#Samuel Crispe

[leadandblood]

Can we add Crispe to the concussion brothers list. Little, Tozer and Crispe, please, the concussion brothers. Can we please add Crispe to the concussion brothers, he belongs there also, the concussion br-

[cinematicnomad]

THE TERROR ▸ 1.10 we are gone

[charlesdesvoeux]

edmund hoar more like. edmund WHORE. samuel crispe more like. samuel WET amirite *i am taken out the back and shot*

[saints-who-never-existed]

Shout out to Mr Crispe actually, and his strangely compelling little background story arc.

He's mentioned quite a few times throughout the series.

He's present somewhere on deck for the 'return' of Strong/Evans, is mentioned by name by both Tozer and Hickey in relation to various mutinous designs, is one of several men looking shifty at Hickey's hanging, and is present also for Tozer and Des Voeux's weird wee mutinous conversation in the fog.

But then of course we see that he didn't go along with Hickey and co. in the end but stayed with the main group and is there for the Lawful Mutiny/Nedward' betrayal too...

Is it something of a plot-hole perhaps and if not, I wonder what his reasons might have been for flirting so closely with mutiny/treason without actually following through?

[noughticalcrossings]

I think it’s easy to overlook the impact of the sailors who failed to join the mutiny. I’m speaking specifically of Crispe. Tozer lists him among the men he wants to arm, I think Hickey does too when they plan the mutiny, and let us not forget that Crispe and Hoar had their valuable Soup Time interrupted (I too would mutiny) and Hoar was very definitely part of it.

I am aware that he remains a very minor character, but he comes to the fore after Crozier has been kidnapped and though he is the voice of the people, he is still the voice that advocates for leaving him there. It could be for any number of reasons: desire to let Hickey’s plan continue, dislike of authority, disinclination to let his mutinous friends be ambushed, simple survival instinct. Either way it’s fascinating.

[hacash]

Propaganda

Thomas Jopson (Captain’s Steward) – So sweet, so soft. Deserves all the world and then some. Literal Disney prince, has the eyes of a Pre-Raphaelite muse, birds sing when he walks by (I assume).

Samuel Crispe (Able Seaman) – Did Not Buy Hickey’s mutiny nonsense; clearly a smart cookie.

(You can vote on the rest of the blorbo bracket here - reblog for a better sample size!)

[bell-swamp-fitzjames]

Oops, a few more terror character playlists...

Below will be a few more playlists I've made, posting today in honor of the most obscure terror character playlist dropping on tumblr today (22. the archeologist)

[eternallovers65]

I just found out they are making a live action movie for Garfield and Chris Pratt is the fucking voice for it

[mrs-stans]

The 11 Best-Dressed Men at the 2025 Oscars, Ranked

Even on Hollywood’s most traditional night, guys just want to have fun.

By Yang-Yi Goh and Eileen Cartter

If the menswear at last year’s Oscars was truly just Ken, we’re grateful the fellas this year showed up with a little more…Substance.

On Sunday night, the biggest red-carpet stars at the 97th Academy Awards were also some of the biggest stars of the whole shebang. Three actors in competition—Colman Domingo, Timothée Chalamet, and Jeremy Strong—happened to be dogged fashion plates, and thus were all but guaranteed to pull up in envelope-pushing ensembles. But even their fellow nominees, Sebastian Stan and Ralph Fiennes, cranked up the volume on their standard black tuxedos.

Heavy on the straight-off-the-runway designer garms, timeless British tailoring, and more than a few swing-for-the-fences swerves, it all added up to one of the more exciting menswear spectacles in recent Oscar memory. Here are the 11 best-dressed men from the 2025 Academy Awards, definitively ranked.

11. Jeremy Strong

Still the number-one boy in our hearts, best supporting actor nominee Jeremy Strong hit the Oscars carpet in his signature hue—brown—by way of a taut, cortado-toned tuxedo with sharp lapels and a matching criss-crossed bow tie. The tux hailed from Loro Piana, the Italian luxury brand with whom Strong has maintained a close relationship since his Succession days. (Loro Piana also made Kendall Roy’s most notorious accessory: a $625 logoless cashmere baseball cap.) Anyways, props to Strong for continuing to incorporate his signature quirks into just about any genre of formalwear.

Tuxedo by Loro Piana.

10. Samuel L. Jackson

As per usual, a handful of fellas attempted the all-black-everything look—a move with a higher degree of difficulty than you might think, because it’s tough to pull off without looking like a Vegas nightclub bouncer. Our guy Samuel L. managed to sidestep that issue by way of an elegant Giorgio Armani notch-lapel tuxedo—understated save for a touch of festive sequins along the interior edges of the jacket and down the seams of the trousers—paired with a crisp Mandarin-collar shirt and some textbook, right-on-trend accountant glasses. The only thing missing? One of his signature backwards Kangols, which would’ve rocketed him up this list by at least a couple of spots.

Suit by Giorgio Armani.

9. Jeremy Pope

Speaking of all-black-everything and Mandarin collars: Pope, a Broadway fixture and recent Calvin Klein model, opted for a silky smooth Balmain ensemble that, between its graceful Tang suit silhouette and louche flared bottoms, looked very much like something Bruce Lee would’ve worn in his swaggering ’70s heyday. And while the whole bow motif thing might seem a touch tired in womenswear these days, swapping ’em in here on the jacket in place of the typical Chinese frog fasteners felt fresh and inspired.

Suit by Balmain.

8. Mick Jagger

Dig through the GQ.com archives for any length of time, and you’ll find no shortage of photos of a young Mick Jagger looking stylish as all hell: prepped up in a classic striped rugby in 1964; splayed out on stage in a trim cricket jumper and Repettos a year later; getting married in St. Tropez in a rip-roaring three-piece and beat-to-shit canvas kicks in the early ’70s. So it was nice to see that at 81, Jagger still possesses the righteous verve that everyone from Harry Styles to Hedi Slimane continues to emulate today—even if the Stones frontman did have to trade his iconic heeled Cuban boots for a more sensible pair of Nike runners with his glittery pinstripe suit.

7. Mark Eydelshteyn

We mean it as a total compliment when we say: What a perfectly weird suit for a perfectly weird guy. Hollywood’s newest sweetheart, Mark Eydelshteyn—one of the many breakout stars from the big winner of the night, Sean Baker’s Anora—looked great in his wonky double-breasted tuxedo by Balenciaga. The tux had great movement, which suited Eydelshteyn as he goofed around on the red carpet. A good sartorial precursor to the Anora team spending the rest of their evening dancing their faces off to t.A.T.u.’s 2002 hit “All The Things She Said.”

Tuxedo by Balenciaga Couture.

6. Paul Tazewell

Wicked costumer Paul Tazewell made history at last night’s ceremony, becoming the first Black man to win the Oscar for best costume design. (We like to think that his victory was at least partly thanks to his dripped-out vision for the film’s CGI goat professor, Dr. Dillamond.) He took to the stage in a fantastical custom tuxedo and an Oz-green watch, which lent a nice blend of old-school formality and whimsy—which were also two of the most winning qualities of his Wicked costume design—to the night’s menswear milieu. And what a cool move that, at the afterparty, Tazewell unfurled his ribbon collar while he held his Oscar statuette high. As he should!

Tuxedo by Dolce & Gabbana. Shoes by Bottega Veneta. Watch by IWC. Jewelry by Fred Leighton.

5. Ralph Fiennes

Savile Row heads, this one’s for you. Fiennes, ever the consummate Briton, turned to one of London’s most exciting young bespoke houses for his Oscars night look. Taillour, the brainchild of Timothy Everest vets Lee Rekert and Fred Nieddu, fashioned a tuxedo for the Conclave star in their signature uber-wide-lapelled cut. The garment draped across his figure immaculately, as you might imagine, a point that Fiennes drove home by displaying his spry physicality on the red carpet. A white-edged bow tie added the faintest touch of rebellious flourish to an otherwise classic rig executed to perfection.

Suit by Taillour. Shoes by Manolo Blahnik.

4. Colman Domingo

Colman Domingo’s red-carpet fashion has become its own awards-season spectator sport, and he is always his own best competition. At Sunday’s Oscars, the best actor nominee wore a lipstick-red Valentino tuxedo jacket with contrasting black lapels and a fringed sash tied at the waist, which he accessorized with a pair of rose-tinted glasses. No matter how the awards went, Domingo’s was an outfit fit for celebrating—and it’s no wonder that he started a party in the room during the commercial break.

Tuxedo by Valentino. Watch by Omega. Jewelry by Boucheron.

3. Timothée Chalamet

We’ll miss the freaky fever dream that was Timothée Chalamet’s A Complete Unknown press tour, but something tells me the now twice-thwarted best actor nominee will have something new up his sleeve in no time. It seems Chalamet and his stylist, Taylor McNeill, reached some sort of sartorial mind-meld over the past several months, as proven by this heater of a margarine-yellow leather suit designed by Givenchy’s incoming creative director Sarah Burton, which featured the inspired pairing of a cropped tuxedo jacket and snug trousers that fit like jeans. It was the most-discussed look of the night for good reason, even if it probably stung a little extra to have to gamely lose your category while dressed like a stick of butter.

Suit by Givenchy. Watch and jewelry by Cartier.

2. Omar Apollo

Pop star Omar Apollo, who appeared in the Oscar-snubbed Luca Guadagnino film Queer, was the menswear maximalist of the evening. But there’s a reason why you sometimes just want it with the works: The fishnet veil with the goatee and braids; the flared pants with the bow-dotted ballet flats; the polka-dot shirt with the fringed scarf where a tie should be. We’ve had it with these Hollywood guys throwing on a single brooch and calling it a day (though, of course, Apollo had one of those on, too). When the vibe is right, more certainly is more.

Suit by Valentino. Veil by Binata Millinery. Jewelry by Chopard.

1. Sebastian Stan

This is it, folks: the nexus of traditional, Old Hollywood black-tie and radical, New Hollywood high-fashion. Designed expressly for the best-actor nominee by taste gods Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons, Stan’s Prada tuxedo truly—as Stefon might put it—had everything: swooping, elongated shawl lapels; a flatteringly broad cummerbund; razor-sharp, full-legged trousers; and a right-on-time pair of gleaming square-toe shoes. But the pièce de résistance, the reason this look landed in the number-one spot, is the shirt. The wide, crepey pleats and soft winged collar are on their own winsome spins on tuxedo-shirt hallmarks; paired with that creamy ecru tone, however, it elevates the whole endeavor to a hall-of-fame-worthy Oscar-night kit.

Tuxedo by Prada. Watch and jewelry by Cartier

[livingincolorsagain]

apparently the Still Not Funny deleted scene is about Bucky ‘bringing a treat to Sam's family gathering’, and after talking to @logicheartsoul about it, i obvs had to write something

It was a joke.

Sam’d—very casually, if he’d say so himself—invited Bucky to the cookout. He’d been trying to relax into Bucky’s lone armchair, the TV on and playing something he’d never seen before.

Bucky, who had been sitting on the ground and leaning into the side of the chair, had froze, very minutely, then relaxed, asked what he should bring.

Sam had, very dryly, said, “Ice cream cake,” because Bucky’d tried to make them breakfast that morning and almost burned the eggs to a crisp. Sam was just being cautious, and yeah, okay, maybe also a little shit, but mostly cautious.

Bucky, the biggest little shit to have ever existed, took it personally, apparently, because here he was now, sunglasses on, wearing Sam’s Henley, driving Sam’s truck and joking with Sam’s nephews, carrying a lopsided ice cream cake that was very bravely fighting for its life in the heat of the afternoon.

Sam’s stupid, stupid heart did a stupid, stupid somersault.

He went on taking pictures and joking around and filling up his plate, feeling light and happy and on the edge of something wonderful, then Bucky was close, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his—Sam’s—Henley, his cheeks a bright red from the setting sun.

“Hey,” he said, voice light and so soft.

“Hey yourself.”

“Want a piece of cake?”

Sam gave him a flat look. “You’re not funny.”

Bucky’s smile went bigger, brighter, like he immediately knew what Sam was talking about.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You’re full of shit,” Sam said, “and, still not funny. You’re not funny.”

“I just couldn’t come empty-handed, Samuel, I have manners.”

“You brought an ice cream cake.”

“It was a no-brainer, honestly.”

Sam rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile, then he turned back to watch the gentle waves and the sky as it changed colors.

The music was dying down, the day slowing and easing into the evening. Bucky was still standing just a step behind him, and Sam could feel his eyes on him.

His heart skipped a little as Bucky knocked his knuckles against his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, so soft once again.

And Sam turned, gave into the urge and wrapped his arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

Bucky came easily, his warmth seeking into Sam’s alright sun-warmed body, until it was almost too much.

He didn’t pull away.

[charlesdesvoeux]

I THINK ABOUT THEM WAY TOO MUCH AS WELL. Crispe was with Des Voeux demanding guns from Tozer so we can gather that he was very nearly a mutineer. I don't think he stayed with the main group out of loyalty to Crozier, I think what happened is that when Crozier exposed Hickey's whole thing (what a way to say he murdered Irving and then pinned the blame on the inuit group who were then massacred) Crispe was like "hold on a minute this guy is psycho" and decided to hedge his bets with the main group. Of course it was futile anyway because they were all fucking dead the minute the boat was frozen-in but kudos for effort Crispe I guess. I go back and forth on whether Crispe and Hoar's thing was more substantial or whether they were just fuckbuddies but if it was more serious then there's great angst potential in their whole situation. Truly the Romeo and Juliet of the Arctic Service

the real tragedy of this show is Hoar and Crispe splitting apart, one staying with the main group and the other joining the mutiny. they deserved to go to bathhouses together forever :((

[cinematicnomad]

THE TERROR ▸ 1.10 we are gone

[charlesdesvoeux]

they didn't qualify but they're the winners of the ship poll in my heart

[buzzquill]

Due Process... or whatever

Read it on AO3!

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Gabriel

Word Count: 3602

Fic Summary:

Sam Winchester knew his divorce from Becky would be a mess. He didn’t expect the process server, Gabriel, to be a cocky, sugar-fiending lawyer with a smirk that spelled trouble. Hiring him was supposed to be strictly business. Turns out, getting served was just the beginning.

Fic Warnings: mlm SMUT

Author’s Note:

Y'all. I really wanted to call this "Served... cunt 💅" but my beta wouldn't let me... Anyhoo, this is my first time writing smut in YEARS. Be kind!

Sam had been expecting this.

Didn’t make it any less annoying.

He leaned against the doorframe, the late afternoon sun slanting through the trees behind him, painting long golden streaks across the porch. Arms crossed over his broad chest, he was a wall of muscle and barely contained irritation. The man standing before him, however, looked as if he had just won the damn lottery. There was a kind of insufferable delight in the way he stood: casual confidence and smug amusement, a bright red sucker swishing around in his mouth like this was the highlight of his day.

"Samuel Winchester?" The voice was honey-smooth, slow and deliberate, the kind that belonged in dimly lit bars, telling stories over glasses of top-shelf whiskey. Amusement curled at the edges like he was savoring the moment.

Sam clenched his jaw. "Yeah."

With a dramatic flourish, the man produced an envelope and smacked it against Sam’s chest. "Congratulations, kiddo. You’ve been served."

A scent clung to the air between them; old paper, something faintly spicy. Cinnamon? Cardamom? Warm and sharp. Sam scowled and yanked the envelope from the man’s grasp, the rustling paper cutting through the quiet hum of cicadas. He flipped it open, just to be sure, but there it was, in crisp, black ink: the official end of his ill-advised marriage to Becky Rosen.

The guy didn’t leave. If anything, he seemed even more pleased, eyes gleaming like he’d just found something particularly interesting to toy with. He tilted his head, and the light caught in his golden-brown hair, tousled just enough to look effortless.

"You’re taking this well," he mused, voice like silk wrapped around steel. "Usually, this is where I get a door slammed in my face. Maybe some shouting. Once, a guy threw a can of soup at me. Chicken noodle. Hurt like a bitch."

Sam exhaled sharply, trying to will away the growing tension in his shoulders. "I knew this was coming."

"Good for you, big guy. That’s called emotional maturity." The man leaned in slightly, his smirk deepening, the scent of something sweet lingering between them. Vanilla, maybe. Burnt sugar. "And hey, if you need legal representation, I happen to be a lawyer. Gabriel. At your service."

Sam eyed him warily. "You’re the process server and the lawyer?"

"A lawyer." Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. "You can’t serve the papers on your own case, but I gotta keep life interesting. Like I said, you would not believe the drama I witness while serving papers. Almost more delicious than winning a case."

Sam was about to shut the door in his face after all, but Gabriel was faster, stepping just a little closer, the heat of him palpable even in the thick summer air. "Just saying: you look like you could use someone who knows the ins and outs of messy divorces. And I’m very, very good at what I do."

That shouldn’t have sounded as suggestive as it did.

Sam hated that his brain immediately went there.

Gabriel definitely noticed, because his smirk turned downright wicked, eyes flickering over Sam like he was assessing something of great interest. "Tell you what, Champ, sleep on it. If you wanna talk shop, my number’s in the paperwork."

Sam exhaled sharply, already regretting everything about today. "Fine."

Gabriel winked and turned on his heel, sauntering down the porch steps with a lazy grace that seemed entirely too practiced. "Pleasure doing business with you, Sammy."

The door clicked shut. Sam groaned, pressing his forehead against the wood.

This was going to be a long fucking week.

He looked around his house. Boxed up and in shambles. He’d known this was coming, genuinely he had. When your wife comes home, missing clothes and reeking of sex after fucking some random-ass author at her publisher event, you kinda see the writing on the wall. Then, apparently, the fuck-face author already proposed. Then, HR found a string of inappropriate emails between Becky and other male authors going back years and she got fired. Then, she "always wanted to be a stay-at-home wife" anyway.

Whatever.

Sam went back to packing, trying not to think of Becky. Or Gabriel. But god, was he a pretty and pretty interesting guy. That’s it. Sucking on candy during a professional interaction. Ridiculous. Obscene.

And, shit. Kinda hot.

With a resigned sigh, he pulled out his phone. Hey. Got the papers. I’ll sign them once I have a chance to look them over. Sent.

----

Sam wasn’t going to call him.

And yet, less than twenty-four hours later, he sat at his kitchen table, Gabriel’s number glowing on his phone screen like it was mocking him. Becky had called. Twice. Her messages were a mess of contradictions - teary apologies laced with veiled threats about dragging this process out for as long as possible. The thought of dealing with it alone made Sam’s skull throb. With a frustrated sigh, he hit call.

Gabriel answered on the second ring. "Well, well. That was fast. Couldn’t resist me, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. "Don’t flatter yourself."

"Too late."

"I need a lawyer."

There was a pause. A shift in Gabriel’s tone. Subtle, but there. "Yeah, Sammy. I figured."

Sam rubbed his temple. "She’s making this complicated."

"They always do," Gabriel said, almost sympathetic. "Tell me everything."

And he did. He told Gabriel everything.

About Becky getting him drunk - literally dosing him with higher-proof alcohol without him noticing - then all but dragging him to a Vegas chapel. The cold shoulders. The fights. The way he’d woken up, not even remembering the damn wedding until Becky shoved the certificate in his face.

He talked so much, he fell asleep on the phone.

-----

It started with legal meetings. Tense. Professional.

But Sam quickly realized that nothing about Gabriel could remain strictly professional. The man had a way of invading his space; leaning too close over paperwork, fingers brushing against Sam’s as he pointed to clauses and fine print. His smell. It was intoxicating. Warm and heady, cloves and burnt sugar. It curled around Sam like an invisible net.

One late night, over whiskey and frustration, Sam let his guard slip. A glance too long. A touch that lingered. And then Gabriel was in his space, eyes dark, lips curling just enough to make Sam’s breath catch.

The kiss was inevitable. Desperate. A collision of hands and heat, all urgency and unspoken need. Gabriel tasted like bourbon and something sweet, caramel melting over fire, smoky and decadent. Sam’s fingers twisted in his jacket, pulling him closer, grounding himself in Gabriel’s warmth. For once, Gabriel didn’t have a quip, just a sharp inhale before he kissed back harder like he’d been waiting for this just as long.

It didn’t stop there.

Sam all but dragged Gabriel toward the bedroom. Slowly, deliberately, eyes locked. The unspoken question hanging between them. Gabriel answered in his own way, with a smirk and a firm push past the threshold, their bodies pressing together as the door clicked shut behind them.

Gabriel noticed Sam’s hardness before Sam even fully processed what they were doing, before he could overthink it. But Sam was too distracted by the heat of him, the way their breaths mingled, the press of skin against skin.

Gabriel’s grip tightened in Sam’s hair, tilting his head back just enough to force a breath between them. "You good?" he murmured, voice husky, barely holding himself back.

Sam nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah,” he gasped, voice rough. “I’m fuckin’ great. Do you… wanna stop?” His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern beneath the need.

“No, no,” Gabriel reassured him, a slow grin spreading across his face as he finally released his grip, his hand moving to cradle Sam’s face instead. His thumb traced over Sam’s bottom lip, teasing. “I just wanna make sure you know this makes you fucking gay.”

Sam let out a breathless laugh, his chest shaking with it, his hands steadying Gabriel on top of him. “Yeah. I’ve been aware for a while. Becky was aware too. That’s when things -”

“Good,” Gabriel hummed, pushing Sam fully onto the mattress, his weight pressing down. “Because I’m not some dumpster baby on prom night that you can just pretend never happened.” He leaned in, voice a whisper against Sam’s lips. “If I let you fuck me,” his fingers worked at the button of Sam’s pants, his hips rolling just slightly, teasing, “then I need to make sure you remember fondly.”

“Yeah?” Sam swallowed. “Let me?”

“Oh, please, kiddo,” Gabriel smirked, leaning in just enough that their lips barely brushed. “I’d let you, but let’s be real: you’ve been dreaming about taking your frustrations out on me since the moment I walked through your door. Fucking the guy that delivered your wife’s divorce papers? Now, that’s poetic justice.”

Sam let out a low chuckle, the heat between them crackling like a live wire. With a sudden, fluid movement, he flipped them, pressing Gabriel into the mattress, relishing in the surprised sound that slipped from his lips. Sam’s palm flattened against Gabriel’s chest, just inches from his throat, keeping him pinned as he shimmied out of his jeans. His cock pressed hard against the fabric of his black boxers. The friction between them was unbearable, their bodies flush, heat pooling between them as Sam ground down, the hard press of Gabriel against him leaving no doubt about where this was headed.

“In there,” Sam whispered, nodding toward the bedside table just above Gabe’s head. Without taking his eyes off Sam, Gabriel barely shifted beneath his palm, reaching into the drawer with practiced ease. His fingers brushed against cool wood before closing around a crinkly, square foil packet and the smooth, rounded edge of a bottle. They quickly found their way into his hand.

Sam’s lips curled into a slow smile as Gabriel revealed the condom and lube. “Now,” Sam purred, voice thick with command, “put it on me.”

Gabriel couldn’t help the way his tongue flicked out to wet his lips, or the way his throat tightened as he swallowed… hard. He was downright embarrassed by the audible gulp that nearly escaped him when Sam slowly lifted his hand from his chest. And when only his fingertips remained, Sam pressed them down - just for a second - firm, deliberate, pushing Gabe into the bed, just enough to send a sharp thrill of anticipation down Gabriel’s spine, blurring the line between fear and excitement.

Now, Gabriel isn’t the kind to take orders. He either leads or does his own damn thing. The moment someone tries to command him, he finds a way to do the opposite. If he was honest, it was often just for the hell of it. But under Sam’s touch, his gaze, his voice wrapped in quiet authority, Gabriel was nothing if not a good and faithful servant.

Sam rose to his feet, standing with his knees pressed against the mattress. Silently, still frustratingly clothed, Gabriel crawled up to Sam - who was now shrugging off his shirt. Gabe sat in silence for a moment, memorizing every inch of his chest and torso as Gabriel tore open the condom a bit before biting onto the corner of the foil to free up his hands. 

With the condom pinned between teeth and lube laid haphazardly against his knee, he watched as Gabrial slowly lowered Sam’s boxers. Man was he in trouble, he couldn’t help but think as his cock sprung free. Gabriel glanced up at him, and fuck, that look. Like he had Sam all figured out, like he knew exactly how much restraint Sam was holding onto. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Sam’s boxers and started to drag them down, inch by inch, until Sam’s cock was free, thick and flushed, standing hard against his stomach. Gabriel thought it was almost cartoonish; he laughed a bit.

“Woah, dude,” Sam fake gasped, “you can’t just laugh at a man with his pants down.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabe gasped, “you’re just.. So huge that it’s almost a joke.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Gabriel’s lips brushed against his hip, hot breath ghosting over sensitive skin, and just like that, all coherent thought left Sam’s head. Without a second thought, Gabriel dove in. The smell of Sam was intoxicating. “You smell so good.” He whispered, kissing circles around Sam’s cock, lapping momentarily at his flesh. He told himself it was to make sure the condom slid on smoothly.

Gabriel didn’t move fast. No, he lingered. Lips dragging, tongue flicking out to taste, slow and indulgent, like he was taking his time with something expensive. Something worth savoring.

Sam clenched his fists at his sides, trying to keep himself from just grabbing Gabriel, from guiding his mouth exactly where he wanted it.

"Relax, big guy," Gabriel murmured, voice full of amusement, like he could feel the tension rolling through Sam’s body. "You always this wound up?"

Sam’s jaw flexed. "Gabriel."

Gabriel grinned against his skin, then, finally, his mouth closed around the head of Sam’s cock, wet and warm, sucking just enough to make Sam’s breath hitch. His hands settled against Sam’s thighs, fingers pressing into firm muscle, holding him steady, keeping him right there so Sam could feel everything.

Gabriel took his time. Lips soft, tongue working slow circles, dragging out the anticipation until Sam’s head tipped back, fingers curling into Gabriel's hair, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

And Gabriel was into it. There was no question. The way he moaned, low and pleased, as he took more of Sam into his mouth, the way his hands gripped Sam’s thighs like he was anchoring himself there, like this was as good for him as it was for Sam.

It did something to him.

Sam cracked his eyes open, looking down just in time to see Gabriel glance up, pupils blown, lips wrapped around his cock, and fuck, that nearly did him in right then and there.

"Jesus, Gabe…"

Gabriel hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp spike of pleasure through Sam’s spine. And then he pulled off, licking his lips like he was tasting something particularly decadent.

"Patience, Sammy," he teased, thumb tracing the sensitive vein along the underside of Sam’s cock. "We got all night."

Slowly Gabriel inched the condom on, eyes glued to Sam’s. “Good boy. Now, you just have way too many clothes on.”

Gabriel didn’t rush. He never rushed.

He lifted himself from the mattress with slow, deliberate movements, sitting back on his heels as he met Sam’s gaze, eyes dark with something wicked. Something knowing. The smirk that curled at the edges of his lips was downright sinful like he could feel the anticipation thrumming under Sam’s skin.

And Sam? Sam couldn’t look away.

Gabriel started with his tie, fingers toying with the knot, teasing it loose with a lazy kind of grace. He pulled it free inch by inch, letting the silk slide between his fingers before tossing it aside like it was nothing. His hands dropped to the first button of his shirt, popping it open with maddening slowness, then the next, and the next, baring inch after inch of golden skin.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat.

Gabriel knew exactly what he was doing. He pushed the fabric from his shoulders in one smooth motion, letting it slip down his arms, exposing sharp collarbones and the defined lines of his chest. The dim light cast soft shadows over the cut of his ribs, the faint trace of muscle beneath the lean frame. Sam’s eyes followed the movement, tracking the way Gabriel’s fingers drifted lower, grazing over his stomach, down to the waistband of his slacks.

Gabriel’s smirk deepened as he undid the button, slow enough to drive Sam insane, his knuckles brushing against his own stomach. The sound of the zipper dragging down filled the air, too loud in the thick silence between them. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, pausing just long enough to make Sam wait before pushing the fabric down over his hips, exposing smooth, bare skin.

The breath Sam hadn’t realized he was holding left him in a sharp exhale.

Gabriel stepped out of his slacks, kicking them aside with practiced ease before standing there, completely bare, utterly unashamed, letting Sam look. And god, Sam looked.

Gabriel was all golden skin and sharp edges, compact muscle softened just enough to be enticing, his body lean and built for trouble. His cock was flushed, half-hard already, standing as proof that he wanted this just as much as Sam did. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he stood: shoulders back, chin tilted, utterly confident in his own skin like he knew he was a sight worth looking at.

And Sam? He was fucked.

Gabriel’s voice was low when he finally spoke, thick with amusement. “Cat got your tongue, Sammy?”

Sam swallowed hard, dragging his gaze to Gabriel’s face, to the wicked gleam in his eyes, the smirk playing at his lips.

His own voice was rough when he answered. "Get on the fucking bed"

Gabriel stilled for a second. Just a second. And then his smirk returned, slow and sharp.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

He shifted, crawling onto the bed and dropping onto his chest, with his knees still planted on the bed so that he could arch his back enough to be a problem. Sam pressed a hand against the small of his back, steadying him, letting his fingers linger. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, voice low, teasing.

"Fuck me, Sammy,” he purred, “I can take it."

Sam’s breath came out in a slow exhale.

"Yeah," he murmured, gripping Gabriel’s hip, his other hand trailing lower, fingers slipping between his thighs, teasing. "I figured."

And when Gabriel let out a sharp, shuddering breath, pressing back against Sam’s touch, Sam knew neither of them were getting any sleep tonight.

-----

Hours later, Sam woke to find Gabriel still there. Sam watches him through the open bedroom door, he’s lounging against the counter in nothing but a smirk and a half-buttoned shirt. “Told you I was good at what I do,” he called somehow sensing Sam now being awake, sipping from one of Sam’s coffee mugs.

Sam groaned, covering his face. “You’re insufferable.”

Gabriel grinned. “Yeah, but you like it.”

Sam didn’t answer. Because, damn it, he did.

The papers sat on the counter beside Gabriel, waiting.

Sam stared at them from across the room, still sprawled in bed, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting on the empty space where Gabriel had been an hour ago. The sheets smelled like him now: clove, burnt sugar, something warm and sharp that lingered even in absence.

Gabriel made a noise in the kitchen, something between a hum and a chuckle, and Sam cracked an eye open again just in time to see him stretch, arching his back like a satisfied cat. His half-buttoned shirt did nothing to hide the marks Sam had left on his collarbone, nor the lazy way he carried himself like he had nowhere better to be.

"You gonna keep staring or are you gonna sign those damn papers?" Gabriel asked, lifting Sam’s coffee mug to his lips. “I know she said she was going to drag it out but those papers suggest that must be a new development because they offer a clean break. No dividing, nothing. Sign them before she gets a messier divorce written up.”

Sam groaned, dragging a hand through his hair before forcing himself upright. His body ached, in the best way possible, but his mind was already shifting, grounding back into reality. The divorce. That was the whole reason Gabriel had been in his life in the first place. The reason they met. The reason this happened.

Sam swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sighed. "You always this much of an asshole in the morning?"

Gabriel smirked, taking another slow sip of coffee before setting the mug down with a deliberate clink. "Nah, just with clients who fuck me before finalizing their legal affairs."

Sam scrubbed a hand over his eyes, forcing down a laugh, because he refused to give Gabriel the satisfaction. Instead, he stood, stretching out the soreness in his back with a series of satisfying pops, and made his way to the counter. The divorce papers sat beside Gabriel, who must’ve been reading over them again, but now they wait for his signature.

Gabriel leaned his head against Sam’s broad shoulder with a sigh.

"You know," he said, casual, "you sign these, you’re officially a free man."

Sam glanced down at him, raising an eyebrow. "You looking for a follow-up commitment?"

Gabriel’s smirk widened, but there was something else there, something flickering in his gaze. Quick, quiet, unreadable. "Nah," he said, too easily. "Just making sure you don’t get cold feet."

Sam didn’t. He never would.

He picked up the pen, pressed it to the page, and signed his name in steady, deliberate strokes. The finality of it settled deep, but it wasn’t heavy. It was a release.

Gabriel whistled low. "Damn. Just like that, huh? No last-minute regrets?"

Sam exhaled, setting the pen down. "Just one."

Gabriel tilted his head, interest sparking in his eyes. "Oh?"

Sam turned, closing the space between them, resting a hand on the counter beside Gabriel’s hip. "That we haven’t met sooner."

Gabriel’s smirk twitched like he was really fighting not to grin. But he didn’t fight when Sam kissed him - deep, slow, something final and beginning all at once.

[ruhitsblog]

SWAPPED SELVES

Elliot stood in front of the full-length mirror in his apartment, adjusting the collar of his crisp white button-down shirt. His dark jeans hugged his lean frame, and his leather loafers gleamed under the soft glow of the overhead light. He was a man of precision, his style reflecting his meticulous nature—tailored, timeless, and always in control. Across the room, Samuel lounged on the couch, his long legs sprawled out as he scrolled through his phone. His outfit was the polar opposite of Elliot’s: a loose, vintage band tee, ripped black jeans, and scuffed combat boots. His hair, a messy mop of curls, framed his face, and his tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeves. Samuel was chaos to Elliot’s order, a walking contradiction of carefree energy.

“You look like you’re about to close a million-dollar deal,” Samuel remarked, glancing up with a smirk. “Meanwhile, I look like I just rolled out of bed.”

Elliot smirked back, crossing his arms. “And you look like you’re about to start a mosh pit. We’re a study in contrasts, aren’t we?”

Samuel laughed, setting his phone aside. “Maybe we should switch it up. See how the other half lives.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Switch what up?”

“Clothes. Just for fun. See if we can walk in each other’s shoes—or shirts, I guess.”

Elliot hesitated, the idea both absurd and tantalizing. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.”

Before Elliot could protest further, Samuel was already standing, unbuttoning his shirt. Elliot watched, a mix of curiosity and amusement bubbling in his chest. “Fine,” he conceded, unbuttoning his own shirt slowly. “But if I end up looking like a homeless rockstar, I’m blaming you.”

They swapped shirts, Elliot’s pristine white button-down now draped over Samuel’s broad shoulders, and Samuel’s worn band tee clinging to Elliot’s slender frame. The contrast was jarring, yet somehow, it worked. Elliot tugged at the hem of the tee, feeling the softness of the fabric against his skin. Samuel, meanwhile, smoothed down the wrinkles in Elliot’s shirt, rolling up the sleeves to expose his forearms.

“Not bad,” Samuel admitted, turning to the mirror. “I could get used to this.”

Elliot chuckled, but as they left the apartment, he couldn’t shake the strange sensation of wearing someone else’s clothes. It felt like more than just a fashion swap—it felt like stepping into a different version of himself.

As the day progressed, the feeling only intensified. Elliot found himself walking with a slight slouch, his hands shoved carelessly in his pockets. He caught himself humming a tune he didn’t recognize, something gritty and raw. Meanwhile, Samuel seemed to straighten his posture, his movements becoming more deliberate, more calculated. When they stopped for coffee, Elliot ordered a black drip without thinking, while Samuel opted for a sugary latte, something Elliot would never have chosen.

“You’re drinking that?” Elliot asked, raising an eyebrow.

Samuel shrugged, taking a sip. “It’s growing on me. Maybe I’m growing on it.”

Elliot rolled his eyes but couldn’t deny the strange pull he felt toward Samuel’s laid-back demeanor. It was like a part of him was unraveling, letting go of the tight reins he usually held.

By midday, the changes became more pronounced. Elliot noticed his reflection in a storefront window and did a double-take. His hair, usually neatly combed, was tousled, and his jawline seemed softer, more relaxed. Samuel, on the other hand, looked sharper, his features more defined, his posture rigid. They exchanged glances, both sensing something was off, but neither could put a finger on it.

“You okay?” Samuel asked, his voice lower, smoother than usual.

Elliot frowned. “I think… I think something’s happening. This isn’t just a clothes swap, is it?”

Before Elliot could respond, a passerby stopped them. “Hey, Samuel, great set last night!”

Samuel blinked, clearly confused. “Uh, thanks?”

The man turned to Samuel “And you, Elliot, that presentation was killer. Really nailed it.”

Elliot and Samuel locked eyes, the realization hitting them like a punch to the gut. They were being called by each other’s names, and it felt… right.

“What the fuck is happening?” Samuel whispered, his voice laced with panic.

Elliot’s heart raced as he looked down at his hands, now calloused and rough, unlike his usual smooth skin. Samuel’s hands, in contrast, were slender, his nails neatly trimmed. They were swapping more than just clothes—they were swapping themselves.

“We need to fix this,” Elliot said, his voice urgent. “Let’s go back to the apartment. Maybe if we switch back…”

They hurried home, their steps synchronized in their shared panic. Once inside, they ripped off each other’s shirts, scrambling to put their own back on. Elliot buttoned his white shirt quickly, his fingers trembling. Samuel pulled on his band tee, his breath coming in short gasps.

But when they looked at each other, the changes were still there. Elliot’s hair remained tousled, his jaw softer. Samuel’s posture was still rigid, his features sharper. The transformation wasn’t reversing.

“It’s not working,” Samuel said, his voice hollow.

Elliot ran a hand through his hair, now undeniably Samuel’s messy curls. “We’re stuck. We’re… becoming each other.”

Samuel’s eyes widened as he looked down at his hands, now Elliot’s slender fingers. “This is fucked up. How did this even happen?”

Elliot shook his head, his mind racing. “It has to be the clothes. Something about wearing each other’s stuff… it’s like we’re swapping more than just style. We’re swapping us.”

Samuel paced the room, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor. “So, what, we’re just supposed to live like this? Half you, half me?”

Elliot sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not all bad. I mean, look at us. We’re… different. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Samuel stopped pacing, turning to Elliot with a mix of frustration and curiosity. “You’re actually considering this? Just… accepting it?”

Elliot met his gaze, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. “Maybe there’s something to learn here. About ourselves, about each other. Maybe this is… an opportunity.”

Samuel scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “An opportunity to go completely insane, you mean.”

Elliot smirked back, stepping closer. “Or an opportunity to see the world from a different perspective. To feel what it’s like to be someone else.”

Samuel’s smile faltered, and for a moment, they just stood there, inches apart, the air thick with unspoken tension. Elliot’s heart pounded in his chest, his gaze drifting to Samuel’s lips, now fuller, more inviting. Samuel’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he mirrored Elliot’s gaze.

Without a word, Elliot reached out, his fingers brushing Samuel’s cheek, now smooth and soft under his touch. Samuel leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Their bodies were changing, their minds blending, but in that moment, it felt right. It felt inevitable.

Elliot’s lips curved into a smirk as he leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “Maybe we should explore this… opportunity.”

Samuel’s breath caught, his hands coming up to grip Elliot’s waist, now broader, more muscular. “Maybe we should,” he murmured, pulling Elliot closer.

Their lips met in a kiss that was both familiar and foreign, a collision of their shared selves. Elliot’s hands tangled in Samuel’s hair, now his hair, as Samuel’s fingers dug into Elliot’s back, now his back. The kiss deepened, their tongues tangling in a dance that felt both new and instinctual.

As they pulled apart, breathless and dazed, Elliot rested his forehead against Samuel’s, their hearts pounding in unison. “This is going to be one hell of a ride,” he whispered.

Samuel chuckled, his lips brushing Elliot’s. “Yeah. But I think… I think I’m ready for it.”

And in that moment, as their bodies continued to shift and merge, they knew there was no going back. They were no longer just Elliot and Samuel—they were something more, something undefined, and something undeniably intoxicating. The transformation was irreversible, but as their lips met again, they realized that maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what they needed.

[bell-swamp-fitzjames]

Here is a collection of all the character playlists I have created in honor of the Davechella event, which I find very special. Under the cut will be each link, although for ease of convenience unlike my playlist posts, only the link shall be included not the listed out songs.

We've got Thomas Farr, Frederick Hornby, Francis Pocock, Charles Best, Collins, Billy Orren, John Hartnell & John Torrington, Silna, Tuunbaq, The Franklins, Crozier, JFJ, & Sophia, all the lieutenants, all the doctors, all the marines, William Gibson, John Bridgens, Harry Peglar, Edmund Hoar, Richard Aylmore, Genge!, Hickey, Diggle, Wall, Armitage, Golding, Thompson, Thomas Blanky, Tom Hartnell, Mr. Reid, George Chambers, David Young, & Thomas Evans, Magnus Manson, Charles Des Voeux, Original Hickey & John Morfin

Recently Added: 2 Jacko playlists, Neptune, Fagin, William Strong, Samuel Crisp, & Sir John's Leg

PLUS Silna's Father, Koveyook, James CLARK Ross, his translator, and the Netsilik Hunter :)

Silna [LINK]

Tuunbaq [Link]

Lady Jane Franklin [LINK]

Sophia Cracroft [LINK]

Command

Sir John Franklin [LINK]

FRM Crozier [LINK]

James Fitzjames [LINK]

Lieutenants

Edward Little [LINK]

John Irving [LINK]

George Hodgson [LINK]

Graham Gore [LINK]

Henry Le Vesconte [LINK]

James Fairholme [LINK]

Thomas Jopson [LINK]

Stewards

William Gibson [LINK]

John Bridgens [LINK]

Edmund Hoar [LINK]

Richard Aylmore [LINK]

Genge! [LINK]

Doctors

Dr. Henry Goodsir [LINK]

Dr. Alexander McDonald [LINK]

Dr. Stephen Stanley [LINK]

Dr. John Peddie [LINK]

The Marines

Solomon Tozer [LINK]

Private Heather [LINK]

David Bryant [LINK]

William Pilkington [LINK]

Robert Golding [LINK]

George Thompson [LINK]

William Braine [LINK]

John Hammond [LINK]

Robert Hopcraft [LINK]

Henry Wilkes [LINK]

William Reed [LINK]

James Daly [LINK]

Joseph Healey [LINK]

William Hedges [LINK]

Ship Crew

Thomas Blanky [LINK]

Tom Hartnell [LINK]

Mr. Reid [LINK]

Harry Peglar [LINK]

"Cornelius Hickey" [LINK] {ORIGINAL VERSION}

Hickey [LINK] {REHASH}

Thomas Armitage [LINK]

Mr. Wall [LINK]

Mr. Diggle [LINK]

Magnus Manson (link)

Charles Des Voeux (link)

John Morfin [LINK]

Francis Pocock [LINK]

Frederick Hornby [LINK]

Thomas Farr [LINK]

Charles Best [LINK]

Billy Orren [LINK]

Henry Collins [LINK]

Samuel Crisp [LINK]

William Strong [LINK]

Ship's Boys

David Young [LINK]

Thomas Evans [LINK]

George Chambers [LINK]

Important Characters

Koveyook [LINK]

Silna's Father [LINK]

James Clark Ross [LINK]

Translator [LINK]

Netsilik Hunter [LINK]

Cornelius Hickey [LINK]

Sir John's Leg [LINK]

Animals

Fagin [LINK]

Jack [REAL] [GONE TO HEAVEN]

Neptune [LINK]

Beechey Boys

John Hartnell [LINK]

John Torrington [LINK]