#ann ross

[asparklethatisblue]

Finding out things about your boyfriend’s Ex and his weird blind spots

[annerossweek]

Ann(e) Ross Appreciation Week is back for 2026! It will run from January 16th to 22nd.

The only rule is that your work must center Ann(e) Ross. Also, remember to tag your posts #AnneRossWeek2026 and tag us at @annerossweek and add your fics and/or art to the Ao3 collection.

Suggested, but not required prompts:

16th - Ann(e) Coulman Ross herself

17th - Ann(e) and her parents, Thomas and Mary Coulman

18th - Ann(e) and James Clark Ross

19th - Ann(e) and Francis Crozier

20th - Ann(e) and her children: James Coulman, Anne, Thomas, Andrew

21st - Ann(e) and the Navy

22nd - Ann(e) and... (insert favourite cold boy here).

[brainyraccoons]

finally able to draw again… time for milf Ann Ross and her heart eyes husband JCR 😍

[laissezferre]

Happy @sailoutsummerfest to all! It's nice to get back to writing Terror fic again. Please enjoy this lil piece about Frank and Ann having fun on Terror.

Read on AO3

[i-am-countess-olivia]

May I interest you all in a short, implausible Rossier thruple ficlet?

In which James and Ann Ross devise a most unusual means of diverting Francis’ thoughts away from his failed proposal. [G-rated]

--------

“Oh Frank, your face,” Ann laughs and takes his hand. “Is it really so surprising that he told me?”

The folio of Antarctic flora streaks muddy and brown while Francis' vision blurs. He finds he cannot breathe, as if thrust out too quickly into frozen air.

“Ann,” he manages. “When?”

Ann closes the book and pats his arm. “First you must sit. You look as if you might faint.”

Impossibly small in his own paw yet steadying and firm, her hand tugs him towards the chaise. Francis sinks down, dazed like a man on the eve of his execution.

"When did he tell—" He swallows the rest, cannot meet Ann's eye.

Ann folds her hands in her lap, two snow white islands floating on a periwinkle satin sea. “A few weeks before we wed."

“You mean to say— oh, Christ. Oh God." The sharp swell of shame pitches Francis forward, over his knees. "I stood there. His best man. And you knew?"

The innocent triumph and warm breezes of that October day. The gleam of James' sword hilt, blue asters and blush pink roses, the billow of silk lace. Spoiled, dirtied, smeared with what Francis couldn't help but take—

He shoots up, spins and bows sharply from the waist, a wretched, stumbling, ridiculous display. "Lady Ross, I cannot beg forgiveness but I plead with you to allow me to stop offending you at once with my presence."

"Oh hush with all that nonsense, Frank. You will stay."

She speaks it with the same brand of quiet, insouciant command that beguiled Francis' heart to the ends of the earth. Her piercing eyes two dark marbles, mined from the same lode as his.

Just as you and I are two halves, Frank, so she and I are one being. Do you understand?

Francis sits.

"I am not offended," Ann advances in measured tones, "nor am I here to open a tribunal against you, nor is James. I find myself entirely contented with and clear on what has passed between you. Men, I know, are not the same in solitude as my own sex. And besides, I believe souls as bound up as our three should be entirely open to each other."

Francis stares disbelieving, as if her calm were a gleaming mirage. No, there must be suffering here to be unearthed. He will claw it out with his bare hands and make all good again.

"Ann, you may not grasp— there were times it happened, in the south, after— you were already betrothed—"

"I know. James detailed every episode you shared, beginning with your time under Parry. Not that many, as I understand."

Francis whispers up to God and runs a shaking hand over this mouth, through the cold damp gathered above his lip. Episodes. Twenty three to be exact, over the years. He keeps them like a small silk sachet filled with diamonds, pinned to rattle forever against his breast.

"But not since you wed," he says pathetically. "Never, in fact, on England's soil—"

Ann doesn't seem to hear him. Her hands smooth idly down her skirts, two fingers flicking at some speck. 'The shock I felt when he told me was quite brief and shallow in nature," she continues. "Upon closer examination, I discovered that this matter stirred in my heart three separate emotions. May I tell you what they were, Frank?"

Helplessly, Francis nods.

"Firstly, I was glad and gratified that James wished me to know him so completely. That he trusted me with a knowledge few could be entrusted with. Then I also felt— not pity, that is too sad a word. Rather a heartfelt sympathy towards you, Frank. I hope you didn't suffer too much, thinking you were giving him away."

He did. He does. Still now, every day.

"And the third?"

A touch of colour steals into Ann's pale cheeks. "I— asked James for the particulars—"

"Oh God," Francis whispers. "Ann. Thot. You didn't."

"—and after he related them, it comforted me to know that you comforted and pleased him when I could not, in those terrible icy wastes. But our James—" her laugh chimes for an instant like a bell— "well, you know what poetry he can make of his yarns. Now you must forgive me, Frank, but when I pictured you two, warm and close together with auroras blazing overhead—" It's the most fleeting of things, but her tongue brushes her lips and leaves a sheen behind. "I confess it warmed me too, to think of it."

Something stirs in the room, a feeling like a warm October breeze. A clock chimes, dust swirls in the light. Distant footsteps strike staccato on a flight of steps. Satin rustling, Ann shifts slightly in her seat.

Francis' face and throat have turned to flame.

“Why this now, Thot?”

Her small hands glide across the satin sea and pry Francis' hands away from his knees. They're warm and dry and clasping, an affirmation of her sincerity. How easily she touches him, it dawns on him. How easily she has always touched him, with James' casual possessiveness.

"We are both so sorry for what has occurred between you and Miss Cracroft. We have watched you suffer these last few days, we see how you cannot tear your mind away." Her eyes twinkle with a smile. "But now I suspect you won't dwell on that whole business as much. Will you, dear Frank?"

Francis feels his mouth fall open, gaping, uncouth. The cunning and kindness of it all — so like James. So like them both.

An impulse seizes him, too powerful to resist. He bends down and, with fierce, bewildered gratitude and a host of other feelings he can barely address, presses kiss after kiss to those small, warm, steady hands.

Ann welcomes him with a laugh that dies down to a sigh. “Dearest, dearest Frank. If only you knew how glad we are to have you here. What sense of wholeness you— ah, there you are."

At the change in her voice, Francis lifts up and follows the course of Ann's brightening gaze. Behind them, James leans smiling in the doorway.

"Leave a drop of that sweetness for me, old boy."

Francis’ heart darts wildly like a young fox across an Arctic shelf.

[myfairynuffstuff]

Ann Ross - Two Hares, Honesty. Water based media on paper.

[clockheartedcrocodile]

The Lady and Mr. Punch: A Music Hall Horror (Featuring the Remarkable Ross and Ross!)

“Oh, come now, it will cheer you up,” Ross said, standing and pacing the room. He fairly shone with excitement. “Popular entertainment will lift your spirits straightaway. If anything, it will bolster you to know the poor caliber of playwright you’re up against. Do not think,” he added, holding up his hand as Crozier blustered, “that I am entirely altruistic in my invitation. I tell you plainly that the theater is haunted-”

“Haunted!”

“-and as Ann has not yet recovered from her tumble at the mortuary, I thought an investigation of this sort was rather better than going after that headless fellow in Yorkshire.”

I’m pleased to introduce my contribution to the @terroraufanzine Brave New Worlds, in which Francis Crozier is a struggling alcoholic playwright, Ross and Ross are the finest paranormal investigators in all of London, and James Fitzjames has the misfortune of being the star quick-change artist at a haunted music hall! T-rated, 5k, with a healthy dose of Annrossier and Fitzier. Links can be found in the notes and in the reblogs. Enjoy!

[lotreckk]

day 23 lantern

anne coulman waiting for her future husband's return from the Antarctic expedition

you can listen "will you ever return?" by eureka to feel the atmosphere