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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.
If you've filled (or started filling) a prompt, please make sure to link it in the comments of the Fills Post. And if you would like to cross-post your fills on AO3, here is the collection!
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Just to reiterate from the Mod Post, here are the RULES:
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
5. One prompt per comment please.
6. Multiple fills for each prompt are welcome!
7. You don't have to be anon for your prompts or your fills but we do encourage it because of the vibe. You're also welcome to deanon your stuff by posting on AO3/Tumblr as you please!
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FILL: Generous Men, (TerrorOT3 + bonus Hickey/Hodge), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)Or — no, perhaps that was Edward’s hand, caressing his cockstand through his pants. Yes, that was it, indeed.
George gasped, and arched with the movement of his hand. Even in all his wanting, he did not anticipate touch feeling so good — but oh, it was magnificent, a balm to a fever he did not even know was blazing. Edward felt him out for a moment, palming the weight and length of him through the fabric. When George unwillingly bucked into his hand, he chuckled, and made a low soothing hum.
“At peace, George. Patience.”
“Oh, I can't!” George gasped, feeling wild… but when he tried to surge forward again, strong arms were suddenly around his chest, holding him against a warm, hard chest.
George whined; John held tighter. He caught him around the elbows and pinned his arms to his side, gentle yet forceful all at once… and George’s mind was alight with color, with urgency and want and raw pleasure, as Edward began to unbutton his trousers.
“Yes…” he moaned. “Yes, please...”
His back arched against John’s chest. The other man lay against him like stone, unmoving, perhaps not daring to breathe. His heart beat steadily, but his muscles were paralyzed.
“I… cannot,” John uttered after a long moment.
Edward looked up, meeting his eyes. He did not look judgmental — nor surprised. He only nodded, mouth gentle, eyes soft. “Very well,” he replied. “Just hold him, then.”
That much, John could do with ease.
George found himself writhing, thoroughly out of his head, as Edward’s gentle ministrations built his cockstand to a fever pitch, like stoking a stubborn fire to blazing. He gasped and squirmed, but John’s grip held firm; the man’s heavy breaths pressed to the crown of his head, his frantic heartbeat against his back, and it was all George could do not to expire from the mere feeling of him. Meanwhile, Edward was being so attentive down below, taking care of George like some precious thing. He stroked, and he soothed, and when he cupped the stones at the base of George’s cock, George’s brain nearly exploded.
Restrained from moving his body, all he could do was move his mouth. He found himself spewing a steady stream of nonsense, breathless and urgent in the silence. “Oh, please… oh, you are so good, you are both so very… oh! Hmm. I won’t last, I'm close, oh… I’m sorry, I cannot, I cannot…”
“George,” John said, before leaning down and kissing him hard on the mouth.
Which stopped George’s babbling, at least.
Edward had him at a fever pitch; John's tongue against his lips sent him boiling. With a few quick strokes, George tumbled over the edge. He fell in an explosion of fireworks, vision bursting with color and whiting out all at once. Perhaps it was the illness within him, or the rarity of the moment — but it was more intense than he could ever remember coming, before or after.
A grand finale, he thought to himself, as he came slowly back to his senses.
He was still braced in John’s arms… but gently now, as though he’d fallen into a swoon. He was still trembling. John was running his fingers over the thin hair at the crown of George’s head, while Edward was wiping the translucent spend from his hand, soiling one of their few blankets in the process. George tried to protest this, but all he managed was a weak little noise.
“There, there,” Edward soothed, returning quickly to his side. “You did very well, George. Just rest now.”
Their hands stroked languidly along his body, his shoulders, his face. Still humming from the aftereffects of the climax, he allowed his head to loll back against John’s chest. It was an effort to keep his eyes open; more to force sluggish words from his mouth, but this was important.
“I meant it… so wonderful. The both of you are…”
He trailed off with a vague sigh, words giving up on him entirely. There was so much more he meant to say. I’ve wanted this for so long, longer than I could admit. I care for you both so dearly. I could not bear to see you hurt. I want to live. I want us all to live. I want to go home with you both, and kiss you when we’re safe again, and maybe it will be different. Maybe we can be happy.
But George’s life has been marked by things he never did, and words he never said. This was no different. Once again, the moment slipped by, and he faded away.
“Edward,” he heard from a distance, in John’s tremulous whisper. “Have we sinned? Have we done something… unforgivable?”
Edward’s voice, in contrast, was low and soft like molasses, almost resigned. “I think we’ve moved beyond sin here, John. God will forgive us anything now… so long as it’s done out of love.”
Love, George thought, love, love… and the ecstasy carried him down into sleep.
It was almost perfect.
As close as he ever came, anyway.
It’s all over, now.
He sits alone in the cold, exposed to the wind and undying daylight; the sores on his face sting, but George hardly feels it anymore. The mutineers’ camp is a ramshackle construct, more of an idea than a realization. There are a few spare tents, the boats they must haul, and the dining area — this space is given the most attention, out of the whole. George sleeps in a tent with Des Voeux; officer’s country, Mister Hickey refers to it with venom, and he’s quite sure he’s been placed there on purpose. Des Vouex is a lax jailer, though. There’s nowhere for George to run, and they both know he will not try anything brave.
He’s a free man, really. The idea leaves him delirious — though that might just be the scurvy, or the lead. Free, at the end of all things… free from everything but the weight of his own sins. Edward was wrong. There are still crimes men can commit, in the world’s dying light, which will bar him from heaven. Murder. Cannibalism. Cowardice. Idiocy is lowest on the list… but lust doesn’t even rank at all.
George sits alone in the camp’s silence, staring out at the endless, empty horizon. He turns the memory over and over in his head, trying to savor every facet, every remembered detail. It is sweet and rich, like the tang of copper on his tongue. John, he thinks… and with this night in mind, the gruesome memory of his fate can almost be drowned away. Edward, he mourns… and he can almost forget the look of betrayal in his eyes, when he saw George standing on the ridge.
Love. It does not seem like a real word anymore. Not for him, anyway.
Yet he still remembers, he still relishes it… and, to George’s own horror, as the phantom caresses run along his skin, he feels a stir down below.
Not now. God have mercy, not here, not now…
“My, my, Lieutenant. What have we been hiding?”
By the time Hickey stumbles upon him, George is at three-quarters mast. His breaths come hard and slow; he does not look down, or up. If he does not acknowledge it, then perhaps… but if Hickey’s sniveling voice could not get rid of the problem, George supposes nothing will.
He tenses as the man crouches down beside him. Hickey’s hand is a heavy weight on his knee, his breath heavy with a metallic stench.
“That’s Billy doing his good work within you, I expect.” He rubs a hand up and down George’s leg, as though soothing him. George’s cock twitches; he cannot help the way it swells. Hickey notices, of course, and chuckles, as though he’s just solved a riddle. “Here, now,” he croons. “Mustn’t leave a man to suffer alone.” A pause, as his head tilts, and his eyes sharpen. “Will you let me?”
George’s throat tightens. He would weep, if his broken body were able to make the tears. Yet even as he feels himself decaying alive, even as Hickey’s touch curdled his shrunken stomach… his cock is earnest and urgent, twitching towards the pressure of Hickey’s hand.
But Hickey pauses — so close, too close — halfway up George’s thigh, gazing at him serenely. “I won’t touch you if you do not want me to, Lieutenant. I’m not that sort of man.”
No, indeed. George knows precisely the sort of man Hickey is.
But… he wants. And he needs. And, God help him, he cannot say no.
“Right, Lieutenant.” Hickey’s smile unfurls, as George nods, shaky and ashamed. “You are a smart man. Just relax, hmm?” His hand moves up the length of George’s thigh, and finally — George gasps. “I’ll take you from here.”
Biting back a moan, George settles down, and squeezes his eyes shut. He will not think about it. He will not make this another memory.
At least, if he keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend he is somewhere else… in another time, a kinder one. One that was, once, filled with love.
Re: FILL: Generous Men, (TerrorOT3 + bonus Hickey/Hodge), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 11:43 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Generous Men, (TerrorOT3 + bonus Hickey/Hodge), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-18 08:59 pm (UTC)(link)