#the terror fanfiction

[littlelouprophetjohn]

Queering the Arctic: the Newly Found Franklin Expedition’s Letters

The papers are unidentifiable–there is no personal name attributed to any of the pages, and, although there are references to a ‘James’, the commonality of the name (especially within the context of the expedition) makes it so that it is uncertain whom the papers both belong and refer to....

a fake academic essay about a short collection of journal entries unearthed from nunavut.

read it here

new fic out! not too sure how to explain but it’s an academic essay about fitzier (the tv show ones, i mean) in an au of our world but where they found a collection of someone’s love letters/journal entries. and that someone is of course our dear frmc writing about jfj. pls enjoy

[itosevenito]

Tell me you're a terror fic writer without telling me your a terror fic writer:

[corleonewrites]

Wandering winds

AU: The Terror (2018)

James Fitzjames x Original Female Character fanfic

Summary: Alexandra Walton’s life was always surrounded with sea: either it was her walks near the seashore with its cold waters, or deep sea of her senses. Her father taught her to throw herself headlong into it, without fear of being drowned and she used to it since her childhood. She dived into love with the same courageous way. And even when everything and everyone was talking about the hopeless state of things she continued to believe in the opposite: that her loved one will return to her safely.

Chapter 1. He comes with western wind, with evening’s wandering airs

______________________________________________________________

I would never forget the night when our eyes met and everything suddenly went quiet. Your hazel-green eyes captivated me and I never wanted to remove my gaze from them.

It was one of those greeting evenings in the Admiralty, which usually transformed into balls, welcoming our heroes back either from expeditions or battlefields. In 1844 there was a welcoming evening for you and my brother Alexander: both of you came home from the First Opium War.

Your charisma attracted me, your recklessness and the stories you told about your actions, your battles – everything fascinated me, making my heart skip a bit.

We danced the night away, never changing partners in our dances, and it was basically a declaration of marriage.

I remembered the anticipation of waiting for new meetings with you. Those long walks near the seashore, those parties, those theatre plays we attended, those poems by Brontё sisters I used to tell you which I knew by heart.

______________________________________________________________

The proposal came shortly afterwards. It was the end of September, my favourite time of the year, when the nature was surrounded by golden-like leaves, which were falling from the trees. The wedding bells were loud and cheerful, they celebrated our joy with us and with our closest friends and family members. I would never forget our first night together as husband and wife, when you whispered “I love you, Missis Alexandra Fitzjames” and I never knew that I could love someone I’ve never knew before in such strong way.

You became my guidance, my closest friend, my support, the one to whom I could finally open my heart, not afraid of being misunderstood. It felt like our souls could understand each other, they weren't wandering around anymore.

Of course, I knew who I was marrying, as men of my family were in Admiralty. I knew what long separation was, what unbearable worries and losses were, what it felt like to wait impatiently for loved ones to return home safely, it surrounded me from my childhood. That was all I've ever known. You entered my life like cold wandering air of endless sea, but for me it was like warm sea breeze.

______________________________________________________________

When on February 1845 your invitation to participate in the Arctic expedition came, I was happy for you and I was ready to let you go for an indefinite period of time, just how I was letting go my father and brother when they were going to their expeditions or battles, waiting for them. Wherever they were going I knew that they would come home safely.

This time, when the expedition was only a few days away I felt the same way, despite the fact that at the same time I felt uneasy as if something could go wrong. I told you that, but you reassured me that everything would be alright and I believed you. My senses were feeling the same way.

We said our goodbyes on the morning 19 May 1845, when huge beautiful ship Erebus sailed from Greenhithe in Kent, followed by its sister ship Terror. I didn’t want you to see me crying, and I did not shed a tear, I smiled for you and gave you the handkerchief with my initials on it. You never knew that I cried quietly, when I reached home.

______________________________________________________________

Your last letter came from Disco Bay the same year. Your voice sounded in my head as I ran my fingers over each letter and the curls of the letters, rereading it over and over again. Time passed by slowly and as stretched as never before.

When the silence and uncertainty were growing more and more with every new month the feeling that something terrible happened with the expedition was crushing me inside.

Questions about the rescuing expedition sounded louder with every year. With every new month of each year chances for your return were lower. Finally, not only my father and brother, who supported me since the silence fell after your last letter, but the rest of members of The Arctic Council agreed to arrange the search of now lost expedition to return home. It was the beginning of 1848.

______________________________________________________________

Every day I came to seashore of the northernmost post after which the endless ocean began. Cold waves and air surrounded me and my wandering thoughts. My gaze was chained to the icy ocean: it seemed that at any moment a rescue ship would appear out of the thick fog and rain.

My inner sense was as calm as ever again: I knew that you would come back home. I refused to believe in any other outcome and continued to stare at the ocean, feeling like I was dissolving with it in its icy waves.

______________________________________________________________

Wandering winds masterlist

[p0rchc0ll4ps3]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Francis Crozier & James Fitzjames Characters: Francis Crozier, James Fitzjames (1813-c.1848) Additional Tags: Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, just another one of my post-canon thoughts fics, nothing special here just thoughts really, super intrigued by A. what happens after they return and B. the crozier fitzjames friendship, and kinda a set up / intro for something larger, oh and the ocean yearning. the married to the sea and the boat thing. love that Summary:

After their rescue, when the ice finally lets go, Francis returns to London, to a home that doesn't feel like home anymore.

///

Just a small fic I wanted to put up on Ao3! Pleased by this. Hoping to write more in the future.

[leadandblood]

*vibrating* hello :) would you like... some more jopzier :) I swear i'm a normal guy :)

[notkingyet2]

hey do you remember my Jopson/Tozer manifesto?

yeah, some kind soul made a fic of it.

[gaunt-and-hungry]

Whist and Whiskey

Wilbur/Ere plays a round of cards with Blanky and Crozier. Some awkward love confessions though refusing to say it outright. Lots of dialogue. Crozier is told how much his crew loves him. Teaser. Unfinished currently. Content Warnings: Alcohol (casual) Word Count: 2,081 (super short)

“Yer bad at this, lad,” And Blanky laughed, busting into a hearty snickering that bordered on drunken amusement. Wilbur leaned back, heavy in the seat. The Wardroom’s patented Illuminator dangled loosely overhead, a sickly orange and yellow glow blossomed around them leaving the Wardroom Cabin’s corners steeped in an auburn shadow. Francis Crozier was, indeed, quite several cards ahead in the game. Each round being played was mercilessly a jagged cut into Wilbur’ ineptitude as he fumbled with the rules and tactics of winning this game. It seemed he was fated to be stuck between the Terror’s Captain and her Icemaster. 

“So it seems,” he confessed, sipping from his own glass, brow furrowed at his paltry hand. He was not grasping this as well as he thought he would. Nonetheless his heart was light with amusement at his expense. The flustered fluttering of his body was alight with embarrassment as Crozier watched him squirm in his seat. “Alas, you’ve cornered me right good, Captain.” He flashed a grin that was met in equal measure around the table. “I might have to ask Jopson to play in my stead,” he sighed wistfully at this, shifting again under the keen watch as he adjusted the cards in his hand.

“Are y’going to play a hand or are you going to fold out on us, lad?” Crozier teased. Impulsively, Wilbur played his hand with quick and confident movements which startled both the Icemaster and the Captain.

“Oohohoho?” Blanky chortled drunkenly, his body canting to one side as he half slid out of his seat. “Looks like the lad is trying his hand against ye. That’s a personal insult, Francis,” he drew a card for himself then and then played it out immediately, shifting his hand a little between his fingers.

Francis said nothing to this, simply furrowed his brow and hummed as he was squeezed into a delicate position in their game of cards. “You’ve never played whist is what y’said,” his slur was coming in and out as he teetered on sobriety and tipsy-drunk. He had almost forgotten his drink entirely in his focus; the game slowly turned into a dealing of cards where Wilbur was frantic to keep up. “Oh no, I won’t be letting ye get away so easily,” Crozier challenged. “Ye asked for this, lad. Don’t challenge an Irishman against his own hand of cards.” He was grinning with a mischievous and toothy thing that sent a chilling and knowing light into his eye. 

Wilbur felt he had, perhaps, bitten off more than he could chew for some time as he was catching up to Blanky in his hand enough to feel that he may be worth something in this game of cards. “You’ve done it now, lad,” Blanky played his dealt cards between Crozier and Wilbur, an amused look growing on his face as he watched the two of them hash it out between one another. He threw them both for a loop here and there, shifting the tides of either Crozier’s hand or Wilbur’ hand. Eventually he was putting the both of them behind until he was left with the winning hand and he played the highest card in the line. Both Wilbur and Crozier were stunned as Blanky proudly looked at the line and laid down his hands. “Well that’s game, men,” Blanky seemed pleased. “One more round and we’ll see who wins. One for me. One for Wilbur and Francis is also at one. This next round determines the sorry sod that’s groomin’ the dog.”

The joyous pleasantries about the table returned to another ease of shoulders as they shuffled and redistributed amongst themselves. Blanky began. Crozier followed. Wilbur towed. A few hands in and Crozier was behind. Not something unusual per-se but nonetheless Wilbur plucked that cord, “I thought y’said you were good at this game, Captain?” He tested the man. Poking gently as he watched Francis take a very careful sip of his whiskey and pressed his lips together. The glass was half full. The evening was drawing to a close.

“Good with cards, aye,” his brogue drawled a little heavily, “bad with women. Good with cards.” He seemed to recoil in on himself at this, a reflexive thing that had his closest friend glancing at him with a concerned furrow as the air shifted in a way that felt like a downwards drop of self deprecation. 

Wilbur looked at Francis. Without thinking, he spoke. “I doubt that. How could you be bad with women?”

There was a terse silence that dipped for that moment and Wilbur realised he had tread where he ought not have. But Francis had opened that door and now it could not shut with the younger Captain’s proverbial foot there. It was too late now and Crozier’s hands laid out his two of clubs with a sharp sound against the wood of the table. “It’s of no matter,” he began before he took a drink, “I have had not much good luck or favour in my recent endeavours,” he smiled painfully. It was a pressed thing full of pain and pity and apology for having even spoken. “I am, as Sir John put it quite cleanly, “Difficult to Love,” so it seems.” 

“Nonsense. There’s plenty of men here that love you,” Wilbur shushed him. He was partially drunk himself. “Goodness I don’t doubt Mr. Blanky here has quaked one or two out to ye himself for Christ’s sakes, Captain. Goodness knows that darling Jopson probably is smothering your shirts into his face late at night with how the man looks at you,” he was startling both Blanky and Crozier. Both were beginning to glow a soft ember red from the collar up. Within all lapse of inhibitions, he was quite dead serious as he spoke, smiling, even through his honesty. “I’ve hardly known you for more than a few months here, Captain and I myself-” the fibres of his being seized violently as he caught his tipsy tongue just in time. He froze, pausing heavy in his fluid gesture across the table as he went to play his own card. Wilbur’s flesh flushed brilliantly as he then cleared his throat and sat back nice and slowly. Crozier was fixated heavily on him. “Have…” he was stalling, “seen the way some men look at you. Rich with adoration, Captain,” he took his drink to swallow the awkward slip of his tongue into something more pragmatic. 

“Is that so…” 

Wilbur coughed out a bitter shift in subject, “Irregardless,” he shifted in his seat the wood creaking gently, “You’ve a good eye I hear. Perhaps you can find love in other avenues, aye? Not all pretty palaces are places we should be, Captain…” He half whispered and watched Blanky play his own hand. The rotation resumed with a terse silence. Wilbur was distinctly aware of the intensity with which Francis Crozier kept flickering his gaze to the younger captain, watching him and weighing him. Distance of sound in the room was filled with the shuffling of cards and the patterned tap of wood they made. 

It was their final round and for the mercy of it all, Wilbur shuttering himself against the curious glances. It was Blanky that broke the silence as it was clear the man was going to win between Crozier and Wilbur. “In my defence, Francis,” he played an eight and the addressed man groaned lowly at, a pitiful stare at his own hand. “It’s only been a handful o’ times. You know…”

“Does your wife know, Thomas?” Francis’ face lit up in a cheeky grin, his cheeks suddenly pink and warm in that light of playful talk, “that she’s competin’ with a cantankerous sailor?”

Crozier dealt out a rather paltry card by comparison and glanced politely into Wilbur’s direction to cue him for his turn. “You’ve met her, Francis,” Blanky’s reply was heartfelt and warm, a fond memory pressing into his tone, “She makes you look like a brick with the mouth on her.” Crozier’s grin did not falter as he watched Wilbur mindfully, his hands tucking his cards down a little as he watched the younger man mull his hand. In a sharp moment he glanced to Crozier, meeting the other’s gaze before he shamefully looked down and back to his hand, quickly playing his card of choice. The warmth crawled up his neck a little. His mind worried that he had spoken too much and left himself far too open. His mind struggled to rationalise it under the weight of the alcohol. Crozier’s only glass remained rather topped whilst Wilbur had somehow managed to pour almost all but the bottom down his throat. His hand was a losing one. He knew that. He had all but resigned.

“That, I believe, would be the end of this game, lads,” Blanky grinned widely from his comfortable lean. He threw down his final card running the row to its highest line. Leaning back he planted his hands over his belly quite proudly as the other two examined the board for a moment. 

“Christ, Thomas,” Francis’ tone was exasperated. “Were y’holding these out on me?” There was a richness to the two that had Wilbur grinning at their little exchanges, pleased and warmed by their bond as he imagined the years that the two have spent together. 

“Course not, Francis. I just know when you’re too bloody hellbent in whatever strange fixation you had with Ere. I bid my good time,” he seemed proud of himself, his broad toothy grin and laugher shaking his whole body. The two losers stared at Blanky and allowed him his victory for a moment until the Icemaster stood, pleased and threw down his remaining hand. “And that, my lovelies, is all I have for ye. Don’t be staying up too late now,” he pushed his chair in and saw himself out after downing the last of his drink.

“So,” Wilbur had begun to clean up the card game, tucking each thing nice and neatly away. Each card was slowly and meticulously plucked from the table. Truthfully he felt a tad topsy with the warmth in his body seeping through his bones. He could feel the buzz and the drink weighing in his mind. His tongue wetted his lips as Francis spoke, “Did y’mean what you said?” the question sat heavily in the air as Wilbur paused. 

He gauged Francis carefully. “Bout there being a broader avenue of romantic pursuits? Aye,” he slurred a little. “I meant it. I’m no fool. I have…” He straightened his back, praying his tongue was not too loose in this moment, “I have a sense for these things, you could say. I can… feel it out, if you catch my meaning, Captain.”

“Like an instinct.” It was a statement and not a question but Wilbur nodded regardless, “You have instincts about who’d be privy to unseemly matches and be interested in less than regarded partners?”

“Aye. It comes with the territory. All sorts with pirating folks,” He played it as smoothly as he could, mindful of his actions as he returned the cards to their wooden case. “Why d’ask, if I may?”

“Curious. And yourself?” Crozier gave him the space then and there and Wilbur flushed brilliantly.

“I-... I b-beg your pardon, sir?” He stammered out, eyes searching for something that might be a jest.

“I mean… Oh… Christ, what sort of figures do you see bout the ships… Save for of course both o’my Thomases.” He rubbed his face, fatigue clearly etching itself into the lines on his face.

“Of course!” Wilbur laughed, a terrified thing with wide eyes threatening to go watery in the relief that flooded him. “Ah… M’mind’s not as clear as it could be. I’d have to give that a bit more scrutiny. I spoke my peace for what my memory serves right now. All I’m sayin’ is that there’s people here that do love you. The love is there. I promise. Y’just…” Wilbur offered a vague amount of gestures, “If yer the sort of man to, that is, I suppose. Just… Let it in. Recognise you’re loved. I promise you are. Yer not hard to love, Captain, Sir, you’re not. You’re terrifyingly easy to love, actually, if I may say so.”

“Is that a confession I hear on your lips?” He accentuated that statement with his hands folding over his chest a little as he watched the other closely. Wilbur almost fell over.

[sky-drawing]

Best Joplittle fic I ever read ! I love it so much thank you for writing this masterpiece 🥹

Edward retires from the Navy for a simpler life, but things are far from simple when he meets an odd man in the woods.

13k words • Rated Explicit • [Read on Ao3] 

For @pooraurora​ ❤️

[charliemack]

Purple

Somerset House Ch2

Thomas, devious seducer, has the members of Somerset House over for drinks. He has every intention of placing the idea of leaving their talent agency into their heads - if he can get them to stop whining and complaining long enough to get a word in edgewise. His plans are ruined by the appearance of an ambulance, bringing John's boyfriend Malcolm and also Ned, who has once again been taken out by one of the Teras' pranks.

Read it now on AO3!

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny was livid.

The Guys In White had been following Phantom around constantly and while they weren't much of a threat, they were a massive nuisance. They had shot him down on Thursday and caused him to crash into some poor kids birthday cake in the park.

On Friday they had accidentally released ghost rats into the school.

On Saturday they had somehow managed to turn Paulinas hair ectoplasm green. She refused to leave her bedroom until it was reversed

On Sunday they tried to commandeer his parents GAV and earned the ire of his mom. They found out exactly why that was a bad idea.

On Monday they bardged into Danny's classroom, interrupting his math test because they were looking for a ghost parrot. It was mostly harmless but kept insulting them in a cheery tone. Danny decided he liked that bird.

We won't speak about what happened on Tuesday.

On Wednesday, he scowled at an agent that had accidentally blasted him and his friends with liquid ectoplasm while they were sitting and eating lunch. It was then that Danny began plotting his revenge.

That night he when ghost and lead the GIW on a while goose chase. Did danny take them across state lines? Yes. Did he manage to pull a massive following of these creeps? Also yes.

Did he plan for his target-the guy he had been leading them to- to already be in cuffs when he arrived in Gotham? No. Not at all.

"Hey, uh..." the words died on his tongue as Batman- The Batman- turned to him with narrowed eyes. Mustering his will, he started again, "Could you let him out? Just for a little bit?"

"No."

"Aw, Cmon!"

Condiment King began raving about something, but Danny didn't particularly care to pay attention. "If you're not going to let him out, then can you at least call the rest of the paw patrol? I wanna ask if they wanna throw mud at evil secret organization people. For enrichment." Danny gave his best, most cheeky smile for extra measure.

"Hn."

[justaz]

lol arthur realizes with the other knights after watching merlin flirt and being hit with a wave of deja vu: holy shit you asked me out

merlin and the rest of the knights around a campfire after leaving a village bc lancelot and leon somehow started a brawl in the tavern: ???

arthur points at merlin: after valiant! you asked me to buy you a drink! you were asking me out!

merlin is busy cooking dinner and confused out of his fucking mind: what???…..valiant….oh the knight with the snakes.

gwaine who was slightly tipsy now stone cold sober and sitting up straight against a tree: wait. explain. what do you mean merlin asked you out??

arthur snaps his fingers as he recalls the memory: i apologized for sacking you and you said that if i bought you a drink we’d be even.

merlin now remembering how he had stumbled into camelot, picked a fight with a pigheaded bully which quickly turned homoerotic and flirtatious, and continued their teasing-flirting for days before merlin shot his shot and asked the prince out only to be rejected: oh yeah, i forgot i did that…..wait, you mean you didnt realize what i was asking?

arthur: no?? we argued everyday, how was i supposed to realize you were asking me out??

merlin now abandoning the dinner and staring across the camp at arthur while the rest of the knights watch their back and forth like a game of tennis: to you we were arguing, to me that was very much flirting. i thought you were flirting back so i decided to ask you. then you rejected me

arthur, mentally beating his past self up for fucking up their chance: i didn’t reject you!!! i just didn’t realize what you were asking me. how was i meant to? we fought every chance we got

leon, nudging elyan, glee and excitement riling through him: its happening!!! its finally happening!!! seven long, grueling years is finally paying off!!!

merlin, realizing the misunderstanding and acknowledging the fact that he wasn’t rejected, his flirtations just weren’t noticed - realizing he still has a chance: oh…oh i see. arthur, my dear, our fights were extremely flirtatious. need i remind you of what you said? “do you know how to walk on your knees? would you like me to teach you?” or “i could take you apart with one blow”

arthur, mental capabilities at an all time low: m…my dear….?????????

merlin grinning devilishly as he realizes that his flirtatious persona he had hidden away after falling head over heels for arthur can make a come back: that is what i called you. should i call you something else? say…mine?

percival gags in elyan’s ear: cheesy

elyan hides a laugh: at least they’re finally getting somewhere. better than the hopeless pining

arthur, flushed from head to toe: ah uh no um im uh

merlin thoroughly enjoying himself: oh come now, your majesty. use your words.

[itosevenito]

No matter how many times I explain to people that the terror is set in the Arctic in the mid 1800s they will always tell me to send the men to therapy.

I AM PHYSICALLY UNABLE TO!!

[corleonewrites]

Wandering winds

AU: The Terror (2018)

James Fitzjames x Original Female Character fanfic

Summary: Alexandra Walton’s life was always surrounded with sea: either it was her walks near the seashore with its cold waters, or deep sea of her senses. Her father taught her to throw herself headlong into it, without fear of being drowned and she used to it since her childhood. She dived into love with the same courageous way. And even when everything and everyone was talking about the hopeless state of things she continued to believe in the opposite: that her loved one will return to her safely.

Chapter 4. The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless

______________________________________________________________

The morning after the ball comparing to the previous night felt like it was deaf. I woke up late afternoon and had my breakfast for lunch. Father and Alexander left for their Arctic council's meeting at the Admiralty and I was completely alone in a big house.

Memories from the ball were still fresh and full of colours, as if dances continued without a pause. How James asked me to dance with him, how he held me with the confidence of true commander, how we moved smoothly, how I lost the track of time, how we glanced at each other when he was talking with my father...It overwhelmed me, and my heart began to beat faster.

Of course, I would love to see Commander Fitzjames again, to know him better, to learn about his life and to be a part of it. My senses were, actually, yearning for it, the nervous anticipation filled my mind, the imagination of potential future encounters increased heavily.

I needed to have some fresh air and to calm myself down and decided to have a walk along the winter riverbank.

______________________________________________________________

The air was frosty but it wasn’t freezing: perfect for winter walks in the city. I always loved to have walks along the riverbank, or ride my horse when my family was staying in the country house, where we had the stable when I wanted to clear my mind.

Few passers-by were walking along the riverbank: some of them were talking to each other, some of them were walking with their dogs or walking alone. Three naval officers greeted me when they passed me by. I smiled a little to myself, wondering about what could all those people think, what bothered them. Sometimes I wished I could read mind of others.

For me, falling in love from the first sight was always something from fairy tale, I didn't believe it, and sudden burst of emotions towards Commander Fitzjames could be explained as my interest of meeting someone new among officers of the Admiralty. Yet I had to admit that this man who I've never seen before suddenly fill the space in my thoughts.

But I was afraid of those desires: few years ago, when I was twenty, a young naval officer became interested in me. He was best-known for his nickname "Mister Charming" as every young lady in our society was falling to his charms, manners and blue eyes. Ladies wanted him, but he chose me as his target. And, indeed, I've fallen for his charms. There were balls, there were walks in the parc, there were visits to theatre. There was even small discussion about our potential marriage. At that time, I thought that my dreams were becoming true. At that time, I believed that I've fallen in love for the first time.

My father and Alexander were suspicious about Mister Charming, and I tried to convince them to change their attitude towards him. I truly believed that he would propose to me, as he told me all those sweet things and stories about us getting married and living a happy life full of understanding and commitment. And how blind I was to believe him. All I could think about was Mister Charming.

Then, suddenly, the connection interrupted. He lied about being sick all the time when I wrote him to meet me, when I saw him once at the ball – he pretended that he didn't see me at first and then awkwardly smiled and said that suddenly he felt himself a better. Later, he wrote me a letter, explaining that our meetings were becoming more personal too soon and that he was not ready to marry me. That he won't marry me at all even if he was ready.

My heart was broken, it seemed that my values and I myself were morally dishonored, I felt ashamed and torn apart.

When he found out about the letter, Alexander was furious. I've never seen him that angry before: he even wanted to challenge Mister Charming to a duel, but I persuaded my brother not to do it. Subsequently, it turned out that punitive measures had overtaken Mister Charming after all: he was killed during the First Opium War.

After such betrayal my heart shut down for all other attempts to try and find love and I stopped to trust men, except for my family. I was never seen with any other officer, only with Alexander. No one could ever take advantage of me and my beliefs in commitment and love ever again.

______________________________________________________________

I stayed outside until I felt myself completely freezing: I couldn’t feel fingers of my toes. For a brief second, I imagined how cold were my father and Alexander when they were at their Arctic expeditions. The cold over there was unimaginable for me.

Those endless days of cold and snow. The courage that those men who went there to make discoveries was impossible to convey in words. It was unexplainable. Someone needed to experience it by themselves just to understand it. I wanted to feel this cold, I wanted it to fill me inside, my lungs, my head and my heart.

Since the end of 1843 there were talks in the Admiralty to organize new Arctic expedition, in 1845. As Alexander told me: this expedition was assigned to traverse the last unnavigated sections of the Northwest Passage in the Canadian Arctic. He couldn’t tell me much about it, due to regulations, but the Admiralty considered his candidacy as the Commander of the ship Terror. He never told me who was going to be the Captain of Terror and of its sister ship Erebus, because, again, of regulations, and he sticked to them as the most loyal commander of the Royal Navy.

But my brother was waiting for final decisions since such early talks about the expedition. His outside attitude was calm, but I knew that inside he was nervous and had the greatest anxiety. Alexander loved such expeditions and was lucky to be a part of some of them when he was younger.

Every time my brother went on such expeditions, I worried more and more. But despite the impossible cold and hard work, Alexander was proud to be a part of such trips, it was filled with joy of discoveries of new lands and passages and the pride of our fleet.

______________________________________________________________

When I returned home just for the tea time and entered the living room, my brother, who was laying on the sofa and reading his book, rose his right hand and showed me a letter, smiling slightly:

“We’ve been invited to the theatrical play, Alex”, he glanced at me, when I took the invitation, “Actually, almost every high officer in the Admiralty was invited there…”

He turned his gaze back to the pages of the book, and added:

“And Commander Fitzjames will probably be there”

I stopped reading the invitation and looked at Alexander:

“How can you be so sure about it? How can you be so sure about him, really?”

“Oh, he’s definitely the opposite from late Mister Charming, if you referring to him, you can be sure about it”, he continued to read his book, when I sat near him, looking angrily.

“Alexander, just tell me, how can you be so sure that he’s indeed deeply interested in me and not just teasing me?”

Suddenly, Alexander placed the book on the table near the sofa and turned to me, looking at me with his grey-green eyes confidently.

“Because I know him, Alex. He may seem so cheerful and adventurous, but only with the closest friends it becomes clear that this is his protective façade. And besides, when you were talking to Sophia, James couldn’t stop talking about you, he was asking me questions about you, he, actually, asked me to introduce him to you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you”, he sighed and finished, “I don't remember James getting so involved with anyone else before.”

Alexander knew how to find words for every situation, how to comfort, how to make someone laugh. He was always there when I needed his support, even when he was in the sea: his letters always were sweet. Alexander was the greatest brother that it was even impossible to dream of.

Still my heart was afraid to believe to Alexander’s words completely. As if it was trying to but something was still unsure.

“I believe you will find it out very soon, Alex. I see sleazy people, you know this, and James is not one of them”, it felt like my brother have read my thoughts once again.

I looked at him and whispered:

“I want to believe you. I just don’t want to be hurt again”

The clocks were ticking exact five o’clock in the afternoon. It was time for the tea.

______________________________________________________________

Wandering winds masterlist

[ms-wwe]

Can we all just agree on one thing here...

Rhea and Damian should be the birth of mixed tag team titles. There, I said it.

[leadandblood]

I am incredibly sorry for the finger licking to those who don't like it, but I know some of you will, in fact, enjoy it, so...

I really don't know what happened here, don't ask me about it. I barely convinced myself to publish it.