incorrectist
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Dennis hates that he bends over backwards for his family, that he’s uprooted his life yet again for people who don’t have the decency to call him by his name. If his mother truly has vascular dementia, she may have some time to get her affairs in order, but it is a progressive disease. It’s unclear at what rate and how dramatically she will decline, but she will decline. Dennis just wants to be spared from bearing the news to the rest of his family.
Dennis's mother has a stroke. As he deals with the complexities of his extended family in Broken Bow, his relationship with Robby shifts.
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As the stranger turns his head, the shadow of his hat shifts and James all at once recognizes the dour, scowl-scarred face of George Barrow, wagging his finger at John the way one might scold a dog. James still cannot hear them, but he can read snippets of the conversation on their lips, and it is unpleasant. He catches the words “rat’s den” and “degenerate” as George’s voice rises, and the chatter of the bar falls away apprehensively. It sounds like George has gone to great pains tracking his brother here—and has found himself drinking in the process.
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to find there but the road back home again by incorrectist
Fandoms: The Terror (TV 2018)
07 Jul 2025
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It is a week since the execution, by Francis Crozier’s estimate. The caulker’s mate is dead: shamed, hanged, and then mauled. The creature does not give chase afterwards, but when Crozier returns to the scene he finds the limp body of Solomon Tozer, untouched, left swaying on the gallows like an offering.
After, they no longer make camp–they sleep in shifts on their sledges, twenty or thirty at a time. On their third rotation, James Fitzjames collapses in his harness and is relegated to a sledge with the other dying men. Francis Crozier is best driven by action, so he does not brood over his second’s broken body–he hauls, two shifts at a time, until he can think of nothing but the weight of the sledge and the shale beneath his feet. He hauls, and when he sleeps, he dreams of hauling.
So when the fireworks come, Francis Crozier is not looking.
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Shamefully, James prefers when Francis is a less considerate lover. James likes to be the object of fierce and selfish want, he likes to be taken from; this is the idea of Francis, and indeed the form he took the first few times they were together, that leaves James feeling hot under his collar and rubbing himself raw in his berth at night.
It is this that further complicates things: when Francis bellowed at him in the wardroom tonight, on Terror, when he lunged and raised his fist to James and struck him—James wanted him then. And in the split second after it happened, when James’s confused mind had stuttered, Francis (wicked, unobservant, indefensibly drunk as he was) had noticed.
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“And what right do you have, to speak to me of shame,” Francis snarls. “It’s clearly not your skill as an explorer that brought you here. But an ambitious, pretty young man like you – I’d wager a guess what secret talents you made use of in your impressive ascent through the chain of command.”
Fitzjames goes white, then bright red. A crude delight wells up in Francis – he’s struck a nerve.
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“The score. You know, with that thing you kids have going on?”
“The thing,” Whitaker repeats. Robby watches the red on the tips of his ears stretch all the way to the lobe. “Oh, the—that, um, I—”
“Oh, hey, Whitaker, look. You don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. We don’t—it’s fine. Not that you wouldn’t—” Oh shit, now he’s the one babbling. Panic creeps up the back of his neck, just as pulsing and pink as Whitaker’s face. “You’re a good-looking kid and you should put yourself out there is what I’m saying. Try your luck every now and again. Live a little. I did when I was your age.” God, Robinovitch, shut the hell up. He’ll never hear the end of it from Jack if he doesn’t stop running his mouth. He closes his eyes for a moment, raising his hands in surrender. “It’s not my business. Never mind.”
“The score is zero,” Whitaker says, quietly.
“Well I’m sure it won’t stay that way for long.” He says it before he can help it. God he is so fired.
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Santos ropes Whitaker into seeing who can have the most sex with the ED staff. Spoiler alert: she loses.
Series
- Part 1 of live a little
Bookmarked by incorrectist
29 Oct 2025
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On a porch, in the dark, somewhere in Broken Bow, Nebraska, on a random autumn Saturday, Robby brings his cigarette to Dennis' lips, as if it is the easiest thing in the world. But there is so much more to this one act of kindness, in the way his fingers brush against Dennis' lips, the way Dennis looks up at him through his lashes, eyes wide on his parents' porch. Dennis fears he might lose the family that raised him, but he isn't as scared, if it means he might gain a new one.
After Dennis' parents find out that he is trans and has been transitioning ever since leaving for medical school, Dr. Robby offers to drive him home to his parents, to do damage control.
Bookmarked by incorrectist
21 Oct 2025
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James tries to open his mouth to argue, to defend their late commander against Francis’ derision; but without warning, Francis’ weight at his side shifts, his hand slipping from James’ shoulder down to the tangle of ropes wrapped haphazardly around his bicep, his fingers catching on the weave of them and pulling, and James—
God help him, James moans.
James finds himself a little tied up in the spirit room. For Guin!
Bookmarked by incorrectist
08 Jul 2025
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“Ah, Sir John.” Francis cleared his throat once the wardroom was near to empty. “May I borrow James? Regarding the Lloyd’s balance. We took readings that require further inspection. I’ll send him back in a gig—tonight if the weather holds, in the morning otherwise.”
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Bookmarked by incorrectist
07 Jul 2025
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I'll start with some of the things I thought on my walk today.
Nice pretty flowers coming up with spring you always yelped at your first yearly sight of a daffodil.
Sky bright you'd have remembered my sunglasses I never do.
You kept playing tennis to keep yourself fit until the end. Do you remember how I would watch you play? Trying to memorise your parries. (haha.) I didn't used to like it when I saw you playing on the hill courts back when I hated you. I felt like it was just like all those vitamins you took bloody ridiculous modern attempts to stave off wrinkles and ageing. I used to wonder about the money you wasted on creams like they advertise on the telly with smiling women always in white. Funny those vitamins and creams they filled up our bedside table eventually.
Bookmarked by incorrectist
06 Jul 2025