#james fitzjames x reader

[yns-world]

How They Are During Sex/Favorite Positions

Pairings: Francis Crozier x Reader, John Franklin x Reader, James Fitzjames x Reader, Henry Goodsir x Reader

Warnings: nsft, silly stuff, mentions of k*nks

a/n: gender neutral reader!!!

clearly i’m the only person carrying the terror (both the show and the ship) from death. no one writes fanfics for the REAL hoes (us, the readers). but dw. god put me on the terror so the true, grimy mfs can finally be unleashed and be free 🗣️‼️send in any requests you have for the terror while they're still in my grasp 😼 i love gnawing on these men like my own personal chew toys GRRRR BARK BARK 🐕

Francis Crozier: 

Cowgirl. 

Old man doesn’t have much energy in him, we know this.

At first he’ll have his hands on your hips as you ride him, but within a few minutes his head is thrown back, eyes shut as he lets out strings of curses.

If Francis is drunk and had a particularly hard day, he would be inebriated and inclined enough to use you as a urinal--whether that’s in your mouth or on your body, is up to you. He’s probably too drunk to notice, but he’s aware enough to get hard and want to stick it in you. 

Might dabble in the whole Daddy kink, but you’ll be the one bringing it up to him--or rather, it might’ve slipped out when you were drunk on him one night. It invigorates him, makes him feel like he’s finally in charge of something. He won’t pound into you, but his grip on your skin would be tighter, he would probably grunt in your ear and praise you like an actual father would. sobs

Old man knocks out after he comes. After care is him lying heavy on your body as he’s fast asleep. When he wakes up--possibly in horror and excitement--he’ll rush to clean up and prepare a sweet breakfast filled with bashful apologies for his behavior the night before behavior that will repeat.

John Franklin:

Religious man. But what a fucking freak.

I don’t need to tell you that he’s into that Daddy shit. Ofc he is.

Really into roleplay too. Some nights, you’ll pretend to be the demon that corrupts the Virtuous Saint™ that he is, other nights he’ll be your priest “cleansing” you of your sins.

Depending on the roleplay, you might end up on top of him, beneath him, or on your knees.

John usually ends the night in missionary, he wants to watch your eyes overcome with your own lust, how your face screws as you come around his own cock, the way your chest exhales its last breath as you fall completely still. 

A sweet kiss on your forehead--”You’re so good to me.”

James Fitzjames:

A Fucking Freak™.

He’s in his physical prime, of course he’s getting freaky with you.

Angry sex, yearning sex, passionate sex, quickies; whatever he can have he’ll take, and then he’ll beg for some more. 

His best ideas actually come from his time shared with you--unfortunately for you, as his mind snaps from passion and comes to the fruition of something that would save the crew, but you can’t be mad at him for too long.

Every position is his favorite position. In the beginning, he won’t care for the sentimentality of it since you both were chasing after a release, but as the relationship progresses and the meetings become frequent, he might opt for a sweet night instead of the usual 5-minute quickie. 

He likes you, like, like like, but he bites his tongue and bates his breath waiting for the moment to let you know when you both finally make it to the other side of this thing. He doesn’t want to confess and leave you haunted with the love of a dead man. He doesn’t know that you’d rather wrap yourself in the warmth of a past confession than agonize over what could’ve been.

Henry Goodsir:

Sex to him is a very sacred and intimate act--more emotional to him than anyone else. His heart is a melting pot, everything you do makes his head spin. It would be a while before the two of you ever see each other naked. But when you finally reach that point…oh brother, get ready for those love letters 🙄 /lh

You probably are his first. Most likely his last. I don’t think he’ll ever get over you, especially not if you reciprocated the intensity and fullness of his love. He is permanently marked by you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I don’t think any man could ever love you the way Henry loves you. No one will ever love you the way he does--both a comfort, and a tragedy. 

Missionary. Always. He just wants to look in your eyes--both as a reassurance that you want this, but also as a confirmation that you do actually love him, that your connection is real and not some made-up fantasy in his mind used to cope.

You will forever be a work of art to him. He handles you with such care and warmth--he won’t treat you like a fragile piece of glass, but rather an oil painting as he grazes his fingers across your skin, picking up on the traces of paint left on the tips of his fingers.

Flesh pressed against flesh, he wants nothing more than to entangle himself with you-- to merge his body into yours, to be a piece of you forever, but doesn’t want to seem as “too much”, so he keeps these thoughts to himself and in his journal.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

[daincrediblegg]

JFJ + to shut them up (please ily)

James loathed nothing more than a pause in conversation. It was an absurd anxiety, he knew, but he'd always tried to fill it. It became easier when he had a wealth of valorous stories to fill that silence with, ones that in good company would find amicable laughter, spark anecdotes from his peers (men and women, who in truth he never felt an equal to), but it never gave him long enough to think about what they must think of him. In his youth, a silence was the sound only of an elephant in the room, and more often than not, that elephant was his, carried it around like a dutiful pet, feeding it the more he told his stories, the more he held up his glorious existence on display. It never sated the silly thing, in the end. The quiet would always come after one way or another. But at least he alone would sit with it, and not another.

He felt lucky, when he realized he didn't have to hide that from you, from Francis, two of the precious few people he could call true friends to him. The silence was comfortable around you. Perhaps for the first time in his life there was a safety in the lull that found him in your company, in your knowing what hung over his shoulders. You didn't need to hear his acts of valor to love him, nor would the truth of him dissuade you from it. Either of you.

And years he never felt the need to don his mask, but on his return to England, it found him again all the same. It found him tonight, stuffed into his naval blue coat and pauldrons, medals and gold hanging off him and trapping him in it. And the need made itself known again. Helpless to recount "that damned sniper story" again, as Francis so liked to remind him. But somehow, the words didn't come as easy as they used to. He found himself pausing more often than not, the flare in his voice gone. But he pressed through, despite so desperately wanting to tell what came of the wound. What scurvy had done to it. But that wouldn't be very pleasant conversation, would it?

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his train of thought. His head snapped to find a kind smile, and something of a knowing look in your eyes, peering up at him.

"James, may I borrow you for a moment? I'm afraid it's urgent."

Your eyebrows raised as you nodded towards the door. He nods his excuse to the party of invisible faces he found himself surrounded by, muttering a quiet "of course" before following you into another room, unoccupied, and dark, secluded.

"What is it? Are you all right? Is Francis-" is all he had the time to say before he was forcibly silenced by your quiet caring lips, slotting over them. He felt his heartbeat pick up a moment as your lips lingered, then as he settled into your soft embrace, felt it slow. Parting he found he could not produce another word for a moment.

"Shhh... it's all right James," you crooned, a gentle hand on his cheek, tracing his dimple with your thumb.

"You were doing it again. Looked like you needed saving."

He chuckled a little at that, half out of nerves, half from relief. How many times had you and Francis teased him for that damned sniper story? Too many to count by now.

"I suppose... I was," he sighs, leaning into your touch, close enough to touch his nose with yours. He breathed again, soaking in the blessed quiet, the faint chatter from the party outside feeling far away now.

"Thank you."

You nod, hand reaching to the back of his neck to pet the curls that draped below. He let your quiet reassurance embrace him, wrap him up and calm him, enough his eyes softly shut in contentment for a moment, and then a few more.

"We can leave, you know," you said once the time had passed enough, and James' eyes fluttered open to yours, doe-eyed and concerned and content. Now that was a thought. He'd been so wrapped up in his words, in his nerves, in truth, that he hadn't fully considered that as an option. He considered it seriously now, as you looked at him encouragingly.

"Shall we go?" you ask. James smiled. A sincere one. One that he'd only ever shown to two individuals in his whole life. He smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Please, I... I don't think I have the stomach for much more of this."

You returned his smile, and kissed his cheek again, soundly.

"I'll go get Francis. Get our coats and we'll meet you by the door."

He enjoyed how you gave orders. They always sounded so pleasant he couldn't help but widen his smile to know such care as this. He kissed his confirmation to the corner of your mouth gently, before withdrawing again.

"Don't be long."

"We won't."

Your hand grazed his cheek softly as you went, making its absence even fonder. He stood a moment, plucking up his courage from the floor where you had draped it, and made his exit a short moment after, heading towards the hall where a footman retrieved your coats for him to carry as he waited, already having put on his own.

He was only stood there a few short minutes before hearing the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and James turned to find you and Francis, walking arm in arm towards him. A great sigh left the older man's lips as he trekked down the hall to him, relief washing over his shoulders as he dropped the straightness in his back and square in his shoulders.

"Thank bloody Christ that's over," Francis groaned, eliciting a faint chuckle from his walking partner that made him smile.

"You can say that again," you replied, taking your coat from James' hands, wrapping it around your shoulders with grace and gloved hands. Francis reached next for his own, fingers gripping James' arm gently as he plucked his own coat, lingering a moment.

"All right, James?" he asks, his eyes warm, searching, concerned, glinting a warm pale blue in the candlelight. James nodded, soundlessly save the the small whimper that escaped him in the effort. Francis nods his understanding, a warmth renewing his grip before letting go to don his own coat.

"Home then?" Francis asks. James smiles with thoughts of fireplaces, and a shared warmth, and quiet.

"Yes. Home."

[yns-world]

OH MY GOOOOOOODDDD WAIT I LOVE THIS CONCEPT SO FUCKING MUCH.

“I just want me some good Fitzjames x Reader fanfics, is it too much to ask for?”

[sicko4smut]

Rewatching AMC’s “The Terror” and my writer brain desperately needs to write

1) forbidden love between james fitzjames x reader

2) pathetic, sweet yearning sex with henry goodsir

[metalheadfreak1]

Hello everyone! I know when was the last time I posted anything in a long time! But I wanted to tell you about a new fic I’m writing.

If you enjoy the terror I’m writing a Captain James Fitzjames x reader which I on archive! Please enjoy it cause I’m having so much fun with it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30535905/chapters/75312321

[kxlebcross]

i was tagged by the amazing @skavdi, tysm! 🌺

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better.

top three ships: though i’m not a hardcore shipper anymore, it was still incredibly hard to choose, ngl... one of those is surely Genji x Zenyatta from Overwatch, and went far enough to even set up an own AU for them haha. The other two would be Francis Crozier x James Fitzjames and Thomas Jopson x Edward Little, both from The Terror Season 1. for_autumn_i_am over at @ao3 wrote some amazing stuff for them which definitely moved them higher up in the ranking.

last movie: it was the 2019 Lion King remake, even though i swore up and down that i’ll never watch it XD but it was a really neat movie and little Simba was baby, might rewatch it later.

currently reading: tbqh i’m not much of a reader lately, but if that counts, i started a supernatural horror/thriller novel by one polish author which my teacher recommended. didn’t get far in it, maybe like 70 pages in, before getting distracted by video games again XD 

food i’m craving: anything from kfc? or a pizza. or something from that neat asian bistro i’ve found the last time. i’m hungry af, i’d eat anything atm XD not getting breakfast was a dumb move i think.

i’m tagging @orneryrps @kuwentista @audreyrph @hcnncssy @mountainhearts and everyone else who wants to do it, get wild sweethearts 🖤

[quesselfships]

OH BIG MOOD

I can't do like 99% of canon ships because of it, or even just popular m/f ships for my f/os (I can usually do m/m and not have an issue, and I'm fine with sharing f/o's with other self shoppers no matter the gender)

But like, you gotta remember, he would choose you, in a heartbeat, because he loves you! Even if he had dated someone in canon, they must have lacked something you have, something that makes you perfect for him.

You guys are the true OTP. Frankly for ship weeks like that I prefer to imagine they're best friends who are plotting ways to surprise you! Sometimes you need a ride or die friend to do practice dates on.

it's "[canon x canon ship] week" for one of my f/os and his tag is flooded with it... n like half of it isn't tagged as the ship so i can't blacklist it.... really feeling that jealousy/loneliness tonight

[yns-world]

I am begging you for a historical courting headcanons of the Terror mains. On my knees. Please.

The Terror Historical Courting Headcanons

Pairings: Francis Crozier x Reader, John Franklin x Reader, James Fitzjames x Reader, Henry Goodsir x Reader

Warnings: i'm sorry johnny boy 💔💔💔

a/n: gender neutral reader!!! some non-canon variation to the history, reader is established as a member of the upper class and able to mingle among these fine, high society gentlemen :) 

i tried to be somewhat historically accurate given each character’s background and personality. enjoy and pls support your writers :) 

Francis Crozier:

This is an Irish man who had to fight his way into society. Even with all his medals and accolades, he’s still discriminated against and looked down upon by the rest of English society. 

Alas, the cruelties enacted upon him have grafted a deep, empathetic, and gentle soul. Every insult, every dig to his character, to his morals, to his upbringing had only brought him the confirmation that he was somebody; a threat to a prejudiced society, but a beacon of light for those to come after him.

Social gatherings were never his calling--it was less about the mockery, and more of the futile flaunting done by both the men and women of high society; futile flaunting to try and feed their barren souls.

No, Francis was not a social man. But he was patient; patient and steadfast. 

Having spent his prime on the seas, Francis was not well-versed in the art of romance or courting compared to his counterparts, but he harbored what they sorely lacked: an honest heart.

You and Francis first meet when your parents were hurriedly attempting to marry you off--it didn’t look good that it’s been this long without a single proposal. What your parents refused to acknowledge was the utter lack of sincerity within all of the candidates that appeared at your front door.

Neither upper echelon politicians with centuries of legacy nor counterfeit war veterans were able to cross your manor’s threshold twice. 

Francis, though, was a different story. 

He had come into your home carrying nothing save for a novel and an empty journal. 

Believing that your parents had finally lost their minds, you wanted to be done with this meeting and storm back into your chambers, but his demeanor was what disarmed you.

The first thing you noticed about him was his age of course, but that realization gave way to his wisdom--wisdom that wasn’t used as a weapon to force you into submission, but rather fodder for the mind. Wisdom that called for soft-spoken debate. 

Francis introduced you to one of his favorite novels--one of many--and offered you the empty journal.

“To note your thoughts, feelings, reactions. All good analysis comes from those basics.” Francis had told you.

Part of that social call was spent with you slowly flipping through the pages, eyes soaking up whatever ink was left after the many years of use this book has experienced; the other part spent out in the gardens, silently observing nature’s drama unfold before you. 

Francis was peculiar, to say the least…but he was an original. Independent yet reserved. Years of rough sea hadn’t cut into him like stone, but carved him like marble.

He came by your manor the following week, this time toting another novel and more inquiries.

“What do your eyes see?” Francis questioned, following that question with a smile: “Now what does your mind tell you you saw?”

A friendship between you two blossomed in step with the tulips of spring. The harsh winter surrounding both of you was melting with every thought shared. 

Although steady with his consistent courting that would span over weeks, Francis knew immediately within the first call that you were the one. It was you, that he knew with no doubt in his mind. 

Those qualities carry into your marriage with him--reliable, wise, and loving. And his love wasn’t exclusive to just you, no, his love was pulpable to the world around him. Especially the world. There was no place for contempt in a man like Francis; no room for the arbitrary sins of humanity that plague the rest of us. 

John Franklin:

Sir John Franklin is a political man--fame and fortune have been following him for longer than you have been alive. 

An egotistical man who wields religion as both his shield and weapon, John is no stranger to the ways of society. But given the fact that he had married twice, and both wives having departed, things were not looking good for him.

Unfortunately, no amount of power can fully control how people will see you, and how people see Sir John Franklin was crucial to his entire way of living. 

First marrying a poet, then an explorer, he needed a change of pace.

You and John would first meet across a table in front of the Admiralty--you being sent there as a liaison to figure out the numbers it would take from the Crown to fund yet another one of Sir John Franklin’s expeditions.

Initially, you two had butt heads. Him, with his religious spewing about “new-found land”; and you, with your utter contempt for people of his nature and ego. 

Contrary to his silver spoon upbringing, you had to claw your way into your position, and even then, you were constantly being challenged. 

You noticed the stares, you tallied the scores, and they were counted by men just like John. The meeting was doomed from the start.

John, although miffed that neither you nor the Crown are bending to his will and whim, enjoyed the pushback. Like I mentioned before, no one had really given John a run for his money before, especially not at his big age now.

Hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks of back and forth pestering about costs, fuel, and the necessity for such an expedition.

Every meeting ended the same--John with his lackeys standing their ground at one end of the table; you and your associates refusing to move an inch and storming out of the room. Clearly, this negotiation was going nowhere--exactly what the Crown wanted.

You see, you were sent in for one reason--to not budge. With every failed negotiation attempt, more money was being hemorrhaged from John’s pockets as he had to quarter and pay the fees for the “Royal Consulting” he was receiving. 

Finally, John caught wind of this, and decided to concede. He agreed to privately fund the bulk of the expedition, under one condition. 

On May 19th, 1845 the HMS Terror, HMS Erebus, and HMS Liberty set sail. 

Captain Francis Crozier of The Terror, Captain James Fitzjames of Erebus, and Captain Y/N L/N of Liberty.

You were no marine, nor were you bred for Arctic exploration like the rest of these men, but alas, John Franklin flexed what power he had over you when he convinced the Crown to bring you onboard, despite your valid and loud protests.

Now you’re stuck at commander meetings seated next to John himself, going over charts and maps, hundreds of miles out in sea.

You do your job as newly-appointed captain, your ship would be no laughing stock to anybody, but you do so with malicious compliance. 

The other captains pick up on the undercurrent of animosity between you and John but don’t know how to bring it up. 

It is only when the ice pack turns dire and all hope of rescue has been destroyed that you two were able to put your political agendas aside. 

Surprisingly, with your brain and respect among your crew, and his ability to rally a cause, you were able save at least some of these innocent men and bring them back home. 

Malnourished, traumatized, and knocking on death’s door, you and John had formed a bond through your suffering that was inexplicable to anyone who hadn’t been through the great misfortune you have seen and experienced.

You and John had clearly lost a large piece of your humanity that is visible in a single look in your eyes. No medal, accolade, or promotion could provide a single ounce of solace--nothing but each other. 

Soon after your return back to Great Britain, you both opted for quiet lives. A small wedding with few guests was held, and eventually you both went off the grid to live in the high mountains.

You both know that you weren’t supposed to survive that expedition, but whether it was by God’s graces or the devil’s work, you did. Every night, you both hold a death grip on each as you fall asleep--a habit you picked up from the cruel and merciless frozen land. Every night, you both die in your sleep and wake up waiting for your bodies to freeze over. They never do, and you force yourselves to trudge on.  

James Fitzjames:

For too long you had been cooped up in your manor and your family had had ENOUGH. They practically threw you into whatever social call there was for the members of high English society.

From the very first call of the season, you were dressed to the nines and constantly badgered to mingle as much as possible, but it was nothing but hell. 

The stiff collars, the aching shoes, the constant noise and the boasting of fake personalities. Unfortunately, the alcohol they served was nowhere near strong enough to numb anything.

To make matters worse, there was this idiotic baboon rambling on about all his war stories, just basking in all of the attention from desperate constituents.

You saw this imbecile everywhere, and every single time he was in his full get up--the Royal uniform with gold epaulettes, the freshly-shined points, and all adorned with a gleaming smile. Ugh. You didn’t bother hiding your irritation at the unfortunate luck to cross paths every time. 

Despite the extreme opinions you had of these events and all of the posh attendants, you did your best to stay out of eyesight as much as possible. You thought you were doing a good job finding your little hide-and-seek spots. 

It had been a few weeks into the social season and you were adept of your routine of scouting food, slipping away, and then riding the carriage home. That was it. That was every single event. Until a certain someone had finally spotted you. 

Him. 

James Fitzjames. 

Why him?

As puzzled as you were to find James standing beside you behind the large bushes, away from the flock of potential suitors, James was just as perplexed as to why you were hiding. 

“Quite the palace.” James sarcastically remarks, hands clasped behind his back as he makes a spectacle of craning his head back to gander around the aforementioned “palace.”

“You lost, soldier boy?” You retort. 

James smirks at your response. “So you know who I am.”

“Get over yourself; half the world has probably grown sick of being constantly bombarded with your ‘war stories.’”

This was the start of the cat-and-mouse game between you and James--he had his eyes set on you from the first time you were begrudgingly dropped off to one of these events; you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t noticed him, too. 

Most of the “courting” between the two of you is spent slipping away from everyone else just to pester each other out of eyesight. The jokes gave way to comfortable conversation, comfortable conversation gave way to soft gazes. 

It was nearing the end of the social season of the year, and both you and James were getting antsy. James was telling you about a voyage that was suggested for him to take, but neither you nor him actually wanted to leave. 

“How long will you be gone?” You asked.

“Three years, they say.” James' voice was low, heavy with his own disappointment. 

Both of you couldn’t bear to look each other in the eye until finally you turned back to face him. 

“What if you stay?”

James�� deep frown had slowly begun to melt into a smile. 

Of course he’d stay. 

Henry Goodsir:

The most normal of the bunch, as well as the most shy. 

Henry had come from a long history of esteemed doctors, and this had given his family name some prestige to it. Although having that added cushion to his place in society, he was never one for the formal social calls or events where one would gather to peacock. 

He had first learned of your name through his own family--as your two families were loosely connected by mutual friends. 

Given the minimal information on who you were, Henry agreed to set up a call to come visit you at your manor. 

Upon meeting, you quickly realize just how respectful and modest he is. Too respectful. 

There were moments you were sure that he didn’t want to be here--that was false, of course, but the lack of eye contact and the distance between you made it seem that way. 

The truth was that Henry wasn’t the type to openly express his feelings, regardless if they were swallowing him whole or not (which they certainly were when it came to you)

It took weeks of these calls until Henry began showing some warmth, but when he finally cracked, you were able to peek through the curtain and see a glimpse of the gentle soul you were dealing with.

He’s a quiet man, but deeply intuitive and understanding. There’s never any flash of judgement or rash thinking behind his eyes. There is nothing you could say that would put him off. 

He loves listening to you talk, and would add some of his own thoughts and opinions every so often, but by god was that man devout. 

Anyone with eyes could clearly see that he was just-near kissing the ground you walked on, but I guess being so close to the flame made you blind to it-- at least at first.

And like a flower, Henry finally began to blossom and started to be more forward, especially since you were receiving more and more proposals. 

All of his gifts were deeply personal--flowers carved out of wood, charcoal portraits, watercolor landscapes--his love for you was an endless waterfall. 

A genuine man makes for a genuine husband. You literally hit the jack-pot with Henry 🥰

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

[yns-world]

The Terror Masterlist

captain francis crozier

how they comfort you

how they are during sex/favorite positions

historical courting headcanons

sir john franklin

how they are during sex/favorite positions

historical courting headcanons

captain james fitzjames

how they are during sex/favorite positions

historical dating headcanons

dr. henry goodsir

how they comfort you

how they are during sex/favorite positions

historical dating headcanons

[daincrediblegg]

Jared Harris Characters Masterlist

It’s time I admit this one ain’t going away folks. You know the drill. Follow me @pen-and-panic​ and turn on notifications to be notified when new fic/filled ask prompts drop. 18+ stuff denoted with an asterisk (*). Enjoy my loves.

ONE WARM LINE CHAPTER 1 PREVIEW IS UP!

FRANCIS CROZIER

One Warm Line (Crozier x Self-Insert) COMING SOON.

FROM @trantors : Lady Terror x Crozier Drabble 

KISS BINGO ENTRY: JAMES FITZJAMES X READER

3 Sentence Fic: Francis x Lady Terror, Western AU

3 Sentence Fic: Francis x Lady Terror, Epistolary

LADY TERROR BIO

VALERY LEGASOV

“You look like you need to stop, do you?”

Stay the Night

UNNAMED MINI-SERIES BASED ON MORE PROMPTS: COMING SOON

HARI SELDON

Unnamed Hari x Calliope (OC) fic: COMING SOON

[gaunt-and-hungry]

Okay. Honest inquiry.

What Reader X Character should I work on next?

[gaunt-and-hungry]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

From @library-child This looked like a lot of fun and I thought it would be a delight to do! Thank you for everything!

How many works do you have on AO3? Seven

What's your total AO3 word count?

32,832 words

What fandoms do you write for? Mostly just The Terror

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? "If we sing the song of our people" - 129 "Embouchure of Leviathans" - 20 "Basic Needs" - 10 "To Make a Captain Scream" - 5 "Shelter" - 5

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do. I do enjoy engaging with the community I write with. We have a shared interest that is very profound. The Terror fandom is very different from any other fandom I have experienced. There is a uniqueness to it that is unlike anything I have ever seen. I do enjoy it deeply. I love seeing what others think and how I have impacted them and be able to really see how my work reflects on their individual!

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I cannot say I have written a fic with an angsty ending before!

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Brine and Ice. I am still working on edits and posting to Ao3. It's mostly finished in the workshop however it is rather rough. I still have to smooth out riggings and sails on it. But people live. People fall in love. People get the relief they need. Do you get hate on fics? If I do, it is not something that is vocalised! Either that or it has gone right over my head and I have disregarded it. So not to my knowledge! Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Of course I do! I write a lot of good wholesome delight and smut and reader insert content. We are on a ship, after all...

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I do not write crossovers. I am not particularly crazy about them myself. They do not suit my palette. I think the craziest fic I wrote was for a friend and it was some Lovecraftian porn. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Goodness no. Not that I am aware of. That sounds awful! Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet. Though I could translate my own fics if I so wished. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! I have co written several fics though I doubt any of them are posted anywhere. What's your all-time favorite ship? Francis Crozier x James Fitzjames or Francis Crozier x Thomas Jopson What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? No such thing. How dare ye.

What are your writing strengths? I descriptions, I think. Immersion as well, I hope. Or at least I think I am quite sound in that field. I spend a lot of time studying and focusing on era / age/ time appropriate materials and consume a lot of media that already is proper-set for my focus. This means immersion into that area and space is usually easy for me coupled with my ability to describe things.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Hetero romance and I sometimes struggle with properly articulating when time has passed. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I am a polyglot. First fandom you wrote for? Does Crime and Punishment count? Favorite fic you've ever written? I do love them all equally though I am currently most invested and beloved of Brine and Ice which currently exceeds 100,000 words in its current form. It is a guilty pleasure fic and shamelessly at that. It is a process to make it postable for Ao3 currently. Tagging: @smileofacaffeinatedsaint, @charismat1c-megafauna, @wantsusdead, @tommyjop, @ashton-slashton, @alittletoosmarttobestraight, @pretendingday I tried to think of all the fic writers I am following or are mutuals with. Please include yourself if I have missed you!

[gone-grl-gone]

Ghost!Fitzjames X Female!Reader

Alrighty, whoever posted that confession. Consider your request DONE! Here's your drabble fic.

[Feat. Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej from Buzzfeed Unsolved]

The Boys gave the hand signal, to which you returned with a thumbs up.

"We got you on the Comms, so let you know when time's up."

"Got it, Ryan. Well, here goes nothing."

They swam away to the lower parts of the ship, while you swam to the Officer's Mess. The door was ajar as you made your way inside, hovering above the table. Some of the cutlery and plates still on the tables. The mahogany wood was still in pristine condition despite the silt - a testament to the power of The Arctic. you positioned yourself at the front of the table, where you got your EMF and Thermometer ready.

"Lights out in 3,2,1" and then you switched off your torch and went into night vision mode. The camera on your head kept rolling.

"Aight, viewers, here I am - my first ghost hunt, at sea, on a ghost ship..with the ghoul boys...... I am vibin with the ghoul boys and about to crack open some tasty cold boys.... Dead Cold Boys."

You toggled over your radio comms to spirit-box mode.

"My name is [Reader], I'm here with my friends Ryan and Shane to find out what happened on this expedition. Can you tell me what happened?"

Nothing.

Not a thing on the EMF readers, not a significant change in the surrounding water temperature.

You sigh. Am I just being an idiot for being scared over nothing?

Not being the one to just switch over to the Shaniacs, you continue your questioning.

And someone came to mind - an earlier conversation with Shane and Ryan as you sailed to the ship wreck.

========

"Look, I think it's a great idea bringing [Reader] along. This is one of the biggest investigations yet."

"We could always use another camera person and helping hand. Bonus that {Reader} has experience diving and spelunking."

You skimmed through the laminated prints of the location, historical documents, and findings. There were even scans of the portraits of the missing Sailors and Officers.

One caught your eye.

"Commander James Fitzjames." you read out.

"James Fitzjames, what kind of a name is that? How original could his bastard of a father be." snorted Shane.

"Only you'd name yourself after yourself, Shane." sniped Ryan before he turned to you. "We will be at the location soon."

You skimmed the remnants of Francis Crozier's Journals. You underlined the delightful line: "Good Lord, if I have to hear another story from Fitzjames again, it'll be over my dead body."

A smile escaped the corner of your mouth as Ryan tossed you another bottle of Cider.

"And I dare you to call Fitzjames J.J when you get the chance."

========

You decided who you wanted to talk with first.

"Alright, let's get Commander Fitzjames to start talking. I heard you like to talk based on Captain Croizer's journals. Tell me a story."

Nothing happened.

You try again.

"Commander James Fitzjames. I know you're here. Tell me what happened on your expedition. That's an order!" you barked.

Nothing but silence for the next ten minutes.

Maybe you ought to try Shane's approach.

"You better f*king rant about the Chinese Sniper Story or do something, or I'mma call you J.J, and there's f**k-all you can do to stop me."

You groan in annoyance after another few minutes passed. You somewhat did a gesture of table-flipping above the table.

To hell with PC and propriety if it's to capture some real evidence.

"Gentlemen! Aren't I a sight you thirsty buggers are looking for? Some female entertainment!?"

You're trying your luck here.

And still nothing.

Your time in the room was up.

You toggle back to the radio comms, and just as you were about to exit the Mess...

"Ryan, Shane.....I'm getting visuals."

"Negative, we don't see anything."

"Well, I'm seeing...I'm seeing what looks to be a Naval officer....I think it's Fitzjames."

"Then stay in there a bit longer! You have your spare flares and EPIRB" said Shane.

"Remember to keep recording the audio and visuals." said Ryan as he and Shane continued their investigation.

"But-"

Then radio static. The boys abandoned you.

Thanks a lot.

You switch back to the Spirit Box Mode.

"Hey...uh, I'm Sorry for the swearing earlier, but I guess I got your attention now."

The spectre started to manifest himself. He once looked handsome, but where one eye was, left a hollowed out socket. You could imagine how his hair used to be full of body and a deep brown. His pale skin ridden with scurvy patches.

It was horrifying to see, but you mustered as much courage as you could.

"You are a very handsome man. I wish I got to know you in person when you were alive. Were you afraid of dying so far away from home?"

He floated closer to you, a beady eyeball looking at you up and down in the darkness. Startled at how fast he moved toward you, you swam a bit further back. His expression changed from one of sorrow and fear to one of embarrassment.

"I apologise for my horrendous appearance and scaring you. It's been too long since I've ever seen another living human being such as yourself."

You cleared your throat; he's the first sentient spirit you've encountered.

"Horrendous? eh, No. You look terrifying. But I'm glad you're dressed for the occasion." you gesture to his officer's coat he wore with golden epaulettes and buttons to match. Real smooth.

You could have sworn he chuckled at your remark.

"You've got a lot of courage to be here on your own."

"Well, I'm not alone, but yes, to do this investigation in this room alone."

"But, why all the...theatrics?"

"Well, yes, my friend Ryan's constitution lacks such fortitude to antagonise ghosts. But Shane, my other friend, would antagonise them because he's a staunch skeptic."

Why am I suddenly using fancy-pants language?

"Why are you threatening to call me 'J.J'? And what's with all the colourful language?"

"Wait, NO FAIR!? You heard all of that and did nothing!?"

James smirked.

"It wasn't the entertainment I was expecting."

James laughed, causing your radio static to spike.

"Well, you kept on asking me to tell you a story. So, as 'punishment' as Francis calls it, I will retell... 'The Tragedy of The Franklin Expedition' - in other words, what happened to the 130 souls."

He retold the story as you listened with interest. He recounted the lead poisoning, the encounters with this spirit called the 'Tunnbaq', the mutiny. Sometimes you'd ask a few questions, to which he recounted with mixed enthusiasm.

"...so that's how I died, and maybe most of the other crew members."

"Hahaha, you got that right, Commander, absolutely f**k-all nothing can kill you."

He chuckled in agreement.

"--[Reader]!" came the interruption of Ryan's voice.

"Yes, I'm here!"

"Oh, thank God you're still alive. Are you done?"

"Let me finish up with this investigation first."

You toggled back to the Spirit Box to let James speak.

"We still have time."

"No, [Reader], I had my time. My only regret is that I did not live long enough to be able to do the things that were true to me."

"I promise..to live life to it's fullest and to my most honest. I'll do it...for you."

"[Reader], for bringing life back to this ship. It was a delight, but it'd be cruel of me to wish you stayed longer....and thank you, really, for listening to my story."

"Well, who knows? Maybe I'll see you again...in another life."

"Before you go...may I.."

He floated closer to you, closing the distance between you. If the water was cold before, now it was absolutely freezing. Your diving mask just fogged up with small ice crystals.

It was horrific to see his ravaged body, but you knew deep down that for once in a long time, someone could see him.

His icy fingers traced the hollows of your cheeks and across your lips. So badly, you just....

"You...you can hold me...if you want." you blurt out.

His eye met yours, a flicker of surprise.

"You...You would?"

Every ounce of fear that you usually had melted away as you pulled him into your own body. What once felt like you touching a skeleton felt like muscle and flesh again. His body was so cold, and you could feel your body starting to shut down from the cold. It was for James though; even just a taste of life again was all he wanted now.

"I haven't felt such a warm, living body in so long...How much I miss those days when I had life." he whispered into your radio. You rubbed his back gently with your fingertips.

"James, I...I'm so sorry that you couldn't live a full life. I want you to know that...even though you felt like you lived a life that was vanity. I can assure you that at vanity's end, that I will still hold you in high regard for your courage. You wanted to make a life for yourself - even if for the wrong reasons. That's not nothing. You and your men have inspired may more explorers and truth-seekers to come. That's a life worth celebrating and to be proud of."

He broke away with a smile. His skeletal fingers reached out to your gloved hand, and he placed a golden button from his uniform into your hands.

He smiled, revealing his decaying teeth from scurvy.

"I'll never forget your company. It'll be a long time before another one like you comes around."

You put the button into a hidden pocket inside your wetsuit, close to your breast.

"I'll always treasure this moment, and this gift for me. I'll never forget you."

"Farewell, and many happy expeditions for you yet [Reader]"

He smiled and waved you goodbye as you swam away. You could feel a tear running down your face.

Will he be okay being alone again?

You swam to the surface, the memories of his fingers tracing your face, and holding his body so vivid in your mind.

You climbed up and took off your diving gear, and to your surprise Ryan and Shane scrambled out from the cabin.

"Dude, we've been trying to contact you for the last 30 minutes. We thought you actually did join the ranks of the missing!."

"Wouldn't that be the evidence to finally prove that some weird shit happened to those men? That is the point of Unsolved, right?" you quipped.

The Boys went silent, as you laughed a little.

"Hey, [Reader], you got a scratch across your face. Looks really bad! What happened to you in there?"

You blinked in surprise, but it didn't really hurt.

"Oh...it's nothing. I mean-"

The team of the producers and staff came out, taking all your gear off you and throwing towels on you. The medics came out to check on you.

"[Reader], your body is so cold and your heart rate is so weak. It's as if you were dead for a couple of minutes." said the Medics.

They ushered you around until the end of the night, where you just collapsed on your bed into a blissful sleep.

When reviewing the audio recording...sadly, it was all static and it sounded like you were jacking off while hallucinating a conversation. It was a laugh for Ryan and Shane, much to your expense and millions of viewers on Youtube. You would be another account with no backing to the story you claimed it was.

"But I swear! He touched me, and I held him. And-"

Ryan wheezed, realising how wrong it sounded out of context.

"Arctic waters do that. Especially if you're not used to freezing cold water." Laughed Shane.

The producers immediately sent you to the doctors to get a check up upon return to the studio. Aside from the mysterious frost burn scars on your cheeks and lips, nothing seems to be wrong with you. While the studio offered to pay for cosmetic surgery, you decline - those scars are staying.

Even though many more episodes came and gone, you never forgotten yours with Fitzjames.

And to this day, you often polish the little gold button he gave you that night on the ship. And sometimes, as you drifted off to sleep, you could see his glowing face smiling down at you in your mind.

=============================

To the person who submitted that confessions! post a while ago, here's the fanfic you've been waiting for.

Plus, there is one that’s getting refined and worked on in AO3

@terrorconfessions @amalthea9

“I just want me some good Fitzjames x Reader fanfics, is it too much to ask for?”

[gone-grl-gone]

Same here, OP.

“I just want me some good Fitzjames x Reader fanfics, is it too much to ask for?”

[amalthea9]

Aaaww the Ghoul Boys AND FitzJames?! Yes please.💖 well done writer!

“I just want me some good Fitzjames x Reader fanfics, is it too much to ask for?”