saintgoodsir - Tumblr blog

[saintgoodsir]

ough

[saintgoodsir]

THE TERROR ▸ 1.10 we are gone

crozier looks through the camp and comes across an alarming sight: a man is actually sitting up inside one of the halfdowned tents. crozier crawls in to see who it is. it’s little. and he’s alive, his lap full of cold, greasy rags. crozier gently lifts up little’s chin so he can see his face. inexplicably, little’s been pierced with gold chains from various pocket watches. they connect parts of his body to his head. his eyes are open, but he does not recognize crozier.

[saintgoodsir]

nothing, just Jirving holding his skirt when he runs

[saintgoodsir]

ahem. I present to you: the peglar papers (the unofficial visual transcription), my freak pet project that's taken over a lot more of my life than I would like to admit!!

the idle thought of "I wish I could read these damn pages more clearly" took hold of my brain and wouldn't let me rest until I had traced over every page within the wallet and uhhhhhhhh. well here we are. the process of actually editing the scans to darken the script, tracing over it all, and then documenting the damage stains and holes on each page etc took about total ten months-ish to evolve into this monstrosity, so I'd appreciate it if someone could clap!!! I've been working really hard on this niche ass project for a long time!!!!!

anyways........ this is (nearly) every page available on the royal museum greenwich's online collection, AFTER I spent an agonizingly long time picking through each mark of the incredibly faded victorian cursive. (I've still yet to do henry's printed navy ID paper. It's in such bad shape, there's really not a lot I can confidently make out and all attempts thus far are incomprehensible 😔👍)

I anticipate there are some mistakes & misreadings in here somewhere, but I truly did use my very very very best efforts to stay faithful to what the marks upon the page looked like as they were made. I really hoped to get a typed up / deciphered transcript done as well, but unfortunately I don't have the time for such a thing right now due to The Rest Of My Life Is Still Happening, so this will have to do for now!! someday I will have a pdf and a transcript available, but everyone will have to bear with me until then.

Feel free to use these for.... whatever.... you need them for? If anyone else wants to take a stab at deciphering the backwards pages, or type up anything to make it more readily available and understandable, I'd love that and would love to see that!!!! very very much!!!!! as much as the ghost of tom armitage and I enjoy being the active crypt keepers for henry peter peglar (february 22, 1812 – c. 1849), it'd be lovely to have extra help with working out what the fuck he was saying in some parts 🫶 ok sorry for the long post, thanks for reading, mwah

[saintgoodsir]

ahem. I present to you: the peglar papers (the unofficial visual transcription), my freak pet project that's taken over a lot more of my life than I would like to admit!!

the idle thought of "I wish I could read these damn pages more clearly" took hold of my brain and wouldn't let me rest until I had traced over every page within the wallet and uhhhhhhhh. well here we are. the process of actually editing the scans to darken the script, tracing over it all, and then documenting the damage stains and holes on each page etc took about total ten months-ish to evolve into this monstrosity, so I'd appreciate it if someone could clap!!! I've been working really hard on this niche ass project for a long time!!!!!

anyways........ this is (nearly) every page available on the royal museum greenwich's online collection, AFTER I spent an agonizingly long time picking through each mark of the incredibly faded victorian cursive. (I've still yet to do henry's printed navy ID paper. It's in such bad shape, there's really not a lot I can confidently make out and all attempts thus far are incomprehensible 😔👍)

I anticipate there are some mistakes & misreadings in here somewhere, but I truly did use my very very very best efforts to stay faithful to what the marks upon the page looked like as they were made. I really hoped to get a typed up / deciphered transcript done as well, but unfortunately I don't have the time for such a thing right now due to The Rest Of My Life Is Still Happening, so this will have to do for now!! someday I will have a pdf and a transcript available, but everyone will have to bear with me until then.

Feel free to use these for.... whatever.... you need them for? If anyone else wants to take a stab at deciphering the backwards pages, or type up anything to make it more readily available and understandable, I'd love that and would love to see that!!!! very very much!!!!! as much as the ghost of tom armitage and I enjoy being the active crypt keepers for henry peter peglar (february 22, 1812 – c. 1849), it'd be lovely to have extra help with working out what the fuck he was saying in some parts 🫶 ok sorry for the long post, thanks for reading, mwah

[saintgoodsir]

it's really funny that i am at heart an unhorny hickey truther. i don't think sex actually ranks that high on his list of priorities, i think he views the body first and foremost as a tool and sex as a way of controlling or ingratiating himself with others, rather than as something he does for his own gratification. and much like he gets a kick out of denying his other physical needs like food and comfort (per adam nagaitis' comments), i think he would feel superior for not allowing himself to be ruled by the desire for sex. that being said, i have never claimed to be consistent, and i have written a lot of fanfiction where hickey is just a deranged little horndog at all times.

[saintgoodsir]

Thomas Jopson and his hair

[saintgoodsir]

so i'm on the royal museum greenwich's online collection of polar artifacts looking at the items recovered from the gladman point skeleton site again. as one does.

and like... well perhaps i am crazy but does the brown scratchy part on the right side not seem as though that would be exactly the spot where your thumb would rest, if you were holding the comb (folded up) in your closed hand....... like .... ok can you just go on this walk with me for a second. lets all imagine that

you know that you are going to leave camp and die out on the shale and not come back and you're choosing that option on purpose because the expedition has so badly fallen apart there's nothing else to do

and you decide you are going to die while carrying your semi-recently deceased husband's wallet (containing his notes and diary and poetry and ID papers) above your heart, tucked between your shirt and your waistcoat

but you are not literate and don't even have the means to write something down anyways, so you can't add any notes into henry's wallet for safekeeping

and you knew that he died terrified of being forgotten and would upset with you if you died without letting anyone know who you were, too

and you remember that eventually someone somewhere will search for the expedition, and would check the hms terror muster and see names and occupations

so you get dressed in your steward's uniform and start shoving a steward's tools into your coat pockets. just to really make it clear that you were a steward.

and you leave camp and get separated and eventually become lost

but it takes a fucking while to walk and walk and walk until you drop dead and so you have a while to think about things

and the whole time you're walking out and getting lost and feeling miserable and doomed and heartbroken and antsy, you've got your hands shoved in your pocket to protect against the cold

and you've got one hand wrapped around this stupid folded haircomb and you're scratching your thumbnail into the lacquer case of it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and ov--

until you fell down and facedown died as you walked along

and the comb stayed like that in your pocket until 125 years later, someone managed to pull it out from between your disarticulated, frozen, sun-bleached bones

that would be soooo fucked up right............. anyways it was probably just rocks and shale scratching it i guess..... maybe an animal gnawed on it a bit........ or like. yknow. the terrain + arctic tundra environment took its toll after the protective layer of Body And Clothes were degraded and destroyed over time etc.....

[saintgoodsir]

become the princess diana of your job and before you ask, no, i dont know what that means or how to go about it or if it would be good or if you would die in the process but yes most likely

[saintgoodsir]

Christos Lawton in LOVE (2012)

[saintgoodsir]

The Terror + Thomas Blanky

You said you wanted the truth, sir, in me own words. I trust you won’t courtmartial me for them now.

[saintgoodsir]

i adore Jirv's blue waistcoat so much. such a shame we don't see more of it

[saintgoodsir]

Hodgson at the carnival — 1x06

[saintgoodsir]

[saintgoodsir]

fitzjames’s episode 8 character arc is so good like. sometimes you have to metaphorically face down your greatest fear by submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known and confessing your feelings of shame and inadequacy, and then sometimes later that same day you have to literally face down a rampaging demon bear by shooting it in the face with a rocket launcher, all while your connective tissue is dissolving. my hero

[saintgoodsir]

[saintgoodsir]

the terror is a comedy to me