the revs and the brakes on this machine, how to feel each part working together to drive, how it wasn't about forcing the craft, but guiding it with trust — it’s all muscle memory.

Trust the machine. Trust your gut. Trust your judgment.

So you do. And you guide. Until the storm arrives. Until the weather begins to roll in dark as tar — resentful black clouds, brindled with light, coiling together as if building, brewing, churning in unison above. Eerything then becomes curtained with rain and water, a shower splintering against the ferry roof. Sheets of water cut across the deck is a fog obscuring everything further than a foot away. Wind batters against the sides of the hull, shrieking louder and louder every minute, whistling shrill through every seam and corner and vent, and by now the ocean is actively trying to shove this boat off the face of the earth.

Everything turns sideways for one split second, and your heartbeat almost rips out of your throat, and when the ship steadies itself it takes several painful heartbeats of thinking I fucked up, I fucked up before you regain equilibrium and resume steering.

Everything starts to make sense. 

Raf had been strange from the moment you showed up this morning — clingy, louder than usual, almost pacing the cove. He kept making pup noises at the tide, splashed too close to shore while you suited up, and refused to go too far in the open water — his favorite thing was to drag you out further before. When you finally entered the water, he didn’t dart ahead the way he usually does. He hovered, brushed against you, circled you so tightly you had to push him off just to move forward.

You didn’t think much of it. You were too busy rereading texts, too busy spiraling over group photos and inside jokes and what-the-hell-was-he-thinking-by-showing-up.

Raf’s insistence was a complication you didn’t have room for when you’d been already feeling stifled enough. Even underwater, he kept doubling back to check on you, tapping your hip with his nose, making strange high-pitched whines that only made you more irritated.

When you got out, he followed you up the hill, paralleling you from the sea. Right up the ramp. Flopped against the loading zone and refused to budge, and not in the usual cute way. He clung to your boot when you tried to walk. Grabbed the hem of your jacket and yanked. Made noises so loud and pitiful that a couple tourists pulled out their phones to call wildlife protection. They thought he was hurt.

You shoved him back toward the cove and joked that he was a diva — a barnacle, a stage-five clinger.

He bit Elias when the poor old guy tried to help nudge him off the deck.

You didn’t look him in the eye when you closed the gate. Didn’t even wave, muttering something about spoiled animals and going inside. Because you had a job. Because you were on the schedule. Figuring out how to phrase it, how to make ferry work sound intentional, how to talk about staying without admitting you failed to leave. You practiced the words, hoping the right ones would dull the sting.

You didn’t notice how restless he went in the way he took the lead once the engine started.

You didn’t want to.

You'd practically ignored him the entire day for being annoying. To entertain the idea he was like that because he sensed the incoming weather... but you were too wrapped up in the reunion and your own spiraling thoughts to notice what he was trying to tell you. He knew something was coming — you’re sure of it now — and you hadn’t listened.

Too busy nursing your own useless grief.

And now you’re the only one out on the water when the storm decides to bite, regret and fear coiling around each other snakes in the pit of your stomach. The poor little man must be terrified wherever he's hiding. You hope he's tucked away safely somewhere sheltered and cozy, not roaming around trying to find you and ending up hurt or lost or trapped. If something horrible happened to him during this storm, it would be all your fault.

And now, as the radio crackles to life, a sharp burst splinters through the chaos, and all those words ash-scatter.

"—ayday—day—fishing boat—toward—Devil’s Teeth—repeat, Dev—no powe—can’t steer—"

It cuts out, sharp as a snapped line.

Your hand’s already moving. Mic in hand before the words even sink in. "Copy, how many aboard?"

Nothing. Just static, thin and needling, buzzing against your skin.

Your heart doesn’t lurch. It drops clean and heavy, straight into the pit of your stomach.

You flick your eyes to the GPS. The rocks are close — less than a kilometer to starboard. But you don’t need the chart to tell you that. You can already see them, those serrated black silhouettes clawing up from the water ribs punched through the ocean’s skin.

The Devil’s Teeth. The name alone carries some horror. They don’t forgive. Sharp enough to sheer a hull clean if you come at them wrong, but deceptive enough to trick even seasoned sailors into thinking they’re safe.

Above the water, they jut out like gap-toothed palisades — almost orderly, almost safe. From a distance, they seem to mark a clear path, multiple narrow channels that promise passage. But beneath the surface, the truth spreads wide and uneven, masked by the shifting tide, what looks navigable from above is a maze fanning out is a hidden reef below, disguised by the illusion of space, a trap waiting to splinter anything that trusts too easily.

Now, you watch from the waterboarded windshield as the ocean breaks against them sideways, spray exploding into the air in fractured bursts, mist swirling breath from something alive and restless. You’ve seen them before. Too close once, from a rescue boat.

You know the pattern they form, the way they beckon, offering what looks to be safe passage only to tear apart anything foolish enough to trust it. And you know the names of the people they’ve taken.

You flick the comms again, voice tighter now, a thread of instinct winding tight in your chest, tugging you toward the danger. "Any vessel transmitting, identify yourself.”

The wind shrieks through the cracks, high and thin, something caught between teeth. Water lashes the glass, streaking down in frantic rivulets as the ferry pitches harder, the deck groaning with the weight of the sea.

Your breath catches as you scan the horizon, nothing but the vertical outlines of the Devil’s Teeth. Black knives from the churn. For one terrible moment, everything slows. The sea draws back, coiling, holding its power just a beat too long. Waiting.

And then it breaks.

You move, but it’s not a choice. It’s reflex tangled with terror, the wheel wrenching in your hands as the ferry shudders beneath you. The shift is too sharp, the hull protesting with a low, gut-deep moan as it fights the turn. Your muscles burn, braced against the pull as the deck tilts hard, balance slipping for half a heartbeat. The bow dips — just a fraction — before you correct, knuckles losing color where they grip the wheel.

The spray blinds you for a moment, mist shearing across the windshield. But you blink, steady, locked on the path that doesn’t exist but has to be there. The space between those treacherous spires where, if you’re off by even a meter, the sea will swallow everything.

Raf knew. He tried to tell you. Fuck, you hope he’s not out here. He’s too much of a smart cookie for that, but still, you hope to god he’s safe.

The comms hiss softly, a broken thread of sound lost in the roar that fills the wheelhouse.

"—adrift—can’t—hold—taking on water—drifting t—engines are—"

Static. Again.

But you don’t need to hear it. The truth is already laid bare on the horizon.

Your eyes are locked on the shape just beyond, the battered fishing boat barely holding its own against the waves. A thing too small for this weather, its hull pitching wildly, the wind tossing it like it’s a toyboat in a child’s pool.

You flick the comms again, voice tight. "Vessel approaching Devil’s Teeth, do you copy? Repeat, do you copy? I need the status of anyone aboard!"

The answer is silence, thick and pressing.

But the sea answers instead.

Each wave shoves the boat closer to the rocks, their sharp edges barely visible between the peaks of the swells. You can make out three figures, barely, blurred shapes clinging to the railing, fighting against the chaos, one at the bow, steady but strained, another near the stern, slower, unsteady.

And the third—

A hollow space where someone should be.

"Shit," you breathe, throat tight.

You throttle down, the ferry groaning as the engine strains against the push of the current. The bow swings wide, cutting across the waves, too close but angled just right to shield the smaller boat from the worst of the wind. The wheel vibrates in your grip, the metal cold and damp, the pulse in your fingertips matching the beat of the sea.

The deck is bobbing harsher under your boots as you cut the engine to idle. A deep, unsettling quiet follows, the kind that means the sea is holding its breath.

You shove the throttle down, setting the engine to idle, the ferry rocking in protest as it fights against the churning sea. You can’t leave it drifting for long, but there’s no choice now.

The door to the deck slams open under your hand, wind tearing through as if the sea itself is trying to conquer its way inside. Salt spray slices across your face, cold and biting, nails and claws of an animal trying to get you. You barely register the sting. Your focus is on the deck below, where the equipment locker sits by the stairs. The rope should be there.

You swing down the short, steep steps, boots skidding slightly as the ferry shifts beneath you. The locker groans as you yank it open, cold metal biting into your fingertips. The rope’s there, coiled tight, damp and heavy.

You haul it out, the weight dragging at your arms as you push back up to the deck, boots pounding on slick metal, breath burning in your throat. The rope is rough and solid in your hands, the damp fibers biting into your palms as you step toward the railing, eyes locked on the men still fighting the sea.

"Line! Now!" Your voice barely carries, but the men on deck move. One of them, older, face lined with years of fighting the ocean, catches your eye, and you know you can trust him with this. He knows. He moves fast and nimble as you toss the line, and he hauls hard, pulling the boat closer inch by inch.

The younger man beside him fumbles, hands trembling as he secures the line, but his eyes are wide and fearful, darting between the shifting boats, the storm reflected in them. You can't have him slipping.

"Hold!" you shout, stepping to the edge.

The fishing boat rocks violently, a wild thing barely clinging to the world. But it holds. For now.

"Get them across!" You wave the first man forward, stretching your hand. His grip is iron, calloused and cold, and he hauls himself over with a grunt. The second follows, shaky but determined. His boots slip, but you grab his arm, steadying him as he clambers onto the ferry.

"One more!" The older man’s voice is barely audible over the wind. He points—

And you see him.

Near the stern. Slumped, half-draped over the edge. Too still.

"I’m going." Your words are lost in the chaos, but you’re already moving.

The wind slams into you the moment you step across, boots slipping on slick metal. You grab the railing, knuckles white, muscles straining as you pull yourself onto the listing deck. The world tilts beneath your feet, the boat rocking harder as if it knows it’s losing.

"Come on," you mutter, heart pounding.

He’s heavier than he looks. Deadweight. His clothes soaked through, dragging with seawater. Your fingers slip against the slick fabric as you grip his arm, muscles screaming as you try to pull him up.

"Help!" You barely need to say it. The older man is there, hands grabbing the man’s other arm. Together, you drag him inch by inch toward safety. The wind howls, the sea pushing harder, trying to reclaim him.

You’re so close.

"Almost there," you breathe, arms burning with the weight.

The man’s head lolls, his breath warm against your neck, but it’s faint. You brace, dragging harder, the metal beneath your boots slick and treacherous. Every muscle in your body screams for relief, but you hold on.

"You hang on, girl!" The older man shouts, his voice raw, but the younger one is there now too, reaching to grab the man’s collar and help.

"I’ve got him—" You don’t finish. The deck tilts—

The ferry shifts—

And the wave hits.

It’s not a push. It’s a blow. A force that tears you off balance, rips your grip from the man, and sends you weightless for a heartbeat before the world crashes back in. Or, you crash into the world. It resembles falling on solid ground from considerable height, except that it swallows you right up.

Cold.

Needles slip beneath your skin, knifing past layers of wool and overalls until nothing is left but frost-bright pain. Nothing blazes brighter, burns colder; the sea owns it all, every sensation, every heartbeat, every flicker of memory, snuffing them out one by one until all that remains is fear. Cold, bone-deep, blinding fear that has you kicking and flailing.

The water wants you. It pulls without pity, claws without remorse, wrenches without warning. Everything happens at once: pressure and chaos, liquid ice tearing at your lips and choking down your throat. The current twists around you, a tangle of unrelenting hands dragging you deeper even as you fight.

Down. And down. Until light bleeds away, dissolving like ink in water.

Something flashes just outside your blurring vision—

Then something else—

And another—

Infinitesimal silver glints cut through the dark. Shifting shadows dart between the pinpricks of pale light as shapes coalesce above. Thin silhouettes slice through the dark, through the gloom as you fall farther from safety. The pressure builds, crushing against your skull, a terrible humming filling your ears as if the entire ocean is singing an ode to your demise. Your chest begins convulsing fiercely, throat contracting in response as you begin thrashing around, lungs on fire and desperate for oxygen. Drowning in the sea, alone, terrified and hopeless, primal instincts demanding you do everything you can to stay alive, struggling uselessly to kick upwards towards the surface.

Wherever that is.

You reach upward desperately with a lone hand, vision having tunneled from lack of oxygen and panic combined. In that brief moment, something soft brushes the tips of your fingers. Like... fur...?

There's no way to know. Darkness has already consumed your consciousness, the struggle to survive giving away to oblivion and acceptance the moment your lungs breathe in water.

                    Singing.

Somebody has been singing to you.

Nearby. Simple, wordless, a melody winding slowly through the haze. Notes rise and fall around you — lavender smoke, crocheting your consciousness together bit by bit. You think maybe the song sounds familiar, that you could remember how it goes if only you could focus enough. As it is, your pulse stirs in time with the tune, waking limbs that were limp and numb as they thaw, muscles flexing as if remembering the shape of themselves.

Warmth comes first. Gentle heat kissing along the edges of your senses before bleeding inward in honeyed tendrils. Softness next: fur beneath your chin, blankets pulled tight across your chest.

The quiet of snowfall settles around you after that, muffling, easing, cushioning every inch of you as reality drifts into your awareness.

Everything returns in increments: salt crusted to your lips, drenched clothes wrapped around your frame, a layer of sodden clay. Beneath you: sand. Matted to the backs of your arms, your calves, the hollow of your throat. Behind your shuttered eyelids, sunlight filters softly. Red glow, distant orange. Sunglow, the color of melting copper. There is sky above you and beach below, but most importantly — there is breathing inside you again, each exhale shuddering as your pulse struggles toward normalcy, softly but surely.

Slowly, ever so gradually, you pry your eyelids open.

A canopy of branches, feather-soft green interspersed with golden brown, stretch overhead in a gentle dome. The bark glistens in the morning light, sticky still from the previous storm. Below the shelter, sand stretches outward in a sweep of endless shoreline, punctuated only by tufts of grass and gnarled driftwood that form a natural barricade from any casual passerby. The tide ebbs gently just past that barricade, washing fizzy seafoam high up the shoals before sliding back out lazily in a smooth curl, and further still, the horizon stretches — spun cotton candy, pink on blue, melted into haze at the edges, mingling seamlessly with the sky. And you're tucked carefully among the roots of one of those great trees, cradled and swaddled by the same fur-coated bundle your cheek is pillowed on, wrapped protectively in its embrace and held secure.

It takes your brain a full minute of groggily attempting to piece together these strange details before you realize there's a figure in the water, maybe twenty feet out, half-shrouded by the hush of early light.

Your brain coming back to you is akin to hitting the floor after falling for some time. You flinch. Sit up too fast.

A tangle of dark gray, thick hide spills from your shoulder, pooling in the crooks of your elbows. You shove it off with a gasp, limbs sluggish but panicked, fingers catching in the strange texture. It hits the ground with a muted thump, heavy as wet rope but somehow dry and fluffy at the same time. The cold hits you immediately then, skin pebbling beneath the cling of soaked denim and wool and the frigid touch of salt wind. A full body shudder grips you, hard, teeth rattling in your skull, blood singing through your veins faster.

But not even that kind of cold is enough to distract you from the sight before you.

There’s a person waist-deep in the shallows, facing the sun.

Long hair drips like spun violet ink down a narrow back, plastered in curling sheets to sharp, bare shoulders. You've never seen natural hair that long in your life, it trails all the way down her body to fan out against the waves, streaming in shimmering bands over the crests of each swell, lit gold in the early sun. She tilts her head back to face the dawn fully, and you can only see the barest hint of her profile from the angle, the delicate slope of nose, the lushness of parted lips. There’s something arresting about the stillness of her, the way the sea seems to hush around her body. A statue the tide forgot to reclaim.

For a breathless, silent moment, she simply stands there, perfectly balanced, completely undisturbed, arms spread at her sides as if greeting the daybreak directly, skin glittering in the light, slick with seawater and—

A scar. A slash across one side of her shoulder, pale even against her skin tone, stretched tight as though dug deep enough to make bone.

Huh, you absentmindedly think. I think it's the same side as Raf's?

You break out of your trance with a loud gasp with the thought of your seal friend, which causes her to whirl around to face you, startled and wide-eyed.

Which brings another revelation. The person in question is a man, not a woman.

Skinny dipping, at that.

Your brain catches up to your eyes in a rush of static and shock. This is a Family Feud moment.

Name something a burglar would not wanna see when he breaks into a house.

The contestant yelling it with his whole chest. Naked grandma!

Naked HUH?

The buzzer in your head goes off.

Question: What’s the last thing a girl wants to see when waking up alone on an unfamiliar beach after falling unconscious?

Answer: Naked man.

You make a strangled noise and scramble back so fast the pelt half-slides off you, and at the same time, sharp pain lances through your right side, turning the motion into more of a hunch than a duck and roll. The sudden flare knocks what little breath is left out of your lungs, knocking sense back into you in the process.

Wait, what happened? Why does it hurt?

"Easy! Easy." The naked dude darts forward through the surf without missing a beat, water splashing everywhere with his hurried strides. The sound of his approaching footsteps makes you instinctively curl inward, arms hugging tight around your midsection while wincing. You don't look up, mostly out of embarrassment, and your thoughts immediately go brrrr when you become hyper aware of the fact you're definitely going to see things you won't be able to unsee. "You'll bleed again if you keep squirming like that! All my hardwork's gonna go to waste!"

You flail one arm between the two of you in a futile barrier while the other cradles where the injury is, still keeping your face down and staring down furiously at the ground to avoid looking anywhere higher than knee level. "Ah-ah-ah! Stop, stop!”

The sloshing of jogging doesn’t stop.

“Just — man, don't charge at me, I don't know you!"

He stops short as though you've thrown a rock at him, legs cutting off mid-stride with a chaotic splash. For one blessed second, all is still again — except for the water lapping at his shins and your pulse banging against your teeth.

Then, a noise.

A half-choked sound that might be a laugh. Or a cough. He doesn’t come any closer. Just stands there, suspended mid-motion, your words having pinned him in place. The water stills around his legs. The surf hesitates, then draws back with a hush. You're still locked on a particularly blurry patch of sand wet with the red of your congealed blood like your life depends on it, but you hear the the tiny inhale that catches weird in his throat, and the breeze picks up with a stutter again.

He erupts worse than a volcano all of a sudden. “You’re joking! What? You don’t know me? You don’t know me? After everything — you just made me go through, that’s—”

“—a very reasonable response!” you shoot back, your voice high in octave, blood rushing so rapidly to your head that you’re not even comprehending properly.

“Wow,” he says, all affronted drama and wounded pride in one breath. “It's not like I'm gonna eat you. Humans aren't even safe for consumption anyway!"

"Whoa-hoh—" you start, but he steamrolls over you before you can properly get a word in.

There’s the wet slap of a foot shifting in the surf, heralding that he’s gearing up for a rant. “Most people say thank you, you know. Or ‘hey, cool of you to make sure I didn’t die horribly’—"

"You're naked, random guy!" you shout hoarsely, throwing out a pathetic arm to shield you from any and all compromising views. This is the politest way you could have put it. The next best thing was to shout, 'Don't come near me with your dick out.' Which. Yeah.

An awkward pause follows the admission, thick enough to make you glance up before thinking twice about it. You get a flash of purple before you look away once more, clutching the strange gray fur to yourself as some sort of feeble shield.

"—der why," he mumbles, more to himself than anything else.

"Excuse me?"

He deadpans, stopping just short. “I said, so now you’re body-shaming the guy who literally rescued you from certain death?”

“I’m shame-shaming the fact that you’re approaching me with your — your — entire situation out in the open!”

"You have my pelt," he says, with almost childlike seriousness, expecting you to be able to read his mind from the tone of his statement alone.

"Uh, okay?" you respond articulately, weirded out by how the conversation was lacking common sense. "What does that have to do with your clothes?"

This time, the quiet stretches out like taffy.

“I want you on the other side of this damn island if you’re an exhibitionist, I swear to god don’t think for a second I’m not capable of—”

“I am not!” The way his voice changes pitches has to be studied. “Have you lost your mind in the ocean? I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing after everything I’ve done for you—”

You tune out his yapping. Yeah, this isn't getting anywhere. You're stranded on an island with a man you don't know, politely asking him to put his penis away, which, he won't get the hint for some reason and making it a 'I am who I am,' moment. Do you have to yell "Pervert!" at this guy for him to get a move on? Things couldn't get more absurd.

You rub your forehead wearily and groan in defeat. Is there something ironic about this exchange? Because you sure feel there should be something ironic here. There is probably supposed to be a joke somewhere here. The universe loves to deliver them in bundles.

An idea strikes you.

"Here, hold on," you say, shakily standing up while keeping your face diverted elsewhere. Your side does hurt, but the burn doesn't stretch as bad as when you felt it at first. "Just... turn around, please. No sudden moves."

"No sudden moves?" He answers with audible skepticism, the shuffling on the sand giving away his complying after a moment. The nervous waver in his words does manage to placate you somewhat. An exhibitionist wouldn't act this way. “I’m turning my back to you. How am I gonna know what you’re doing? For all I know, you could be ogling me with your squidlike human eyes, which, mind you, I wouldn’t blame you for—”

God, he loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?

Muting him out once more, you pick up the fur coat blanket thing from its dropped position with an audible, "Hup!" It's bulky in your grip, almost too thick to lift, yet remarkably light at the same time — trying to pick up water without getting wet.

“—I’ve been told I’m distractingly shapely in the flesh, but I didn’t exactly wake up today planning to be admired in the wild. And it’s not even my best side, you know? My shoulders are uneven. I think. They used to be non-existent—”

You're in no position to be in awe right now though, so you brush off all possible questions concerning the bizarre phenomenon until later. With as much caution as you can muster, you raise it up like a curtain until the only part you can see of the man is his luscious hair, and start walking up to him.

“—Not that I’m implying anything. You are not the ogling type. Then again, I once trusted a cormorant and it stole my entire lunch while I was mid-swim, so what do I know? I’m just out here, my back wide open, accosted, and trying very hard not to hold a grudge—”

Then, you drape the cloak of fluffiness onto his shoulders in the gentlest manner you could possibly afford, avoiding touching his skin. The pelt closes around his back, reminiscent of the wings of a giant bird closing protectively, encasing him from neck down to calves. A gasp slips out of him. So small you might've missed it if you hadn't been holding your breath, waiting for any negative reaction.

His own hands come up to pull the flaps snugly closed, then he slowly looks over one shoulder at you with such stunned wide-eyed silence you almost want to crack a smile at him, but promptly freeze in place as soon as you lock gazes.

Not only does he have the most enticing eyes you've ever seen with vertical heterochromia transitioning from blue to pink like a bi-color tourmaline, but he has such an attractive facial structure that is both masculine and delicate all in the same breath it punches all of your buttons in one go and oh god — it is so not helping this entire situation. This stranger is the epitome of beauty. Handsome face and lovely features and soft bone structures and everything you didn't expect from a random naked dude on a beach you couldn't recognize as a local.

And the hair. You'd seen it from afar already but... it reminds you of strands of ashen lavender blossoms dripping with morning dew, wet waviness disappearing underneath the collar of the pelt. You'd kill to have this Rapunzel hair. It's unfair how a man—

You snap back to attention with a hard blink as the initial shock wears off.

"There you go, now I won’t get flashed," you exhale with obvious relief, trying to will yourself to act casually so you don't seem weird to the stranger who probably saved your life.

His head tilts, just barely. Long strands of wet hair slip over his shoulder as he stares down at the pelt wrapped around him — your handiwork. The fur shifts slightly under his touch, and he goes very still, watching it settle again. You wonder what he’s waiting for.

“You gave it back to me,” he says.

The words come out soft, a little too careful for something so simple. He looks at you, expecting the world to shift around what he just said. He’s silently saying this should mean something to you, too — but it doesn’t. And that mismatch only deepens the quiet between you.

You blink.

He lifts the edge of the fur in his hands, shaking it, then looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

A pause. “Right,” you say slowly. “And… that’s important to note because?”

He shifts his weight, brows drawing together in a look that’s too serious for the situation. “You could’ve kept it.”

"Wet as my clothes are, you need it more than I do.”

He is surprisingly docile and red in the face now that he has something on for modesty and can’t quite look you in the eye. The tips of his fingers peeking from all the fur in his grip are fidgety.

You give a wry grimace before remembering the manners Dad always told you to have around new acquaintances. "Yeah, um — uh, thanks. For saving my life.”

You tell him your name, and bow your head a bit in acknowledgment. His shoulders pull in tight at the sudden gesture of goodwill — though you aren't quite sure why — but relax after a breath as he meets your stare squarely, searching for something. The intensity throws you off balance; those odd and piercing mismatched shades fixed solely on you make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in both curious and fearful wonderment.

"And you are...?"

"Oh," he says, as if the question took him off guard, too. One hand comes up to brush through damp locks. Almost self-conscious, if the look on his face is anything to go by. There’s some sort of a faraway look in his eyes. "Raf — Rafayel."

"Were you the third guy on the fishing boat, Rafayel?" You recall that last crew member was slumped half overboard and passed out, prompting the rescue attempt that sent you both to sea in the first place. If Rafayel was wearing his pelt when you attempted to pull him up, the added weight could have been a factor in tipping both of you over. You find it's all a blur in your memory, though, and suppress a shudder. "Did you fall with me or—"

A shadow passes over his features as quickly as the changing tides. When he speaks, though, it's measured, almost cautious. "Yeah, I—" He pauses, shakes his head. Locks those impossibly colored eyes on you again, bright in the early morning light. "How are you feeling, though? Still hurts?"

"My side feels bruised like I was elbowed in the ribs but besides being chilled to the bone from falling into the ocean, I'm alright," you supply honestly. "I saw the blood on the sand, though. It feels unreal that I'm up and about right now. How can a scrape bleed that much?"

Rafayel's mouth goes flat as a line, looking you up and down with a concerning intensity deepening his tone. "You're lucky I was able to pull you back from the worst of it."

Shallow as it is, your wound isn't even dressed, but you decide not to engage in a conversation about the technicalities, patting him on the arm once in thanks and walking around him to get out of the forest line's shadow.

The beach stretching wide and strange before you is a postcard you don’t remember collecting. The sand is darker than you're used to, siltier, almost gray, and littered with glinting shells you don’t recognize, long and spiraled in augers, brittle as glass. Pale reeds jut from the shore at uneven angles, hissing faintly in the breeze, and the driftwood here is stripped bare, almost white, tangled in patterns that look too intentional for nature.

The water itself is clear, almost iridescent, casting strange reflections across the shallows, warped ripples that shimmer pink and green, an oil slick pretending to be pretty. And further out, offshore, strange half-drowned statue-shaped stones loom out of the surf.

You know this archipelago better than most, its coastlines and hidden inlets, the soft-bellied coves that tourists miss, having traced its map with your own hands, ferry lines, rock clusters, the way sandbanks shift after storms. Usually, it takes you seconds to place yourself. A curve in the shoreline, a type of dune grass, the slope of a treeline, something always gives it away.

But this place doesn’t register. No matter how long you stare, it refuses to sort itself into something known. The landscape’s been scrubbed clean of every tell you’re trained to read.

The most logical possibility is Seolhwine’s Hook — the island nearest to the Devil’s Teeth. That makes the most sense, right? You were heading back when the squall hit, and it’s the only one close enough for a current to drag you to overnight, and for Rafayel to be able to swim with you. But even then… even that doesn’t feel right. You’ve docked at Seolhwine’s before. This doesn’t match.

“I hate to say it but... Do you know where we are?” you ask finally, turning to him.

"My aunt's," he answers with a straight face.

You pause mid-shiver, your brain tripping over the simplicity of the statement.

You give him the flattest look you can afford, eyebrows lifting slowly. The pelt is clutched too high at his chest, his fingers wound tight in the fabric, you think he might be afraid of dropping it, though it doesn’t seem he notices he’s doing it. You can’t tell if he’s being deliberately evasive or if he genuinely thinks this is the helpful version of an answer.

"What?"

"Look, I’m all for jokes usually, but right now I need an actual place name — not just that your aunt lives here. I’m cold, I’m tired, and I just want to figure out how to get home—"

"It's my aunt's island."

You blink. Once. Twice. The explanation hangs in the air, weirdly self-satisfied. And it’s not satisfactory at all. Not even close.

What’s with the serene confidence of someone stating the color of the sky, as if “my aunt’s” is a perfectly normal answer to what island are we on? As if those two words magically orient you on a map?

You wait for more. Anything. The punchline. The name. Even a smirk. But there’s nothing.

Is he joking? Is this some elaborate bit? Or does he genuinely think that’s helpful?

The frustration in you sharpens. You’ve had to deal with flaky locals and clueless tourists and broken ferries before, but your patience is thinning by the second. You’re exhausted, still damp, still bleeding a little, and now stuck playing twenty questions with the world’s most uncooperative pretty boy.

"My aunt’s island."

He says it again, but there’s a slight shift in tone — firmer. He's correcting you. Thinks you’re the one being slow. And somehow, that makes it worse.

You stare at him. This time longer. He looks so damn earnest about it, truly believes he’s given you a helpful answer. It’s not smug. It’s not sarcastic. It’s not even deliberately vague to give away he’s fucking with you just to be a tease. It’s literal. Painfully, infuriatingly literal.

You’re trying to get directions from a very impatient child who only answers exactly what you ask and nothing else. Nuance is definitely a foreign language he never got taught.

But something tugs at the edge of your thoughts.

Because as stupid as it sounds — and it does sound stupid — it’s not impossible.

You look around again, really look this time, and you realize something’s been bothering you since you first stood up. It’s too pristine. Too quiet. There’s no old trailhead, no ferry dock, no graffiti-scuffed boulder where kids have carved hearts. No signs. No fishhooks, no cigarette butts. Just wind, tide, trees.

It clicks.

They’re marked on the maps you’ve seen, but only just. Annotated with little circles and names like SH-07 or East Ellinor. Places people like you aren’t supposed to go. Places the ferry routes steer around.

You’ve never been to one. You’ve never had a reason to. The people who owned them had their own transport, their own staff, their own little worlds with locked docks and private everything.

That’s why you didn’t recognize it. It’s not not on the map. It’s just never been part of your map.

You exhale, slow. Let the realization settle.

"So you're saying this is one of the private islands."

Rafayel’s brows lift in vague approval and he nods fervently. "Yes! That. Exactly. It's very private."

You rub your forehead, as if that’ll push the absurdity back into place.

Of course it is. Of course you almost drowned and then washed up on a privately owned island like some shipwrecked stray. Of course the first person you meet is a socially weird, mostly-naked man claiming ownership through familial inheritance like it’s a perfectly casual thing to drop.

You stare up at the sky for a moment, trying to piece together how the hell you even got here.

None of the private islands are anywhere near the Devil’s Teeth — most of them are tucked deep in the inner chain, clustered where the water’s calmer and the currents don’t rip you sideways. But this? This place isn’t close to any of that. You were unconscious, but you remember the storm. You remember going overboard, water in your lungs, panic in your throat, and then nothing. Blackout.

But you weren’t alone.

Rafayel said he pulled you out. Which means he swam you here.

You glance at him again, still draped in that ridiculous pelt and giving you weird pointed looks conveying that he wants to tell you something so bad. He doesn’t look winded enough for someone who hauled another body through open water during a storm. But if he did — if that’s how you got here — then he swam farther than you can make sense of. And maybe lost his clothes in the process. Somehow the latter makes more sense compared to the hypothetical that precedes it.

You were near open sea. This doesn’t add up. Even if he unexpectedly took you somewhere else than Seolhwine's, it just happening to be his aunt's private island is no coincidence.

You look back at him, more confused than before.

"Come," he says softly, extending his hand toward you with palm upward. "I'll take you to her. We'll help you get home. I promise."

A dozen different responses crowd your tongue as you stare down at his offered hand. All the questions rattling between your ears, each booking it for your lips faster than the next. None make it far. Suspicion should be there, but your instincts are unresponsive. They don’t find anything worth questioning about the situation despite the red flags.

Sure, maybe a weird randomly naked guy saved your life, brought you to a secret beach that doesn’t look on any travel maps, and claims to have ties with some rich aunt that owns the whole damn thing...

But he isn't dangerous.

You know that fact unequivocally. Call it a hunch, maybe? Gut intuition. It makes no sense considering your rational side has zero interest in jumping through hoops to trust the random person that literally dragged you out of the ocean to the least convenient place he ever could — but then again, life tends to toss the strangest circumstances and situations your way whenever you least expect it.

What matters most is getting back home, your parents have to be dying of worry — a search party must be out there wasting resources. Having someone who seems oddly comfortable on the island lead you directly to shelter would certainly speed things along.

"Hey," he gently adds when you're quiet for too long, breaking the train of thought running rampant inside your mind. The softness in his tone brings your attention back to him entirely, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He offers his hand a little higher, which draws your focus back on it with curious clarity. How smooth it lookd, even from this distance, perfect nails without a single scratch or imperfection, fingers delicate, elegant bones visible under the pale skin. "I just want to help. You're safe with me. I won’t hurt you."

You stare at his hand, then at his face, then back again. The tone is soft, the words gentle, but something about it scratches at the back of your brain. The kind of voice usually reserved for nervous animals crouched under porches. Any second now, he might start whistling and offer a treat.

Though the weird phrasing shouldn't work its weird magic on you, it does. Maybe because it sounds so nostalgic and familiar in a way that it invokes a sense of safety in you? Or maybe because you're tired, soaked to the bone, bleeding lightly still, and sore all over and this guy seems too nice to be anything less than honest?

Perhaps both. Probably both. You really have no business trusting strangers who wear big pelt blankets instead of actual clothing and give basic information away akin to some kind of social anxiety sufferer with performance issues, yet here you are, contemplating on the idea of taking his hand.

What the hell, you think eventually. Sure. What alternative is there? If the worst comes to pass, you intend to make him have one less limb to his name — it would be his own fault for walking around like a Resident Evil nude mod. How did that one text post go? Boy put that boaner away lest a sloppy little critter grabs hold of it.

But you’re not that sure what kind of answer you expected when you ask him where you’re headed, but he doesn’t so much point as let his hand drift outward, loose and imprecise — more communion than instruction, as though the land might whisper the route if you stand still long enough. He plants himself in the emptiness with the ease of someone who’s never needed a map, naming vague landmarks with the casual grace of someone expecting the road to rise just because he’s ready to walk it.

As someone who has mastered the art of minding your own business, you don’t call out this behavior. As long as he gets you someplace you can call help from, Rafayel is free to be a weirdo.

But you do press him for information.

“She has lavender near the steps, and her door is the color of the sea,” he offers, like that narrows it down. “The path smells of sage sometimes, if the wind’s right. And there’s a stone shaped like a sleeping dog near the turn — you have to squint a little. The house groans when it’s too warm. There’s a wind chime that only rings when someone she doesn’t like shows up. And the garden gate bites if you don’t know how to open it.”

Not helpful. But then he refuses to add anything else more along the lines of fucking common sense and normal people direction-giving. What does he expect, the scent alone pulling you in the right direction if you just walk long enough?

And maybe he's right. Maybe you're the weird one for expecting something as formal as an address out here. If this really is a private island, there might only be one house. Maybe 'lavender and a blue door' is all anyone needs. Maybe people out here remember things by the curve of the land and the way the air smells after rain.

It isn’t a real plan. It’s the shape of a promise, just strange enough to follow, just vivid enough to believe in for a little while. The way he speaks about it, there’s no room for doubt, and you’ve learned to believe in the word of a local in all your years of living around the archipelago.

So you follow.

The pelt shifts when he moves, catching bits of drift and sand, trailing slightly as he walks beside you through the underbrush. He doesn’t shiver, unlike you. And that makes sense, considering how warm and cozy you were when that thing was your blanket when you first woke up.

The morning light hasn’t yet burned the fog from the trees, and the forest path ahead is dappled in grey. Your boots sink into the softened moss with a squelch. His bare feet barely make a sound, but your skin does hear something because of your wet socks.

You glance sideways at him. No wince, no flinch, not even when he steps straight on a gnarled root that would have you cursing in three languages.

“Seriously?” you mutter. “You don’t even feel that?”

“I’ve walked stranger paths,” he says. Great.

You stop walking with a groan. The wind catches your soaked clothes, cutting straight through to the bone. Your arms are already shaking.

“Okay. New plan.”

He watches as you crouch in front of him, back turned.

You look over your shoulder with an encouraging gesture for him, “Climb on.”

He tilts his head. “Huh?”

“Piggyback. You're barefoot, this path is hell, and I'm freezing. Carrying weight warms you up.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You're not that heavy, and I’ve hauled crates bigger than you off ferries for years. So. Just. Climb on.”

He makes a strangled noise. “I didn’t learn bipedalism just to be carried like a pup by you!”

Such drama. There really is no time for this and you’re not in the mood for negotiations.

You grab one of his wrists and tug it over your shoulder. His entire hand twitches in response. “If it makes you feel better, this is entirely me being selfish. I want to get warm.”

He hesitates, and it’s not pride, he keeps glancing at your side, where the torn side of your turtleneck still clings damp and darkened. His hands hover like he might stop you.

“You’re not healed,” he mutters. “Not properly.”

You hitch his arm higher on your shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“That wound’s still raw.”

“So are my fingers. Cold does that.”

He makes a frustrated noise.

“Listen, enough with courtesy stuff, okay? I don’t care, I’m freezing,” you cut in. “And you don’t have shoes. We’re both going to be miserable either way, so pick your poison.”

He sighs, dragging it out. Eventually, he caves, muttering something under his breath that could be an insult but could also be a compliment. He hoists himself up, arms settling uncertainly around your shoulders, pelt-covered legs bracketing your hips, and you make sure he won’t slip away from your grip because of the material. You’re trekking along the forest in no time, feeling pleasantly distracted from the cold.

“This is deeply undignified,” he mutters.

“And being inexplicably naked in front of a stranger isn’t? Where and why did you lose your clothes anyway? You still haven’t told.”

There’s no response, except from a huff he lets out from his nose, which fondly reminds you of Raf. It must be a tale particularly embarrassing for him to tell, and he did have the fur to make it up for, so you once again don’t pry. Master of minding your own business.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get comfortable.”

He doesn’t. He sits stiffly at first, as though unsure how much weight he’s allowed to give you. Then he starts shifting. Sighing. Squirming. Grumbling under his breath about the jostling, the pace, the way your shoulder bone is probably bruising his ribs.

"You walk uneven," he complains after the first bend. "See, it hurts after all, yeah? Put me down."

"It's a forest," you grit out. "The ground walks uneven."

"I wish you would listen for once."

"That's a wasted wish on a star. You've known me for like what, fifteen minutes?"

He exhales through his nose again, slow and beleaguered. No witty answer to that one, it seems.

The longer you walk, the more he settles. His complaining slows into occasional muttering, then thoughtful silence. The forest begins to close in around you. Damp leaves brush your arms. The world smells of pine sap, wet bark, and something almost metallic beneath the rot. The silence here is dense, broken only by the soft rhythm of your boots against the ground and the occasional rustle of something unseen in the undergrowth.

Then his voice, soft and close beside your ear: “Do you name the trails you take at sea? Or are they just known to you?”

“What?”

“The water routes. The ones you steer the ferry along. Do they have names?”

He’s talking about sea lanes. You’re about to question how he doesn’t know these things, considering he’s a fisherman, but remember he might not be one. His aunt owns an island. This is a rich kid who probably wanted to fish and got the locals involved in his request.

“They’ve got designations. Letters, numbers. Eights and alphas and things like that. But most of us just… call ’em what we call ’em.”

“Like?”

You think a moment, breath fogging in the damp air. “There’s Shiverstretch. That’s the fast cold current between Dolos and Ternhook. Everyone calls it that ’cause it’s a backslap to the face, especially on the morning runs. And there’s Dead Hour Channel — no wind, no sound, just this long, empty drift. Makes you paranoid that something’s watching. I don’t like that one.”

You feel him shift slightly on your back, listening.

“There’s Longshout,” you add. “Named after a guy who tried to boat through in a storm and ended up yelling for help the whole way ‘til he ran aground on Fallow Reef.”

Rafayel snorts quietly. “That one sounds personal.”

“It is. He still works the east docks. Won’t shut up about it.”

“How do you find your way around, then? I always wondered. Do you read the water like seals do?”

“Reading the water is one way to put it, I guess. They’re charted. We use navigation systems. Landmarks. Depth markers.”

A pause. The trees rumble, disturbed by a sudden gust of wind, brittle leaves dropping pebbles onto the path in front of you. Rafayel shifts awkwardly behind you, almost toppling off to the left before righting himself with a steadying grip.

"Question," you say. "What indicators do you use? Chip on a tree or something?"

He whispers eventually, cheek lightly pressed against yours. You feel his eyes on you. "Smells."

You blink, twisting around to glance at him. He seems surprisingly somber all of a sudden. "Uhhh...."

"Just focus on the road, we're almost there. You'll see."

The path winds past the last of the scrub grass, and then it opens.

The trees fall away in a hush of damp leaves and saltlight, and there, cradled in the middle of the forest-clad small valley, is a sprawling, mansion of a house that doesn’t quite belongs to any century in particular. Can't be called old or modern. The word you’re looking for is neo-classical architecture made to be a beach house. Pale limestone, veined and sun-bitten, gleams beneath the overcast sky. Its walls are streaked with wind-carried brine, but the stone holds strong, weathered soft rather than worn down. And there is the giveaway Rafayel was talking about: blue door.

Lavender spills along the pathway in loose drifts, unruly and fragrant, tangling with sea-thrift and clover like the garden grew itself wild. Carved wooden shutters hang half-closed against the morning chill, and a curved archway frames the entry looks the part of a half-remembered temple. There’s something mythic about it, a story you were almost told once. A place that holds onto memory whether you want it to or not.

And then there’s the scent, ocean first, bright and sharp, but something warmer curling beneath it. Resin, maybe. Incense burned into the beams. Citrus oil in the wood grain.

You adjust your grip beneath Rafayel’s knees as you approach the door. Acting as a barrier between your bodies, his pelt is still slung down your back , trailing behind like a second spine, damp at the edges. He hasn’t said much since the last hill. Just rested his chin between your shoulder blades and hummed, quiet as tidewash.

You reach the first step. Hesitate. The house isn’t grand in the usual way, no columns, no gates, but there’s a heaviness to it. Not unfriendly, but expectant.

You knock.

Silence falls. The melted caramel of sunlight scatters through the dark glass in the windows. Rafayel shifts on your back, going rigid so suddenly it almost jolts you. His breath stills sharply against your spine, and in that single suspended moment, you can feel the piano wire of tension strung through his bones.

You don’t get the chance to ask why. Wood cracks loudly within the doorframe, and there's a pop, a groan, and then a soft, sweet creak as the lock disengages, allowing the door to slowly swing inward with an audible squeak.

The scent hits first, warm and strange. Spiced velvet, a whisper of cloves, dried orange peel, and something more ancient baked into the lintel wood. Then the figure behind it, unexpected.

For an “aunt,” she looks barely older than him. Mid-thirties, maybe, though it’s hard to tell. Her features are sharp, dignified, and her presence is a light cloud, wrapped in layered satin and lace shawl, white and lilac, all shot through with shimmer where the light catches on glinting jewelry. Her hair is swept back, rich violet and pinned with silver shells, and her eyes—

Dusty purple brightening with shock.

“Rafayel?” she breathes, her grip whitening on the frame. Her gaze darts down, takes in the sealskin clinging to your back, the way his taut arms still drape over your shoulders like iron bars. “Gods, is it really you? Look, look at you! Oh... oh!"

Rafayel slides off you, and she practically throws herself out the door as soon as the initial shock wears off, taking two long steps across the threshold until she's directly in front of you, cupping his cheeks with hands that only tremble the smallest bit. He meets her halfway, tilting his forehead to rest against hers as his own hands come up to gently caress her elbows, cradling them lightly. His motions are hesitant at first — touching with clear clumsiness, as if handling glass. But the moment she exhales an astonished little laugh, something changes, he pulls her close, tightening his grasp not to let her blow away on the wind. The woman leans fully against him then, looping her arms around his neck with a relieved shudder that shakes both their frames.

And you're there, a comical stick figure at the background of a well-drawn manga panel with a big arrow pointing at you.

You hope they won't hunt you for sport. Private island. Two eerily good looking family members. Girl who got deliberately delivered there when a closer island was the most blatant option. This has the potential to be a horror movie premise.

But no. Nope. Too late. She glances past his shoulder as soon as her embrace is complete and the silent reunion done with, locking eyes with you, and your soul flees your body, trying to squeeze itself back through your pores like some furtive worm to avoid the full brunt of her curious scrutiny.

She raises one perfectly shaped brow, but before either of you can exchange any words or reactions, Rafayel says something.

You say something, because it's in a language you don't know, one that doesn't bother to make itself easy, sharp at the edges, rounded at the core. It rolls out of his mouth, mist over moorland — thick, tangled, hard to follow. The stone-teeth syllables grind against each other, but every so often, they break open into something strange and sweet, the howl of a reed pipe carried on sea wind.

It just plays into the horror movie vibe because why would he blatantly switch language to probably speak about you, judging from the glance thrown your way, as if you aren't there? Probably conspiring how to eat you! You do feel like tenderized meat.

The woman hums again, a thoughtful note this time, and the conversation carries on in murmured exchanges of tone and gesture — softness here, a flicker of frustration there. And yet you can pinpoint the exact moment everything changes. Rafayel says something. But she draws back, cups his cheeks in her hands, and stares at him hard, searching. Whatever she finds isn’t enough, because she shakes her head once, firm, decisive. He asks again. Another shake, stronger this time, more insistent. Her fingers flex tight against his skin as if she means to hold him there, but he speaks again, something softer, fainter, and her hand relaxes, trembling on the edge of defeat. A faint frown crosses her face, a small downward curl that somehow turns the lines at the corner of her lips into parenthesis, closing off the shape of whatever she might have said next.

"Hey, uh," you finally intervene when their staring contest becomes too intense. They both startle, seeming to remember your existence at once. You smile nervously, holding one raised palm up in defense and nonthreatening greeting. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but could I, um..." Your free hand gestures vaguely to indicate the general situation you find yourself in. "Use your phone? I don't mean to intrude or anything, I just. I got thrown over board during the storm, I don't even know if my ferry was capsized and I really, really need to get back—"

Rafayel says something else under his breath, hasty now, almost tripping over his words.

Her brows furrow in mild concern at his rambling. "Oh dear, I apologize, yes! Do forgive me for being impolite, I forgot myself for a moment there."

You nod politely in acknowledgment of her apology, lowering your arm hesitantly. "Not a problem, it happens."

"It's been so long since our house had guests," she admits candidly, placing an elegant hand over her heart in embarrassment. "Come, come in, please, you need a hot shower and change of clothes." She takes you by the arm and guides you inside. "You're drenched! Look at those goosebumps. Oh, you poor thing."

She leads you into a grand hallway filled with golden hour sunlight spilling through windows framed by sheer white curtains billowing lazily in the breeze, and it is not unlike stepping straight into the interior design section of an expensive department store. You could smell the money dripping off every nook, cranny, wall, and corner. If your wet socks were making muddy imprints on the flooring you knew you'd pass out from mortification on the spot. The floors here look pristine and polished enough for you to see your reflection clearly on its surface. Even the vase tucked neatly into the center of a glossy dark wood console table is worth more than your boat. Everything about this mansion is clean and orderly, it must be heaven on earth for a neat freak like your dad.

"He needs clothes the most, I think," you try to joke, letting her steer you through the main hall with wide curious steps and an awestruck stare. Rafayel, wherever he is behind you two, remains silent. You think he might have disappeared somewhere.

Her grip tightens around your arm like a mother hen dragging her chick into a coop to shelter from winter, her nails lightly digging into the sleeves of your sweater with a pleasant firmness that feels strangely grounding. "Don't worry about him, you focus on getting warmed up now."

"Thanks, ummm..." you begin, hoping it's polite to ask for her name while inside her home. But before you could continue, she turns to regard you with a serene smile — so gentle and graceful she could've been sculpted from marble if it weren't for her very lively personality. She smells nice, too. Floral. Very floral. The same kind of perfume bottle your aunt kept on display near her sewing machine that you stole a few sniffs of when Grandma wasn't looking.

Her attention is summer afternoon sunbeams on your chilled skin. "You can call me Talia.”

[somuchwatersoclosetohome]

good morning good morning good morning a la hugo

ok i'm going to try and dump as much as i can remember about last night before i need to head out for today but i will definitely forget things so this might be a 2-parter

warning this is SO LONG i apologise in advance

✨ it's almost time to say goodbye, ta-ta and fare thee well, it's almost time to bring the curtain down... ✨

spoilers for stage/fright 04/04

le general observations

we are officially in last weekend territory

turns out i was sat next to miranda hennessy's husband but i was too shy to say anything hur hur

also turns out we were sat behind 4 empty house seats that were reserved for sir ian and co. but he didn't come 😔 imagine that

hahaha oh dear my bf was SO BAFFLED BY THE ENTIRE THING he even asked @silverview why do you find this funny 😭 i gotta actually credit you for not completely outing my rs appreciation 🙇‍♀️ so yea turns out it's still just my dad that i can count on irl to stan in9 with me

act 1

ok now i've had it incepted in my head that there's sexual tension between anna francolini and reece's character in the opening theatre scene I CAN'T UNSEE IT I'M DIGGING IT

idk if she's done this every time but this was the first time that i was sat on the right-hand side of the auditorium and when anna goes to spend a penny tonight she mimed walking down the stairs behind the rows of seats and that got a good laugh ahahah

in BCDR they'd obviously forgotten to put the bag of hats for the interview sketch in the right place on stage so steve has to disappear off stage for a few seconds like "give me a sec" to go and retrieve it!! ha

other ppl have noticed this but i feel like reece has definitely dialled up tommy over the course of the run so that tommy is actually now more physical and funny as well as cantankerous haha... the "not about the crisps" line has definitely got more exaggerated each time

i'm always just in awe of how much emotion they both manage to put into this one night after night. the "you almost died len" is just always ☹️ loud crying

kidnappers scene

ok well this has to have its own section for this episode right? i could do a whole separate POST about this bc the hostage was fucKING SIR IAN MCKELLEN

this is also probably the sole section that my bf enjoyed bc he likes LOTR lmao

where do i even start, there were so many gems in this section that i will definitely forget something excellent

i mean when len says "tell him what you've been in", sir ian just puts his hands behind his head and says "where do i start" lmaoo man knows he's a king

when they first take off the hood obviously the audience goes wild and starts screaming and hollering

when he's listing off the things he's been in(!) he looks at len and says "you look like the sort of person that goes to the theatre" and steve does his exaggerated barry baggs nodding ahaha, and then he looks at tommy and says "you look like the sort of person that stays in and watches tv"

len obviously knows him from the lord of the rings, aka the lord of the minge / the whore of the kings

there's a whole gag about both sir ian and reece both having done the dressers, where reece/tommy is like "i think you were better than me" and sir ian replies "yes i think i probably was" 😭😭😭

when reece/tommy does his lil bunny hops about knowing how to answer a phone, sir ian looks out into the crowd and is like "the acting you get on this stage..." semi-sarcastically

the whole phone call situation was unbelievable. sir ian just straight up says "i don't do spanish" hahaha, and then was like "geordie is really hard, can i do welsh?" to which his credit he did an ok job of

when he does the flamenco he literally stands up to TAKE HIS DRESSING GOWN OFF and obviously everyone is going wild again and then mimes starting to take his shirt off ahaha

he actually does a pretty mean flamenco and even some (and i can't believe i'm saying these words in relation to sir ian mckellen) booty shaking

the trumpet does work!! it makes sounds... a little toot was heard

the improv song went something like "i love you, you love me, you are mine, inside number 9" to which everyone inc. reece and steve were like !!! awww

at one point reece just fully says "this [his mustache] is falling off"

when len goes to the kitchen and asks if he's hungry, sir ian fully just gets a banana out of the dressing gown pocket and starts eating it on stage??? and then throws the skin out into the front row for someone to catch??? imagine that. i'd be framing that banana skin

he then does a TON of audience work lmao, starting with "how much have you all paid to be here?"

"i could be at home watching reruns of my work"

his chat goes on so long that len literally comes on over the speakers like "oh sir ian, i wonder what would happen if you went in that wardrobe" bc he was not showing ANY signs of getting up to look in there 😂😂😂

he does that gag and the second time is like "oh i wonder if i should check again", and going in is like "if this is the last time i see you all, goodbye"

at one point he does mention sir derek jacobi and said something like we've done a lot of work together or smth?? whatever he said made me think MAYBE sir derek is going to be one of the final hostages???

len actually doesn't go crazy w/ the celery today? no falling to his knees in any case LOL but it still cracks reece up ofc ofc

sir ian's parting words for the boys - "i come from the legitimate side of the entertainment industry... the next time you come to the wyndham's at the stage door i hope they say... YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" cue everyone losing their shit

when they throw the body down the stairs one of the shoes flies off and reece sort of nudges it before their shrug. idk man it was funny

act 2

this is broadly the same as i have seen it, though i'm almost sure reece nearly breaks after his 'good morning' entrance... in any case he's definitely smiling

i feel like the bit where hugo's sat somewhat sprawled on that stool (🥵 ahem) and says "comfy?" to suzette has definitely been dialled up

the line when hugo comes back in and is like "you want a second opinion do you, take me through the case file", the way reece delivers this is just SO GOOD it's so funny

the leg amputation took WAY longer than usual, idk if there was something up?? so anyway the "almost done" line was funnier than it usually is and suzette even had to adlib some new lines to cover up this section haha

the "get away" to abby is a great addition and always gets a good laugh

steve breaking 😭😭 i was looking out for the point where he misses his cue more this time and it's just so well done

okAY i did finally catch the line about mincing about outside the stage door this time LOL...

... but alas still did not catch toby's line before the light falls

stage door

it was nice to finally see you @misskite!!! the dedication is unreal

this went suuuuper quick bc the line was actually super long. they did get a lot of gifts but i'm surprised more ppl didn't have flowers?? seeing as i'll be mighty surprised if they come out after either of today's shows. saying that i also didn't bring flowers lol BUT already gifted them stuff way earlier in the run

and then omg once they'd finished and walked back down that lane towards their taxi reece says 'see you tomorrow' to the group of us standing there LOL perceived

and then steve starts blowing tons of air kisses at everyone??? like i said before, pembo oppa is the fanservice master and i'll have nothing else said about it

if that's the last time i see them (until september lol) then 💓💓💓 what a treat and a joy and a privilege

[haveihitanerve]

I am the lady of a thousand Don Juans

Holy fuck its been a while huh? Jingle Boys is still in the works I swear its just been… an interesting time.. But meanwhile i watched The Meringue Haberdashery and had thoughts so! Here ya go!

Before we start: a meringue is a type of light dessert food and a haberdashery is a clothing store- typically mens clothing and just other clothing accessories. Just to clarify bc sometimes their titles are out of this world lol

Sam setting the scene in case anyone on stage is confused lol to make sure they all know it will be something about sewing(not gonna look at anyone but looking at you aj)

“Very good, very good.” Sam’s little blink of “ok. Yeah. sure aj. This accent.” priceless

“You taught me the needle you taught me the thread you taught me the sew you taught me the stitch” sam i was really hoping this was gonna rhyme it had such rhythm

“I only show you the way” wow aj going philosophical on us

“The needle shows you the way.” *leans back and smiles in proud of himself aj*

“... how is that different from teaching?” wow ok sam let him have his moment gosh lmaoo

“No no no no no” *taps temple because duh sam you just don't get ittttt*

“You will, don Juan, you will.” Sorry- AJ did you just call Sam by the name he gave you?... just checking

“How is your wife.” I see you aj trying to further the plot but that was a wild convo shift lol

“She is still very sick. Don Juan.” I assume that Tom just muttered something that was something akin to both of them being called the same name which made Aj break character and look at him and then Tom was just like *no don't look at me keep moving* with the casual spinning of the fingers to indicate wrap it up or wtv idk im guessing but it makes me happy

“Narakinyo.” Just plopping this here as an account of who is named what

“You did a fine job you did.” It scratches my brain correctly when Aj emphasizes certain words like when he goes “huge fucking katanna” or does his “i hate you” shtick idk just mentioning

“We never tell her that ey?” *lifts hand for high five that Sam doesn’t respond to* if i had a nickel for every time AJ wanted to high five Sam while speaking a different accent and was momentarily denied I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but its weird that it happened twice

Its ok guys Sam does actually give him a high five for this one. Unlike in the paella one who’s name I can’t think of rn

“Ah yes a memory…” The smile i cant its so cute- Sam like “please motherfucker understand” and AJ’s just like “what the fuck are you doing bro” 

“I think thats where I was- I’m confused.” 😭 you got him to break character and the fourth wall to admit to confusion sam how

“I was walking along the street-” *completely ignoring Sam and not focusing on his flashback at all* Sam: *well shit lemme just get up again then* oh ok. (Also- are we not gonna point out that even if AJ was just narrating his flashback- neither Luke nor Tom made any effort to help Sam out like lmaoo give him nothing guys we love)

“... could i have some details please?” Sam asking for the people and AJ almost breaking

“I was thrown off by the child.” AJ’s helpless shrug 😭 precious

“I heard a child singing outside-” *pauses for dramatic effect and Luke does an absolutely incredible mimic of Sam*

“Nikita.” ok so Sam has forgotten the whole name but he has the vibes- honestly AJ why do you always pick the most complicated names😭(i know we joke that they use the same names a lot but can you honestly blame them with AJ throwing these fucking names out there all the time???lmaooo)

AJ just fucking done and smacking the shit out of Sam is priceless

Sam just using the opportunity to hide his face from the crowd and laugh because he honestly has no clue either

“You fookin stupid sometimes-” love the way Aj says this. 

“Im sorry okay! I mean you can- sew a waistcoat perfectly but you cannot sew a narrative together.” damn sam. That was smooth

“Okay.” *hand movement* “I understand where you are going now- and we’ll recap and re-fuckin-wind.” poor babies lmaoooo

“Nikina Nikinya” (both of these are wrong) “was a child and not my wife,” (im sorry a wife was in the equation?????) “who I thought-” Aj. delightful chaos creature that you are. I don't know that I’ve ever heard someone refer to their partner or wife as their little one unless- its a child. But uh. Yeah. ok. Sure. clarification is key. 

“There she was!” “...the little child..?” “The little child. We’re going with this.” Aj not making eye contact and staring into the audience like theres someone looking down the barrel at him is crazy 

“I was in flow.” The most passive aggressive twist and look at Sam like “are you gonna interrupt me again or let me tell the story now with my word choice?” you do you king

AJ: Like a bird through the sky. It landed it went- *realizes wtf he’s saying and where this has to end* straight- *covers mouth with his hand like the victorian lady that he is while laughing* through her eye Sam: *equally realizing what a fucked storyline he’s built* *covers mouth in equal distress and attempt not to laugh*

“Ah so sharp…” AJ???? That sounded so genuinely upset wow

“And as I pulled ze string-” AJ!!!! Ughhh… the crowd catches on immediately bc ofc aj baby you were shocked and horrified and now you're making it worse???😭

“Don juan.” Aj once again calls Sam by his own name but wtv they can both be don juan

“If you want to live it… y'know then go for it!” *shrugs, unbothered king* LMAOOO both Sam and Aj laughing at his pure insanity is always a treat

Sam pulling a lovely life lesson out of the horrifying story and Aj just smiling because “yeah sam. Sure.” 

“Ill always teach you lessons-” “oh so now you do admit you teach me!” Cheeky lil shit Sam but hes a delight so we’ll allow it lol

Unamused and yet amused AJ. “I got ya! :)” “...very good.” 

Aj: *turns to leave* *turns back* Sam: *waiting for expansion of plot* AJ: *nah fuck that* I’m going to take a “power nap” Sam: *loses it because wow that came outta left field*

Oh no luke is a sickly victorian child…

OHHHH HES THE SICK WIFE. i get it. Im only slightly slower than aj yall give me a second

(Babette is a womans name- however is this instance I do believe Sam meant for it to be a cutesy loving nickname- in which case it means Little God. hes calling his wife his little god… anyway)

“Sopa.” Yes Luke slay with your spanish. “Sssssoup?” Sam struggling on Duolingo. “Yes!” Luke is so happy for him lol

“Have you ever wondered why… why you and him have the same name?” YES LUKE. YES. CALL THEM OUT. OH YEA. YESSSSS LMAOOO

The mischievous lil smirk right before he says it too and the way sam fights for a second but honestly its not his fault because he said the name first- Aj also leaning into frame because he’s rocking back and forth from laughter and looking at Tom like “oh thats what you were saying.” XD

“Thats what I’m sticking with thats what happened.” Makes eye contact with crowd. 😭 you go sam!

“He has no ambition!” Sam offended on AJ’s fake characters behalf. “Hes had a rough year??” The look he gives of disbelief lmaooo and Luke just like “ugh so???” queen.

“For many years his daughter was alive and healthy-” (Sam sees where he is going with this and already has to stop the laugh from escaping because wow Luke. wow. Low blow i gotta say but he is committing) “Yet the shop stayed the same size. Why?” (Maybe i’ve seen this clip before or maybe he says it the same every time but i swear i've heard luke say “why?!” like that exactly before…)

“Porque?” yes Luke, the reason sam didn't answer was because he didn't understand your question- it was a language barrier problem- and not because hes busy shoving his fist into his mouth to avoid laughing at your audacity XD

“If you observed my mime carefully I did get you a spoon from the drawer!☝️” (let us rewind the tape shall we?: Sam opens the cupboard and pulls out a can, opens it and pours it into the pan that I’m amusing was already on the stove elsewise he’s pouring soup over his stove…anyway-[it was already there, he messed with it in the beginning]he puts the can back??? And closes the cupboard. Turns on the flame. Takes the pot off the flame as he moves a pace to the left and stirs it, sets the pot down to argue with luke, opens top cupboard this time, removes a bowl?, ladles soup into it, then opens the drawer, takes out spoon[we assume], sticks it in bowl, closes drawer, and serves it to luke…mmmm. He has passed the test of stagecraft…for now)

SAM TAKES BACK THE SOUP SPOON THAT HE’D ALREADY PLACED IN THE SOUP AND PUTS IT BACK IN THE DRAWER WITHOUT CLEANING. (i’d be more upset if it weren't mime- i’d be less upset if they didn't make such a big deal out of their stagecraft all the time and then made such egregious errors such as this🙄lmao)

Sam: *sweetly contemplating retiring options fro Don Juan for him to find closure and meaning again* Luke: *death. He should find death* bullets? Sam: *excusemewtflukehuh-* wh-what? Luke: *oh shit that was an inside thought* oh hm? Oh i have fever ohhhh LMAOOO

Aj standing up and ending the scene and then marginally flicking his fingers gently at Tom to get him to stand and join the scene🫠my heart-

Tom just weirdly arching his back and leaning forward and trusting Aj to please don't drop me

Omfg they work so well- Luke calling out faintly “papa! Papa! Papa!” and Aj clocking(finally) that its like his trauma flashback and jerking unexpectedly and Tom immediately going “Yep he just ruined my suit and my life” and jumping to be an angry customer… *chefs kiss* they're so good

Also I fully believe Tom just wanted an excuse to slap Aj lmao

“Do not make me point my dick at you in rage!” Tom firstly what secondly aj did not expect that and laughs beautiful

Tom just yells incoherently: captions: [angry Tom>:(]

Sam making the exit bell noises😭 they are so extra and yet its not nearly enough its so perfect

“He was-he -hea ahdhye- usth-” [reboot required :D] poor babyyyyy🤧

Aj shaking with silent laughter as he just bends over the chair to not have to look at the audience and Sam slowly approaching and placing a comforting hand on his back🫠

“You went full Porky Pig just then!” Sam! You’re supposed to be helping him not break him completely lol!

Aj wiping actual tears from his eyes???? Precious baby

Does a [don't touch me >:(] shrug away

Im sorry- is aj about to stab sam??? I don't like the way he’s examining the needle…

Aj being fucking terrifying- “Do you ever think, maybe, its possible to put the needle so deep inside of your own mind- that you can pry out all the memories that you don't want?” this is… such a grieving and heartbreaking line and oh wow… chills. Ouch that hurts

And then Aj immediately fumbles for words and has to reboot a second lmao

“Oh i- i will just go heh!” *does like a weird squat thing and spreads arms out* sam i would run. Because thats terrifying and he’s clearly not agreeing hes just being… difficult? Idk the word for it but run

“NOOO!” “AHHHH!” guessed it

Aj- hang on- so imma recap this for yall- ajs mother came from spain to england- im assuming since Haberdashery is a very english thing- spat him out via other lips the second she breached the haberdashery door- he started crawling immediately after birth while his mother was fully able to walk and fucked off again- as he was crawling he found a needle looking wooden splinter- because a newborn child and a needle is a great combination- and used that to build the entire fucking shop. All caught up? Great. Sam you lied before- Aj can sew together fucking fabulous narratives 

All of the boys also losing it at his joke- and the way he says “whole shop.” 

Ok wait this is actually so sweet and twisted- Babette obviously has some ulterior motives- but Don Juan clearly loves Don Juan and wants him to just rest and live out the rest of his days in peace and grieve properly- but Don Juan is getting paranoid and wants to hold onto his shop with everything he has because he had it with his daughter and now Don Juan is trying to take it away from him and arghh

“Like a meringue under a hammer!” Sam trying realll hard to get the Meringue part of this title into there lol

“Nikita nina.” Guys. no. not. Anyway

“Has your daughter been saying this to me from beyond the grave? NO! *vehement denial*... my wife on the other hand *eyyyy cheeky mischief*” i love their acting

Another aj recap- he throws a needle at Sam(im assuming its just a needle and not just a wooden splinter) and declares hes gonna bulldoze the whole building- everything he has built and worked for for years of his life and is refusing to let go of but now willingly destroying because yeah that makes sense- and is challenging sam to see if he can rebuild it the way he built the shop from scratch when he was freshly womb-freed child. 

Sam has now grown cocky instead of empathetic. “I’ve got a lunch appointment in an hour. I suppose i've- with my skills i will have time to rebuild.” yall. Are. fucking. Haberdashers!!!! Not. carpenters? House builders??😭 no wat why am i questioning sfth logic. I take it back. Yall slay 

“Just be careful that you don't destroy yourself in the process.” ominous warning i wonder how they’ll incorporate that… “Im going to go for a power nap.” aj never change i beg XD

So Tom is finally in another scene yay!

“You've made a complete recovery!” GASP!!! DUN DUN DUN. did not see this coming wow

“We’re not questioning!!!” *tom being the supportive feminist king* “you do you!” *as always*

Ooooohhh! Luke has been drugging Aj… interesting plot twists Tom.. keep ‘em coming these are delicious

“Who would i be driving mad?” Gaslight gatekeep girlboss. “The doctor?!? Hehe!” Tom i love you you absolute nerd(affectionate)

Woah… so maybe she’s been drugging Sam… the plot twists…

“What are you doing?” Casual, normal child. “Niki-ihita?” (he is ten seconds away from saying nagini i know he is) “What are you doing?” *one eye closed because 🤭🤢*

Luke and Sam working through plot while AJ casually sways in the background examining Luke and Sam’s stagecraft- not a care in the world just :) 

“Who is making you do this- *luke comes out a lil* come on!” Luke really wants you to pick up on the cues that he and Tom dropped about the wife being evil Sam please XD

“I’m.. making me do this.” NO! Luke is done lmaooo “Its your w- your wife-! Your fucking wife!” “Oh sorry!”

Luke’s dismayed head shake and look over at Aj like “what???” oh no damn he actually says it aloud- “are we watching the same thing???” flabbergasted by sam’s lack of picking up his cues lmaooo

“Accountability-” what is that sam we’ve never heard of it theres always a villain. “Yeah its my wife! *done eye roll and shrug* also!☝️ my teas been tasting funny for months!” don't make it sound like a duh moment now sam cmon! XD

Oh shit so i was kinda right she’s drugging everyone. I didn't think one person was given that much medication but maybe she’s been hoarding or smth idk

“Do you ever wonder why you and my father have the same name?” Luke please don't tell me they’re related in some way. I am loving this plot point fixation because of a mistake but seriously where is this going….

“Es verdad.” -that means “Its true” 

Oop he says it too “that means “its true” in spanish.” comes to the front of the stage like fucking dora the explorer lmaoo

“Bambino.” excuse me Sam why are we switching up nicknames at this time? Sighhh

Everyone just wants to slap everyone today huh lol

“I was never sick.” “UAHH! [shooketh sam]” he remains shooketh for quite a second gotta say love the commitment

“I gave him a magnetic sewing needle-” not this again😭 *horrified sam* “and i put a huge fucking electromagnetic [... magnetic what luke…] behind the head of his daughter!” 

“You have been a curse on Don Juans! All the Don Juans in this town!” How many are there???? Also Luke just evilly going “Yeeeees!!” is amazing

“I am the lady of a thousand Don Juans.” fantastic quote

“Time to sew this story up.” the puns are flawless this time around

“We really have to finish the show…” Sam is exhausted poor baby

Evil Luke: *shrugs* so it finishes with the villain winning!! Mwuahahah!

AND SCENE!!! Wooo that was a wild ride but it was a fun one. Honestly these just keep getting better every time i watch a new one(even though they get progressively older but shhh) each one is just amazing. Anywho see yall next time(hopefully next time is sooner than this time was) byebye!!!

@Dawn-speckled @Snek-of-eden @bewilderednobody @scattered-stardust

[blakbonnet]

S2 Spoilers from the articles so far

- Lucius has a brooding, bitter arc

- Mary and Anne are murder wives, literally, retired and plotting new ways to kill each other everyday and keeping the relationship fresh

- Ed and Stede go on a double date (possible the chair smashing scene)

- the phrase "snuffed out" was used for tealoranges in one of the articles, make of that what you will, hints of possible poly Jim x Olu x Archie maybe

- Izzy redemption arc, meaty storyline

- Pirate Queen Zheng Si Yao vs Prince Richard (Errol shand) is the major background story

- Episode 6 is major! Romance and otherwise and has loads of emotional tears shed

- "Susan" Ruibo's character (Queen Zheng) is a bit of a frenemy and really lauded for her part

- The crux is romance and Ed and Stede's romance in particular

- The only major complaint seems to be that it's very fanservice, so okay lmaoo good

- Very suicidal Ed in the first few episodes but some of it is balanced by humour but again, fairly dark

- Ed does seem to be doing direct violence and is pretty down in the dumps, raiding everything he sees, killing bystanders etc

- Reunion is pretty early on (ep 3 maybe) and there's plenty of banter between Ed and Stede

- Archie is a super fun character who looks up to Ed a bit and has great chemistry with everyone else

- Toxic workplace style discussion about Ed's management

- Ed plays mindgames with the crew when he's not maiming them apparently and it's pretty angsty and funny

- Stede is working at Spanish Jackie with the crew cause he's broke af

- Stede's major plot is getting to Ed and finding Ed and he writes him a love letter every morning while fantasising about him at night in the form of wild dreams absjsjd

- Stede has a bunch of bitchy moments and one liners

- Swede has found true love with Jackie

- Ed cuts more of Izzy's toes (at least 2 more)

- Izzy mediates Ed and Stede's relationship

[choccy-milky]

Hi Darling! First of all.. OMG I REALLYYY REALLYYYY LOVE YOUR FIC ♥️♥️♥️! I've been a silent reader for too long and this is the first time I came to the surface to thank you for this amazing fic and art that you've made.

I also have gathered my courage to ask you this. But headcanonically (if that's even a word but wtv 😭) in your fic world. Did Sebastian ever court or interested in someone before Clora? I had a wild thought that he was into someone and had courted them but wouldn't last long because he had to take care of Anne and this lass he courted was tired of his rambling about Anne this and Anne that. Sebastian decided that they should end things because not appreciating Anne means not appreciating him.

And when he dated Clora. He met her again. She desperately wants him back and apologises (She does have another intention though). He declines because he's already ill with her and is now crazy in love with our darling Clora. He chooses not to tell Clora about this. But I wonder what happened if Clora knows tho.

ANYWAY! THANK YOU FOR READING MY LONG ASS WILD THOUGHTS BUT I AM AN ANGST GIRL IN THIS ANGST LIFE. 😭😭😭💙💙💙

AW THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME💖💖IM GLAD TO HEAR IT💖💖 AND OK its funny you bring this up bc i actually planned for sebastian to have a bit of an internal monologue in my most recent chap about the girls he's had a crush on (before clora--omg... B.C), but i ended up cutting it out because it was part of a deleted scene. but no seb has never actually dated/courted anyone before clora, tho he defs did have crushes....but if he WAS with another girl before clora....🤔🤔hmm🤔🤔 i guess it would depend when in their relationship clora found out? if it was at the beginning when clora was still really shy/nervous/self conscious, it would obviously make her even moreso, and she would have compared herself and wondered if she was good enough and if she was doing things right. and i feel like that early in the relationship, if that other girl DID come back and try and get with seb, clora might actually be worried they'd get together again, esp if she ever saw them talking (kinda like the lawley situation, but in reverse BAHA) if it was NOW though and clora just suddenly found out....LMAOO oh boy. she'd obvs be like why did u never tell me, and itd go something like this: seb: "it was brief enough that i didn't see any point in mentioning it--we hadn't even snogged." clora: "well, it just so happens that i was with a boy before you, too. but we hadn't snogged either, so by your logic, i guess you don't care." seb: ".........." seb: "........alright, point proven." (and then seb would be all worried and confirm that she hadnt actually been with anyone before him/that she was just messing with him, and shed be like LMAO YES IT WAS JUST FOR ARGUMANTS SAKE OBVS) anyway clora might be sad for a bit but she'd get over it pretty quick, since she knows seb is so devoted to her/hed make it a point to be a huge simp for her to show her he has no leftover feelings for anyone else LOL (like how he was after the relic incident & during her period) honestly its just hard to make clora jealous in the first place, bc seb is such a mega simp for her LMFAO. and aS HE SHOULD BE!!!👇🧎‍♂️

[awxcoffeexno]

medicine

husband!joel x reader

fic masterlist

summary: your mind and his heart are breaking in sync and medicine doesn't seem to be fixing either.

content: angst, angst, angst, what's new tbh, I'm v sorry I didn't mean to torture you, reader's got mental health problems, joel is a contractor, no outbreak (no use of y/n, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 40s))

warnings: terrible mental health, mentions of self harm, mentions of prescribed drug and sedative use, please don't read this if any of this is going to trigger you, this fic might be short but it's super heavy!!

word count: 1.1k

a/n: the way I sobbed writing this lmaoo im sorry T.T, i'm super sick and wrote this in one morning so forgive any errors pls

the door creaks open with a soft lament, announcing joel's arrival.

he's home, but he's not; a tangible ghost hovering between two worlds—one defined by deadlines, contracts, and relentless stress, the other confined to the four walls of a home that has grown colder with each passing day. his footsteps trace a familiar path down the hallway, each one laden with hesitancy and regret, as if the floorboards themselves are a minefield.

when he finally enters your bedroom, you're on the floor, surrounded by photos torn from their frames. your eyes are vacant, aimlessly scanning the images while your mouth mutters words without meaning. the coherent world has slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, and you're drifting on an endless tide, lost in your own head once again.

his eyes scan the scene, widening with a mixture of despair and recognition. "what is happenin’ here, angel?” his voice cracks, a frayed rope on the verge of snapping. you can't answer him, your own words a garbled mess that even you don't understand.

the pill bottle sits untouched on the nightstand, a mute accusation. he glances from you to the bottle and back, his face the canvas of a losing battle between frustration and fear. “y’need to take your medicine,” he exhales, grasping for some sense of normality.

"i don't... why? no. no!" your resistance manifests in broken sentences, but the message is clear in your wild eyes and trembling hands—you hate those pills, hate the haze they cast over your mind and the way they strip you of whatever agency you have left.

"please," he implores, his voice tinged with desperation. he takes a step toward you, but you recoil, pushing yourself further into the corner of the room. the boundaries of his world are closing in, contracting with each day that passes. “y’have to take it,” he repeats even as it kills him, “you ain’t safe like this, sweetheart.”

not safe because he’s seen the frantic mess you turn into. the way you try to find all the knives he’s hidden away in the depths of the attic. the way you pull your hair out in handfuls - the hair he so dotingly does up in braids or in little bows every morning.

a choked sob escapes your lips, a wounded sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. "don't...no, can't...please..."

his eyes dart to the windows, then to the walls that separate your home from your neighbors. "shhh, angel, we can't disturb the people next door, come on now," he says, but his attempt to mask his panic with practicality is failing. the strain is showing in the tight line of his jaw and the pinched corners of his eyes.

he reaches for the pill bottle with shaking hands, the weight of each second like a stone sinking in water. he pours a pill into his palm and moves toward you. you lash out, disoriented, your hand making contact with the bottle, sending it flying across the room. pills scatter on the carpet like lost stars.

for a moment, joel just stands there, staring at the mess as if it's a physical manifestation of your lives—chaotic, broken, irretrievable. then, grabbing the box with syringes from your shelf, he rushes toward you, grabs your flailing arms, and restrains you with an iron grip that's part desperation, part surrender. he holds you tight, as if by sheer force he can meld the fractured pieces of your existence back together.

it hurts you and he knows his grip isn’t gentle. it's ugly. it's painful. but it's the only way he knows to keep you from falling off the edge, the only way he can tether you to a reality that's slipping further and further away. his arms tremble around you, and his breath comes out in ragged gasps that mirror your own disordered breathing.

"i love you. god, i love you so much," he chokes out in apology, the words barely audible over the sound of both your shallow breaths. you can't reply, your own voice lost in the labyrinth of your fragmented mind, but you cling to him as if he's the last solid thing in a world made of quicksand.

finally, your resistance wanes, drained by the struggle, by the sedative he manages to get into your arm after what felt like an eternity of fighting. your body goes limp in his arms, and he gently, carefully, lays you down on the bed. his hands hover over you for a moment, as if he's afraid to let go, afraid that if he does, you'll slip through his fingers for good.

only when he's sure you're asleep does he allow himself to break. he sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and cries. silent, gut-wrenching sobs that he's held back for too long. he weeps for you, for him, for the love that's become a war zone, a place of unending battles with no victories in sight.

his shoulders shake as he cries, looking at the scratches your nails have left on his arms through his tears. he thinks of the hours he's spent away from you, lost in a job that demands more than he has left to give. each contract signed, each project completed, feels like another step away from you.

he thinks of tomorrow, and the day after, each stretching out in front of him like an endless road leading nowhere good. what if it happens again? what if he comes home to find you worse? if? when. when it happens he has no idea what he’ll do.

the hardest thought, the one that hurts the most, is the future he can no longer picture, the one where you fade away completely, lost in a mind that's become a maze with no way out. he can almost see himself, years from now, sitting beside a bed where you lay but are not really there, your eyes vacant, your hands still. the thought is too much and it breaks his heart.

he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, stands up, and looks at you one more time. you're peaceful now, your face relaxed. for a brief moment, he allows himself the illusion that everything is okay, that you're simply asleep, and that you'll wake up tomorrow as the person he fell in love with.

but deep down, he knows the truth. love, as strong and as deep as it is, can't fix this. he can’t fix this. and as he leaves the room, switching off the light and plunging the world into darkness, that thought is the heaviest burden of all.

--

tysm for reading. also a big thank you for all the love on my other fics, makes writing all the more fun

love, d 🖤

[strangerscallmegray]

Are we the Same, Pt. 3

Okay yeah, I wrote this over the weekend and I hope you will like it. I don't know whether the characters are OOC or not because I haven't even watched it yet lmaoo. Imagine writing a fanfic over something you haven't even watched.

Link to Pt. 2

Also, my first language is not English so pls don't kill me.

Warnings: Blood and Gun-shot Wound.

Word Count: 1390 words

Joel had not expected this to take an ugly turn, it was supposed to be simple patrol job, your everyday work so he had taken you along with him. If he knew it would turn out like this, he’d never have asked you to tag along. You were resting at home today with Ellie, it was a holiday when you had heard Joel’s voice ring out “Kid, get ready, we’re going patrolling.”

You were shocked to say the least, he had never called you out for a patrol by himself in the past two years. You jumped up and eagerly got ready in your excitement, you missed the smile Joel had on his face.

“I’m ready, Dad!”

You hopped after your dad like a little kid on Christmas. Joel realised that he only needed to understand where you’re coming from and everything would be solved. He felt very positive. They had joined the others and had begun to go on your regular trail. You were right behind him.

All of a sudden, they heard a scream from Tess who was standing in the front and there were some robbers, good for nothing robbers. They had heavy equipment in their hand, they seemed to be well prepared. They were here for something clearly and it seemed like they had planned it out for weeks.

Instinctively Joel pushed you behind him. They had jumped Tess and hit her with a club, she had fallen down unconscious or rather, that is what you hoped. You were peeking from above Joel’s shoulder. Soon, everybody was fighting. You were desperate to go look at Tess and make sure she’s okay.

Joel grabbed you by your shoulders, you looked up at him and never had you felt more like a child. He was crouching down a little. You didn’t have the best height, at least not at 16.

“Run.” He said, he had a wild desperation in his eyes.

“Run and go home, make sure Ellie is okay too. Just get out of here.” He said, shaking you a little. You nodded furiously, not knowing what else to do. He nodded at you and turned to join the fight.

You knew that you had told your dad you’d go home but how could you? How could you just leave your dad and head home? Even if you wanted to, your legs would not obey your command and stayed firmly planted in that place. As you felt a bullet stream past you, you were jolted to reality and you quickly hid behind a rock and silently watched.

You watched as your dad stood in front of Tess and fought with them. He had even successfully killed one of them. There were five of them and four of you. Your uncle, Tommy had also managed to kill one of the robbers. For all you know, they could be rogue FEDRA officials dressed as robbers to get your supplies or they could be infected. As you were watching the scene, your eyes suddenly shifted to a rock behind Dad and you saw that one of the robbers was taking an aim at Joel.

You panicked and flung to action. “Dad!” you ran to him and crashed into him sending you both to ground. The robber had taken his shot. There was a ringing in your ear and everything felt muted. You saw that the guy attacking dad was dead. ‘Oh good’ you thought, ‘the bullet must have got him’.

Slowly, as you recovered your senses, you realised that you were half on top of Joel. You got up.

“Dad! Dad, are you okay?” you asked, still panicked, holding Joel by the shoulders and checking him over for injuries. But you saw that Joel’s eyes were not focused, he was looked down and it seemed like he had gone as white as a sheet.

“Dad!” You shouted again, shaking him a little. He looked at you and again looked down, you followed his sight and you finally realised what he was staring at. Your right-side abdomen was gushing blood. Your white shirt had taken a shade of red. The bullet had gone through you and hit the other robber.

The realisation, the pain suddenly hit you as the adrenaline wore off. Your hand slid off of Joel’s shoulder’s and you slowly touched your abdomen. You cried out in pain. Joel was up in an instant, holding you.

“Y/N!” He laid you down and put pressure on your wound as you cried out.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll be as good as new, yeah?” he said and you didn’t know whom he was convincing more.

Tommy and the others had dealt with the other robbers and Tommy came rushing over to you.

“Oh my God.” He said kneeling down.

Joel had tears in his eyes. He was not losing you today.

“Why the hell did you jump, kid!?” he asked through his tears.

“He was…. he was going to kill you.” You nearly whispered. You could feel the energy leave your body as you fainted.

“NO! No, Kid, wake up!” Joel shouted. He knew he had to get you to medical attention but he seemed to be frozen. Tommy kicked into action. He asked the others to bring Tess, meanwhile he and Joel half carried you to the hospital.

It had been hours and hours of waiting which was nothing but pure agony for Joel. He kept replaying the moment in his head and why you had jumped in front of him. He was an old man; you had your entire life ahead of you and he didn’t think he’d be able to survive losing you.

Ellie was by his side; she had not said a word either.

“It was not your fault, you know.” She said quietly. He looked up at her sharply.

“I know you’ve been thinking it and no, it’s not your fault, he would have gone to the patrol in a minute had he known it was happening with or without your consent.”

He took a deep breath and did not reply her for a long time.

“Ellie, I cannot survive losing him. I’ve harboured this guilt for so long of not looking after him properly when Sarah died and I know he blames me for it. No parent should ever live to see their kids die, it is something beyond imaginable Ellie and I hope you will never know what that feels like.” He said uncharacteristically quiet and candid.

Ellie thought about what he said for some time. Never before had Joel shared so much with her and she was treasuring it. However, she also knew how you felt. You were like a brother to her and you had come about to sharing things with her and you were the only one who did not treat her like a kid. She had always appreciated that.

“Oh Joel, he thinks you hate him for Sarah.” She blurted out unable to say anything else. She continued before he could interrupt. “He thinks you blame him for Sarah’s death and that it would have been better if he had died instead that night and that is why he’s been trying to prove to you ever since! He wants to help so that others don’t end up like Sarah.”

Joel fell into deep thought. You thought he hated you? Oh my god. How could he ever hate you. You were a kind kid always, since before Sarah was even born. He had never weighed the lives of his children and wished for one to survive over the other. Of course, he would have been more than happy to have both his children alive and well but now since, Sarah was gone, never had he wished that you had died instead, it didn’t work like that. If you had died that night, he would just be in the same situation as he is now, with Sarah. Is that why you were so reckless? Why you kept risking your life so much? As if it had no value whereas it was the very reason why he woke up every day, why he lived through the day and pushed it to the next one. He needed to make you understand and resolved that he would do it if it’s the last thing he did.

Teehee, I hope you liked it, let me know!

[angstflavoured]

You have any fic recommendations? Any fandom really lol. You have good takes and interpretation so I feel like you’d have some fire recs

AWH WELL THANK YOU !! I dont actually know how great the ones I read are gonna be since usually the fandoms Im in are scarce on content 💀 but ill go ahead and list a bunch of the ones I really like. I definitely spend way too much of my time reading one shots. REALLY wanna get back into longer fics, but its hard to find ones I care enough to sit down and dedicate time to these days 💔

Smiling Friends

bittersuite, charlie/pim: AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED !!!!! THIS FIC CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER !!!!! It is hurt/no comfort, but its soooo good it hurts so good and also there is supposed to be more eventually so i'd get on this one first bc when the second one drops its gonna be a day in history

Dimples, charlie/pim: I just read this last night and was so pleasantly surprised ☹️ Its so damn cute and I love how it delves more into both of their characters.

Portal 2

interface, chell/wheatley: HANDS down, best portal 2 one shot out there. the way the characterize chell is fucking insane, altered my brain chemistry forever. also wheatley is so hehehheheheh

You Do It, adventure/fact: I have a very love/hate relationship with this author..... Im not the BIGGEST fan of how they characterize them, esp Fact, but its definitely the most decent factventure content out there. I so like this one quite a bit, though their ideas are definitely better in theory than completely in practice. That's how I feel abt a lot of their works, but this person unironically holds the title for like 90% of the factventure content. If you just want some quick cute smut of them, i'd say you should check out their acc, cus I get the factventure fandom is starving LMAOO

I've got the fuse if you've got the light, adventure core/reader: ....erm, very self indulgent for me hehe!!! i was so fucking excited when this dropped

Half-Life/HLVRAI

Autonomous Sweet Mesa Response, benrey/gordon: THIS FIC IS SOOO FUCKING FIREEEEE !!! OH MY GOD, I can't even count the times I've read this one. their dialogue is as good as it comes next to canon. If you like this one, this is the first in a huge series and litearlly all of them are just as good as the first. such a good sit down and binge author. They also have a shit ton of other good hlvrai stuff on their page and they make fire art

If You Asked Me To, benrey/gordon: the way they wrote the sex scene in this changed my brain forever, it was so fucking awesome.... frenrey dynamic makes me WILD

Whispers and Moans, barney/gordon: this whole author has a lot of super cute freehoun :'[ this one deals with them before the resonance cascade AND after and shows how things changed between them and its so precious grrraah

Promise, barney/gordon: again, deals with the timeskip stuff which just always makes my heart hurt... also shower sex smiles

It’s Only Natural, barney/gordon: I DIDNT REALIZE THIS FIC JUST GOT FINISHED THIS YEAR OH MY GODDDD I WAS OBSESSED WITH THIS need to reread this immediately

Team Fortress 2

He's a Rebel, sniper/spy: SUPER fucking cheesy and corny but oh my god its like one of my fav fics ever..... it's just so much fun, like stereotypical fanfic and that's always a good time to me. biker gang member/school teacher au are you fucking kidding me i'll vomit

It IS the Size That Matters, sniper/spy: erm.... BLOWJOBS!! always find myself coming back to this one sorry i really like it hehe

Secure, demo/solider: Not a lot of fics of these guys, which really sucks!! super underrated ship. I liked this one a lot tho, its pretty cute and a little emotional

Something to Rely On, sniper/spy: casual sex but really sniper is in love will forever be my favourite thing ever, it never gets old istg

The Silent Game, sniper/spy: can you tell I really like sniperspy, MORE BLOWJOBS!!!

Disco Elysium

The Collision in Cardiozone HQ, harry/kim: holy. fucking. shit. actually life changing i am not joking. so fucking heartbreaking, it left me hollowed out for like a WEEK after the ending. A longer one for sure, but SO worth it like oh my god

The Catacomb Killer, harry/kim: I don't think I ever fully finished this one, but I remember REALLY liking the whole case the fic was set around. there was so much thought put into it, it was genuinely interesting like a murder mystery show

Retour à nouveau, harry/kim: I did really like the whole plot and buildup in this one, but from what I remember, them getting together was super anticlimatic :P i recall being disappointed, but the whole actual case and their interactions during the fic are super cute

Mortal Kombat 1

the game of idiocy, johnny/kenshi: BY THE SAME AUTHOR AS BITTERSUITE!! this one is sooo fucking cute, the way they write them interacting is so much fun. a little troupey and on the cheesier side, but cmon who doesn't love that

Undertale

Flowey is Not a Good Life Coach: no ships but delves a lot into flowey and papyrus relationship and there's so much good sans development too. SUPER GENERIC, it IS one of the most liked fics, but I remember reading it back when I was a teenager and it blew my fucking mind. ghhghggh i love the way they write the brothers interacting so much

The Party Incident and Other Embarrassing Anecdotes, sans/reader: uhmm.... soo sorry, this fic will forever hold a special little place in my heart. I'm sure if I read it now it would be SO corny cus oh my god it was fucking 2016 like are you kidding, but I'm just a fucking sucker for fake dating. there like 5000000 troupes in this one and theyre all so cute and its just a fun and silly time. it subconsciously inspires so much of my writing in fics. will probably forever be unfinished before they get together though HAHAH so definitely do not read if you're looking for a solid ending. its just about the journey i swear

[localcanadiancreature62]

HOLY SHIT GUYS HELLUVA BOSS S2 EP 10??! I LOVED IT OH MY FUCKING GOD IT WAS SOOO GOOD. BLITZO BUYING A SHIT TON OF THINGS TO COPE WITH THE *NOT* BREAKUP WITH STOLAS,LOONA BEING TIRED AF,LOONA ACTUALLY BEING NICE AND BABYSITTING MOXXIE FOR MILLIE,MILLIE BEING SO HAPPY IN THE INTRO ONLY TO SEE A SHITSHOW IN THE OFFICE AHHAHA. Blitzo going through nightmarish shit with the goop stuff,reliving his mom's death and a buncha Millies that represent the people whose lives he has ruined including Fizz. Millie being revealed to have Issues™ regarding her worth and how she was viewed by other demons.. Blitzo being the reason why Millie met Moxxie and their dynamic being such a wholesome one. That horrific scene with Ronaldo/Rolando torturing Blitzo with his own fears and the worst moments of his life,also that fuckin thing being revealed to feed on people's fears and insecurities. Rolando trying to make Millie hate Blitzo when she actually doesn't buy any of his shit and also Blitzo's first meeting with Millie being a wild fight,what a way to start a friendship lmaoo. The fact that Blitzo implied that he fucked his way into getting the money for a new office for everyone in the flashback is strangely wholesome and sweet. Blitzo being the one that inspired Millie to be more than everyone's expectations of her,oughhh. The fact that she said that he's her best friend 🥺,Millie being the only real friend that he doesn't want to fuck. THE ENDING WITH MOXXIE FINALLY GETTING THE MATH RIGHT ONLY FOR LOONA TO CORRECT HIM AND HIM WATCHING A MUSICAL LMAOOO. 10/10 episode,Helluva is hilariously doing better than Hazbin with it's impactful storytelling and character dynamics and the realistic portrayal of how a breakup affects people and it's amazing.

[sophfandoms53]

Finished the Knuckles Show and uhhhhhhhhhh it’s certainly a show.

There’s good stuff buried in every episode especially where Knuckles is concerned. They set up a very interesting arc for him and just didn’t really explore much with it. After the first episode Knuckles is shoved to the side CONSTANTLY and is made the B plot more often than he should be as the TITULAR character.

Every criticism that said Wade takes over the show is correct.

After episode 1, Wade takes over every A plot and Knuckles is only ever in the B plot that has either minimal time focused on him or he’s just straight up not around (episode 4 is the worst offender here but it’s an issue from eps2-6). They actively write Knuckles out of the plot constantly and it’s very frustrating.

If you like Wade and enjoy his personal journey about his family then this’ll be fine. I, for one, thought it was interesting on its own but 100% it has no reason to be here in a SONIC MOVIE KNUCKLES spin off show. This is not Knuckles’ show. It’s Wade’s and that’s the biggest let down.

Knuckles IS there but that’s it, he’s just THERE.

And it sucks because Movie!Knuckles himself is very well crafted and very entertaining and engaging to watch. The show is at its strongest when it’s about Knuckles and spending time with him. Episode 1 is the only episode that it feels like what it was advertised as - the Knuckles show.

Sonic, Tails, and Maddie only show up for the first episode and never come back. Which is wild because part of the plot is Maddie has grounded Knuckles and he sneaks out but there’s never any consequences shown once he gets home nor do we see how anyone reacted once they noticed Knuckles is gone. These three are just abandoned after episode 1.

Tails has like 6 or 7 lines, my boy deserves sm better LMAOO

A big highlight, however, I LOVED Sonic in this one episode. The way you can see and FEEL how he’s grown from movie to movie and in this first episode is very well done. He’s truly becoming the Sonic I know and when he and Knuckles had their conversation on the roof where he tries to help Knuckles see the beauty in Green Hills, his home - that entire scene was PURE Sonic’s golden heart on display. He does still have his jokes that remind you Ben Schwartz is his actor and that he’s a silly kid but he IS still Sonic at his core and I loved that. It made me very sad we didn’t get to see more of him but I appreciated seeing Sonic handled this way. It makes me very eager to see how movie 3 goes about him considering everything Shadow brings to the table and how different of a threat he’s gonna be for Sonic.

Episode 2 is alright but GOOD LORD episodes 3-5 are such a waste of time. There’s good sprinkled in them in isolation but as full blown episodes, a waste. You can skip most of what’s happened and be fine.

The big climax fight in the finale just HAPPENS. The plot armor literally comes bursting through the wall and yanks Knuckles out of the plot for way too long and we only get TRUE and INCREDIBLE Movie Knuckles action (his fire fists which were insane btw) in the last 5 minutes and it only lasted like 2 of those 5 minutes.

Overall, it’s not entirely unwatchable but it’s not worth a majority of people’s time. You don’t need this for movie 3 so if you wanna skip it - I’d recommend that. If you really watch though, I’d only say watch the first episode and the finale and just google the context for what’s in between bc eps 2-5 are total slogs after a while.

If you like silly dumb fun - this is the show for you. But it’s not the show many Sonic fans may have wanted or expected.

I’m not angry or anything like many people have been. It’s not worth getting angry over. I’m moreso just disappointed because I can see a good show about Knuckles hidden in there. They just opted to give more time into Wade for whatever reason.

Just an overall let down imo.

Knuckles deserved better❤️

[mothmans-wedding-photographer]

Mothman's Buffy rewatch: Season 4, episodes 14, 15, and 16, "Goodbye Iowa", "This Year's Girl", and "Who Are You?"

Goodbye Iowa

Damn Spike 😭😭

Willow he literally did lie a bunch

Adam didn't even wait to get the knee brace off lol

"I will not squat in that dank hole" damn

Imagine your university professor trying to kill you lmaoo

"It didn't work but they're all upset anyway" Anya I love you

WHY DID HE SAY XANDER LIKE THAT

The thumbs up I'm crying 😭😭

Sometimes people just suck Riley

Oh there's a kid that's not good

This scene is such an original Frankenstein reference (finds a kid in the woods, kid calls him a monster, he kills the kid)

This part of the season is a lot more enjoyable when you've read Frankenstein methinks

Buffy have you never watched cartoons before??? Like genuinely

"Everything's screwed up enough without you two acting out scenes from my parents marriage" DAMN

Anya she does not want Xander

"That probably would've sounded more commanding if I wasn't wearing my yummy sushi pajamas"

Literally anybody could stake someone man 😭😭

What a rude awakening

Why didn't Spike just move the skeleton out of the tomb

Wow what a petty thing to say

Like, of course she's not broken up that the woman who tried to kill her died, but what about her disposition said she was happy??

TARA IS BACK

He's like "aw shit, what now?"

Riley you suck

Don't grab her you asshole, she should've punched him for that

What did bro think retinal meant

"Can I have sex with Riley too" wild thing to say

Riley stop grabbing/shoving women

Thanks for the exposition bro

Yeah get him Buffy!

Oh no she's letting the guy get away

Riley I know you're in withdrawal but this is a lot of shoving

"Me"

Bro has a floppy disk

He spent his time pondering

Bro got skewered

Spike gets beat up

Yeah the initiative has a problem with just assuming all demons aren't sapient

This Year's Girl

Faith is back???

Such whiplash

Little sis coming? Dawn mentioned this early?

I love the weird psychological stuff going on with Buffy and Faith

Stat Trek mentioned??

Shish kabob 😭

Her eyes are flickering

Aw her hanging with the major

Oh that's pretty horrifying

Ouchie

Buffy walking ominously

Girl I know she sent you into a coma but you can't act like a victim after everything you did with the mayor 😭

Very symbolic of her. Crawling out of a grave

She's awake

Girl don't take those out 😭😭

BAREFOOT ON THE HOSPITAL FLOORS IS CRAZY she's gonna get so many diseases

Faith finds out the mayor is dead

Oh shit what happened to that lady

Riley realizes the initiative sucks

Well at least the woman isn't dead ig

She's spying

Where did she find lipstick

"See who lands on top" gay

I see her point buy she was also doing a bunch of evil shit

Those slayer powers are really working overtime she should have absolutely no muscles

TARA

"Swimming?" "Violence"

She's right I don't know what she meant by five-by-five

"Can any of your damned scooby club remember that I hate you all?" Girl they're the reason you can get blood and the initiative hasn't gotten you

"We're dumb" yeah a little but so is Spike tbfh

Damn girl didn't hesitate

He left a recording for her 😭😭

Funny little box thing

Riley take this shit seriously

Oh shit Joyce

"Actually I was thinking that my daughter is going to kill you" based

Tar pits?? Bojack Horseman mentioned??

"I mean, you're her mother, and she just leaves you here to die" *Buffy crashes through the window*

YEAH GET HER ASS BUFFY

"Hi mom" "hi Buffy"

Not the silverware

Who the hell are these people

Or naur bodyswapping time

Who Are You?

Yeah Joyce is right she is terribly unhappy

Why is Joyce being such a good mom now? Just like when Faith was introduced

What kind of fucked up gay shit is this

Trying out the facial expressions

Faith/Buffy figure guns

"I am, you know. Yours" SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

"Burn it." Fair response if she was actually Buffy

Oh shit

"I guess that's just regular justice" very Buffy coded response

Violent fantasy about killing Willow :(

WHAT IS THIS SPIKE FAITH INTERACTION

I enjoy seeing him get bullied but

Ew he just spit on her 😭

Pretty shitty first impression

"So Willow doesn't drive stick-shift anymore" crazy she clocked it immediately. Takes one to know one Faith

Ouch??

She's pretty loose on the slayer skills

Tara also clocked Faith immediately???

Tara doesn't even know this woman and she figured it out quicker

AWW THIS SCENE

Faith having sex with Riley is fucked up on multiple levels. Like, he doesn't know that it's Faith, and she's telling Riley to do stuff to Buffy's body that she probably wouldn't be comfortable with

Witchy time

Oh Buffy I'm so sorry :( to come back to your body in the middle of sex is heartbreaking

Wait nevermind I think Faith just had a breakdown

Yippee Buffy got out

Eliza Dushku is pretty good at acting as Buffy, especially in this scene

According to my dad, "Katra" is what Klingon's call the soul in Star Trek

So... vampires can enter a church?

Riley's a good church boy

Faith is slowly deciding to be a good person yippee

Wow she said it unironically this time

Giles waving his hands around like he's fending off a bear

"Our mothers and tiny, tiny babies!"

Get their asses Faith

Bro all these people wanted to do was go to church 😭😭

Faith's fr just talking to herself at this point

That self-loathing is embedded deep

Yeah I feel awful for both Buffy and Riley rn like that's a terrible thing to happen. I think Buffy is more upset with what Faith did with her body than mad at Riley though

Faith's gonna find herself in the mountains or some shit