#and devoted adoring jopson

[themisanthropiclycanthrope]

Following their Ross ex machina rescue and return to England, Thomas Jopson is asked to resume his stalwart care of a struggling Francis Crozier, a task he doesn't hesitate to take on with his typical dedication and devotion.

i'm biting the bullet (with much fear) and starting to post this. updates every sunday (fingers crossed). snippet below

*

“Jesus fuck.”

Thomas blinked, nonplussed, his smile faltering. He hadn't known what to expect, turning up unannounced as he had, but Francis Crozier snarling at him like a bear rudely awoken from its slumber was not it. His knuckles were white where he gripped the door, as if preparing to slam it shut in Thomas's face. Thomas quickly tried to find his voice, hoping to prevent that happening.

“Sir–”

“You shouldn't be here, Jopson.”

Thomas ploughed ahead, attempting to explain. “Sir James Ross, sir, he—”

“Interfering bastard!”

“Sir?” The rivulets of rainwater dripping down the back of Thomas's neck didn't chill him half as much as the coldness in Crozier's voice.

“Just go.”

Had Thomas not known him so well, he'd have missed the minute waver in the words, the hint of vulnerability behind the gruff exterior. He had always excelled at following orders, but he was just as adept at ignoring them when it was necessary. He decided to chance his arm.

“Might I at least warm myself by the fire, sir? Just for a few minutes. I've come a long way and I'm soaked to the skin.”

Crozier glared at him, lips pressed into a tight line, jaw clenched tight, eyes unreadable. After a minute, and with a flash of teeth, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the house.

It wasn't exactly an invitation, but he had left the door open which Thomas took as acquiescence.

[terrorquotestm]

Little: But what if... What if you found just the right person who worshipped and adored you? Who- who would do everything for you, who would be your devoted slave... Then what would you do?

Jopson: I’d pity him.

[willowbilly]

Jopzier?

I ship it quite a lot!!! 

Jopson and Crozier are a wonderful, obvious pair. They are actually one of my favorite ships in the show simply for the singular tragedy of Jopson's intense devotion for Crozier, and Crozier's feelings for him. “Jopson…yours is the only company that I don't completely hate right now.” Jopson and Crozier's relationship stands out for its trust and intimacy, with Jopson often in a caregiver role to his superior, and Crozier investing more and more authority into Jopson as things deteriorate. The biting of the loose thread from Crozier's sleeve is a crisp image in my mind; Jopson crawling after “Crozier” whom he thinks is abandoning him always wrecks me terribly, especially after Crozier's explicit promise not to do just that. And Crozier finding him… 

The power dynamic of their differing ranks is also something that is difficult to overlook and fun to explore, so I find it more personally comfortable and enticing when fics lean harder into consent issues on either side, or at least nod to them. That said, I believe these characters have the capacity for a healthy and loving relationship as well, given the exceptionally supportive, caring one they did have in the show. I adore any amount of fanwork for them!!

[slow-burn-sally]

About your Jopson/Crozier post - I agree SO HARD. While I was watching the show I was like, so this is obviously the main ship everyone gravitated towards? Right?? I was dumbstruck when I realizes people went so hard for Fitzier. It's a cool ship, don't get me wrong, but the ever present loyalty, the care through service of Jopson, the fact that Jopson was happy to be promoted but all he wanted was to stay by his Captain's side. I BURN. It's really hard to find good/fic meta about it

Hi Nonny! We had somewhat opposite experiences. I am late to the show. So I watched it for the first time a few months ago. Before I watched it, I saw tons of content on Tumblr for Joplittle and Fitzier, and I thought “Oh, those must be the big ships huh?” And went into my first watch through expecting to ship one of those pairings. As I watched however, Fitzier gave me no shippy tingles, and Joplittle didn’t either. I honestly didn’t even actually know who Jopson was until ep 5. But then THE DEATH SCENE happened. It ripped me up. I think it was at that moment, watching Jopson reach for Crozier as his dying act, that my brain went OH. I think.... maybe... I might ship this? 

Then I read a smutty one shot fic that was very good and I rewatched the show and paid attention to their dynamic and was like OH BOY YES I SHIP THIS HARD. It was difficult to pick up on their dynamic from the first watch through, because it took me several episodes to understand people’s relationships, and the ole “everyone (stewards and officers and midshipmen) looks the same” problem. After the second watch through, I was like THESE TWO ARE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER. I adore their slightly kinky power and age difference and Jopson’s incredible devotion to Crozier, and the unbelievable depth of feeling between them portrayed on screen. 

I was informed that there was a little ship war surrounding people thinking Cropson was an “abusive ship”, which I’m not sure I understand. I see it as clearly one of the most loving, supportive and understanding ships on the show. Is it because of the completely-adult-yet-20-year-age-difference? Is it because Jopson works for Crozier? I’m not sure. You can write it kinky and D/s, with a big power imbalance, OR you can write it as an intensely devoted, incredibly romantic slow burn fic. It works either way. And if people ship Hickey and Billy? Like why was Cropson a problem? *shrug*

I have gone on quite a bit. Can you tell that I am total Cropson trash? Also, I have (to date), written roughly 142,000 words of fic for this pairing, under Slow_Burn_Sally on AO3 if you’re interested. Thank you for your thoughts!!!! <3

[hmshistorian]

Would You list 10 reasons to love Thomas Jopson even more? It's been a rough day for me and I would love to hear You scream about this baby angel so bad!❤️

FRIEND!! HELLO!! I will gladly answer your request, with the utmost pleasure, I will give you some of the many reasons why our little baby doll steward is so loved!!

1: Thomas Jopson is the biggest Daddy’s Boy in the history of the Royal Navy. Like, he’s just a big baby at heart and will follow his captain to the end of the earth. Definitely a sucker for papa’s cuddles and attention when they’re off duty.

2: THE BOY IS FULL OF LOVE AND CARE. He is so sweet and considerate and has a heart of absolute gold. Just an angel sent to bless the HMS Terror and everyone aboard.

3: His smile could melt ice and raise sea levels. Overall he has such a doll face, it’s insane how he’s even real.

4: THOSE EYES...break my heart....need I say more.

5: Even though he is the most darling of all babies, he can literally do a 180 into the most badass boy in a second!!! He can and will gladly fight your ass and win and that’s what makes him so special. Your angel and your devil all in one.

6: He is just so....deserving. Like I feel like he doesn’t think he is, but it’s so evident that all good that comes his way is a reward for something. Always has the best interest out for everyone and he deserves all the treats.

7: LOYAL TILL THE END OF TIME...again obvious but wow I want someone to be as devoted to me as Tommy is to anyone he loves.

8: A boy that wears many hats, he is so versatile and talented. He’ll go from sewing some buttons to professionally setting a table, to hunting birds, then acting as a rehab nurse, to killing someone all before the officers’ dinner scheduled at 7.

9: Patient as a damn saint except when it comes to traitorous rats and we should all adore him for that.

10: EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM IS SIMPLY PERFECT. A PERFECT PACKAGE OF PRECIOUSNESS! God he is just delicious.

In summery, Tom Joppy is the apple of mine, Captain Crozier’s and everyone else’s eyes. And that’s that on that!!! I hope I was able to once again brighten your day!! ❤️🥺

[whalerwrites]

A Letter to a Respectable Gentleman

or, A Letter to a Respectable Gentleman, of Impeccably High and Unsullied Character, from a Loyal Member of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, Requesting His Utmost Discretion and Devotion in These Trying Times

Edward Little/Thomas Jopson • 832 words • Rated G

Two days before Lieutenant Little's sledge party is to embark on their overland march, Edward sits down to write a very important and secret letter, at the risk of his honor & virtue, to an undisclosed confidant.

[Read on Ao3]

16th of April 1848

Aboard HMS Terror — off the coast of King William Land

Lat 69° 58’ N,  Long 99° 84’ W

My dearest sir,

I regret the lack of a reliable return address and hope that this letter finds you well.

[a space, the beginning of a line scratched out by ink]

That was a poor joke. I have half a mind to start anew, but I have no extra paper. Please don’t think me a fool.

I am writing you before I leave this wooden haven that has been my home these last three years. Were I able to go back in time to whisper into the ear of my younger, more hopeful self, I might have warned him off; told him to leap from the docks at Greenhithe, to run for the hills, to seek a ship in warmer, gentler seas, to weather any disgrace better than this Polar fanaticism.

I feel too old for adventures. Likewise, am I too young for a promotion that I don’t believe I have earned and the duty it bears? The title Commander fits as poorly as a shoe into which I have not properly grown.

But I am being unfair, aren’t I?

You are the only man who knows my sorrows. I must thank you and give you my condolences, both. I know that I shouldn’t burden you, but there is many a night where I lie awake in my bunk and realise that you might be the stronger of us both. You certainly have seen more of the world than I; much as you are loath to admit it, you know it is the truth. You have seen both Poles and may yet live to tell your tale of exploration.

[in smaller text, fitted around the former paragraph, as though written as an afterthought] I know that Captain Crozier would find a steward’s memoir, especially yours, to be wildly entertaining, even at the expense of us officers.

I pray that our measures on land will increase our chances of survival. I detest how much the thought makes me ill; accustomed as I am to have the ocean beneath my feet rather than the immovable, stolid Earth.

I wish I shared your optimism, dearest sir, for I would much enjoy its boon. Let me put aside my agitation for one moment, as I do not want to waste your precious time by boring you with these familiar worries.

Allow me instead to share with you my plans for when we return to England, which I hope will be very soon:

— Following all the requirements of the Admiralty and our Capts, I shall eschew any social obligation from polite society and find myself a home far from any city to live the respectable life of a country gentleman.

— If not retirement, I will make do with a Commander’s half-pay. I do not require much for my comfort or wellbeing, though I will make sure that there is enough for a scullery maid and a pair of reliable horses.

— I would like a house near a wood, however, as I would enjoy walking among trees after my time in the Arctic.

— I would also enjoy being near a lake or river where I could resume my enjoyment of fishing, and where I might introduce you to the leisure.

— If it not too expensive to find a house large enough to accommodate a couple guest rooms, I would like the space for my siblings to visit. In particular, my sister Maggie is dear to me, and I would love to have her visit often.

— And most of all; most important of all, I would very much like the company of a good friend, one to last the remainder of my life.

Is it too much for me to ask of you? I feel the urge to apologise, but I cannot be sorry for how much I adore you.

My dear sir, you have brought me light and joy, even in the winter months. Your smile is as brilliant as a night sky full of stars, and I would like to use it as guidance to keep my spirits high while we make our way home.

I feel my face blushing, having written that. You would laugh at my silliness, no doubt, but you are kind even when you tease me. Perhaps I should leave such flowery language to the poets for now.

The bell rings on deck, and I am due for watch this evening. I will spare a moment to slip this letter into your bedclothes, under your pillow, as per usual. I mourn how this letter must be my replacement in your bed this evening, as I cannot conjure an excuse to slip away with you one final time.

My dearest sir, I remain yours and yours alone,

Edward

p.s.  Make room in your dreams for me, my heart, and I shall love you yet.

I will see you at home.

[lafiametta]

So I asked @arcticelves​ to pick between Jopson/Little as barista/coffee addict and Jopson/Little as teacher/single parent (her response, unsurprisingly, was utterly delightful), but then it got me thinking about the scenario she didn’t do, and I just couldn’t help myself, you know? I also should admit to drawing a fair degree of inspiration from @keyofmgy​’s wonderful Goodsir/Silna coffee shop AU, On Infatuation (A Case Study). (Does that make what follows fanfiction of fanfiction? Maybe so... the mind boggles!)

Edward Little was definitely not a coffee addict. 

Admittedly, he always had a cup or two in the morning, before he left for work, and then there was his late morning pick-me-up, often followed by a mid-afternoon refill, and sometimes, on those nights when he knew he would be up for hours with a project deadline, he would stop in at his local coffeehouse for a triple espresso, made as hot and strong as humanly possible. But he wasn’t a true addict, not by a long shot. It wasn’t as if he absolutely required it to function and he could have given it up at any point, if he was forced to. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a problem, not really. 

Or, rather, it hadn’t been a problem – at least not up until a month ago, when Edward realized his simple habit was beginning to blossom into something that might well resemble an addiction. And ironically, it wasn’t a need for caffeine that was driving his compulsion, but instead a pair of startling blue-green eyes and a dimpled smile warmer than any mug of fresh-brewed dark roast.

He had been on his way home one Friday night, thinking he would run by his usual place for a half-pound of ground Colombian and a flat white, only to discover it shuttered, closed for long-term renovations. A quick search on his phone had turned up a coffee shop just a few blocks over – Franklin’s – and while he had no idea how good their coffee was, it couldn’t be worse than heading home without decent provisions for the next morning. Inside, it had looked like a typical Friday night scene: a scattering of patrons on overstuffed sofas, chatting or reading as they sipped their drinks, as well as a contingent of student-types, staring furiously into the glow of their MacBooks. There had also been some kind of open mic event going on; near the back, a young dark-haired woman was perched on a stool, singing and strumming a ukulele. She wasn’t half-bad, and Edward noticed that she seemed to have a fair number of clear admirers among her audience, including a curly-haired guy with glasses who looked thoroughly entranced.

Edward must have been distracted enough by what was going on with the musician that he didn’t turn to face the counter until he was right in front of it, and then he found himself incapable of moving at all. 

It wasn’t just that the barista standing across from him was insanely good-looking – even though he was – or that he was sporting the most adorable pink-cheeked grin or that his ink black, deeply-parted hair was falling across his brow in a casual, yet completely devastating way.  

No, it was really the combination of all those things – along with the fact that his eyes seemed to flash with a sudden spark of curiosity as their gazes crossed – that caused Edward’s pulse to suddenly jump upwards, even as the rest of his body remained frozen into place. 

“Hey... what can I get for you?” 

Edward’s mind unfolded into a dazzling array of responses, few of which were decent enough to utter in public, much less to a complete stranger. It was impossible to know what to say, until he realized he needed to say something – and for god’s sake stop staring – before he began to look like the stupidest, or possibly the creepiest, guy on the planet. He must have managed to mumble out something reasonable, because suddenly he was reaching for his wallet and handing over his card, although he made sure to stuff a few dollars in the tip jar, too. Even the time he stood to wait for his order seemed far too brief – mostly because he got to watch the barista at work – and in what seemed like the blink of an eye he found himself back out on the sidewalk, a half-pound bag of beans in one hand and a steaming flat white in the other, his name written in jaunty capital letters across the side of the cup. He didn’t bother to wait until he got back to his car to take a sip.

It was probably the best flat white he had ever tasted. 

A post-work visit to Franklin’s soon became a regular part of Edward’s daily routine, at first just involving to-go orders and take-out cups, but eventually progressing to longer stays where he settled in with a ceramic mug on one of the couches by the window. (He had once tried going by in the morning on his way to work, and found that not only was the gorgeous barista not on shift, there was apparently an entirely new crew behind the counter, overseen by a lanky, wavy-haired supervisor, who seemed oddly fastidious about his clothes and in keeping his white knit sweater as free as possible from coffee stains.) In time, Edward got to recognize the regulars: not just the ukulele player and her number one fan, but also the couple who came in and read quietly together, and while it struck him as a bit of a May-December pairing, the two men looked to be entirely devoted to each other. 

And then there was the barista. 

Edward did his best to play it cool, and hoped that he wasn’t coming across like some kind of weirdo stalker. When he went up to order at the counter, he kept it brief; he didn’t want to pressure the guy into chatting, especially if he wasn’t interested. Besides, he reasoned, only a jerk would try to hit on someone when they were at work. It was true that the barista always had a smile for him, a mischievous little quirk of the lips that never failed to set Edward’s heart racing, but it was just as possible that he might be like that with everyone, and Edward the poor loser who couldn’t tell the difference between mutual interest and good customer service.

Even so, he could tell he was beginning to develop an addiction to this place, not just for the coffee – which, admittedly, was fantastic – but for the man who made it for him, whose face he come close to memorizing after nights of careful study, but whose name he had yet to learn. 

One evening, after ordering his regular at the counter, he went to drop off his work bag in an open seat, only to hear his name and drink being called out over the shriek of the espresso machine.

“Double cappuccino for Edward...?”

He had picked it up and was half-way back to his couch when he realized that he must have taken the wrong order, as someone else’s name was written across the side of his ceramic mug. The dark-haired barista gave him a quick glance as he approached the counter, and Edward did his best to ignore the fluttering sensation already starting to take hold in the depths of his stomach. 

“Sorry,” he said, sliding the mug and saucer back onto the counter. “I think this belongs to someone else.”

The barista grinned, two perfectly curved dimples forming just past the corners of his mouth. His blue-green eyes seemed to twinkle – although it was entirely possible that by this point Edward was simply hallucinating by allowing his own personal fantasies to crowd out reality.

“No, that’s definitely yours.”

“But...” Edward began to protest, mostly out of confusion, “that’s not my name.” He pointed to the side of the mug, where a single word was written out in a familiar all-caps script: TOM. 

“I didn’t say it was your name,” the barista replied, as he bit down playfully against his bottom lip. “Because it’s mine.”

“Oh,” was all Edward was capable of replying. He had played out this moment – or at least ones similar to it – in his head so many times, and in all those scenarios, he had always known exactly what to do and the right words to say, all of which had now fled his mind entirely.

“And here...” Tom – and honestly, Edward thought, who could imagine a more perfect name than that? – turned the mug halfway around, revealing a line of numbers written in dark ink. “That’s my number. In case you ever want to hang out some time.”

“Yeah,” Edward muttered, and then began to nod vigorously as the realization of what was happening overtook him. “Absolutely. That sounds great.” He felt a warm, unprompted smile begin to form on his lips. “We could go get coffee or something.”

Tom turned that brilliant blue-green gaze directly on him and he laughed, his teasing grin wide and bright enough to rival the mid-day sun in all its glory.  

“Anything but that.”

[lafiametta]

Probably stupid question but in the terror ep.6, that scene where the bell rings, Little turns to look at Jopson, Jopson puts his can down and leaves, Hickey and Little watch him leave, and Hickey says 'a worse case of gastritis surely there never was'. I don't get what it means, like, I feel there is sth going on, but? Hickey slights Jopson? Why? And ok if he would say it to one of his buddies, but why to Little who would likely not appreciate it/reprimand him? Little seems to consider sth?

Not a stupid question at all, Anon! I like that scene for a number of reasons – Le Vesconte’s “bit of a benjo” line, the remaining men’s cheer of excitement when they hear about the Carnivale plans, the shared look between Little and Jopson (open to all sorts of interpretations!), how adorable Little looks in that cozy scarf – but here’s my take on what’s going on: 

The bell – directly connected to Crozier’s cabin, I believe – rings, summoning Jopson (or whoever might be there to hear it) to the captain’s side, and Jopson quickly leaves, presumably to attend to whatever the captain needs. So I think that part of this action is meant to indicate Jopson’s devotion to Crozier during the captain’s recovery: he doesn’t complain, he doesn’t delay, only waiting long enough to have one shared glance with Little, which I interpret as more “yup, gotta go, and you of all people understand why” than anything else. 

Hickey’s comment about gastritis is obviously sarcastic, but I think it’s meant to indicate to the audience that Hickey is super-observant and sees right to the truth of things no matter how hard people have tried to cover it up. (It also makes sense because just before this moment, he had his big realization with Billy about how they’re counting the luggage, and what that means, and Billy’s just following him around with his “Luggage for what, Cornelius?” just to make it even clearer that Hickey’s the brains of the operation and Billy not so much.) Hickey knows that Crozier doesn’t have gastritis – which I assume must have been the explanation given to the crew – although it’s not clear if he’s guessed what’s really wrong with the captain.

But I am with you on the fact that it seems weird for him to say this to Little, who at that moment is the acting captain of Terror and could have him punished for speaking insubordinately. It might seem like a small mis-step on the part of the writers, but then again, they could also be using this remark as a way to show that the remaining crew of Terror don’t fully respect Little as their superior officer in the absence of Crozier and they think they can get away with things like that without being reprimanded. (And in fact, Little doesn’t do anything about Hickey’s remark except look at him in irritation, so maybe it would be true that there’s less order and discipline on Terror under Little’s command. It might also serve to further encourage Hickey in his conspiratorial and insubordinate behavior if he knew there wouldn’t be any consequences for saying things like that. Then again, Little really looks tired as fuck, so maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with Hickey at that particular moment.) 

Anyway, just my two cents. I’m totally open to hearing other interpretations, if anyone reads it any differently, though!

ETA: I keep thinking about Little’s passivity in this moment, and I find it really interesting, especially when viewed in light of the way he freezes during Tuunbaq’s attack on the Terror Camp in Episode 8. Clearly he can be authoritative – he comes down hard on Hickey during the interrogation in Episode 4 (“You were told not to speculate”) – but that might just be because he’s got Crozier and Fitzjames there to back him up (or, possibly, because he thinks they’re expecting him to be a strong voice of discipline as Terror’s first lieutenant). But in this moment, Hickey says his line and then walks away, leaving open the possibility that Little didn’t even think to reprimand him. His only reaction is to quickly drink up the last of his grog with a look that’s more irritation and resignation than anger (“Oh great, Hickey’s figured out we’re covering something up about the captain. FML”), which I think says quite a bit about Little’s character.