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The Terror - Prompt Post 1
This is for prompts for all things AMC's The Terror (2018). Go nuts!
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
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1. Be fucking nice. YKINMATO/KINKTOMATO at all times.
2. This meme is CNTW (Choose Not To Warn) but warnings are highly encouraged.
3. Prompts should use this format in the subject line: [SHIP], [DESCRIPTION]
e.g.
Hickey/Crozier, CNC knifeplay
Solo gen can be prompted as well alongside (a) character name and description
e.g.
Gen, Edward Little, having a nice day
4. Fills should use this format in the subject line: FILL: [TITLE], [PAIRING], [RATING], [ANY WARNINGS]
e.g.
Fill: The Last Hour, Hickey/Tozer, E, cw dubcon
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Hickey/Tozer, Hickey has to rescue Tozer
(Anonymous) 2022-10-09 02:54 am (UTC)(link)I just want to see Mr. Hickey’s hard little rat heart grow three sizes that day, to his great dismay. I want to watch the moment he makes that call going against his own best interests for Tozer and be confused by and/or furious at and/or lying to himself the whole way through this frankly baffling endeavor because he is better (read: worse) than this! he is smarter than this! what is he doing!
Bonus: Tozer assumed Hickey had abandoned/betrayed him. What’d he expect? And then…
Re: Hickey/Tozer, Hickey has to rescue Tozer
(Anonymous) 2022-10-11 03:55 am (UTC)(link)Re: Hickey/Tozer, Hickey has to rescue Tozer
(Anonymous) 2022-10-11 05:29 am (UTC)(link)FILL: Some Kind of Devotion, Hickey/Tozer, T, homicide and hickey pov
(Anonymous) 2022-10-16 06:05 pm (UTC)(link)Hickey makes it two streets from the gunfire before realizing something is very, very wrong with him.
At first, he thinks they shot him; he’s almost relieved. A bullet wouldn’t be good news, but it would explain it, at least. The sudden tightness in his chest… the grip around his lungs like a vice… his feet’s sudden inability to move another step, no matter how he tries to force them.
Fucking Christ. He lurches sideways, hitting the wall just in time to avoid getting run over by a speeding carriage. Everyone becomes a looky-loo when there’s trouble afoot. Makes it easier to get lost in the crowd, so usually, Hickey wouldn’t complain. Tonight, though…
Tonight, the trouble is Tozer, and Tozer is still back there.
Bleeding fool didn’t take off when the gunfire started, just fired back, like the proper soldier he is. Never mind that this wasn’t his idea, or he isn’t even the one carrying the treasure. The second Tozer agreed to play watchman, he swore himself to the job. Now he’s going to pay for it.
Well. Say la vie, or some other froggy line. No one made Tozer come with him; Hickey certainly didn’t hold the man at gunpoint. (Not like that poor blond toff at the costume ball, who cried and rambled about ham ‘til Hickey fleeced his wallet. Tozer didn’t approve of that stunt. He doesn’t approve of lots of the things Hickey gets up to. Always comes when he’s called, though, like a well-trained hound at Hickey’s heels.)
The coppers started shooting. Hickey was smart enough to run; Tozer wasn’t. That’s all there is to it.
So why can’t he drag his bloody feet away?
Instead, Hickey finds himself moving… and he’s not sure where his body is carrying him, as he weaves through the crowd, following the flow along the busy sidewalk. It only hits him when the familiar wrought-iron gates of the cemetery loom into view, and he sees the police carriage.
His back slams against the rough brick of the nearest building. Pulling his coat tight ‘round him, Hickey ducks his head and melts into the shadows. In his pocket, the necklace weighs heavy, threatening to drag him down. If he’s caught with the Duchess of Bermondsey’s wedding jewels, stolen from her ice-cold throat… after all the trouble they went to get it…
Go! a voice in his head hisses, snapping at his heels like a viper. Always been his friend, that little snake; he’s trusted it, let its venom bleed into his mind and heart, and in return, it’s kept him alive. Never steered him wrong before. Now, it’s certainly steering him right. He needs to get out of here.
A lone gunshot rings out from the far east side of the cemetery, and Hickey’s heart plunges. Tozer.
Then he’s moving again, though he doesn’t know why — and Christ alive, he can’t stop. It’s a dizzying feeling, being out of control of your own self. Some people crave it: the drunks, the wastrels, the sheep of the world. Too scared to think on their own, too fragile to choose for themselves. That’s not him. It’s never bloody been him.
Because it’s only ever been him, and he’s only had himself to fight for. Long before he took the name Cornelius Hickey… and all the good Hickey brought with him. Before meeting Billy, and Manson, and bloody fucking Tozer. That’s the one what did him in. Not much of a challenge upstairs, but so fucking good in the dark… and sometimes Tozer looks at Hickey like he sees right through him, down past the flesh, the viscera, the thready nerves and sinew, down to the very marrow of him. Even with all that, he’s never once cringed away.
“More trouble than your worth,” he said a handful of times, when Hickey dragged him into mischief… but he stood behind him nonetheless. Hickey makes a point of not trusting anyone further than the end of his own blade… but Tozer acts like a man who can be trusted, and that almost makes it easy.
Fool. Bleeding… thick-skulled, lead-brained massive shite of a man, blundering into fights without a second thought. Not thinking of a way out — never planning three moves ahead, or even ‘round the next corner. Tozer and Hickey are two different species inhabiting the same ecosystem, a hound and a rat somehow able to thrive alongside each other. They don’t think the same way. In a crisis, they move in different directions.
Tozer charges straight in, and Hickey saves his own skin. That’s what they’re bloody made of.
Yet even this reminder doesn’t stop Hickey’s body from carrying him back into the firefight.
The hell are you doing?
Whatever awful force has taken possessing him offers no answer. Internally, Hickey rages; he lashes out with teeth against his own instincts, bucks at his moving legs and racing heart. None of it is enough. He keeps moving, sticking to the shadows as he skirts the cemetery perimeter. The priceless necklace is burning a hole in his pocket; he keeps one hand over it, just to be sure it’s there. His other hand clutches his pistol, finger on the trigger. He crouches alongside the dead, tracking every set of footsteps, every shadow that races by. They pass within a foot of him, yet never glance his way. They’ve got no idea, these blind ghosts, how close they come to meeting their maker.
Another gunshot rings out from the grand mausoleum, on the far end of the cemetery. Someone shouts — a distinctly coppish voice — and another shot is fired off in response.
Solomon, you fucking idiot.
Don’t shoot, escape. Find a way… there’s always a way, to save your own hide, live to die another day. The longer he engages the police — and from his vantage point, a few gravestones away, Hickey can make out at least four uniformed pigs — the less likely he is to come out of the situation alive. As soon as their friends show up, and Tozer finds himself impossibly outmanned…
Four against two, though. Those aren’t bad odds… no, not bad at all.
Hickey licks his lips, and clutches his pistol close.
For fuck’s sake, he’s lost his mind.
Were he inclined towards self-immolation, he’d start firing on the cops right here… but that wouldn’t be worth the trouble of dying over. He’s gone mad, not stupid. His gaze rakes over the scene, taking in different routes towards the mausoleum. There’s no way in that will go unnoticed by the cops flanking it. He’ll have to take out at least one man… but with the element of surprise on his side, well…
He can do it. He shouldn’t, but he bleeding can.
Right now, every one of Hickey’s better instincts is screaming GET OUT… but something inside his chest bellows TOZER, and it’s so much louder.
He drags a deep breath into his lungs, holds it for an instant like smoke. Then, he’s on the move. He’s sure and silent-footed, his eyes trained on the half-ajar door which got Tozer in the mausoleum in the first place. One way in; one way out. The officer on the south corner never sees him coming. Hickey clubs him, leaving him sprawled facefirst in the dirt. There’s a twitch, then stillness; Hickey doesn’t bother checking his pulse, but he’s quick to divest him of his cap, coat, and pistol.
The gunfire’s gone silent. Tozer, Hickey’s brain roars, and it sounds like hell’s symphony. He searches the shadows of the doorway for any hint of movement… but, nothing.
“I’m going in!” he calls to the remaining officers; as he approaches, he waves his hand in a clear ‘stay back’ motion. They can’t see his face in the darkness, only the silhouette of one of their own, charging into danger. Tozer, if he’s watching from inside, has a better view. At least, that’s what Hickey hopes. He’d dearly like not to be shot today.
No one pumps him with lead in the doorway. No one fires at all. Hickey slips into the mausoleum, and the darkness absorbs him as one embraces a brother. The smell of dank and death is familiar, like returning home after a long, harsh day; Hickey draws a deep breath.
“You,” a voice rasps from the darkness.
Adjusting his grip on his stolen pistol, Hickey steps forward.
“Evening, Solomon,” he chimes in the voice's general direction. “Not a good one — not for you, anyways — but a fine evening, isn’t it? Such a moon out tonight.”
Hickey hears the impotent plink of a trigger.
Clicking his tongue, he steps further in. Faint moonlight streams from the stained glass windows, illuminating the mausoleum’s interior in a rich red glow. Hickey steps into the light; the unwashed blood of Christ drips down his smiling face. Slumped in the corner, he can just make out Tozer, hunched in on himself, shoulders set. Hiding like a rat in the darkness… Hickey wouldn’t have thought it of him. A man will cringe from death wherever possible, he supposes, even if he must throw off his thin shroud of dignity to conceal himself.
Tozer doesn’t look like a cornered man, though. The steel in his glare makes up for his lack of bullets.
“Play nice, now. I’m here to rescue you.”
“Rescue? You fucking left me!”
“Yes. And I’ve come back.” Hickey tilts his head, like Tozer ought to be disappointed in himself for doubting him. “Which was awfully generous of me, so it seems. You’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess.”
Tozer makes a furious sound through his teeth. Primitive, even for him. He’s leaning awkwardly, folded in on his side; a puddle of darkness glistens on the floor, like slick oil spilling from a ruptured tank. It takes Hickey a second too long to understand what he’s seeing.
TOZER, his brain howls like a hurricane; Solomon, it whispers like a prayer.
Well, fuck, he thinks, and very nearly says that part out loud.
Clipped or pierced? There’s no way to tell, and Tozer won’t let him close enough to look. There’s no time… and no easy way to escape with a wounded man in tow. They could make do, but it wouldn’t be easy. The best thing to do is cut his losses and run.
Run. Yes. He could do that.
He can see it now… in the blood soaking into Tozer’s trouser knees, in the way his hand shakes as he pulls it from his side, glistening. He’s gone off-white already, a funeral pall casting him in translucent shadow. This is the end of the story. Tozer’s a dead man. Bought an early ticket to the destination they’re all headed… ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the worms will sing his sorry elegies. He has ceased to be a man; now, he is only a liability.
Hickey has one smart option, and that’s to run.
He could slip away in the policeman’s borrowed skin: feign arresting Tozer, and melt into the shadows while the other cops are busy with him. A good knock over the head would render Tozer senseless; he wouldn’t even see it coming. He’s got his back turned to Hickey, his face drawn tight as he stares at his own blood…
And hell’s bells, that’s a lot of blood. Hickey’s familiar with the look of it, the loss of it, knows how much a man will bleed depending on where you stick him, and the right places to cut to have him shuddering out his life in minutes. A man can only burn so bright before snuffing out… and Tozer’s blood is bright red in the moonlight, staining the marble floors of the vault in ghoulish color. He’s lost a lot. He’ll lose more, too much, if he stays crouched on that floor, like he's given up already.
When Tozer exhales, it comes out pained. He squeezes his eyes shut, and tosses the gun aside.
“Fine,” he says, looking up at Hickey with dark, solemn eyes. “You got some bright idea, then?”
Something in Hickey’s chest throbs, and he can barely breathe past the pain of it. Stick him here, and be done with it, hisses the serpent in his ear, it would be a mercy… but his head is pounding, and the room is going all funny at the edges, and he can see Tozer like a mirage, laying dead in the middle of the floor in a pool of his blood, those trusting eyes still wide open… trust, the fool, after Hickey left him, fuck, what is wrong with him —
“Actually,” he says through gritted teeth, “I do. But I’m afraid you’ll have to work with me, Solomon.”
When the remaining policeman charge into the vault two minutes later, they find the grave robber facedown in a pool of his own blood. The lean, lithe police officer stands over him, pistol smoking from the final shot… and, when he raises his head to them, he’s smiling.
“One problem taken care of, lads.” He gestures with the lip of his gun to the prone body, and chuckles softly. “Though I’m afraid you’ve got one even bigger.”
The shots come quick: one, two, three. The policemen never see it coming; they hit the floor before ever realizing they’re dead.
From there, Hickey estimates, they’ve got minutes to make themselves scarce before reinforcements appear. The crowd’s bound to draw their own conclusions, and they can see the devil in the distance. Even as he hauls Tozer off the ground, his mind is racing: how do we get out of this one, Cornelius?
Plenty of vaults in this cemetery. Plenty of places to hide ‘til the storm passes. If Tozer can keep from spilling his Bordeaux in their wake like a trail of bloody breadcrumbs… they just might have a chance.
Tozer is breathing heavy, but he can keep to his feet. He shrugs Hickey off as soon as he’s standing, and lumbers after him, keeping pressure on the wound. Not a liability, then… and hasn’t given up yet. Of course not. Tozer never would. Hickey almost hates himself for being relieved.
He may still die, the serpent hisses, spiteful.
Hickey smiles to himself. Then I will kiss the blood from his hands and lay him in the tomb myself. I will crown him in thorns and anoint him with memory, and in death, he will become holy. He’s built for it, after all. Even got the right name.
Out loud, he says: “It'd be quite rude of you to die now, seeing as I’ve gone to all this trouble.”
Tozer huffs a harsh chuckle, and it floods Hickey with warmth. “I’m not planning on it.”
And against all his better judgment, Hickey realizes he has no plan to leave Tozer’s side, either.
Good fucking Christ, he has gone insane.
Re: FILL: Some Kind of Devotion, Hickey/Tozer, T, homicide and hickey pov
(Anonymous) 2022-10-16 09:45 pm (UTC)(link)Aw, Tozer...! ;o;
I love this imagery so, so much, Hickey the murderer and the deliverer - a most unholy savior. Just fantastic!
Lol, it's so them. And oh no, Tozer's wound! ;o;
I LOVE the way even now Hickey's still thinking of ways out for himself, some way he can weasel out of even his own feelings
<3 <3 <3 oh I love this so much!!! ;__; plus, love how that last line both underlines Hickey's fear (for another person, no less!) and foreshadows his escape plan.
And I love the contrast between the intensity of Hickey's inner thoughts and his playing it cool banter with Tozer. And the recurring animal imagery throughout this: snake, rat, hound. Thank you so much for writing this fill, author anon, I adore it!
Re: FILL: Some Kind of Devotion, Hickey/Tozer, T, homicide and hickey pov
(Anonymous) 2022-10-16 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Some Kind of Devotion, Hickey/Tozer, T, homicide and hickey pov
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 02:35 pm (UTC)(link)I love how you’ve captured the twistiness of Hickey’s mind - how in some ways he’s brutally, cruelly direct but then again he has to run a convoluted rat maze to evade his feelings <3
Re: FILL: Some Kind of Devotion, Hickey/Tozer, T, homicide and hickey pov
(Anonymous) 2024-05-10 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)