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James woke up in a hospital bed. He remembered the throbbing pain getting sharper and sharper until it felt like an iron claw clenched around his entire chest. A pain so intense he couldn’t even draw breath. He remembered Francis touching his throat with something like panic in his sky-blue eyes.
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Joan starts learning how to disarm a bomb, there might be a few hiccups.
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Didn't you tell me one time, at dinner, you used to make up stories about the stars?
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He’s learning Rust’s life through the marks on his body, little by little, like he never thought to do during the seven years they spent sitting across each other at CID.
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“What the hell are you anyway?” Marty scowls at him, he can hear the rustle of feathers every time the man so much as shifts. “You really a demon or something?”
“Or something.”
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By Any Other Name by fiendlikequeen for what_alchemy
Fandoms: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
06 Nov 2020
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Francis sees him, first, amongst the gnarled branches of a hawthorn: a beautiful stranger, leaning against its trunk with one hand playing amongst the haws-laden boughs.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,549
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 24
- Kudos:
- 50
- Bookmarks:
- 7
- Hits:
- 263
Bookmarked by Dienda
28 Nov 2020
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What was it that Fitzjames had that Francis didn’t that so endeared him to Franklin? Everything, clearly, Francis’ stomach curdling. Fitzjames was English. He was elegant, witty, charming. Francis’ tongue involuntarily touched his teeth, feeling the little gap, as opposed to Fitzjames’ handsome, mostly even smile.
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After the confrontation in the wardroom, Captain Crozier and Commander Fitzjames have it out, in more ways that one. But self-loathing and infatuation do not mix well, particularly in the Arctic.
Bookmarked by Dienda
14 Oct 2020
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“Where will you go, Francis?” James says. “When we’ve returned home?”
Bookmarked by Dienda
04 Oct 2020
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Crozier foolishly believed that the first Magpie case he was consulted on would be solved by the time supper was ready. He swept into Sir John Barrow’s opulent home, been directed to the man’s private collection, observed the empty space where prized swords once hung, the letter pinned in their place, the feather that had fallen to the floor.
“You’re not looking for a magpie, gentleman,” he announced in that tone which had prevented his advancement at Scotland Yard ) as he held the feather between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re looking for a peacock.”The Magpie, dashing gentleman thief, has been running rampant all over London, robbing society of their treasures and delighting the masses with his daring and charm.
Private Detective Francis Crozier intends to stop him.
Bookmarked by Dienda
19 Sep 2020
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James finds himself smiling fondly. How he loves this man, how he treasures every minute he can be at his side.
Bookmarked by Dienda
13 Sep 2020