Straight up jopping on it right now, sirs.
Doing My Thomas Tricks on it.
( “dont look at this fucking tag” is the nsfw tag,
block it if you wish. )
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

JVL
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tannertan36
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Andulka
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
trying on a metaphor
Jules of Nature

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@thomas-jopson
Straight up jopping on it right now, sirs.
Doing My Thomas Tricks on it.
( “dont look at this fucking tag” is the nsfw tag,
block it if you wish. )
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
Once the door is shut, Ned shucks off his waistcoat with a hiss of pain, toeing off his boots one by one. The trousers go next, and then he is left only in his shirt and stockings. Wrenching the shirt off is more than a little painful, and the wrench of his arms sets his chest and back afire. Once his arms are free of the garment, he tosses it onto his bunk with the rest, and leans back against the wall, panting with effort.
Edward can see himself in the mirror, lamplight illuminating his bare flesh, and for the first time in the night he sees the mottled skin of his chest, turned black and blue and purple with bruises from the way the creature tossed him across the deck like a ragdoll. It looks something awful, and he turns slightly to examine his back, hissing at even the slight contortion of his body.
For a moment, his vision goes white with a lance of pain, and he has to catch himself on the small washbasin. He leans over it, the hunch of his back both relieving and painful in different ways. He does not quite trust himself to uncurl.
He toes the socks off one by one as he catches his breath above the basin. afraid that bending over would just make the pain worse. In the mirror, he can see himself, unkempt hair and muttonchops framing eyes red and exhausted- though how much of it was the lack of sleep and the exertion of the long night and how much of it was from his earlier tears, he couldn't tell. He straightens slightly, and reluctantly lets go of the edge of the basin, and tugs open his drawers for fresh clothes. The long shirt goes on first, and as he lifts his arms above his head once more to pull it down onto himself, his vision goes static, and he practically stumbles into sitting position on the bed, his vision returning to him terrifyingly slow as the blood rushes back into his head.
One - One moment, he pants, feeling utterly embarrassed for keeping Jopson waiting while he is doing something which is not even his job.
*he smiles to the air and speaks towards the door*
No worries, Lieutenant Little, sir.
*it really isnt a worry. hes seen crozier stumble with putting his socks on for more than thirty or so minutes whilst insisting he can do it on his own*
*to his dismay, he is human and therefore he has some trouble waiting on someone. So he hums a tune. Schubert. his husband to be’s favorite.*
The quiet tune focuses his mind somewhat, but his body throbs, and frustrated tears spring once again to his eyes. He's so tired. The only thing which keeps him from giving up and lying back onto the bed is that he is being waited upon, and he sighs sharply as he sets himself back to his task, his limbs feeling weighty as lead weights.
Once by one he struggles to tug on his stockings, and wrestling on his trousers in a sitting position is nearly as difficult and painful. He has to take several breaks as he goes, and every time he has to fight back tears. Finally, he tugs on a waistcoat and begins to button it, his chest heaving with the exertion as he tries to get his body back in order, pulling himself back together with each button.
By the time he is done, he has regained some of his composure, though as he stands to bring Jopson his previous clothes, he keeps one hand on the wall, in case his vision goes dark again. It is a smart move, and he manages to keep himself fully upright. As he pulls the door back open, he tries not to care that he hasn't bothered to retie his cravat.
*he takes the heap without sparing a lingering glance towards the lieutenant’s current state*
Right.
…
…You had something you wished to say, sir?
Ned stands in the doorway with a hand on the frame, and he blinks stupidly at Jopson. Did he? He wracks his mind, but nothing pressing comes to the forefront of his exhausted mind.
...Thank you.
It seems like the right thing to say, as he inclines his head slightly towards the laundry. He tries to think of anything else.
I'm sorry.
He's not quite sure what he's apologizing for, but it's probably something.
It’s quite alright, sir.
So long as no Admiralty is involved.
*he has moments ashamedly where he wishes he had never strayed from orders and pursued a relationship looked down upon by many*
*the attention is too much to bear for him simply acting as himself*
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
Once the door is shut, Ned shucks off his waistcoat with a hiss of pain, toeing off his boots one by one. The trousers go next, and then he is left only in his shirt and stockings. Wrenching the shirt off is more than a little painful, and the wrench of his arms sets his chest and back afire. Once his arms are free of the garment, he tosses it onto his bunk with the rest, and leans back against the wall, panting with effort.
Edward can see himself in the mirror, lamplight illuminating his bare flesh, and for the first time in the night he sees the mottled skin of his chest, turned black and blue and purple with bruises from the way the creature tossed him across the deck like a ragdoll. It looks something awful, and he turns slightly to examine his back, hissing at even the slight contortion of his body.
For a moment, his vision goes white with a lance of pain, and he has to catch himself on the small washbasin. He leans over it, the hunch of his back both relieving and painful in different ways. He does not quite trust himself to uncurl.
He toes the socks off one by one as he catches his breath above the basin. afraid that bending over would just make the pain worse. In the mirror, he can see himself, unkempt hair and muttonchops framing eyes red and exhausted- though how much of it was the lack of sleep and the exertion of the long night and how much of it was from his earlier tears, he couldn't tell. He straightens slightly, and reluctantly lets go of the edge of the basin, and tugs open his drawers for fresh clothes. The long shirt goes on first, and as he lifts his arms above his head once more to pull it down onto himself, his vision goes static, and he practically stumbles into sitting position on the bed, his vision returning to him terrifyingly slow as the blood rushes back into his head.
One - One moment, he pants, feeling utterly embarrassed for keeping Jopson waiting while he is doing something which is not even his job.
*he smiles to the air and speaks towards the door*
No worries, Lieutenant Little, sir.
*it really isnt a worry. hes seen crozier stumble with putting his socks on for more than thirty or so minutes whilst insisting he can do it on his own*
*to his dismay, he is human and therefore he has some trouble waiting on someone. So he hums a tune. Schubert. his husband to be’s favorite.*
The quiet tune focuses his mind somewhat, but his body throbs, and frustrated tears spring once again to his eyes. He's so tired. The only thing which keeps him from giving up and lying back onto the bed is that he is being waited upon, and he sighs sharply as he sets himself back to his task, his limbs feeling weighty as lead weights.
Once by one he struggles to tug on his stockings, and wrestling on his trousers in a sitting position is nearly as difficult and painful. He has to take several breaks as he goes, and every time he has to fight back tears. Finally, he tugs on a waistcoat and begins to button it, his chest heaving with the exertion as he tries to get his body back in order, pulling himself back together with each button.
By the time he is done, he has regained some of his composure, though as he stands to bring Jopson his previous clothes, he keeps one hand on the wall, in case his vision goes dark again. It is a smart move, and he manages to keep himself fully upright. As he pulls the door back open, he tries not to care that he hasn't bothered to retie his cravat.
*he takes the heap without sparing a lingering glance towards the lieutenant’s current state*
Right.
…
…You had something you wished to say, sir?
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
Once the door is shut, Ned shucks off his waistcoat with a hiss of pain, toeing off his boots one by one. The trousers go next, and then he is left only in his shirt and stockings. Wrenching the shirt off is more than a little painful, and the wrench of his arms sets his chest and back afire. Once his arms are free of the garment, he tosses it onto his bunk with the rest, and leans back against the wall, panting with effort.
Edward can see himself in the mirror, lamplight illuminating his bare flesh, and for the first time in the night he sees the mottled skin of his chest, turned black and blue and purple with bruises from the way the creature tossed him across the deck like a ragdoll. It looks something awful, and he turns slightly to examine his back, hissing at even the slight contortion of his body.
For a moment, his vision goes white with a lance of pain, and he has to catch himself on the small washbasin. He leans over it, the hunch of his back both relieving and painful in different ways. He does not quite trust himself to uncurl.
He toes the socks off one by one as he catches his breath above the basin. afraid that bending over would just make the pain worse. In the mirror, he can see himself, unkempt hair and muttonchops framing eyes red and exhausted- though how much of it was the lack of sleep and the exertion of the long night and how much of it was from his earlier tears, he couldn't tell. He straightens slightly, and reluctantly lets go of the edge of the basin, and tugs open his drawers for fresh clothes. The long shirt goes on first, and as he lifts his arms above his head once more to pull it down onto himself, his vision goes static, and he practically stumbles into sitting position on the bed, his vision returning to him terrifyingly slow as the blood rushes back into his head.
One - One moment, he pants, feeling utterly embarrassed for keeping Jopson waiting while he is doing something which is not even his job.
*he smiles to the air and speaks towards the door*
No worries, Lieutenant Little, sir.
*it really isnt a worry. hes seen crozier stumble with putting his socks on for more than thirty or so minutes whilst insisting he can do it on his own*
*to his dismay, he is human and therefore he has some trouble waiting on someone. So he hums a tune. Schubert. his husband to be’s favorite.*
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
*knock knock*
Ned sat up, and tried for a moment to get his shaky breathing under control, patting at his we eyes with the back of his hands - rubbing would only make his eyes red and raw. It takes him a moment to work up the composure to speak, and he pressed a hand against his side, the sharp sting of the bruises surely hidden beneath his waistcoat and shirt sending a jolt of pain like cool water through him.
Who—Who is it?
His voice comes out thick, and he hopes that it is simply attributed to exhaustion.
Mr. Jopson, lieutenant, sir.
I was just coming to gather some of your laundry for Ms. Gibson to do later. She’s busy with something else presently.
Of course.
Ned comes to the door and tries to steady himself, a practiced blank expression drawing itself across his face. He had always been good at making his distress plausibly deniable, and in the low lamplight his face will be shadowed. Mister Jopson has no need to deal with his melodrama.
It takes him a moment longer to bring his hand to the handle and open the door, stepping to the side. He carefully does not look at Jopson, and tries to put himself out of the other man’s way, and hopes the man does not comment on his state of dress, the discarded articles tossed carelessly upon his berth.
*he wrinkles his nose slightly but plays it off like he had an itch*
I see the attacks have been hard on you, sir.
…
…
Is that so with the others…?
*’with crozier?’ He wants to ask but he knows. He knows it has been. Why else would he… why else would he go that low again*
It… It could not be anything but.
Edward’s voice is a low rasp, and he thinks of the quiet horror on George’s face when the explosion came, the fear on John’s as he begged him not to leave. Watching Graham and Des Voeux be dragged by mutineers while he watched from his place on the shale. He is sure his face reflects the darkness of his thoughts, if only briefly, and he is glad that it is turned to away from the light.
*it pains him to have been away so long. Not for any reasons of his connections to others but because change in anything is detrimental to him*
Oh.
*he gathers up some of the discarded clothing on the floor and does little to maintain eye contact. Hes on a mission. He already knows he interrupted the lieutenant and he should not be here for any longer*
I am sorry for—for intruding upon your conversation with the Captain.
Ned does not know what possesses him to say this, and he has to resist the urge to slam his head back into the wall in frustration at his inability to keep quiet long enough that he does not bother Mister Jopson. Instead, he presses the balls of his hands to the too-warm sockets of his eyes, and watches stars flash on the underside of his eyelids.
It was. Personal. I should have given you your privacy.
He takes a deep breath, and winces as it shudders through him, betraying both his exhaustion and his pain.
*his mouth thinnens. Yes he really wish the lieutenant hadnt heard all of that*
It’s no problem of mine, sir.
And I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of… dubious activity among the men of your ranks.
*he wants to ask whether or not it was actually shocking information that the captain and him had a relationship like that but he decides against it*
Ned leans back against the wall, half to hold himself up so he would not sway on his feet, half to get further out of Mister Jopson's way. His heart is still pounding in his head, and some part of him feels like it should be audible to Jopson, tell-tale in his chest and betraying his lack of composure.
He doesn't quite have a response to the other man. He'd always heard the gossip on ships, but it was not like anyone had ever quite gossiped with him, much less made an advance. Ned had always found himself quite firmly on the outside of things, even as a Lieutenant, friendships relegated to correspondence as a boy and then passing acquaintanceship as he grew older. The thought makes him want to laugh, and in keeping it back he is sure there is some hysterical not in his eyes. He might have welcomed some dubious activity once upon a time.
Once you've collected the laundry, if you wait outside and give me a moment to change I can pass you what I have on.
*the steward quirks an eyebrow but doesnt respond. Instead, he gathers what he came for and steps outside the room whilst tapping his boot against the wooden flooring*
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
*knock knock*
Ned sat up, and tried for a moment to get his shaky breathing under control, patting at his we eyes with the back of his hands - rubbing would only make his eyes red and raw. It takes him a moment to work up the composure to speak, and he pressed a hand against his side, the sharp sting of the bruises surely hidden beneath his waistcoat and shirt sending a jolt of pain like cool water through him.
Who—Who is it?
His voice comes out thick, and he hopes that it is simply attributed to exhaustion.
Mr. Jopson, lieutenant, sir.
I was just coming to gather some of your laundry for Ms. Gibson to do later. She’s busy with something else presently.
Of course.
Ned comes to the door and tries to steady himself, a practiced blank expression drawing itself across his face. He had always been good at making his distress plausibly deniable, and in the low lamplight his face will be shadowed. Mister Jopson has no need to deal with his melodrama.
It takes him a moment longer to bring his hand to the handle and open the door, stepping to the side. He carefully does not look at Jopson, and tries to put himself out of the other man’s way, and hopes the man does not comment on his state of dress, the discarded articles tossed carelessly upon his berth.
*he wrinkles his nose slightly but plays it off like he had an itch*
I see the attacks have been hard on you, sir.
…
…
Is that so with the others…?
*’with crozier?’ He wants to ask but he knows. He knows it has been. Why else would he… why else would he go that low again*
It… It could not be anything but.
Edward’s voice is a low rasp, and he thinks of the quiet horror on George’s face when the explosion came, the fear on John’s as he begged him not to leave. Watching Graham and Des Voeux be dragged by mutineers while he watched from his place on the shale. He is sure his face reflects the darkness of his thoughts, if only briefly, and he is glad that it is turned to away from the light.
*it pains him to have been away so long. Not for any reasons of his connections to others but because change in anything is detrimental to him*
Oh.
*he gathers up some of the discarded clothing on the floor and does little to maintain eye contact. Hes on a mission. He already knows he interrupted the lieutenant and he should not be here for any longer*
I am sorry for—for intruding upon your conversation with the Captain.
Ned does not know what possesses him to say this, and he has to resist the urge to slam his head back into the wall in frustration at his inability to keep quiet long enough that he does not bother Mister Jopson. Instead, he presses the balls of his hands to the too-warm sockets of his eyes, and watches stars flash on the underside of his eyelids.
It was. Personal. I should have given you your privacy.
He takes a deep breath, and winces as it shudders through him, betraying both his exhaustion and his pain.
*his mouth thinnens. Yes he really wish the lieutenant hadnt heard all of that*
It’s no problem of mine, sir.
And I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of… dubious activity among the men of your ranks.
*he wants to ask whether or not it was actually shocking information that the captain and him had a relationship like that but he decides against it*
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
*knock knock*
Ned sat up, and tried for a moment to get his shaky breathing under control, patting at his we eyes with the back of his hands - rubbing would only make his eyes red and raw. It takes him a moment to work up the composure to speak, and he pressed a hand against his side, the sharp sting of the bruises surely hidden beneath his waistcoat and shirt sending a jolt of pain like cool water through him.
Who—Who is it?
His voice comes out thick, and he hopes that it is simply attributed to exhaustion.
Mr. Jopson, lieutenant, sir.
I was just coming to gather some of your laundry for Ms. Gibson to do later. She’s busy with something else presently.
Of course.
Ned comes to the door and tries to steady himself, a practiced blank expression drawing itself across his face. He had always been good at making his distress plausibly deniable, and in the low lamplight his face will be shadowed. Mister Jopson has no need to deal with his melodrama.
It takes him a moment longer to bring his hand to the handle and open the door, stepping to the side. He carefully does not look at Jopson, and tries to put himself out of the other man’s way, and hopes the man does not comment on his state of dress, the discarded articles tossed carelessly upon his berth.
*he wrinkles his nose slightly but plays it off like he had an itch*
I see the attacks have been hard on you, sir.
…
…
Is that so with the others…?
*’with crozier?’ He wants to ask but he knows. He knows it has been. Why else would he… why else would he go that low again*
It… It could not be anything but.
Edward’s voice is a low rasp, and he thinks of the quiet horror on George’s face when the explosion came, the fear on John’s as he begged him not to leave. Watching Graham and Des Voeux be dragged by mutineers while he watched from his place on the shale. He is sure his face reflects the darkness of his thoughts, if only briefly, and he is glad that it is turned to away from the light.
*it pains him to have been away so long. Not for any reasons of his connections to others but because change in anything is detrimental to him*
Oh.
*he gathers up some of the discarded clothing on the floor and does little to maintain eye contact. Hes on a mission. He already knows he interrupted the lieutenant and he should not be here for any longer*
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
*knock knock*
Ned sat up, and tried for a moment to get his shaky breathing under control, patting at his we eyes with the back of his hands - rubbing would only make his eyes red and raw. It takes him a moment to work up the composure to speak, and he pressed a hand against his side, the sharp sting of the bruises surely hidden beneath his waistcoat and shirt sending a jolt of pain like cool water through him.
Who—Who is it?
His voice comes out thick, and he hopes that it is simply attributed to exhaustion.
Mr. Jopson, lieutenant, sir.
I was just coming to gather some of your laundry for Ms. Gibson to do later. She’s busy with something else presently.
Of course.
Ned comes to the door and tries to steady himself, a practiced blank expression drawing itself across his face. He had always been good at making his distress plausibly deniable, and in the low lamplight his face will be shadowed. Mister Jopson has no need to deal with his melodrama.
It takes him a moment longer to bring his hand to the handle and open the door, stepping to the side. He carefully does not look at Jopson, and tries to put himself out of the other man’s way, and hopes the man does not comment on his state of dress, the discarded articles tossed carelessly upon his berth.
*he wrinkles his nose slightly but plays it off like he had an itch*
I see the attacks have been hard on you, sir.
…
…
Is that so with the others…?
*’with crozier?’ He wants to ask but he knows. He knows it has been. Why else would he… why else would he go that low again*
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
*knock knock*
Ned sat up, and tried for a moment to get his shaky breathing under control, patting at his we eyes with the back of his hands - rubbing would only make his eyes red and raw. It takes him a moment to work up the composure to speak, and he pressed a hand against his side, the sharp sting of the bruises surely hidden beneath his waistcoat and shirt sending a jolt of pain like cool water through him.
Who—Who is it?
His voice comes out thick, and he hopes that it is simply attributed to exhaustion.
Mr. Jopson, lieutenant, sir.
I was just coming to gather some of your laundry for Ms. Gibson to do later. She’s busy with something else presently.
// @thomas-jopson
The exhaustion of the night has caught up with him, and his greatcoat on his shoulders feels as if it is puling him down. He shucks it as he walks, his arms tangling in the fabric and almost setting his ribs on fire. He needs to sit down. He needs to. He needs to.
When he finally reaches his room, he tosses his coat onto the bed, following it himself to almost collapse onto the small berth. The movement sends a shock wave of pain through his body, and he gasps. He buries his face in his hands, taking gulping, gasping breaths, heart pounding all the while.
His fingers tug at his cravat, trying to loosen it so he can take in more air, but panic makes his fingers clumsy and the frustration and raw anxiety leaves tears pooling in his eyes. It finally comes loose, and he tosses it to the side, and for all that he can hardly hold back his tears and the way he doubles over, gasping for air, he fights to keep himself quiet. It would not do for the men to hear their acting Captain shatter.
*knock knock*
*with a resounding thud, he makes it onto The Terror… his home at last. The trip was excruciating due to his limp and the harsh winds and cold as balls temperature.*
*hes huffing from the exertion and hes . Pissed. So pissed. He hasnt made up his mind on whether to slap his fiancaptain silly or to kiss him passionately.*
…
*maybe both*
*he quirks an eyebrow at @nedlittlest, not quite expecting sentimentalities so soon*
Oh? What’s your position then, sir?
I mean—
Oldest… Youngest… That kind of stuff, sir.
*he is a little relieved by the sudden shift*
Quite possibly the most middle you can get - Six older, five younger.
His smile weakens. He's the exact middle, now. It's a painful reminder, and he tries to push the thought to the back of his mind. It was not quite so easy as that, the reminder that his brother was gone. Suddenly uncomfortable again, he curses his ruminating mind, and tries to change the subject of the conversation once more.
Do you have any siblings, Mister Jopson?
I do, sir. I’m the oldest of three, not including myself. Two brothers and one sister.
*air exhales from his nose, a quick laugh*
Though… I’m sure that’s a little obvious.
You care for people.
It feels like the most obvious observation in the world, and Ned feels a little bit like an idiot for putting it in such simple terms.
Person.
*his expression is so unreadable.*
I care for a person, sir.
Ms. Gibson and the junior stewards like her care for the others.
…
Is she a good worker, sir?
*its just conversation. Hes reaching for anything*
Ah - Yes.
He's said something wrong again, and his face feels hot.
Ms. Gibson does a fine job.
Ned doesn't really have much of anything to say about Ms. Gibson, except that she does her job well. He'd never quite gotten used to being served like that, not even after years as a Lieutenant, but he's adjusted.
I hate to ask, Mister Jopson, but I did not know you were not on Terror until a few moments ago. What - Might I ask where you were?
I was still recuperating from my injury on Erebus. I had… unfortunately been caught up with things against my control, so my stay was longer.
…
…If you’d offer a rundown of the events I had missed, I would be eternally grateful, sir.
*he hates not knowing the inside scoop. If hes not in the know he is VULNERABLE*
Ned gives Jopson a rundown of his experience of the past evening. Hodgson asking him to take a party out after seeing an explosion out on the ice, arriving to a scene of mutiny too late to take any action. The Captain’s arrival. The attack by the bear on Lieutenant Fairholme. The Captain’s order.
It is the tally of a long and exhausting night, and Ned becomes all the lore aware of his own pain and exhaustion as he speaks, the feelings sinking into his bones with every word. Still, he has a question for Jopson in return.
I had not heard you had been injured.
Now in the illuminated hall of the ship, he can see more clearly the way that Jopson holds himself, the bandaged leg. It is worrisome to him, the thought of Jopson crossing the ice alone, worsening his previous injuries.
*he internalizes everything without much indication of what he thinks about everything*
*then the lieutenant mentions his injury. right. The news hadnt spread far… too many people were injured that night*
Oh! Right, sir.
…I was shot.
*he beams like he had just told a funny joke. His pain is just that*
Though… a rocket to the leg could never keep me from my duty for long.
…
…
*he looks around at their whereabouts*
We’re almost there, lieutenant.
…
Would you mind standing in front of me when you announce me?
Of course, Mister Jopson. May I ask why?
It is curious to him, but he sees no such harm in the request as he moves forward into the hallway to the great room.
No.
*he smiles*
Oh.
Ned gets to the door, but before he knocks, he looks back at Jopson. His voice is low when he speaks.
What would you like me to tell him?
Hopefully, Jopson has an explanation so Ned is not just throwing him to the wolf, what with Crozier’s orders for no men on the ice.
Leave it ambiguous, if you will, sir.
I just… love to surprise my Captain, is all
*hes playing it off like hes not about to unleash hell upon entry*
@nedlittlest raps twice at the door to the great room, and prays that he is not disturbing the Captain. After a brief moment, and no sounds from within, he speaks.
It’s Lieutenant Little, sir. Mister—
He stops himself, casting a glance back to where @thomas-jopson stands behind him.
There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you.
*Crozier had been brooding over a map of King Williamland, purposefully ignoring the knock at the door. When @nedlittlest speaks however, he groans loudly and scrubs a hand over his face.*
For Chrissake, Lieutenant, can't you handle the bloke yourself?
*He glances mournfully at the map. Back fish river is securely out of reach. There is another way, but... Crozier closes his eyes. His head aches. Despite his brief rest, he is still so... so tired.*
*Crozier thinks about the liquor cabinet, and feels a hot twist of shame like a knife to the belly. He raises his voice again.*
I'm... I have matters to attend to, lieutenant. I do not wish to be disturbed.
*he hobbles quickly over to grab Crozier and make him stay. Once he’s still, Jopson (from behind) rests his chin on the other’s shoulder. His voice is tender— light-hearted even. The screaming had took so much out of him. He’s not mad anymore and he barely was before. He was just scared… Scared and anxious.*
You…
*he then moves to rest his forehead on his lover’s shoulder blade*
You are apologizing for a lot more than what you should feel sorry for, sir.
…
How many times…
*how many times? Thats a good question. How many times, indeed. Now… couldnt the same be said for Jopson? How many times must Crozier say ‘i love you’ for him to internalize it? How many pet names must his lover call him for him to realize hes more than his occupation— that he’s more than just a warm body to fill or do filling.*
*How many times must his Captain be around him for the steward to stop worrying so goddamn much?!*
I mean every syllable when I say I love you, Captain.
…And I mean it every time I say that you could never ruin me.
…
You aren’t dragging me down in the slightest, sir. And I am giving you the chance to uplift me— to uplift us.
*he wraps his arms around the Captain’s waist and nuzzles into his neck*
… I’ll be here if you return tonight.
…
*here goes nothing*
…I want us to be wed.
…Tonight.
…
Alone.
I don’t care if it isn’t proper— we already could have never be wed in the proper sense.
*his breathing is hurried with his mania*
I need it. I need you, sir— I need you to know I still hold onto your promises and I will never forget a word of what you say.
…I will never forgive your transgressions against yourself either because I need your hand like I need my heart to run.
…
…
Please…
*he inhales a sobbing breath*
Please promise me you’ll at least see me tonight.
*Crozier stiffens as Thomas’ arms curl around him. He still loves him. Thomas still loves him, even knowing that he’s a lost cause, a stubborn mule of a man with a heart that keeps on breaking— Thomas loves him.*
*Crozier squeezes his eyes shut to choke back a sob.*
I… I need you too, Thomas.
*Shakily, slowly, he leans into the touch. He rests his weather-worn hands atop Thomas’ as they’re crossed over his midsection, and leans his head to bump it softly against his lover’s crown.*
My love… my very heart, you…
*A secret wedding. Private. Intimate. They’ll be married, at last, entwined body and soul in the eyes of God and the universe. Crozier will never have to be alone again.*
*His voice cracks as he spins around, half-laughing, and scoops Thomas into a gentle embrace— still very aware of his injuries.*
Yes, Thomas. I’ll marry you tonight.
*Crozier pulls back only a second to look adoringly at his future husband, stress and fear still etched into his features.*
I… have to go now, though, my dear. The mutineers, they— there have been reports some of their ranks are not there willingly, and wounded beyond that. With luck, we’ll bringing those men back with us.
With luck, I’ll be back before nightfall. I’ll be back for you, Thomas.
*He kisses him, sweetly, deeply, forgetting for a moment his earlier drink in his overwhelming need to express love to his husband. Crozier smiles as he pulls away, backing towards the door to gather supplies and meet the others on the deck.*
I’ll be back. I love you.
*Jopson was so enraptured by the love and happiness he felt in that moment that he could not care less about the outside world. He could never be brought back down to Earth ever again, not if his Captain were to keep making him feel this way…*
*that is… until he tastes it.*
*it*
*that damn poison… He had his suspicions— he always does. But he can’t even feel disappointed about it. Who does he think he is thinking he can change his Captain’s habits? That he can fix him? He may be many things to Crozier but he can never be enough to change him on a molecular scale— a biological scale.*
I love you… too…
*but hes gone. And worst of it all, Jopson has a nagging voice in his mind that tells him he shouldn’t count on the other to show up.*
*he doesn’t want to believe that. He just wants to be hopeful for once without all the worry.*
…
…
*Oh shit wait the lieutenant.*
*with a resounding thud, he makes it onto The Terror… his home at last. The trip was excruciating due to his limp and the harsh winds and cold as balls temperature.*
*hes huffing from the exertion and hes . Pissed. So pissed. He hasnt made up his mind on whether to slap his fiancaptain silly or to kiss him passionately.*
…
*maybe both*
*he quirks an eyebrow at @nedlittlest, not quite expecting sentimentalities so soon*
Oh? What’s your position then, sir?
I mean—
Oldest… Youngest… That kind of stuff, sir.
*he is a little relieved by the sudden shift*
Quite possibly the most middle you can get - Six older, five younger.
His smile weakens. He's the exact middle, now. It's a painful reminder, and he tries to push the thought to the back of his mind. It was not quite so easy as that, the reminder that his brother was gone. Suddenly uncomfortable again, he curses his ruminating mind, and tries to change the subject of the conversation once more.
Do you have any siblings, Mister Jopson?
I do, sir. I’m the oldest of three, not including myself. Two brothers and one sister.
*air exhales from his nose, a quick laugh*
Though… I’m sure that’s a little obvious.
You care for people.
It feels like the most obvious observation in the world, and Ned feels a little bit like an idiot for putting it in such simple terms.
Person.
*his expression is so unreadable.*
I care for a person, sir.
Ms. Gibson and the junior stewards like her care for the others.
…
Is she a good worker, sir?
*its just conversation. Hes reaching for anything*
Ah - Yes.
He's said something wrong again, and his face feels hot.
Ms. Gibson does a fine job.
Ned doesn't really have much of anything to say about Ms. Gibson, except that she does her job well. He'd never quite gotten used to being served like that, not even after years as a Lieutenant, but he's adjusted.
I hate to ask, Mister Jopson, but I did not know you were not on Terror until a few moments ago. What - Might I ask where you were?
I was still recuperating from my injury on Erebus. I had… unfortunately been caught up with things against my control, so my stay was longer.
…
…If you’d offer a rundown of the events I had missed, I would be eternally grateful, sir.
*he hates not knowing the inside scoop. If hes not in the know he is VULNERABLE*
Ned gives Jopson a rundown of his experience of the past evening. Hodgson asking him to take a party out after seeing an explosion out on the ice, arriving to a scene of mutiny too late to take any action. The Captain’s arrival. The attack by the bear on Lieutenant Fairholme. The Captain’s order.
It is the tally of a long and exhausting night, and Ned becomes all the lore aware of his own pain and exhaustion as he speaks, the feelings sinking into his bones with every word. Still, he has a question for Jopson in return.
I had not heard you had been injured.
Now in the illuminated hall of the ship, he can see more clearly the way that Jopson holds himself, the bandaged leg. It is worrisome to him, the thought of Jopson crossing the ice alone, worsening his previous injuries.
*he internalizes everything without much indication of what he thinks about everything*
*then the lieutenant mentions his injury. right. The news hadnt spread far… too many people were injured that night*
Oh! Right, sir.
…I was shot.
*he beams like he had just told a funny joke. His pain is just that*
Though… a rocket to the leg could never keep me from my duty for long.
…
…
*he looks around at their whereabouts*
We’re almost there, lieutenant.
…
Would you mind standing in front of me when you announce me?
Of course, Mister Jopson. May I ask why?
It is curious to him, but he sees no such harm in the request as he moves forward into the hallway to the great room.
No.
*he smiles*
*with a resounding thud, he makes it onto The Terror… his home at last. The trip was excruciating due to his limp and the harsh winds and cold as balls temperature.*
*hes huffing from the exertion and hes . Pissed. So pissed. He hasnt made up his mind on whether to slap his fiancaptain silly or to kiss him passionately.*
…
*maybe both*
*he quirks an eyebrow at @nedlittlest, not quite expecting sentimentalities so soon*
Oh? What’s your position then, sir?
I mean—
Oldest… Youngest… That kind of stuff, sir.
*he is a little relieved by the sudden shift*
Quite possibly the most middle you can get - Six older, five younger.
His smile weakens. He's the exact middle, now. It's a painful reminder, and he tries to push the thought to the back of his mind. It was not quite so easy as that, the reminder that his brother was gone. Suddenly uncomfortable again, he curses his ruminating mind, and tries to change the subject of the conversation once more.
Do you have any siblings, Mister Jopson?
I do, sir. I’m the oldest of three, not including myself. Two brothers and one sister.
*air exhales from his nose, a quick laugh*
Though… I’m sure that’s a little obvious.
You care for people.
It feels like the most obvious observation in the world, and Ned feels a little bit like an idiot for putting it in such simple terms.
Person.
*his expression is so unreadable.*
I care for a person, sir.
Ms. Gibson and the junior stewards like her care for the others.
…
Is she a good worker, sir?
*its just conversation. Hes reaching for anything*
Ah - Yes.
He's said something wrong again, and his face feels hot.
Ms. Gibson does a fine job.
Ned doesn't really have much of anything to say about Ms. Gibson, except that she does her job well. He'd never quite gotten used to being served like that, not even after years as a Lieutenant, but he's adjusted.
I hate to ask, Mister Jopson, but I did not know you were not on Terror until a few moments ago. What - Might I ask where you were?
I was still recuperating from my injury on Erebus. I had… unfortunately been caught up with things against my control, so my stay was longer.
…
…If you’d offer a rundown of the events I had missed, I would be eternally grateful, sir.
*he hates not knowing the inside scoop. If hes not in the know he is VULNERABLE*
Ned gives Jopson a rundown of his experience of the past evening. Hodgson asking him to take a party out after seeing an explosion out on the ice, arriving to a scene of mutiny too late to take any action. The Captain’s arrival. The attack by the bear on Lieutenant Fairholme. The Captain’s order.
It is the tally of a long and exhausting night, and Ned becomes all the lore aware of his own pain and exhaustion as he speaks, the feelings sinking into his bones with every word. Still, he has a question for Jopson in return.
I had not heard you had been injured.
Now in the illuminated hall of the ship, he can see more clearly the way that Jopson holds himself, the bandaged leg. It is worrisome to him, the thought of Jopson crossing the ice alone, worsening his previous injuries.
*he internalizes everything without much indication of what he thinks about everything*
*then the lieutenant mentions his injury. right. The news hadnt spread far… too many people were injured that night*
Oh! Right, sir.
…I was shot.
*he beams like he had just told a funny joke. His pain is just that*
Though… a rocket to the leg could never keep me from my duty for long.
…
…
*he looks around at their whereabouts*
We’re almost there, lieutenant.
…
Would you mind standing in front of me when you announce me?
@nedlittlest raps twice at the door to the great room, and prays that he is not disturbing the Captain. After a brief moment, and no sounds from within, he speaks.
It’s Lieutenant Little, sir. Mister—
He stops himself, casting a glance back to where @thomas-jopson stands behind him.
There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you.
*Crozier had been brooding over a map of King Williamland, purposefully ignoring the knock at the door. When @nedlittlest speaks however, he groans loudly and scrubs a hand over his face.*
For Chrissake, Lieutenant, can't you handle the bloke yourself?
*He glances mournfully at the map. Back fish river is securely out of reach. There is another way, but... Crozier closes his eyes. His head aches. Despite his brief rest, he is still so... so tired.*
*Crozier thinks about the liquor cabinet, and feels a hot twist of shame like a knife to the belly. He raises his voice again.*
I'm... I have matters to attend to, lieutenant. I do not wish to be disturbed.
*he hobbles quickly over to grab Crozier and make him stay. Once he’s still, Jopson (from behind) rests his chin on the other’s shoulder. His voice is tender— light-hearted even. The screaming had took so much out of him. He’s not mad anymore and he barely was before. He was just scared… Scared and anxious.*
You…
*he then moves to rest his forehead on his lover’s shoulder blade*
You are apologizing for a lot more than what you should feel sorry for, sir.
…
How many times…
*how many times? Thats a good question. How many times, indeed. Now… couldnt the same be said for Jopson? How many times must Crozier say ‘i love you’ for him to internalize it? How many pet names must his lover call him for him to realize hes more than his occupation— that he’s more than just a warm body to fill or do filling.*
*How many times must his Captain be around him for the steward to stop worrying so goddamn much?!*
I mean every syllable when I say I love you, Captain.
…And I mean it every time I say that you could never ruin me.
…
You aren’t dragging me down in the slightest, sir. And I am giving you the chance to uplift me— to uplift us.
*he wraps his arms around the Captain’s waist and nuzzles into his neck*
… I’ll be here if you return tonight.
…
*here goes nothing*
…I want us to be wed.
…Tonight.
…
Alone.
I don’t care if it isn’t proper— we already could have never be wed in the proper sense.
*his breathing is hurried with his mania*
I need it. I need you, sir— I need you to know I still hold onto your promises and I will never forget a word of what you say.
…I will never forgive your transgressions against yourself either because I need your hand like I need my heart to run.
…
…
Please…
*he inhales a sobbing breath*
Please promise me you’ll at least see me tonight.
*with a resounding thud, he makes it onto The Terror… his home at last. The trip was excruciating due to his limp and the harsh winds and cold as balls temperature.*
*hes huffing from the exertion and hes . Pissed. So pissed. He hasnt made up his mind on whether to slap his fiancaptain silly or to kiss him passionately.*
…
*maybe both*
*he quirks an eyebrow at @nedlittlest, not quite expecting sentimentalities so soon*
Oh? What’s your position then, sir?
I mean—
Oldest… Youngest… That kind of stuff, sir.
*he is a little relieved by the sudden shift*
Quite possibly the most middle you can get - Six older, five younger.
His smile weakens. He's the exact middle, now. It's a painful reminder, and he tries to push the thought to the back of his mind. It was not quite so easy as that, the reminder that his brother was gone. Suddenly uncomfortable again, he curses his ruminating mind, and tries to change the subject of the conversation once more.
Do you have any siblings, Mister Jopson?
I do, sir. I’m the oldest of three, not including myself. Two brothers and one sister.
*air exhales from his nose, a quick laugh*
Though… I’m sure that’s a little obvious.
You care for people.
It feels like the most obvious observation in the world, and Ned feels a little bit like an idiot for putting it in such simple terms.
Person.
*his expression is so unreadable.*
I care for a person, sir.
Ms. Gibson and the junior stewards like her care for the others.
…
Is she a good worker, sir?
*its just conversation. Hes reaching for anything*
Ah - Yes.
He's said something wrong again, and his face feels hot.
Ms. Gibson does a fine job.
Ned doesn't really have much of anything to say about Ms. Gibson, except that she does her job well. He'd never quite gotten used to being served like that, not even after years as a Lieutenant, but he's adjusted.
I hate to ask, Mister Jopson, but I did not know you were not on Terror until a few moments ago. What - Might I ask where you were?
I was still recuperating from my injury on Erebus. I had… unfortunately been caught up with things against my control, so my stay was longer.
…
…If you’d offer a rundown of the events I had missed, I would be eternally grateful, sir.
*he hates not knowing the inside scoop. If hes not in the know he is VULNERABLE*
*with a resounding thud, he makes it onto The Terror… his home at last. The trip was excruciating due to his limp and the harsh winds and cold as balls temperature.*
*hes huffing from the exertion and hes . Pissed. So pissed. He hasnt made up his mind on whether to slap his fiancaptain silly or to kiss him passionately.*
…
*maybe both*
*he quirks an eyebrow at @nedlittlest, not quite expecting sentimentalities so soon*
Oh? What’s your position then, sir?
I mean—
Oldest… Youngest… That kind of stuff, sir.
*he is a little relieved by the sudden shift*
Quite possibly the most middle you can get - Six older, five younger.
His smile weakens. He's the exact middle, now. It's a painful reminder, and he tries to push the thought to the back of his mind. It was not quite so easy as that, the reminder that his brother was gone. Suddenly uncomfortable again, he curses his ruminating mind, and tries to change the subject of the conversation once more.
Do you have any siblings, Mister Jopson?
I do, sir. I’m the oldest of three, not including myself. Two brothers and one sister.
*air exhales from his nose, a quick laugh*
Though… I’m sure that’s a little obvious.
You care for people.
It feels like the most obvious observation in the world, and Ned feels a little bit like an idiot for putting it in such simple terms.
Person.
*his expression is so unreadable.*
I care for a person, sir.
Ms. Gibson and the junior stewards like her care for the others.
…
Is she a good worker, sir?
*its just conversation. Hes reaching for anything*