goodsiir-blog

[goodsiir-blog]

Not to be controversial and traumatized but FUCK Christianity and FUCK trying to research the Victorian era as a former cult escapee bc God's fucking everywhere in all the books I read & im exhausted

[goodsiir-blog]

I grew up in a cult with limited access to media or pop culture so sometimes I'll mention like, macho and my roommates will break out in song about some Macho Man that's a meme I just don't understand so I just stand there in slight horror as my roommates act like *theyre* the ones in a cult lol

[goodsiir-blog]

Goodsir is a sweet person except when he says things like "wow your English is really amazing" and gets punched in the face

[goodsiir-blog]

"The Netsilik, the people who live here. I was learning Netsilik, a woman on our ship was helping me. It's, it's fascinating, how well you speak English." Goodsir furrowed his brow at the description. "What do you mean, the building can tell?" He looked at the cathedral of a building, so different and strange. But he'd had three years of strange happenings and new discovery, hadn't he? "Yes, food would be nice." He was restraining himself, stumbling up to his feet and wringing his hands in standard polite fashion. Clinging to whatever civility he could after three years of wilderness.

[goodsiir-blog]

[goodsiir-blog]

{ Send “how are you alive” for your character to discover mine doing something really stupid }

[goodsiir-blog]

Who is gonna kiss this soft man’s gentle muttonchops

[goodsiir-blog]

It's so funny how all the new Terror blogs are multumuse so even tho the rpc is like three ppl we still have everyone in the cast fbfvg Also I'm considering Blankey or fbgb the first guy Hickey recruits i don't remember his name

[goodsiir-blog]

Send me “Silent Scream” for my muse to vent anything they’ve been keeping hidden inside.

[goodsiir-blog]

Suspicious Sentence Starters

Send me one of the following sentences regarding suspicion, trust, and paranoia.

“I’m not sure you have the best intentions.” “When have I ever steered you wrong?” “What makes you think I can trust you?” “I don’t trust you. Not yet.” “It’s hard for me to believe anything you say.” “It hurts that you still can’t trust me after all this time.” “I made a mistake, okay? Are you going to distrust me forever?” “It takes me a long time to open up to people, I’m sorry.” “There’s someone outside watching the house.” “I have a weird feeling about him/her/them.” “Why do you always think people are up to something?” “I won’t give you my trust. You have to earn it.” “You can’t live your life being suspicious of everybody around you.” “I know we just met, but you have to trust me.” “What on earth are you up to?” “So, what were you whispering about?” “You’ve been keeping a secret from me.” “I’m not crazy, we’re being watched!” “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me the truth?” “I’d rather be safe than sorry when it comes to people I don’t know yet.” “I trusted you once and I’m never doing it again.” “You see that person? I think they’re following us.” “I just get this feeling that someone has been watching me.” “Who are you and why have you been following me?” “I used to be a very trusting person.” “Where were you?” “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” “You won’t call me ‘paranoid’ when you realize I’ve been right all along.” “You were right, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” “Give me one good reason to trust you.” “After last time, I’m not sure I should listen to you.” “Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m not trusting another one of your bad plans.” “How can we trust this person?” “How do I know you won’t just stab me in the back?” “I’m sorry, I just can’t bring myself to trust you again.” “You were right. I was a fool to trust them.” “I’m not suspicious. I’m just cautious.” “I told you that they were bad news.” “No, facebook stalking isn’t ‘creepy’, it’s called ‘being careful’.” “I get a bad feeling about them.”

[goodsiir-blog]

Leave me stuff to answer this weekend my Goodsir muse is strong

Ok I’m going home to no wifi, talk to you guys later uwu

[goodsiir-blog]

Ok I'm going home to no wifi, talk to you guys later uwu

[goodsiir-blog]

Wing kink anyone?

[goodsiir-blog]

I lied! Im using two! Two things from The Book™️ Henry only has three toes after Hickeys seven day torture but he never gave in & he's always going to be on the thin side after his rescue. He doesn't eat red meat even years later, can't stomach the sight. Tunnbaq dug a hole & clawed through the ships hull which was a cool idea I low-key wish the show had done too

[goodsiir-blog]

Ah, had he said something in his delerium while recovering? "The ramblings of sick and starved men three years removed from civialization hardly make for reliable accounts." His voice was tense, warning. He grimaced at her prying. "I know I was away for three years but I'm certain that modern culture says I should buy the drinks for the woman." He tapped his fingers on the bar, staring distantly at the worn wood. Then he looked up, icy and distant nearly dead eyes regarding her. "I'm afraid I'm not what you're looking for." Either for a story or for possible flirting. (Not that he could be quite open about either part of himself, sadly.) "I have the ghost of 120 men I failed to save weighing on me. What's a few more ghosts?" He smile was bitter a cruel, very unlike the gentleman he'd been when he'd first boarded the ship. The ice had sharpened him.

[ ugly mobile reply for @erinthevampire ]

Fingers deftly wound the bandage around freshly opened two year old wounds. Yes, he was back in Europe with food and fruit but it was taking a while for his body to play catch up, it seemed.

“You do?” The man that returned from the voyage is sharper, less trusting. Seen the darkest parts of humanity. Even aided and abetted in some of it. The few survivors had all decided on the story. Stale and boring but palpable for both loved ones and the press.

Sometimes, they would all meet up and share silent somber drinks, recalling exactly what they’d left out of the story. Horrors defying both human nature and reality itself.

He spoke again, voice distant and calm. “Well, of course you do. Captain Crozier all but published his memoir.” He smiled, half cheeky and half sincere. “I was only hauling boats and caring for sick. Not many stories to tell, I’m afraid.” He was, even to the public, just grateful to have survived. Still in the healing and adjusting stage. Being in civialization again, the pressing weight of what he’d done to survive. And what he hadn’t done, but had still endured. (Hard to walk with only three toes, eh?)

[goodsiir-blog]

❛ It is right to seek peace for the dead. You and I both know there is no peace for those who live after. ❜

"I suppose." Goodsir sat against the sick pay bench, tense and still bloody-handed. He had formed a strange friendship with Wolfin. The men on board were far past caring about a woman on board. Goodsir tried to catch her ear as often as he could, enjoying the company. Strange as she was, she understood some of what he spoke with her about, the problems of having the wrong form, the wrong body compared to the rest of the crew and a ship that wasn't built with their type in mind. More than that, she asked incessant questions, things to keep his mind off of the ice and the cold and hunger. And the thing lurking beyond the ship walls. He would recall as many medical texts as he could, teaching and growing quite fond of it. He'd missed it. So much of his job now was the gore of survival. Amputation and cauterizing and suturing up old reopened wounds or claw marks. It was nice to remember the other side of healing, when things still had hope. When it wasn't just pushing against an inevitable breakdown of all bodily functions, which most of the crew were struggling with and he (and Wolfin) was desperately seeking answers to. If there was a way to save it besides just giving up on half their already meager rations. He sighed, letting that attempt at a brave face he'd worn for the past year finally fall. He crumpled. "I have to keep doing these autopsies. The captain ordered it. These men know that they aren't even going to their graves whole." There, that hopeless feeling settling back in. Familiar and still uncomfortable, suffocating. He tried to wipe the blood off before it froze to his fingers, but it was already stuck there. He threw the towel down in frustration. "There is an order to these things. But the men can't even rest in--" His voice cracked, he drew in on himself with a sharp sob. Moments of silence, the ship creaking ominously. The men nearby in sick hammocks, coughing. More men he couldn't truly help. Just try to make comfortable as they slowly starved or went septic. "Do you ever..." He paused, knowing how disgusting the thought was but still feeling it wrapping around him, a dark and warm blanket settling around. "The dead, they're warm and watching us all from the heavens. And sometimes, I get these fleeting notions. Of giving up and joining them. Before this gets worse. And lately they've been less and less fleeting." He stared at the swinging lamp behind her head, unable to meet her eyes. "I want to. But they need me. They need me, I'm all that's left."

[goodsiir-blog]

Also I wanna do…. Sea of Stars vibes so hit that 💖 for a Age of Stars au thing where it’s The Terror but space opera probably. Alien-style space truckers stuff