#Rereading the Terror

[saints-who-never-existed]

Oh God, you guys, I forgot Bridgens had his own journals...!!!

In the book, Bridgens had his own journals, kept throughout the Expedition and possibly beforehand. There's one purposefully left behind in his tent when he goes for his final walk, and five even longer ones purposefully left far behind on Terror!!!

Just consider that for a single goddamn second!

John Bridgens, a man who loves literature and stories, and has defined his entire life by them, specifically destroys his own story, deliberately leaves it all behind to rot, in order to carry Peglar's forward with him instead...!!!

[cockroachesunite]

[hellenhighwater]

hey, I saw you mention at one point you had a cat named Nimitz! may I ask what inspired this name? (speaking as someone who used to have a bunny named Nimitz)

Ah, the Terror of the Underbrush, may she walk in quiet darkness. She and her adopted sisters were all named after admirals-- we had Halsey and Yamamoto-- but Nim was also a nod to Honor Harrington, which I was reading when she showed up when I was twelve. Appropriately, she turned out to be a shoulder cat.

I love Malice and Vice, and I loved Hazy and Yama, and Kitten Little before them, but I'll never have a cat better than the Terror.

[representative-democracy]

Everyone else on the expedition must having been googling shit like "how to get my bosses to either fuck nasty or get divorced" and "is proximity to the inherent-eroticism-of-being-rivals something I can bring to HR?"

[prev][next]

+ i just like how sad they all look while JFJ serves cunt as a burrito

[even-in-arcadia]

I was rereading "Lovers of the Human Flesh" by Caleb Crain as one does and I was very struck by two particular lines in relation to one Cornelius Hickey:

Incorporating what you love is a sure way to see that it never escapes from you.

and

Eating something is a way of keeping it with you forever, but it is also a way of destroying it.

I don't need to delve into the implications for Hickey's actual cannibalism - that's been done by those better (and more attached to Hickey) than I. What I want to talk about more is this concept in relationship to Hickey's ambitions to godhood.

Hickey has a plan always, at all times. It's a plan that shifts based on what seems best for him, what seems most convenient, and whatever he thinks his relationship to Crozier is at any given moment. They all essentially make sense in a scrappy, aggrieved, mutiny kind of way. Until: Solomon Tozer tells him, horrified, that he witnessed the Tuunbaq eat Mr. Collins' soul. Hickey says, specifically, that this merits a change in plan. He spends a long time by himself on a hill doing --we'll never know what.

EC/Cornelius Hickey, a man who clearly has never known a love that didn't turn on him or leave, has determined to be become melded to the Tuunbaq, an eater of souls. Gibson turned on him by falsely representing their relationship to Irving; Crozier turned on him by denying the "clear" bond they had and denying Hickey's gift of Lady Silence; he's been betrayed by this entire voyage that was supposed to take him to Oahu. Who knows what other loves have betrayed him.

If the Tuunbaq can eat souls, if Hickey can become connected with that power, then perhaps he too will be able to incorporate souls! Perhaps he will be able to finally ensure that something, someone will never turn on him. And if those souls must be destroyed in the process, what is it to him? Has the world not spent his entire time on earth trying to destroy him? (Conjecture: but given what we learn of him, the Nagaitis lore, and the cultural & economic context in which he exists, I think this is reasonable.) He yells into the Arctic air:

Bugger Victoria! Bugger Nelson! Bugger Jesus! Bugger Joseph, bugger Mary! Bugger the Archbishop of Canterbury! NONE EVER WANTED NOTHING FROM ME

He feels abandoned by every institution of society, and so he is going to create one in his own image. He offers a captain, an officer, a marine, and a ship's boy: the ship's hierarchy in miniature. If he feeds the Tuunbaq their souls and then melds with Tuunbaq himself, he can eat society and reconstitute it not just in his own image but in his own person, with only his chosen loyal followers, those who do want something from him. As Crain says, "In Freud's Totem and Taboo, the cannibal feast is the founding act of crime and sharing that binds society." That's the founding myth Hickey is not just counting on but trying to actively create.

And maybe, maybe! When he has access to Tuunbaq's power - will he have a line on those souls as well? Tuunbaq devours both body and soul in tandem, suggesting they are connected. As Hickey has already eaten of Gibson's flesh, maybe he can reconstitute and reingest that as Gibson's soul. Thus the destruction becomes the resurrection becomes the incorporation. Crain writes: "The body is a convenient boundary for the definition of the self. [...] in practice the peculiar act [cannibalism and homosexuality] violates that boundary. The act offers an ecstatic union." A cannibal rat wedding, if you will.

Crozier says to Hickey, "You must be a surpassingly lonely man." Hickey doesn't deny this. He merely says "Not for long." This is about power, but it is also about an end to loneliness, to his sense of betrayal at all levels and at every turn. Of course, it doesn't work out. In not caring about who suffered the consequences of his actions, he failed to take into account that incorporation & ingestion involve destruction. He thought himself the instrument of this, but by failing to see the Tuunbaq unto itself, as something other than a tool, as the independent Arctic that could never stomach Western society and live: he turned that back on himself and so was himself destroyed.

[carbonbasedmatter]

ADHD pro tip: if you need to remind yourself to do something put a pillow or some other item on the floor so you won't forget the next day (no I didn't learn this from Greg Heffley what are you talking about)

[palabraasinnecesarias]

comfort

ao3 | ff.net

ship: ranma/akane words: 1,221

They had been back from Jusenkyo, safe and sound, it should have been enough.

It was the middle of the night, the entire city asleep it seemed, and Akane couldn’t help but lift her heavy eyelids due to being awaken by a light shake. She moaned hesitantly, gently lifting her body as she fixed her gaze once it landed on her fiancé. She could hardly make his figure in the dark bedroom, but she knew it was him.  

She sat up completely and reached over to click her desk lamp on, noticing Ranma wincing apologetically at her. And then it dawned on her, he was waking her again, for the second night in a row. 

The young girl adjusted herself firmly as quickly as she could, her hands reaching forward until latching themselves on his as she asked, “Ranma, are you alright?” She could feel his large hands easily clutch their hold onto hers, clammy and warm. He was trembling, not horribly, but enough to make her worry.  

He nodded once, and then seemingly retracted with a mild shake to his head, whispering a horsed, “Sorry.”  

“Hey,” she called to him, shifting closer to him with a weary smile, wobbly and faint, “it’s okay. I promise,” she insisted with a soft voice of her own, her cool composure soothing his mind if only for a mere moment. He was looking at her, his thick eyebrows furrowing, taking a moment to clear his mind.  

And then he winced again, taking his eyes off her, crouching forward to inhaled deeply before releasing.  

One of her palms pushed upwards onto his arm, squeezing tenderly before dragging it back down, finding herself reminding him that everything was alright, he just needed to continue breathing.  

After some time, noting he was appearing to compose himself compared to just moments ago, she heard Ranma clear his throat. “I, uh,” he said, appearing embarrassed as he couldn’t seem to face her, “sorry, ‘Kane.”  

“Ranma,” she sighed, her eyebrows knitting together as her hands reached to touch his face, each palm warmly cupping his cheeks and gently forcing him to look at her, “don’t apologize. You have nothing to say sorry for.” And she meant every word. The corners of her eyes squinted lightly, her brown eyes drawing him in, feeling his heart squeeze at the way she was looking at him. She was beyond beautiful, and he felt himself fight the intense desperation to pull her close.  

Her dark wispy hairs framed her round face perfectly, with her naturally flushed cheeks glowing upon her fair skin as her long eyelashes batted so slowly at him. She offered an essence of innocence, angelic almost, and it hurt somehow. She was alive, and breathing, calming him.  

They had been back from Jusenkyo, safe and sound, it should have been enough. But the mere memory of then, just days ago, dragged a ferocious nature within him concerning her. He let his cheek press onto her palm, melting at the way her still-worried face smiled faintly at him. Remembering those heinous moments, unable to ignore the grimace of pain stinging about his chest, piercing through his lungs, causing some sort of physical pain throughout his body.  

Ranma pulled her to him and held her tight, the urges to feel her breathing against him a lot stronger than he’d thought.  

Akane’s face pressed against his chest, gasping softly as his arms wrapped themselves around her, feeling his nose pin itself at the top of her hair. She could feel his beating heart, the heat of his skin sticking onto hers, his light scent of sandalwood emitting from his muscle tank. And she knew why he had sought her out in the middle of the night, having admitted it to her just yesterday.  

Ranma dreams pertaining her had begun twisting into unpleasant ones, apparently very realistic he found himself rushing to her. He needed to know that she was alive, that she was breathing, and not...dead. 

At first, he felt foolish knowing very well that she was fine; she’d been the one to announce them home when they had first arrived back to Nerima, seemingly returning to normal around the Tendo household. But there was an urge itching at the back of her mind to follow her each time she’d leave his sight to go elsewhere, like her bedroom, or to bathe. He just needed to know, finding himself casually knocking at her door, or waiting outside the bathroom just in case.  

Last night, Akane had walked in on him just as he was about to go searching for her, noticing he wasn’t well. She sat with him, easing his tension until he could breathe again. “We’re home, we’re safe.”  

“I just...” he swallowed a lump gnawing at his throat, and she could hear it so clearly, so crisp, at her ear, feeling the way his fingertips firmly dug into her flesh, “I gotta’ make sure you’re...”  

“I’m okay,” she whispered, encouragingly, and she’d known he heard her by the way his arms tighten. There was comfort in the way he held her.  

She hadn’t known for how long they’ve stayed sitting, embraced within his hold, but she could feel him begin to doze off as his cheek slipped from the top of her head. She shook herself gently, softly calling his name a few times until he responded back with muffled groan.  

“You should go to bed,” she said, smiling wider at the way he squeezed her again.  

“Not...yet,” he sighed, adjusting his chin on her shoulder.  

She pulled away, slow enough to make sure he didn’t go stumbling down on her bed, angling herself to search his gaze, grinning once she’d found his drowsy stare. He was sleepy, and very adorable. “Hey,” she called again, her smile still large and vibrant, “wanna’ spend the night?”  

That had been enough to slap him awake. The pigtail-wearing martial artist blinked a few times, thinking he was a lot sleepier that he’d imagine. But Akane chuckled silently, her hands finding themselves on his cheeks again, her cheeky grin playful and lively as she said, “Get your head out of the gutter.”  

“I wasn’t- I didn’t- I-”  

“I just meant,” she pushed strands of short hairs behind her ear as she glanced away momentarily, feeling herself get flustered at her own invitation, “if you wanna’. You don’t have to-”  

“I do.”  

She looked back at him, her meek smile small, and she nodded. “Okay.”  

Settling into her bed hadn’t been weird like she’d imagine it’d be. They both laid underneath her covers after clicking the lamp off, making it harder to see each other in the darkness.  

“Thank you, ‘Kane,” he said lowly, and she felt the strings of her heart get tugged, understanding his need of comfort.  

“Night, Ranma.”  

[roserocksrapidly]

absolutely inconsolable thinking about how one of the last kind faces wwx sees before dying is a-yuan and one of the first kind faces he sees upon being brought back to life is lan sizhui!!!! how was I ever expected to be normal after that!!!!

[marypickfords]

The Treasure of Abbot Thomas (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1974)

“‘The Treasure of Abbot Thomas’ (1974) is the most ripping mystery of the bunch, starring Michael Bryant as a theologian who teams up with a young posh protégé to try to uncover a treasure allegedly hidden on the Abbey grounds. Bathed in blue and black hues, with the chameleonic Bryant practically unrecognizable from both Girly and The Stone Tape in the years previous, the adaptation moves the action from Germany to Somerset’s Wells Cathedral where it incorporates the famous 14th century stained glass 'Jesse Window' as part of the mystery. [...] The stained glass operates as something of a map, with clues leading to the Abbot’s treasure, which (as in A Warning to the Curious) is guarded by a supernatural being” — Kier-La Janisse, from Yuletide Terror: Christmas Horror on Film and Television (2017).

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i love dead characters. i love characters who were always dead, who die halfway through, who die in the end - characters who die and come back but in a way they're still dead bc their first life died with them & nothing will ever be the same & their coming back is a bandaid over a gaping wound & their own death haunts them-

[madqueenalanna]

rewatched all of the terror in 2 days cause they finally put it back on netflix and I really think the #1 thing every true fan must do is find one of the indistinguishable white men to be the world’s only stan of

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Two short chapters combined for you today, each more gut-wrenching than the last!

Chapter Fifty-Five: Goodsir

Goodsir's first few days in the Mutineer Camp have not been pleasant, needless to say. He begins describing Hickey as The Devil and the other men as an "Infernal Legion" celebrating with a "Feast of Human Flesh" after the confrontation with Crozier.

There are a few familiar and unexpected faces within that 'infernal legion' including Billy Orren, John Morfin, and Billy Gibson, all very much still living so far. Interestingly, several of the Mutineers are still actively resisting the descent into cannibalism - Morfin and Hodgson most notably - but Goodsir suspects they won't be able to hold out much longer - "the smell of Roasting Human Flesh is Horribly Enticing".

Just like the main party, the Mutineers also appear to have found leads in the ice. 17 men pile into a boat only meant for 8 and begin to paddle northward but it's clear quickly that they cannot continue to do so for long, and it's not because of the leads themselves: "I Heard Hickey and Aylmore whispering after we landed to pitch Tents this Evening - they made Little Effort to lower their Voices. Someone will have to go. ...now that they do not need Man-haulers, which Men will be Sacrificed to the Food stores so that the boat can be Lightened for tomorrow's Sailing?"

-

Chapter Fifty-Six: Jopson

Oh gang... I'm afraid this is it...!

Jopson doesn't understand. He doesn't fully understand what's happening to his body anymore - why his teeth and hair are falling out and he's bleeding from every orifice. And he doesn't understand why he's being left behind on this, his literal birthday: "...but he was not an old man. He was thirty-one years old today and they were leaving him behind to die on his birthday." :(((

He has just enough wherewithal to smell the roasting of the seal meat Des Voeux's men brought back to camp, and to note the stream of men visiting his tent, unwilling to show their faces but leaving behind a pile of mouldy ships biscuits for him "like so many white rocks in preparation for his burial."

Jopson can only really protest in his own head - against the men and their actions and, interestingly, against Crozier... "Hadn't he stayed by Captain Crozier's side a hundred times during the captain's illnesses and moody low points and outright bouts of drunkenness? Hadn't he quietly, uncomplainingly, like the good steward he was, hauled pails of vomit from the captain's cabin in the middle of the night and wiped the Irish drunkard's arse when he shat himself in his fever delirium? Perhaps that's why the bastard is leaving me to die." Good Christ if that thought doesn't actually fucking destroy me! It's not even the idea of doing all that for someone and it somehow not being good enough, it's almost as if it was too good instead. Like something about reaching that level of intimacy being too unbearable in some way and somehow being the thing that dooms him? Ooh lordy I'm unwell... :(((

Soon enough, Jopson's birthday becomes more surreal and yet more literal as his crawling from the tent is described almost like labour, like an actual birth - "He had grown used to the canvas-filtered dim light and stuffy air of his tent-womb that this openness and glare made his lungs labour and filled his squinted-shut eyes with tears."

Crawling over food - "brought to him as if he were some damned pagan idol or sacrificial offering to the gods" - Jopson exits the tent which all too quickly fades into the fog behind him so he can't go back, and tries to shout after the departing men.

He's so weak but so utterly utterly desperate that he even tries to use his fucking chin to drag himself along the ground when his arms fail him. But of course it's not enough. Just like that, the departing men are gone. "It was as if they had never existed."

[montypng]

every once in a while i remember that one xmen fic i read ages ago that put pietro maximoff through the most gruesome, agonizing, and soul-crushing time loop experience i have ever seen before or since and well. i am not even into xmen that much . i will never forget it.

[notafagipromise]

sometimes i hate reading fan fic because after it's over i will never have anything from that universe anymore and i will never feel what it made me feel again

[breadandblankets]

day one billion of asking people to quit calling we are robin a cult or a gang, yall really be showing your whole asses

[yatogamiofficial]

I haven't seen a poll like this yet so

reblogs appreciated for a larger sample size