#12daysofcarnivale

[franklins-leg]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

*silently screaming*

The body horror! The balladry! The two Jameses of HMS Erebus!!

(This is from one of my tumblr-lurking friends who wishes to remain anonymous but it’s too good not to share)

[terribleoldwhitemen]

ficlet: edward & francis, “an unexpected gift”

gen, rated g, 250 words

The sickbay was full to the brim with the stink of charred flesh. Every time Francis thought his nose had grown accustomed to it, he would turn and catch some new permutation, bringing it back in full force. But Goodsir did not gag, so nor did he.

Edward, however, did. He entered in a rush of cold air and briefly put a hand to his mouth as he cast about the room. Catching sight of Francis, he stepped close. Goodsir had just a moment ago hurried off to fetch something or another, and, but for the burned, they were alone. 

“Sir,” Edward said. From the breast pocket of his overcoat, he withdrew Francis’s pistol, holding it out as though it would coil back and bite him if he held it in his hand too long. “I’ve kept it safe for you. Just like you asked.”

It took Francis an eyeblink or two to recognize the thing, and another to recall how Edward had come by it in the first place. His gaze slid briefly past Edward to the insensate victims of the tent fire, packed so closely into the room so as to make discerning where one injured limb ended and another began impossible. It was hardly the place for this exchange. Nevertheless, he gave his first lieutenant a brusque nod and a half-smile. “Thank you, Edward,” he said, and took back his pistol.

Goodsir stepped back into the sickbay, arms laden. He hesitated at a distance and cleared his throat. Whatever it was he had to say, Francis knew, was likely quite literally a matter of life or death; but Edward had not yet stepped aside, lingering before Francis as if to say something else—even opening his mouth once or twice. 

Francis and Goodsir waited patiently.

“Sir,” Edward said at last.

Francis clasped him by the shoulder, stowed the pistol in his own coat, and turned away.

[lafiametta]

(for Day 8 of the 12 Days of Carnivale: “a time of miracles”)

[Jopson/Little, set in my modern office AU]

Tom couldn’t sleep.

Part of that, of course, could be explained by the man sound asleep next to him in his bed, curled onto his side with an arm flung halfway across Tom’s chest. 

Edward seemed comfortable, at least, his face freed from that furrowed, serious expression he wore so often in the waking hours. He looked softer now, more relaxed, those long boyish lashes fanning towards his cheeks. The bedroom lights were off, but his features were partially illuminated by the glow of lights from the Christmas tree spilling from the living room, even though the holiday had been over for nearly a week at this point.

Tom was a light sleeper, he always had been, and having someone else in bed with him tended to make things even trickier. But that was something he was definitely willing to deal with if it meant Edward staying over. It hadn’t been every night – they weren’t quite at that stage yet – but in the two weeks since the office holiday party, Edward had slept over at Tom’s more often than not, with the exception of the three days Tom had gone home to spend Christmas with his family. 

It had all happened so fast, after the Secret Santa thing. As the party had worn down, someone had come up with the idea of a bunch of them going for drinks at the bar around the corner, and Tom could tell that if he said yes Edward would come too. (Thankfully, Irving declined, citing a family engagement.) So they both went, and in between Hartnell buying everyone a second round of Jäger shots and Morfin’s drunken serenade to the long-suffering bartender, they found themselves outside on the sidewalk, ostensibly to get some air, even though it was freezing cold and Tom had started to lose some of the feeling in his fingers.

They had huddled near each other, theoretically for warmth, eventually inching closer than they had any real need to be. Until, of course, the moment when Edward had leaned over and kissed him. Tom’s face was nearly frozen solid, but Edward’s lips were warm (with just the slightest aftertaste of Jäger), and he smiled and pulled his hands from his coat pockets so he could curl them around the back of Edward’s neck. 

It hadn’t taken much to convince Edward to share a cab back to his place. And once they were finally alone, in the privacy of Tom’s apartment, they had been able to get up to all sorts of things in direct violation of HR’s non-fraternization policy. 

The thing was, Tom had had his eye on Edward for a while now, nodding hello to him in the morning when he came in, listening to him in meetings through Crozier’s half-open office door – and while he was pretty convinced the attraction was mutual, it was kind of hard to tell. Edward was fairly quiet and reserved, not given to the usual office small talk, which was why it had been nice to finally draw him into a conversation, even if it had only been about 70s music. And if Tom had suspected – and secretly fantasized – about what it would be like once Edward Little let go of just a bit of that stringent self-control, the reality of it was even hotter. 

He had almost become a fixture now in Tom’s apartment, and in his bed, that dark head of hair mussed into glorious disarray as it fell across the pillowcase.

So maybe losing a bit of sleep wasn’t that much of a sacrifice. 

He stared up at the ceiling, letting his thoughts wander as he tried to coax them back into drowsy quiet. Aside from the thing with Edward (and Tom was fine with letting it stay undefined for now, and simply enjoying it for what it was), there wasn’t much else on his mind, aside for his quick visit home for Christmas. It had been really good to see his mom and his brother – with the hours Crozier had him working, he didn’t always have time to visit that often – and get to celebrate the holiday, just the three of them. 

His brother had been in a good mood – he had just turned in the last of his college applications and now he was on a two week break from school – and his mom was in even better spirits, clearly proud of her youngest about to head off to school and thrilled to have both her sons with her for Christmas. At her insistence, they baked cookies and watched old movies, and on Christmas morning they opened presents in their pajamas, although Tom had stipulated that he needed at least a full cup of coffee before they started unwrapping anything. 

It was pretty amazing to see her like that, so excited and happy, and to know how far she had come in just two years. 

There were moments he had believed that she wouldn’t make it this far. 

Everything had started with the accident, of course. The other driver had been distracted (probably busy checking their phone or some other bullshit) and ran the red, immediately plowing right into them. His brother had been next to her, in the passenger seat, but all the airbags deployed and they both walked away from the crash, seemingly fine. But after a few weeks, her back started bothering her and there were doctor’s visits for pills, and then more and more pills: Vicodin and Percocet, eventually OxyContin. Tom hadn’t really been aware of how much she had been taking – she had been good about hiding it, and he had been so busy with work that he hadn’t been able to visit that much – and it was only later he found out how bad it had gotten, how she had moved on to occasional hits of fentanyl, somehow maintaining her habit while holding down two jobs and raising a teenage son. 

The absolute worst of it came – as it had to, eventually – one weekend in December, when had come home as a surprise and found her laying on the couch, unresponsive. His brother had been out with friends and there was no one else in the house, no one to wait with Tom as he counted the minutes for the paramedics to arrive, no one to sit with him on the vinyl upholstered bench seat in the back of the ambulance, no one to hold his hand as he begged and pleaded with whoever might possibly be listening to not let her die. 

Maybe someone was listening, maybe not. He wanted to think someone was. 

There was denial at first – as if the reality of what he had seen could possibly be denied – and then anger and tears and finally acceptance. She agreed to rehab, letting Tom’s aunt and uncle take temporary custody of his brother until she was ready, and it had taken almost a year, two treatment facilities, a halfway house, and a NA sponsor Tom wanted to nominate for sainthood to finally get her to where she was now. 

But there was always that question, that dread, lurking in the back of his mind – as he assumed it lurked in hers – was that really the end of it? Would the need ever get so strong again that she wouldn’t be able to resist? 

There wasn’t anyone he could tell, really, no one he could share these private fears with, certainly not with her and certainly not with his brother, who had already had to deal with far too much. And so Tom tried not to think about it too much, putting on his most cheerful face for when he saw them, doing his best to take each day as it came. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

Tom turned his head in the direction of the low voice and saw that Edward was awake, his dark eyes glinting in the low light of the room. 

“Just stuff on my mind, I guess,” Tom replied, as he stretched his legs out under the covers. 

The answer was vague and noncommittal, he knew, but it wasn’t as if he was expecting Edward to do much else beyond nod and go back to sleep.  

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tom’s first instinct was to say no – perhaps not quite that directly, but to smile and find some way to gently decline the offer. Nobody needed to listen to him talk about things like that, especially not someone like Edward, who hadn’t signed up for hearing about all of Tom’s family issues when he decided to stay over. But there was something in Edward’s eyes, in the open, unguarded expression on his face that made Tom pause, because he realized, right at that moment, how much he really did want to talk about it.

And so he did. 

He told Edward everything: about his mother and his brother and his life growing up, about the accident and the pills and the couch and the disinfectant smell of her hospital room where he had waited for her to wake up. He told him about visit back home, and how proud he was of her, even as he was afraid, and guilty too, for allowing himself to doubt her when he considered the possibility of her relapsing.  

“It’s just hard sometimes, you know,” he said, “being alone with all of it.”

Edward was quiet – he hadn’t said much as Tom was talking, but had laid there next to him, listening patiently – and then reached up, letting his fingers graze along the line of Tom’s jaw. 

“You don’t have to be alone with it.” Edward swallowed roughly, pressing his lips together. “Not if you don’t want to be. Not anymore.”

Everything went still for a moment, even Tom’s heart, which he could feel in the deepest, most tender recess of his chest, although what it was trying to tell him, he wasn’t even sure. He watched as the Christmas tree lights from the living room glowed soft pink, blue, yellow, green across Edward’s bare skin, and then Tom turned and gently rolled over him, their lips meeting in a tiny miracle of light and breath and heat.

[gateofthesettingsun]

It was bad enough Francis had to join this party, now he had to listen to Fitzjames’ endless tales too?

Though maybe Francis will find a way to shut that winking bastard up.

12 Days of Carnival: New Beginnings! (part 8 - and finally you won’t hear more from me!)

Happy New Year everyone! Thanks for such a wonderful time at the Carnival and thanks to @lafiametta and @arcticelves for putting together such a joyful event <3

[gateofthesettingsun]

When people at the party asked Fitzjames where his friend might have run off to, he really couldn’t say. How many times had he covered up for his friend now? Hopefully this time it would lead to something serious.

12 Days of Carnival: New Beginnings (part 7)

[gateofthesettingsun]

Edward was truly happy that Thomas was willing to help him study on New Year’s day. Now he just had to gather up some courage when they were alone.

12 Days of Carnival: New Beginnings (part 6)

[aes-iii]

(i’ve been working on some john irving / edward little / thomas jopson, from john’s pov, and this is how it sounds: hardly a mix, just a bit of tone. to be added to? perhaps. constable, hampstead heath looking to harrow [sunset], and a nod to @indifferent-century for tying an irving-and-constable knot in my head, probably quite accidentally.)

on playmoss. play in reverse order for less suffering.

[gateofthesettingsun]

The others hadn’t heard from Collins for so long, but everyone truly hoped he had found someone who found love in helping him so he could get a fresh start at life again.

12 Days of Carnival: New Beginnings (part 5)