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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!
If you have questions or comments please contact us in the comments of the Mod Post.
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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Little/Tozer, dubcon (sex pollen? fuck or die? plain ol’ coercion?)
(Anonymous) 2022-10-02 03:42 pm (UTC)(link)Fill: Say It, Little/Tozer, sex pollen (or is it just a convenient excuse?)
(Anonymous) 2022-10-07 02:06 am (UTC)(link)"Fuck off," said Sol. He'd closed but for a few stragglers and for Edward, who had drooped around behind the bar all evening, scooping ice with the energy of a listless sloth.
"It's hot. I'm hot. I think I'm allergic to whatever came in with the new shipment."
Sol had felt it too, breathing the clouds of dust that had risen from the boxes: the pricking at the back of his throat that would turn into fire. He had banished it for the evening with painkillers and two pints, but now, with nothing but cleaning and counting to do, it demanded his attention again.
"You'll live."
Fill: Say It, Tozer/Little, very vague sex pollen (or is it just an excuse)
"Feel my forehead."
"Fuck off," Sol said, but he felt Edward's forehead with the back of his hand, and then again with the inside of his wrist, the way his mother had done. He remembered, through the haze of years and distance, that safe and cool pressure. Edward felt warm to the touch, but not unduly. "As I said. You'll live."
Edward laid his head on the bar, clanking the bottles at the rail. "Wonderful."
"A long and fucking woeful life. You'll depress your grandchildren."
"Ugh," Edward said into his folded arms, before a long bout of shuddering seized him.
"Are you going to help close?"
"Yes." Edward made no move to rise. Then he made a different, familiar kind of groan, low in his chest. What had been a stinging at Sol's throat knifed south. He steadied himself with a hand on the cash drawer, which raced shut with a clatter of coins.
"What are you--"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," muttered Edward. And, "I'm sorry," again, as if Sol might not have heard him the first time. Like he'd forgotten to do the dishes again.
"Here's what's going to happen," said Sol, who had been shot at in a country full of people just as sick of being shot at as he was; who had been threatened with dismemberment in close proximity to a dumpster by someone who had the tools for the job; who had once, memorably, cracked a tooth during a brawl at the bus station that he had not started but had certainly finished. He had not had two ribs kicked in by a handful of steel-toed assholes only to be felled by a fucking barback ex on a Tuesday night. "You're going to dry storage. What you do there is none of my fucking business."
Edward made a small creaky noise, like an old floorboard. He shuffled past without facing Sol, and made his exit.
The thing was, Sol thought, having counted fives twice and lost count both times, the thing was that Edward had a saintly beauty, the kind you'd see in a church that didn't talk about money except to ask you for it, staring down at you perturbedly from stained glass while waiting his turn to be speared or eaten or beheaded. However it was that saints let themselves be fucked up to prove their piety. Plenty of ways. Probably plenty that hadn't been tried yet.
"All right," he said to himself. Then, "All right," again. The fives could fucking wait.
Edward had made it to dry storage but hadn't managed the door. He slumped against one of the shelves, fly open, working at himself with joyless purpose. The shelf rattled loose a can of pineapple, and Edward opened his eyes at the impact, then squeezed them closed again when he saw he had company. His hand did not pause. "I can't," he said. "It won't--I can't--"
"Settle," said Sol. He wanted it to sound reassuring, the voice you'd use with a scared animal. It came out with a rougher edge than that, its teeth catching at him. "You'll rub yourself raw. Let me see."
Edward folded his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits and shivering. His face flamed red. "It won't stop."
"What do you mean it won't stop."
But Edward shook his head, vehemently, pleading. "It won't stop. I've tried. It's under my skin, like needles. I can't--not without--"
Plenty of ways to fuck someone up. "Turn around," Sol said quietly. He wanted to set his teeth to the place Edward's neck scooped into his shoulder, deep enough to leave a mark. Deep enough to be a reminder, later. So Edward couldn't walk away again and pretend it hadn't happened, so he'd have to see himself and know Sol had done that to him. So he'd feel it.
Edward turned around. His hips made abortive, helpless half-circles. "Make it stop," he said. "Please. Make it stop, make it, it has to--"
"Shut up." Sol had hands on him now, where Edward was impossibly hot across the back of the neck, where his belly tensed as he shivered.
Edward nodded, and then made a high whining sound and pressed his cheek to the metal of the shelf. His breath came in short, grating gasps. Sol wanted to kill him. Sol wanted to fuck him, and kill him, and marry him, probably, too. He wanted to zip-tie him to the metal slats of the shelf and make him beg for it; he wanted to drag his head back by its long dark hair and jab fingers up under the jaw and squeeze. He slid a hand down until he found hair and skin, until Edward jumped and stopped breathing altogether. A part of him, vague and discordant, remembered a fight, a bitter coldness, an agreement to suspend relations--to stop fucking, he'd said, and Edward had said, to break up, and Sol had said, you have to be doing more than fucking to call it a breakup, and Edward had cried, in the stolid way he cried, as if someone had squeezed the spongy parts of him too hard. He was crying now, too, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw muscles knotted.
"You wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask," Sol said, crowding in. He imagined the health inspector clicking her blue pen over his shoulder. Biological contamination.
"I don't want you to--" said Edward, who still couldn't say 'fuck me,' even though he'd gagged for it, had begged; had pretended, afterwards, that he'd done it out of a selfless interest in Sol's holistic wellbeing.
"You don't want it, I'll go."
"No," said Edward, jerking quickly enough to jolt the shelf.
"Then ask."
Edward buried his face in his elbow. "I can't."
Sol twisted two fingers in the back of Edward's shirt collar and pulled it tight. "Ask. You want it, ask."
With a growl, Edward spun around and shoved. "You want it, I know you want it, come and--"
Sol caught him by the wrists. "Come and what? Come and make you? So you can tell yourself oh it wasn't me, it wasn't me, Edward hungry for it--"
Edward yanked, but while they were of a height, Sol had twenty pounds of muscle on him, and twenty years' practice using it. In a moment he had Edward pinned again. "You want me to fuck you. Say it."
"I need you to--"
"I want you to--"
For one brilliant moment, Edward went perfectly still. Then he snarled, like a dog surprised by the end of its chain, and said, "I want you to fuck me." Each word lanced.
"Yeah, all right," said Sol, for whom thought had been abruptly washed away by a tide of fierce and focused desire. "Hold your fucking horses." It was the work of ten minutes, of digging frantically through his go bag, of muttering and twisting fingers as Edward made impossible sounds and said, yes, there while Sol tried and failed not to lose his fucking mind, and then Sol was sliding in and watching a can of butterscotch pudding jump in time with his rhythm.
"Oh my god," Edward said, and "oh my god, god," like he had forgotten the rest of his vocabulary and had returned to prayer as the surest bet. His knuckles flashed red and white as they clenched and released.
"You want it," said Sol. He pulled Edward up by the throat, and cupped the ripple as he swallowed. "Say it."
"I want it."
"You fucking want me."
"Of course I want you."
But that was wrong. He hadn't--he hadn't wanted Sol, in the end. Or he had wanted something Sol wasn't, which amounted to the same thing. "You don't," said Sol, so close to the edge he was vibrating with it, feeling as if he already teetered at the top of a skyscraper and was considering climbing the lightning rod.
"I do. I did. You wouldn't listen."
"You said--"
"You said. You were the jerk about it."
It was, Sol thought distantly, in the very small and shrinking portion of his brain still available to process such a thing, possible he had made several miscalculations. Then, for a long white moment, none of his brain made itself available at all.
"Come on," Edward said, from very far away, "come on, come on." Sol laughed, empty as a tipped cup, and dragged a hand over him.
"You come on," he said. "That's a good boy. My good fucking boy," and Edward said, "Sol," choking on it, which was a thought, and was done.
Sol rested his forehead on the point where Edward's vertebrae rose closest to the skin. He felt wrung dry, and exhausted in a way that dragged at his viscera. Edward reached a hand back, and Sol's found it. They stood together in warm silence. Then, separately, they tidied themselves. Sol counted the cash drawer. Edward wiped the bar. They wrapped scarves against the winter and walked out into the night.
Re: Fill: Say It, Little/Tozer, sex pollen (or is it just a convenient excuse?)
(Anonymous) 2022-10-07 02:33 am (UTC)(link)This is IT this is the VIBE this is the Litzer dynamic I crave at all times!!!! God I'm so obsessed with the fact that you took my horny little prompt and turned it into Sol and Ed having to admit that they still want each other THIS BADLY and for more than sex reasons too, they are maybe a little bit in love??? Maybe more than a little bit???
rhskfjgh aahhhhh YEAH YOU FUCKED UP SOL!!!!
yes....this is indeed a thought. anyway holy shit. you gave me everything I wanted from this and somehow more. THANK YOU AUTHOR ANON YOU ARE A HERO IN MY EYES
Re: Fill: Say It, Little/Tozer, sex pollen (or is it just a convenient excuse?)
(Anonymous) 2022-10-10 09:50 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Say It, Little/Tozer, sex pollen (or is it just a convenient excuse?)
(Anonymous) 2022-12-07 01:18 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Say It, Little/Tozer, sex pollen (or is it just a convenient excuse?)
(Anonymous) 2024-06-20 01:43 am (UTC)(link)just wanted to let you know i haven't stopped thinking about this since i first read it. GOD they are so messed up and i'm in my feelings about it