#fitzjmes

[governmentofficial]

“How any man achieves his post on an expedition is less important than how he                                                          spends it.”

                                                   @fitzjmes

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[terrorcaptain]

@fitzjmes

Relief was perhaps the biggest emotion that Francis found himself feeling when he had set eyes on a British dock. To think that after all they had endured, that they were all finally back home, safe from the cold, starvation and the creature. Leaning on the frame to look out towards the land, towards home. A tear came to his eye and he was quick to wipe it away before he looked to his second.

“We did it, James. We’re home.”

[veidt-enterprises]

(Victorian AU, for @fitzjmes!)

Later historians would come to reflect that it was probably unfair of the general public to have declared the situation an embarrassment to the Admiralty. The proposed delay on a search party- from the mouth of no one less than James Clark Ross himself, who had been believed dead in the same Arctic wastes for nearly two years before his reappearance- was entirely in keeping with the usual policy surrounding a loss of contact with an expedition so far out of human reach. But the matter remained that, policy or not, when Lady Franklin began to grow more agitated by the Admiralty’s inaction and declared her intent to raise money for a search and rescue party of her own, it was an American who answered the call, and the Admiralty suffered from a rather severe loss of face when his efforts, against all odds, succeeded.

To be fair, nobody was quite sure if Veidt himself was actually American, but his dollars were, and that was enough to tarnish this most British of miracles. Lady Franklin- the widowed Lady Franklin, as it turned out, to her great horror and grief- did not withhold her judgment on what this said about the Royal Navy as a whole. When word got back to London that it was hardly possible to go ten feet in New York without bumping into Veidt’s Patent Something or Other- the man seemed to manufacture everything that one could think of- the whole affair, which would have been glorious for the Royal Navy, was instead immortalized as Veidt’s Patent Polar Rescue

If any of this bothered Veidt himself, he was remarkably good at hiding it. At 46, he looked at least ten years younger- tall and athletic, with a lantern-jawed Grecian bust of a face to match (save a nose that had clearly been badly broken at some point and never set properly). He had large, light eyes and was disarmingly clean-shaven, with a mass of wavy blond hair worn just long enough to billow heroically back from his face without quite reaching his collar. He looked somewhere between one of the more outmoded Romantic poets and a circus Hercules, and kept up a pleasant, inscrutable smile in the face of all of this ribbing. No one was quite sure where he had come from, and he did not volunteer this information, though there was a shadow of an aristocratic Mitteleuropaische accent hanging over his otherwise Yankee vowels. He had simply burst into prominence sometime in his late teens as possibly one of the brighter examples of that strange, intermittent and mostly American inclination toward dressing up and storming about dispensing justice.

Veidt was wealthy, fantastically so, but so generous with his money that he seemed practically a Midas in New York. He funded trade schools and libraries, spoke freely of his belief that only social improvement could decrease the rates by which the poor resorted to crime, bought and entirely reformed hospitals, paid his workers well, saw to their needs, ousted corrupt landlords and rehoused the crowded poor in comfortable, airy rooms for the barest of rents. It was a wonder that he had enough left over to hire a private crew of his own to comb the Arctic, but he did, and kept them in good shape despite a tendency to gently laugh and insist he was no sailor and more prone to wandering in warmer climates.

He and his party had found Franklin's men as they prepared to abandon their ships. There had, to that point, already been many losses to the party, but the two captains lived still, as did most of the officers. Poor Sir John had evidently been the victim of a marauding polar bear- this much was stridently agreed upon by the survivors. Veidt took this in with a frown of concern but little further probing.

Some of the men distrusted Veidt, not least for the alarmingly large and oddly proportioned catlike beast that accompanied him out on the tundra- and indeed nearly everywhere else. Long-eared and reddish to a point that looked nearly burgundy in some lights, this creature was evidently a she, and bestowed with the impressive moniker of Bubastis. According to Veidt, she was a lynx.

Veidt’s men, with their leader’s generosity imposed on them, fed Franklin's and pulled loads for them, brought them safely back to their own ships in less impassable waters via a more direct land route. There would be no making up for the lead-tainted food Franklin's men had already eaten, but the scurvy beginning to ravage them steadily receded under a diet of what Veidt had brought along, and this in itself was a mercy.

Veidt stayed in England for some time after the Patent Polar Rescue. He was as celebrated as the two captains- sullen Crozier and cheerful Fitzjames, though the latter had appeared to have lost some of that dash and the former had gained a great deal of perspective and calm out there. Veidt, however, always deferred to them when asked about it- “I am no captain,” he said, “and I do not know if I would have had the same success at keeping the party alive as long as they did. I am only something of a guide.”

On the voyage back, he had taken in Fitzjames's accounts of prior adventures with a wry, affectionate smile, and then teased the younger man that he could never write his memoirs now.

“There's enough in common there,” Veidt had said, “that I feel you ought to have the rights to the telling.”

[harknesstm]

@fitzjmes cont.

Sometimes, a break was needed. From the universe and everyone in it. Far removed anyone that could die, to decompress when all of time and space felt like a graveyard. The crashed Ascin ship that sat cloaked just below the water, encased in ice, was as good of a place as any. It had been there for a few thousand years, but it was still functional on auxiliary power and would remain so for a long time to come, cloaked in the Arctic.

The nineteenth century was also a nice step away from everything, given there wasn't too much activity. No submarines playing war games, or hidden missile silos. Just the endless white, when he came up to let the dogs run amok.

“You've got good timing.” Jack raised his voice a little more against the wind, smiling quickly before giving a quick tap to the vortex manipulator at his wrist. “I just came up to get the dogs, or I would've missed you.” On cue, following the high pitched sound inaudible to human ears, two massive Malamutes skidded to halt at their side.

“They're harmless.” Another tap, and four quick beeps as the equipment read the four life signs, then a flash of light and a feeling of a loss of gravity; and they were standing in the sudden silence of the control room below. “Take a breath, it'll pass in a second.” Automatically, he reached out a steady hand to the man's arm. “Captain Jack Harkness.”

As the dogs shook off the snow, his free hand grabbed a silver hypothermia blanket.

“Might wanna swap the coat for this, it'll reflect heat back at you, bring your core temperature back up.” Let's stave off the inevitable lowkey panic attack response to things like this through talkative distraction, shall we? “My bet is you wouldn't have lasted another few hours, lucky you.”

[myxcenterxstage]

The Terror Appreciation Week: Day 7 :: Favorite Fandom Creation

The Terror RP Community

In conclusion to The Terror Appreciation Week, I’d like to make a special shoutout to The Terror RP Community! We’re small and tight-knight, and through our love of the Franklin Expedition / the AMC show, I’ve met some insanely talented writers. They’ve made me laugh, uncontrollably cry, everything in between, and over and over again fall in love with the characters they portray on a whole ‘nother level. The time and dedication they put into writing and exploring the nooks and crannies of their characters and the insight they give is so impressive I have to pinch myself they’re not actually ghost-written by {insert-character-names-here} themselves!

P.S. Thanks for also welcoming my oc with wide open arms into our great Franklin Expedition alternate universe(s)! We’re only getting started and it’s an awesome ride!

Honorable Mention: the ‘Stay Alive’ AMV

[ratcaulker]

“You poisoned this, didn’t you?”

‘Oh, that’s a bit harsh an accusation, Captain. Didn’t like your supper much, did you?’ Hickey frowns. He picks away at something caught in between two of his teeth and leans back. With a sharp nudge of his foot, he makes the empty dinner plate clatter across the tent.

‘You wouldn’t believe the kind of stuff the doctor keeps in his bag of tricks. Poor Goodsir’s been real busy these days, what with all of those men lying sick. It wasn’t half a moment’s work, grabbing what I wanted, before he ever knew it was gone.’

He flourishes the little glass vial in front of Fitzjames, just out of reach.

‘Strychnine. Dunno what it’s used for in small doses, but what I do know is that makes a wonderful rat poison.’

Hickey shrugs.

‘Don’t worry overmuch, and try not to talk, ‘cause it’ll only get worse if you do.  By the time you’re done having convulsions and making everyone panic, I’ll be long gone with my men and Crozier’s supplies.’

He leans closer and tuts, as if in sympathy.

‘It must be pretty hard on you. Just important enough to make for a good distraction, but not really important enough to be of any practical consequence. A shame, really, because I always liked you a bit better than Crozier.’

Hickey salutes Fitzjames in farewell. As he steps over him and reaches for the flap of the tent, he turns around and whispers:

‘If you’re lucky, you might even live through it. I’m not a complete monster. See, the dose wasn’t too high, or I’d have risked you dying before they find you. But if you don’t survive…’

His thin face lights up with a sudden horrible grin.

‘I really like your boots, you know.’

[bertievi]

@fitzjmes

Of all the social expectations he endured, there were few he actually looked forward to. One occasion that could always bring the shy King out of his shell was the gathering of his Admiralty and those sailors which they had high hopes for. He had always held a soft spot for the discovery service too and when he heard of the expedition to head North in search of that elusive Northwest passage, he had been eager to meet with the men that would be undertaking such a task, only two of them were actually present and after meeting Sir John Franklin, Albert moved on to the other, a young Captain Fitzjames.

He smiled as all royals were trained to do, soft and genuine for their first meeting and he extended his hand first in greeting. “-Captain -Fitzjames, I -believe?” Of course, the man whispering in his ear for who everyone was had confirmed it but Albert took to memorising the face before him.

[governmentofficial]

@fitzjmes  continued from [x]

Fitzjames, having only woken up some five minutes ago had hoped that Mycroft be at least a few precious minutes late. The previous night, he had told the doorman of the club in which he held his rooms to let Mycroft through without other confirmation. So it was no surprise that he walked in on James midway through getting himself clothed.

“Ah— Quite alright,” he dismissed as he tugged at the hem of his shirt to cover his lower half, “I had intended to wake earlier, but alas…”

“It’s quite alright.” That was a lie. An inability to be on time irritated Mycroft and, though he wasn’t going to comment on it, he couldn’t help but feel just a touch annoyed by the situation.

Still, at least the view could be worse. Mycroft ran a subtle, appreciative eye over the other’s body once, before purposely averting his gaze. Best to give James some privacy, no? “I can come back later, if you would rather? It would be no issue.”