#terror fic

[vespermyotis]

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

Hickey says, “Familiar, is it?” and draws back her heel to kick again. The embossed J.F. winks, though there’s little light in the tent to catch it.

f/f, hickey/crozier (ft. hickey/tozer), 1.3k words, e

for @terrorgarmentweek day 6: boots

[unwanted-animal]

CONFIDE IN ME

a Gen-rated fanfic for The Terror by Johniarty/Unwanted-Animal

James Fitzjames has a very important question for John Bridgens - how does love work between two men?

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

[the-casbah-way]

wip wednesday

i was tagged by @tanevthehimbo YAYY thank you :3

here is some messy solittle drama that no one asked for.....fellas is it gay to marry a man and then spend the entire marriage thinking about another man who is in turn thinking about a different man but also still thinking about you

Sol takes his hand from the railing, lets the chipped black paint scrape the insides of his fingers without stopping to feel it. 

“Listen. If we draw a line under all of this…if we never get back together–” 

“We’re not getting back together,” says Edward, with none of the conviction to look Sol in the eye. 

“Then you’re going to think about me for the rest of your life!” Sol spits back. “You’re going to think about me when you can’t sleep, or right before you cum, or on your fucking wedding day. You know you are, Edward.”

From behind them, something stirs within the house; there’s the distant clanging of pots and pans, the low hum of a kitchen radio that’s just been turned on. The both of them linger there for a moment, Sol’s eyes trained on Edward, Edward’s eyes glued to the ground, as if they’re waiting for the sound of Tom’s voice. Nothing comes. He’ll call Edward inside eventually, though, and Sol wants to doubt whether Edward might go to him even though he knows that he will. 

Sol nods towards the open back door. 

“If you really love him, then maybe you should think about whether or not you’re willing to do this to him.” 

Finally, a sign of life from Edward, a flicker of something across his worried features as he glances up at Sol through thick, dark lashes. 

“I’m not following you now,” he murmurs. 

Regrettably, Sol’s convinced that he’s never wanted to hate Thomas Jopson more than he does right here and right now, when he’s got Edward alone in the garden with the sun setting behind him, his eyes bottomless tar pits, his face carrying the weight of several universes. Too tired to run from the truth for once. 

Sol doesn’t, though. He’s never hated Thomas in a way that matters. He’s never had to, knowing all of the things he knows, feeling the vice grip he still holds over Edward without really having to try.

“You’re about to sign him up to a lifetime of this.” Sol gestures between himself and Edward. “You’re about to sign him up to a lifetime of you still loving me. You don’t do that to someone you love. Do you, Edward?”

im sure everyone has been tagged a million times but im tagging yous anyway @famosoentrescalles @maidward @night-at-the-musian

[packloafer]

and on top of everything else, people are cross-posting terror fanfic in the wrong tag again. MOOOOOM

[willowbilly]

I was tagged by @n0ahph0bic to share a WIP; thank you! I shall in turn tag (no pressure!): @hangingfire, @ferylcheryl, @creatureprofessor, @consultingzoologist, @lhurluberlu-hululant, @crustaceousfaggot, @theyonagoda, @orlopsexdungeon, @jirving, and @arcticshanties!

This version of the Nuliajuk legend that is told to Silna is primarily adapted from the sea spirit story and the story of the one who married a dog as told by Nakasuk (via Knud Rasmussen); Nuliajuk as described by Peter Irniq; and the dog husband arc from Alexina Kublu’s retellings.

CW: implicit CSA/noncon, forced marriage/pregnancy, bestiality, parricide, self-mutilation, suicide, racism.

When she stays over, Silna’s maternal aunt tells her the unipkaaq of the one who never wanted to marry. That one’s father lost his temper when she refused marriage to any man and so he married her to his big white dog. 

“Hu’mat?” Silna can’t keep from asking: Why? Although her cousin Kappianaq hushes her for interrupting. 

“His anger made him foolish, and cruel,” her aunt says, shaking her head. “When his daughter became pregnant by his dog, he felt ashamed, and he took her and her dog husband away from Qi’miqtuuq so that she might be confined to a small island where none would see. But he was also resentful of providing meat to them because the dog could not hunt for itself like a proper husband. He stopped going over in his qajaq. 

“As the daughter’s belly swelled, her husband would swim over, and carry back their share of the meat in its packs. And one day, when the father was angry, he filled its packs not with meat but stones. 

“Then it started to swim back. It reached the middle of the channel, but the stones were so heavy, the current so strong, the water deep and cold. 

“It drowned.” 

Silna’s aunt pauses somberly, tending to the flickering lamp flame so that it burns steady. The rain patters softly upon the tent, blending with her aunt’s soft voice as she clears her throat and resumes. 

“As the father feared, the daughter gave birth to a whole litter. And they were Itqilliit, and qaplunaat, and some, even, were others. 

“His daughter loved her babies, but she grieved the murder of her dog husband, and still felt that it was wrong she had been married to it. So, one day, she told her children:— 

“‘Your grandfather was wrong to make you fatherless. When he comes to give us the meat, because he took your father from you, you should kill him.’ 

“And the children met him at his qajaq, licking the blood from the grandfather’s qajaq skin and fawning over him as they always did when he brought them their food, and then they tore apart the skin and fell upon him, and they mauled him to death.” 

Silna can see the old man in her mind’s eye, crumpled bloody in the surf from the children tearing at him with their hands and mouths. The pieces of the broken qajaq bobbing about him. 

“Now, because they were on an island without anyone else, they would have gone hungry. And so the mother sent her children out into the world that they might live; she sent the Itqilliit off via the water, in her inner boot slippers, and the qaplunaat she sent off in her outer boots, the footwear becoming their watercraft.” 

The pinnak and kammak plopped into the water transform as if through a trick of the light into Indian canoes and qaplunaat ships as the children step aboard. Their mother watches them till they disappear in their new watercraft past the shivering horizon, the sky bright and her eyes filling with tears. 

“All alone, the woman was griefstricken, and maddened with guilt for having murdered her father. So she waded out into the sea and cut off her fingers, the severed digits becoming the sea mammals—the ringed seal, the bearded seal, the harp seal, the walrus, the beluga and narwhal, even the orca and the bowhead. Then she threw herself into the sea after her husband, sinking to the bottom, and down there She established Her household from which She rules over the whole ocean. 

“Her dog guards the iglu, and Her father lives down there with Her, but is relegated to sleeping out in the tuqšuk wherein he traps wrongdoers beneath the smothering weight of his polar bear blanket. 

“It is with gratitude to the mother of the sea mammals that they might sustain us. When She is angry because people are breaking Her prohibitions and not abiding by Her laws, She withdraws, and Her hair grows tangled and filthy, and She traps the sea mammals under Her lamp’s drip basin, so that from time to time the most skilled aŋatkut must go down and comb Her hair and convince Her to release them. 

“We must abide by the laws so that She does not keep the animals from giving themselves. And for this reason, because of what happened to Her, because She has dominion over the sea and all its life, we know Nuliajuk, and we propitiate Her.” 

Silna comes out of the reverie which the story casts over her slowly, awed at now understanding how the principle sea spirit whom Silna has known all her life came to be as She is. Around herself are her maternal aunt and uncle and her parallel cousins Kappianaq and Qapuk, and in the time that her aunt has told the story, the evening light has darkened, the tupiq now dim but for the banked qulliq. The waves of the ocean roll hissing over and again onto the shore outwith. 

The legend has left a quiet in its wake; Silna settles into it, reflecting deeply on the story of Nuliajuk and Her anger that her arnarvik has shared.

[dundysoup]

liquid courage

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: James Fitzjames & Henry T. D. Le Vesconte, Henry T. D. Le Vesconte/Edward Little, minor James Fitjames/Francis Crozier

Characters: James Fitzjames (1813-c.1848), Henry T. D. Le Vesconte, Edward Little (1811-c.1848), Francis Crozier, Graham Gore, George Henry Hodgson, James Fairholme, Thomas Jopson

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Trans James Fitzjames (1813-c.1848), nonbinary george hodgson, band au?, Sort Of, Getting Together, Implied Unrequited Love, nedconte gets the romcom treatment, Mental Health Issues, Injury Recovery, Head Injury, Physical Disability

Summary:

Given Jim Fairholme’s calm, even description of what occurred at the Sons of Chaos show last night, Jamie was expecting perhaps a small bandage on Dundy’s head, possibly an ankle brace for a sprain, and definitely a wild grin along with an increasingly embellished story he’ll tell for years to come. What she wasn’t expecting was the state he’s in when she first arrives at his hospital room.

Dundy goes to rehab and finds love along the way. Told from the point of view of his best friend, Jamie Fitzjames

[sunlaire]

AHHHHHHH have you read the Irving humping tozer's boot fic? The one where Tozer calls him gross for getting off on it and Irving cries a bunch? Have you read it?? Here

[blakesghost]

ao3 is down again but I somehow managed to post a joplittle post rescue thing, I'm kinda terrified of it being ass but I couldn't stop thinking about heavy catholic guilt ned meeting thomas for the first time after having abandoned him </3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/80519736