#bestsir

[bluewolf2016]

I totally forgot that I drew this but alas - heres some Harry Goodsir!

[slashonmydash]

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

I love how I tag all characters/people by their names for everything but The Terror because I only know like five of their names and I’m not completely sure about two of them

[midweekblues]

I know Dan Simmons is generally disliked around here, but there’s a scene from the book that lives in my mind rent free and I’m still kinda sad we didn’t get to see in the show:

when The Creature™ infiltrates Erebus and wreaks havoc in the lower decks and Goodsir is super busy trying to patch all the injured up, and as he’s finishing, Fitzjames drops by the sick bay and Goodsir’s like I think I saw one more man lying down there, imma go and check real quick 

And Fitz is like Yo, for all we know that thing’s still there waiting to kill us, 

And Goodsir’s like*tired sigh* *picks up medical kit* Yeah I know, you coming or what?

I mean the show gives us plenty of reasons to know that Goodsir is Bestsir, but that moment of selfless, nonchalant badassery was like AAAAAAAH I just love him so much

[cawsaurus]

They really set up to write The Terror, looked at the full list of crewmen, and were like

The one who always needs painkillers will be Morfin

Steward obsessed with the Army? He’ll be Armitage.

And the nice doctor?

The nice doctor will be Goodsir.

[gobnaits]

goodsir, L (A stolen kiss)

I’m sorry this took so long, anon! School has been a nightmare but this was a nice distraction today! The painting Harry is thinking of is The Stolen Kiss by Fragonard which is kinda the only reference to the prompt… So here’s Harry having some gay thoughts!

on AO3

It was just a peck, hardly a kiss by any standard, well, perhaps at least not by Harry’s brother’s standard. Robert wouldn’t have called it a kiss and Harry couldn’t either. He shouldn’t have seen it, in the first place, if there was anything to see. He hadn’t seen anything—not really. Well, he couldn’t —wouldn’t—swear to have seen it, if anyone asked, not that they would, because it was nothing to talk about. It was nothing, nothing at all.

And Harry had work to do. He had patients to tend to. Why, the hammocks in the sickbay grew fuller by the day… He wouldn’t deign to think of something as unimportant as this.

Except he kept seeing that kiss, fast and chaste, again and again in his head as stuck as a particularly vexing rhyme, as he treated Best’s frostbitten fingers until he found him wrapping up the wrong hand. The seaman laughed and teased Harry. He could not speak the truth of it, obviously. Best need not know what his fellows got up to, or how it inexplicably occupied Harry’s mind to the point of distraction. He only corrected his mistake with an affable smile and sent Mr. Best on his way.

Alone, the thoughts persisted. Harry had once seen a painting (Robert would surely call him ridiculous for perseverating on this), or at least a woodcut of the painting in any case, of such a kiss. Young lovers sharing a moment in half-privacy. There was an urgency, a secrecy, and a torn desire in it.

And there was sweetness.

That was what ate at Harry. He had always thought of that sort of thing, in the very few times he had thought of it, as something done brutishly in dark alleyways and in ships’ holds. But this was a kiss. Here it was two sailors with chapped lips against a rough and ruddy cheek and it was captivating.

Perhaps, it would be lovely, to kiss and be kissed even here, Harry found himself thinking. Especially here, where it was wild and white. Harry saw the beauty in it. Maybe it was more like awe. It was something great and magnificent, and not always kind. But kindness could exist here, among themselves. Surely, Mr. Collins was lucky to have someone to kiss like that. Maybe, perhaps one would feel lucky to receive such a kiss.