#alexander mcdonald/stephen stanley

[sailon-ishmael]

I’ve never written a fic before and it’s been a good long while since I’ve written any narrative prose but insomnia and brainrot are a helluva combo, so here’s 1.5k words of disgustingly fluffy-slight hurt/comfort-McDonald/Stanley-survive AU for anyone interested. Maybe I’ll post on ao3 eventually but I’ve never done that before so I’m not sure yet.

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Be the Blanket for My Bones

(CW: slightly suggestive but nothing explicit. Nudity? Discusses past injuries, past canonical suicide attempt, scars, some internalized ableism)

Stephen slips out of sleep and into a hazy awareness. The sunlight shining through the window pricks at his eyelids, the curtains left open in their haste the previous night. He shivers slightly, his skin bared without even a sheet to cover him. But a familiar warmth emanates from the other side of the bed.

He senses the weight and heat of Alexander’s body, motionless save for the slight rise and fall of the mattress as he breathes.

Stephen chances a cracking open of one eye, too tempted by the promise of the sight of his love mussed in sleep. He is not disappointed.

With one arm tossed above his head and naked as the day he was born his lover resembles a sculpture of a Greek youth, like one might see scattered throughout one of the museums that Alexander often insists on dragging him to. (He would never say this aloud though, it’s far too sentimental and besides Alexander would scoff at the idea that he could still resemble anything close to a youth. And yet, he does).

And draped over his torso and legs is the evasive sheet they’re meant to be sharing. Since the very first time they shared a bed, Alexander has made it his habit to assert sole custody over any blanket, sheet, or covering they might have begun the night wrapped up in together. But Stephen doesn’t mind. While his partner still struggles to shake the cold of those long years in the ice, Stephen finds he prefers a slight chill to the possibility of being engulfed in a heat that reminds him of— well.

He is warmed now though. The sunlight that bathes his skin is gentle, caressing his skin with a heat so unlike the flames that had burned his skin that night when he fell headlong into the pit of his own despair.

The scarred patches of his skin feel tight as always, but there is no pain today.

He studies his lover for a moment, opening his other eye, but he doesn’t move yet. He doesn’t want to jostle the bed and disturb his slumbering Adonis.

Alexander’s thick hair is egregiously tousled as always, bits and pieces flopping over his forehead in a way that makes him look painfully young, despite the fact that both of them are closer to sixty now than they are to fifty. The sun glints off the edges of his hair, giving it a coppery sheen. A small purple bruise is illuminated on his shoulder, further evidence of the previous night’s passions.

The sheet hangs low enough that Stephen can see the rough line of scarring left by Mr. Hickey’s one act of heroism. It’s not a pretty scar; the stitches were hastily done by Mister— no, Doctor Goodsir (Stephen had promised he would at least try, for Alexander’s sake he will always try), who had done his best considering the circumstances.

But Stephen can’t even bring himself to criticize the amateurish stitching like he usually would. It’s existence means that Alexander had survived, that Alexander is still here beside him, and that they had escaped their frozen hell together.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Stephen brushes the top of the scar lightly with just the back of his hand. He holds his breath as Alexander shifts slightly, curling in towards the touch. But his eyes remain closed, still asleep. Stephen slowly follows the raised line down with the tip of his index finger, tracing this lifeline that tethers the soul he holds most dear to this wretched earth, to his own wretched soul.

Suddenly the back his neck prickles with the feeling that he is being watched. He shifts his gaze up and meets Alex’s open eyes, hazy with sleep but sparkling slightly with amusement.

“Reminiscing?”

Stephen masks his embarrassment at having been caught with a slight shrug, going to withdraw his hand. But before he can make his retreat, Alex catches his wrist with a gentle but firm grasp. He lays Stephen’s whole hand back on the scar, his flat palm spanning almost the whole length of the mark.

“I didn’t say that I minded,” he murmurs.

Alex doesn’t remove his hand entirely, but he loosens his grip as he begins his own exploration where his fingers circle Stephen’s wrist.

The flames had licked up almost the whole of his right arm, as well as the right side of his neck and face. The skin there is shiny pink and twisted, healed now forever marred. It was only the quick thinking and action of Mister Collins and Mister Bridgens that had saved him. (In tackling him to the ground and dousing him completely with snow, the second master and steward had come away with scorched fingers and singed hair for their troubles. Stephen considers that a fair price all things considered. Stephen has chosen to be thankful rather than resentful. He has found gratitude to be an easier pill to swallow than forgiveness).

Their actions, along with Hickey’s, had miraculously spared the rest of the crew of any serious casualties, except of course, for Alexander. (That is one area where Stephen may never be able to forgive himself, even though Alexander has never said a word to condemn him).

Alex’s fingers trace the swirls of scar tissue that spider up from Stephen’s wrist. The sensation is slightly dulled but pleasant. Like the man himself, Alexander’s hands are always perfectly warm, everything about him designed to put people at ease.

Stephen’s eyes slip shut under his lover’s ministrations. He feels the thump of Alex’s beating heart under his palm, the gentle rhythm combined with the sun’s warmth lulling him back into a daze of near-sleep.

His reverie is broken suddenly when Alex speaks., “You are so beautiful.”

Stephen's eyes snap open. He tries to mask the despair by letting out a scoff he hopes comes across as disbelieving. He curls the hand on Alexander’s chest into a fist, attempting to push himself away but his lover refuses to release him.

“I mean it, Stephen. I wish I could draw you like this, show you how you look through my eyes. Then you would see all that I see.”

“I can see my scars well enough in the looking glass, Alexander. I know full well what I look like.” Stephen sighs, but there is no bite to his words as the only feeling he can muster is tired resignation.

Alex moves suddenly towards the middle of the bed, rolling over onto his front so that the line of his body is pressed against Stephen’s. The sheet twisted about his legs is only barrier between their skin. He runs his left hand over the cratered landscape of Stephen’s right side, insistent and soothing in equal measure.

Despite himself, Stephen feels the tension go out of him as his body can’t help but relax under Alex’s loving touch.

“Beautiful. You look beautiful. How could this body be anything but perfect to me? Yes, even— no, especially, these scars. They show me that you survived, my darling, that you’ve healed.”

Stephen shudders out an exhale, unsteadied by his love’s words. No tears come to his eyes, of course, he probably couldn’t cry even if he tried. But the strength of Alex’s devotion still surprises him even after years of relentless affection.

Stephen unfurls his hand and slides it up Alex’s chest, over the bite mark on his shoulder, up his neck, and into the thick warmth of his lover’s hair, leaning in to kiss lips still soft with sleep. It is a chaste kiss, but he pours as much affection and burning gratitude into it as he can. Even if he still can’t quite accept the words to be true for himself, he wants Alex to know that he treasures them. He pulls back slightly to look at his love, finding all his feelings reflected back in warm hazel eyes, so unlike his own icy blue ones.

He glances down between them at Alexander’s scar and before he can hesitate, dips his head down to press a kiss there too. Alexander inhales sharply, a small gasp escaping his lips. It is not one of pain, though, so Stephen does not pull away, pressing a line of kisses along this closed seam.

Alexander’s hand comes to rest on the nape of Stephen’s neck, his fingers gently carding through the sparse hair at the back of his head. With each small kiss he tries to pour out the thoughts in his mind: This scar is beautiful to me too. You are beautiful to me. I’m so happy you are here with me. I’m so happy you’re alive.

When Stephen pulls back and looks at Alexander’s face again, there is a slight sheen in his eyes and a dimpled grin spreading across his mouth. Crow’s feet crinkling in the way that he adores.

“I do love you so, Doctor Stanley.”

Stephen leans in and folds himself into Alexander’s arms, their bodies wrapping around each other until they’re as close as two people can be without climbing totally inside one another.

He feels Alexander’s breath blow across the side of his neck and burrows his face deeper into the sweet sleep touched smell of his skin, resting his head in the divot of his shoulder.

“And I you, Doctor McDonald.”

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Endnotes:

If you read this far, thank you! I’d love to hear your thoughts :)

Title is from “Slip Into Your Skin” by Patrick Watson

[staud]

the crews of TERROR vs EREBUS: officer edition noticed a lot more people watching the terror recently so i made a gif guide to help differentiate all the cold boys! this and this face chart are also super helpful and funny

[cinematicnomad]

THE TERROR ▸ mr. goodsir // dr. goodsir

[sinister-yuri]

part 2/?

[hacash]

‘Being at the club would fix me’: the Terror version

Fitzjames: Knows going to the club would fix him, goes to the club and immediately comes to the conclusion that yes, this has fixed him. (It’s usually some sort of gay club but let’s not read too much into that.)

Franklin: Knows going to the club won’t fix him, doesn’t want to go to the club, goes to the club anyway when his men invite him (and they always do).

Crozier: No amount of money could persuade him to go to the club.

Goodsir: Knows going to the club won’t fix him; everyone else knows going to the club won’t fix him so they don’t bother to ask. Attempts to be fixed by a long refreshing nature are so far going well.

Little: Thinks going to the club would fix him, is in the club for all of ten seconds before realising nope, this isn’t working either.

Dundy: Thinks there’s nothing about him that needs fixing by the club, is at the club most nights anyway.

Hodgson: Well, he’d rather be at a cool little cocktail bar, but if his lads want to be at the club he’ll happily join them. His is a Mai Thai please, heavy on the Mai.

Irving: Does he have to go to the club? Please don’t make him go to the club. He doesn’t see why he - oh, is this the club? It’s not quite as good as that drag brunch last week, everyone there was awfully friendly, but he can manage the club, thanks.

Jopson: What would fix him is being Crozier’s designated driver home from the club.

Blanky: Somehow knows every bartender at the club and always gets served first. No one knows how.

McDonald: First at the club, always.

Stanley: When he discovers who got him to the club someone is going to suffer for it.

Gibson: As long as the club has a drink strong enough to make him forget his ex, he’s there.

Tozer: No, he’s not going to the club, he’s damn well going to stay here watching sports at the pub like a normal person, thank you. Somehow winds up at the club with the rest of the Marines having the most fun out of any one of the crew.

Hartnell: Has absolutely nothing about him that the club needs to fix, but will still be there if his mates are. Usually the person fetching water for everyone to avoid hangovers in the morning.

Hickey: Has been banned from the club.

[tsarjozinzbazin]

@jerbadger

Dr. Peddie's actor's name is Karlovics Zsolt! Hope this helps! <3

(it will actually not help because this man is like so secretive on the internet and has all of his accounts hidden, but it's nice to put the actor's name to the character!)

[mxdzin]

recent the terror doods :D

[asparklethatisblue]

McStan attempts at romance

[iwantoseeafrigatebird]

so.. the terror & erebus surgeons, but as birds! (ok if u've ever had a conversation with me for more than 5 sentences u know bringing birds to the function is abt the only thing i do.

goodsir: crested myna

stanley: northern gannet

peddie: lava heron

mcdonald: great horned owl

[earthshine-moon]

Pt.1 results

Pt.3 results

[sailon-ishmael]

I figured out ao3 lol, here's the link if you want to read my MacStan oneshot on there!

Be the Blanket for My Bones (1562 words) by shakespearegroupie Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alexander McDonald/Stephen S. Stanley Characters: Alexander McDonald (1817-c.1848), Stephen S. Stanley, Harry D. S. Goodsir (mentioned), Henry Collins (mentioned), Thomas Blanky (mentioned) Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Past Violence, Scars, Nudity, Post-Canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, suggestive but no actual smut, yes Stephen is an asshole but he's Alex's asshole Summary:

He senses the weight and heat of Alexander’s body, motionless save for the slight rise and fall of the mattress as he breaths. Stephen chances a cracking open of one eye, too tempted by the promise of the sight of his love mussed in sleep. He is not disappointed.

--- 1.5k words of sleepy sunbathed mushy MacStan fluff. VERY saccharine, but JUST what the doctor(s) ordered in my opinion.

[theterrorpinup]

12 HOURS UNTIL APPLICATIONS CLOSE!

We're getting close! We're still looking for artists and writers for the 2025 calendar, so make sure you sign up before the ship sails!

For artists: we're especially interested in artists keen to draw Irving, Little, and Stanley or Macca or even Peddie!

For writers: we're on the lookout for writers keen to write for Peglar, and Bridgens.

Could YOU sail the Northwest Passage with us and have your art or writing reach people's homes beyond?

Check out the schedule & more info about the project, and feel free to drop an ask or message after checking out the FAQ if you have any particular questions about prompts you’re considering submitting!

We need all the hands we could possibly get on deck, so if you want to make the 2025 calendar happen, please consider reblogging this post to spread the word!

[leadandblood]

More carnival stills

And a bonus photo of Stanley without fire

[hacash]

terror shitposting: 'we got a ship for that' edition pt 1 (33/?)

[noughticalcrossings]

Feuding Doctors

Stanley thinks being a sheepdog should give him authority with the other doctors, he is tragically mistaken about this

Stephen Stanley - Smooth Collie

John Peddie - Scottish Blackface

Alexander McDonald - Border Leicester

Harry Goodsir- Soay

[mxdzin]

cowboyficposting masterpost!!

my hyperfixation on the surgeons ot4 and my general love for horses, vets and cowboy culture has culminated in me writing a fic that combines all of these things!! and illustrating it!!

paradise found | 36k | rated T | harry goodsir/john peddie/alexander mcdonald/stephen stanley with a pretty big peddiesir focus, background bridglar

originally started for cowboy show fes in april, will now become a series

despite coming from a family of doctors and scientists, harry goodsir decides to quit medical school on his second year there to pursue his dreams of becoming a veterinarian

advised by his former professor, he writes to a certain dr. john s. peddie in hopes that the man would take him on as a student

he doesn’t know yet how well that would turn out

read on ao3:

all the illustrations in chronological order

and some bits and bobs as well!!

anything else i do for this au will be under #cowboyficposting