sorry but look at how edward little acts in episode one before everything goes to shit. bro is confident and sociable and lively and perfectly good at his job. and i feel the need to constantly point this out because it implies that if he were in a normal everyday situation then he would literally just be some regular guy. rather than you know. the incompetent anxious nervous wreck that fanon makes him out to be
I was tagged by @thesilliestpotato and am woefully late in replying. Here we go!
If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifs. Anon or not, doesn't matter, let's get to know the person behind the blog! :P
I am a cat "mom." My little dude is nine months old now! I've had him since he was five weeks; he was found alone by the side of the freeway. He's my buddy!
I have known my best friend since we were three years old! She's basically a sibling by now.
If I could move anywhere in the world, I would go to Edinburgh. I think the architecture is beautiful and hope to, in real life, be able to visit again and see more of the city.
I'm not certain I have seven blogs in my notifications (introvert problems), but let's see...
I was looking at the deck plan of the Terror, and Jopson and Little’s cabins are right next to the captain's quarters! It makes sense, of course, but I’d never really thought about it before. It means that wherever they tried to find some privacy, Crozier was always right through the wall. They must have had to be so quiet - no one wants to get caught. But Crozier wasn't hiding from anyone, so they’d be in there, holding their breath, trying to fuck while listening to his every move. Hearing him shift things around, hearing the sound of his voice. Trying to muffle their moans, wondering at the peak of pleasure: what if he hears us? Without ever knowing it, Crozier was always the third person in their bed - never mentioned, but constantly on their minds.
Oh! I remember seeing a WIP of yours in blue sky in which, if I recall correctly, Ned had to be picked up from the dentist and I'm always like 👀 wish I could know more of that situation, in particular
omg id forgotten about this one!! i will probably never get back to it tbh but. since that's true i may as well post what i've already got, right?
i guess i'd written about 1800 words - the premise of the fic was basically that ned gets his wisdom teeth out and thomas, who's fairly newly dating him, gets called in to pick him up. thomas has been planning on ending things because ned doesn't seem that into him, but when he encounters Ned high off his ass on pain meds and suddenly extremely affectionate, he slowly starts to realize that ned's actually just been doing too good of a job downplaying how much he likes thomas because he thinks thomas is really really cool and doesn't want to come on too strong. Also i think the concept of hodge as a dentist is hilarious. ignore any inaccuracies about the differences between dentists and oral surgeons and also the UK dentistry system as a whole, my entire research for this consisted of I Got My Wisdom Teeth Out And It Sucked
“Tom, thank God.”
“Sol?” asked Thomas, blinking in confusion. He’d very nearly ignored the call entirely, not sure Solomon had ever called him, choosing instead to communicate through text messages filled with his own invented acronyms and an equally untranslatable mash of emojis. He’d assumed it was a pocket dial or something, and only answered on the off chance that there was, as it now seemed like there might be, some kind of emergency. “Is everything alright?”
“Can you get Ned?”
Thomas blinked again. “Can I… what?”
“He’s not far from yours, just at that big medical centre at uh… I’ll dig up the address and text it to you.”
“Medical centre?”
“Yeah, from his surgery.”
“Solomon,” said Thomas, slowly and intensely as he was able. “What surgery?”
“Ah, Christ,” muttered Solomon. “Classic fuckin’ Little.” He paused, letting out a heavy breath. “It’s not— he’s fine, he’s just had his wisdom teeth out, and I promised months ago when he made the appointment that I’d pick him up from it, only I forgot and told Tommy I’d help them move today, and this was before the two of you— well, I figure this is boyfriend territory anyway, right?”
“I’m not his—” Thomas started, but he cut himself off. It didn’t matter that Edward wasn’t his boyfriend, not really. It didn’t even matter that Thomas was thinking of ending things with him anyway. If Sol thought of picking someone up from a minor surgery as boyfriend territory, then he almost certainly thought of helping someone move as boyfriend territory, and Thomas had been watching Tommy moon over Sol for long enough that he certainly wasn’t going to get in the way of that. Particularly not if, as he suspected would happen if Sol cancelled on Tommy, Thomas got called to help next and was forced to hear them complaining about Sol the whole time. It was fine. He would pick Edward up and drop him off at home, and the fact that he hadn’t bothered to tell Thomas that he was getting his wisdom teeth out could just be another addition to Thomas’ growing list of reasons why there was no way that whatever was happening between the two of them had the potential to last longterm. “Sure,” he said. “What time?”
“I’ve just dropped him off, they said to be back in an hour or so? I’ve got Ned’s car but I can come drop it with you. You have got a license, yeah?”
Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He supposed he’d have to leave work early then. It was fine, he told himself, he’d been planning on coming back in this weekend anyway, especially after Edward had said he had ‘a thing’ that would ‘last all weekend.’ Wanker. “Yes, I have a license. Can you come to my office? I’ll wrap up here and drop you at Tommy’s.”
“You’re a godsend Tom.”
“Yes, alright. See you soon.”
He hung up before Sol could say anything else, and reached out to shut his laptop. Hopefully the office wouldn’t fall apart just because he was leaving at lunch on a Friday. Depending on where Billie and their boyfriend’s relationship was at this week and therefore how capable Billie was of actually doing their job, he figured it was a solid 50/50.
—-
“Francis?”
Francis’ head jerked up at the sound of Thomas’ voice, his stony expression softening into something more affectionate. “Ah, Thomas. What can I do for you?”
“I hate to ask, sir, but something’s… come up that I need to deal with. I should be able to come in tomorrow to finish my work for the week.”
“Don’t worry about all that,” said Francis with a wave of his hand. “I’ll have Gibson stay late, I know you wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Is everything alright?”
“Alright enough not to bother Billie with it,” said Thomas. He was fairly sure that if Billie heard he’d left early on a Friday and left them to do his work for him, he’d never live it down, particularly not if they found out Edward was involved. Thomas had got on their case enough times about skiving off to see their boyfriend, he wouldn’t even be able to hold it against them. Not that Edward was his boyfriend, of course. “Honestly it might not even take that long, I could probably be back by four or so and just stay a few hours late myself.”
“Only if you’re really up for it,” said Francis. “Can’t even remember the last day off you took if I’m being honest, go and handle what you need to handle.”
”You’re sure?” asked Thomas, already attempting to catalogue in his head just how long it would take to get to the medical centre, back to Edward’s flat, and then take the train back into the office. Depending on how quickly the surgery was done and how much help Edward needed, he might even be able to get back by 3:30.
“Go,” said Francis. “We can survive an afternoon without you. Probably.”
“I don’t—”
“Thomas.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Thomas, and he left the office before he could talk himself back out of it.
***
Sol was late, of course, and Thomas’ office was a good twenty minute drive from the medical centre, so by the time he arrived it was already past the one hour mark, and that was before he realised that Sol hadn’t actually told him what floor to go to. There were three dentists in the building, according to the list by the lifts, and of course Sol didn’t answer when Thomas tried to call him again, and the first two had never so much as heard of an Edward Little.
The third dentist’s office was cosy and colourful, with a large fish tank in one corner and a brown haired, bearded receptionist in duck patterned scrubs sitting at the desk.
“Morning,” he said with a bright grin. “Are you here to make an appointment for your child?”
“My—” said Thomas faintly. “No, I’m here to pick up my… friend. Edward Little?”
Thomas could see the split second in which his smile shifted from one of customer service to something more genuine; it came with a spark of something mischievous in his eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Well, that makes more sense then. We don’t normally get single men just wandering in here.”
“You’re a children’s dentist?"
“Well I’m a receptionist,” said the man, and it took everything in Thomas not to roll his eyes, “but George is a children’s dentist, yes. Just doing a favour for Ned, you know how the poor lad is about his teeth.”
Thomas did not know how Edward was about his teeth, actually, not past a vague mention a few weeks back about having had braces for a longer than average time as a child. It seemed that there were plenty of things though, that Edward didn’t feel like Thomas needed to know about him. He had at least heard of George, an old university friend of Edward’s who Thomas had yet to meet. Actually, Sol was the only of Edward’s friends that he had met yet, and that was only because Sol had been the one to introduce them. Thomas still hadn’t forgiven Sol for knowing his taste quite so well — right down to the emotional attachment issues.
“Of course,” Thomas said, a moment too late.
“I can walk you back if you’d like, they should be done by now."
“Thank you,” said Thomas, trying his hardest to keep his irritation at bay. It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault that any of this was happening, and it wasn’t fair of Thomas to act like it was.
“I’m Henry, by the way,” said the man, slipping out from behind the desk. He was short, barely up to Thomas’ chin, but he moved with confidence as he stuck his hand out for Thomas to shake, and Thomas, despite himself, felt a bit charmed. It wasn’t his fault, he told himself again.
“Thomas,” he said, accepting the handshake.
Henry’s smile, if possible, widened. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, I’ve heard of you.”
“You— you have?”
“Sure,” said Henry with another cheeky grin. “Went out for drinks for George’s birthday a few months back and Ned wouldn’t shut up about you. Glad to see it’s still going well then.”
George’s birthday. Thomas remembered that; Edward had texted him that night after the party asking what he was up to, and had come over to Thomas’ flat around eleven and made Thomas come so many times in a row that he’d nearly cried. It had been barely two weeks after their first date.
“Right,” said Thomas for lack of anything better to say.
Harry stopped in front of a door patterned with little ducks. “He's just in here,” he said. “Fair warning though, George’s given him the good stuff. He’s a bit— well, you’ll see.”
Thomas’ heart sank. If “the good stuff” was anything like— but no, he wouldn’t think about that. Edward needed him to have his shit together right now, and he could have his little mummy issues crisis another time.
He reached out and pushed open the door.
Edward’s face — as well as one could with heavy lidded eyes and a mouth full of cotton — lit up.
“Tom!” he cried out, immediately trying and failing to sit up in his little bed. Then, again “Tom!” but not directed at him this time. This one was directed at the blonde nurse next to him, the one Edward was smacking at with one floppy hand. “My Tom is here!”
“Ah, the famous Thomas,” said the blonde, holding out a hand for Thomas to shake. “Nice to meet you finally. Tom Hartnell.”
“I—” said Thomas, once again trying to process that Edward, who wouldn’t even reach out first to make plans with him save for that one (likely alcohol inspired) night, had been talking about him with the entire dentistry staff here. “I didn’t realise I was famous.”
“Oh sure,” said Tom with a grin. “Ned hardly shuts up about you.”
“Tom,” said Edward again, somehow reproachful even as the cotton in his mouth muffles the word. “Stop, he still thinks I’m cool.”
“That true?”
“Sure,” said Thomas. There were plenty of kind adjectives he would’ve been happy to use to describe Edward, but cool was not one of them.
“Tom,” said Edward again, and both of them turned to look at him. “Not you,” he said to Thomas, waving him off. “You.” He pointed at Tom, who shot Thomas an amused smirk before he spoke.
“Yes?”
“Wasn’t I right?”
“Right about what?”
Edward waved a floppy arm in Thomas’ direction. “Look at him,” he said emphatically. “And he’s dating me! On purpose!”
“Ned,” murmured Thomas, cheeks warming in embarrassment. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“When I’ve got a perfectly good bed right here?” asked Edward, clearly trying for seductive and missing somewhat spectacularly. Behind him, Tom choked on a laugh.
A gentle reminder that Edward Little proved to be one of the most emotionally stable and physically resilient members of the Franklin expedition. He was the last survivor, surpassed only by Crozier. Thank you.
I personally think one of Nedward’s defining traits is that he is not a liar of any kind.
He’s totally sincere in a lot of the interactions we see. When Fitzjames is telling his Chinese sniper story, Little’s comment about Nelson seems genuine, especially in contrast to Crozier’s subsequent jab about Birdshit Island. At Terror Camp, he tells Crozier that if they get back to England, all the men deserve medals in gold. Crozier sees the reality, which is that they’re just a failed expedition, and deflects very diplomatically.
When Little is put in situations where he is forced to lie or at least put on the persona of a leader, he is visibly uncomfortable. E.g. “Much to do on Terror, is all” or having to bring up the idea of leaving the sick behind at the command meeting while Le Vesconte is metaphorically nudging him.
While I genuinely think this earnestness is a noble trait to have, it’s very much not ideal for someone in a leadership position. A captain or officer often needs to be someone the men want them to be in a particular moment. There has to be a certain degree of showmanship involved, especially in such a harsh and hierarchal situation. Towards the beginning of the series, this is even what Crozier and Franklin (+ Fitzjames) butted heads over. For instance, Crozier’s super awkward speech at the lead finding parties’ departure. But after Crozier gets sober, he turns things around at Carnivale and is able to give a rousing speech to the men.
Little stays the same, and arguably more and more uncomfortable with putting on an officer’s face due to the fiasco at the Terror Camp armory and the mutineers’ escape that follows. He does initially attempt to pass off the decision to hand out additional guns as his idea. Then he almost immediately admits it was Tozer, and is grilled by Crozier for it. Ironically, in one of the few times Crozier appreciates Little’s sincere loyalty and correctly predicts that he will try to rescue him from Mutineer Camp, Little’s authority is overridden by Le Vesconte and the vote.
He is earnest until the very end, when his last words reveal that he had been holding out hope after everything that happened.
Seriously underrated moment btw is when jopson offers silna tea and she looks at him like hes some kind of creature whos been trained to dance on command
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