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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
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Gen, Edward Little, having a nice day
4. Fills should use this format in the subject line: FILL: [TITLE], [PAIRING], [RATING], [ANY WARNINGS]
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Fill: The Last Hour, Hickey/Tozer, E, cw dubcon
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Anyone/everyone, but no pairings - sex pollen
(Anonymous) 2022-10-02 09:44 pm (UTC)(link)You can resolve this by having them fuck eventually if you like! But before that, I’d love some sweaty, shaking desperation, awkward conversations, furious masturbation??? Please just show us the whole crew almost crying with horny frustration and bafflement at wtf their dicks are doing.
FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 1/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-03 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)Remember, we are not beasts, Sir John had declared, his eyes wild and brow glistening with fever. We are men. Good English men! Hold onto your minds, men, hold onto your morals. We are strong enough to overcome this, and any challenge!
“Men, not beasts,” became the refrain echoed in the bowels of the ship. The men clung to it like a proverb, whispering it like a prayer in the heat of their turmoil. Anywhere a man could be found, curled in on himself to hide his… indignity. Though they were all the same. They all suffered the same way: swollen, shaking, plagued by strange visions and raging need.
The fire burning beneath their skin was catching. So they learned, when Mr. Collins came up from the below, gasping for breath; the man’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes unnaturally bright. When the other men tried to help him out of his diving suit, he keened, leaning into their touches — “His skin’s so hot, Cap’n! He’s burning up!” — and by the time Collins was finally free of it, his indisposition was apparent.
“I say, man,” Commander Fitzjames gasped, staring unabashedly at the bulge in Collins’ trousers.
He had a hand on Collins' shoulder, helping to steady him when the man almost keeled over. Collins leaned into the touch as though possessed. “Sir, please,” he gasped, sounding wrecked already. “Please, I need — h-help me, please, something — ohh.”
On instinct, Fitzjames rubbed up and down Collins’s back, hoping to comfort the poor fellow; Collins shuddered at the touch, seeking out more like a starving man. When he bore down against Fitzjames’s knee, a ripple of surprise rolled through the crowd of surrounding sailors.
Fitzjames looked mortified; Collins looked debauched; and Sir John was borderline apoplectic.
Collins wept to be pulled away from his Commander’s gentle touches and soothing voice; it took three men to haul him off to the infirmary. By the time the diving equipment was put away, and Fitzjames had given a report to Sir John below, he too was starting to feel hot under the collar.
“Sir John,” he gasped, when he stumbled on his way out the door. The name summoned images in his brain, visions of the most shocking nature — he had never thought of his captain that way before, but suddenly, he couldn’t escape it. Fitzjames braced himself against the doorframe, breathing heavily. Beneath his uniform, he could feel his blood boiling. His skin… he could feel his skin. Was that normal? Every touch, every brush of clothing or object which would have gone unnoticed on an ordinary day… suddenly it was unbearable.
He wanted — he needed — yes, need, it was boiling in him, seeping into his thoughts like seawater, drenching him in raw, aching lust —
Oh, Fitzjames thought, aware of a sudden tightness in his pants.
“Sir John,” he panted again, forcing the lewd images from his mind. “It seems we have a problem.”
There was to be no defying the Articles on Erebus. Sir John made that very clear — even once the fever had taken him, too.
By evening, twenty men had been taken with the fever. By midnight, half the ship. By morning, Erebus was a hotbed of desperation — and when Terror sent over a group of men to check on the flagship’s progress, it became apparent they were not immune, either.
Within twenty-four hours, both ships were stopped dead in the water, their crews overtaken by the strange, burning fever. They could not work; they could not think; there was only want, pure want, and the sensations their bodies demanded. These… unholy sensations, unnatural needs which drove them to sheer distraction.
Sir John locked himself in his cabin, and did not emerge again. No one knew what the man was doing in there, but at least he had a portrait of his wife for company. The men with wives or sweethearts at home clung to these thoughts desperately. With all the men afflicted, no one would have begrudged them — but they still sought out private corners, empty spaces in the ship to be alone with their memories, and their hands. (Thomas Blanky roared his wife’s name in the darkness of the hold; Lieutenant LeVesconte could be heard inside his berth, gasping “sweet Henrietta, yes, my dear…”; inside the Captain’s Cabin on Terror, the name Sophia was, notably, never uttered.)
Every man tried to relieve themselves at least once - sometimes more, in a frenzy of desperation and half0stifled sobs. It was shameful, yes — but God could forgive them, for the suffering was worse. It brought some relief, but not for long. The fever ebbed, then flowed back in with the blood to their cocks. Again, they were burning, and this time, there was no release.
Curled up in their bunks, sailors trembled and whimpered; the few men who could find sleep were left moaning, pawing at their crotches until a well-meaning crewmate nudged them awake. Sobs echoed through the lower decks. Men moaned the Lord’s name, and prayed they would not be damned for their desires.
“I’m not a sinner,” Tom Hartnell rasped, bent double in his berth, trembling with repressed need. “I’m not a sodomite… I can’t do that to my mum. I can’t.” His poor mother would already have to learn one of her sons had died on the long expedition — but another son, succumbed to sin and lust? Oh, she’d never forgive him… yet even as Hartnell thought this, home drifted into his thoughts, sweet as honey and seductive as a trap. The buxom milkmaids and shopgirls, who smiled so sweetly when he passed them; the strong-jawed altar boys who met his eye in the midst of Sunday service. He’d always seen, he’d always wanted — but never allowed himself to sin. Not in action, at least, though in the dead of night… Hartnell groaned, rocking back and forth, just to give his cock some friction. The brush of clothes against his skin was nigh-unbearable, and he railed against the confinement. Off, off, he needed them off. Could he — surrounded by his fellow crewmen, could he possibly —
His hands were moving without his consent. A blast of cool air hit his chest, and he gasped in shock and relief.
“Tom,” someone was saying, from far away. “Tom, stop it — hold steady, man, you’re alright.”
Then, they touched him — and Christ, it was heaven, those strong hands locked around his wrists. Hartnell surged forward without meaning to, but a firm hand against his chest pushed him back.
“Steady,” someone was saying, over and over. The grip on Tom’s shoulders stayed, but the hand pulled away; Tom sobbed at the absence, but slowly, slowly came back to himself.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” he rasped, staring up into the face of Mr. Peglar.
Peglar shook his head, and clapped him on the shoulder, offering a brief smile. “No harm in it. Be strong, alright? This fever will pass soon.”
Hartnell nodded, dazed; Peglar clapped him once more, then left, deftly dodging the bodies huddled on the ground, moaning men hunched all around. His steps were steady, Hartnell realized. Peglar’s eyes were focused, he didn’t walk as though fighting his own body… and his skin was so cool.
Considering yesterday evening, Peglar was flushed and trembling from lust, same as the rest of them… a bud of hope bloomed in Hartnell’s chest. Maybe this fever was abating, after all.
------------
“They’re not getting better.”
“Not on Erebus, either.” John Bridgens ran a hand through his hair, heaving a deep sigh. Beneath the moonlight, he looked like a medieval king, crowned in silver and moonlight. Henry Peglar felt the sudden desire to bury his hands in John’s hair, to kiss along his hairline while tugging just to, until the man was trembling against him…
But that wasn’t the fever talking. He had those thoughts any given Wednesday.
“What do we do?” Henry asked, restlessly twisting a length of rope in his hands. “They’re burning up, all of them, and it’s driving them mad. Yet they won’t — none of them.” He shook his head, breathless. “I mean, Christ, why won’t they?”
John shrugged. “Some men are very set in their ways.”
“Yes, but… they’re suffering!” Henry’s eyes were wide. “When it’s all they want, and all of it could be cured if they’d just let the man next to them frig them. I mean —“ He flailed. “We figured it out as soon as we got a moment alone!”
John shook his head, and laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder. He had this way about him — always able to calm some raging storm inside of Henry that he’d never even realized could be settled, ‘til John came along. The world made sense when John was near. Henry could see clearly.
Why were the damned men too set in their For-Queen-and-Country morals to even consider being loved by another man?
“Don’t judge them too harshly,” John counseled. “They are in pain, and they need kindness. We cannot force them to do what they don’t want to. With any luck, this affliction will pass on its own.”
“Sure,” Henry retorted. “Or they might just go insane and throw themselves into the sea for relief, like Odysseus and the sirens.”
“I am afraid,” said another voice, “that is a very real concern.”
Doctor McDonald emerged from below-decks, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal strong forearms and deft hands. His bright eyes were clear, his skin free of fever-flush.
(Who on earth did he — Henry wondered — then considered McDonald’s camaraderie with the whole crew, and his penchant for tight trousers, and decided it wasn’t surprising at all.)
“The afflicted men’s temperatures continue to rise,” McDonald reported gravely. “The longer they go without relief, the worse they will get. They are already losing their minds from fever and desperation. We may expect it will get worse, if they do not find relief.”
John and Henry exchanged uneasy looks. McDonald stepped closer, lowering his voice. “We must encourage them to take the cure — or, in dire cases, intervene. It is more than mercy now, lads. It may be a choice between their morals, or their very lives.”
Re: FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 1
(Anonymous) 2022-10-03 07:19 pm (UTC)(link)The atmosphere is so dense, the need so raw and tangible. I love the feral, unhinged aching want paired with their societal iron will... and I love that you really made them suffer. This was so incredibly hot and I tip my hat to you, what an amazing fill! Thank you!!
Re: FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 1
(Anonymous) 2022-10-03 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 1
(Anonymous) 2022-10-04 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 2/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-03 11:45 pm (UTC)(link)“Has anyone seen Sir John?” Fitzjames asked, shifting in his chair.
Lieutenant Gore had a dead grip on his tea cup. Fairholme was sitting ironrod-straight in his chair. Collins was curled in on himself at the end of the table, breathing hard. LeVesconte’s coat was buttoned crookedly, and he was missing his epaulettes… but they were all dressed, and there, which damn well counted for something.
“Sir John is still indisposed,” Gore replied tersely.
Fitzjames nodded, shifting again in his seat. His breathing was slightly uneven; the heady flush on his cheeks made him look debauched, and thoroughly handsome. No man in the room could look at him for more than a few seconds — but they were all studiously avoiding eye contact anyways.
“Well, gentleman,” Fitzjames said, pronouncing each syllable deliberately. “I think we’re being foolish about this.”
That got the room’s attention.
“Now, we are all taken with the same affliction, and to a man, suffering from it. It has affected not only our minds and bodies, but our ability to fulfil our duty. We are being tormented, for some inexplicable reason, by our own impulses, and our bodies demand release.” Fitzjames cleared his throat; this was the only indication he was not comfortable broaching the topic. Otherwise, he may as well have been discussing the weather, or the day’s latest magnetic readings. “Now, we are men of the Royal Navy. What comes before all else? Our duty, and our dignity.”
“Hear, hear,” a weak voice chimed in. Another man stifled a moan.
“There is a way we may reclaim both, in one fell swoop,” Fitzjames declared, miming for emphasis. More than one man caught himself staring at his strong hands, and thinking very undignified thoughts.
LeVesconte swiped at his sweat-soaked brow and shuddered. “What do you — suggest, then, sir?”
“Doctor McDonald has suggested —“ For Doctor Stanley had locked himself in the infirmary, locked everyone else out, and hadn’t been seen for two days. “An orgia.”
The men around Fitzjames stared, as though he’d suddenly leapt up on the table, whipped out his trusty sabre, and begun swinging it around while declaring himself King of the Arctic Circle.
“A… union. A convergence. A… that is… come on, lads, you’ve all studied your Greek!”
“I assume the good doctor is not recommending animal sacrifice, or pledging our bodies to pagan gods?” Le Vesconte piped up.
“Probably not,” Fitzjames replied. “I’m sure there’ll be time after, if anyone feels inclined.”
From the end of the table, Collins buried his burning face in his hand, releasing a guttural moan.
“Good point,” agreed Fitzjames.
“For the love of Christ,” the afflicted man growled. “I don’t care how we do it or who we have to bloody devote ourselves to to get there, if I can’t find release soon, I will literally burst into hellfire! Let's all be bloody men, rise up, and fuck each other, damn you!”
Every man in the room studiously ignored how the snarl in Collins’s voice set their cocks throbbing.
“Well,” Fitzjames said, looking around the table and seeing no dissent, “Guess that settles it, then. Now —“ Rising, he clapped his hands together. “For Queen and Country, men! Let’s strip!”
---------
“Absolutely not.”
“What do you mean, you will not? Doctor McDonald has ordered it!”
“The doctor could order me to jump into the sea and swim back to England,” Lieutenant Little snapped, “but I would still not do it.”
Hodgson’s head was suddenly flooded with thoughts of Little, barechested and dripping, doing the backstroke all the way to Brighton. His burning cheeks grew even hotter; he tugged at his collar, just for some release.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Little huffed. “That’s an order.”
“I’m not — hnng.” Hodgson bit down on the inside of his cheek, forcing his senses to return. Not the time, not the place. Across the table, Irving was bent over his breakfast disk, eyes closed, murmuring frantic prayers as though they were the only thing keeping his head above water. The one time Hodgson tried to touch him, just to make sure he was alright, the poor man actually moaned — then sprung away wide-eyed, like Hodgson had violated him, and Hodgson felt a burst of shame, though he had no idea why.
Irving is having a crisis of faith, Little is so repressed he would probably shatter like an ice sculpture if someone poked him, and Hodgson… Hodgson…
Both of Hodgson’s hands are cramped, his cock is raw from all the attention he’s been giving it, and still, he aches. He burns.
Damn it all, why are they being so stubborn?
“The captain would not approve,” Little says shortly, and shifts position to hide the bulge in his pants.
“The Captain is locked in his cabin!” Probably doing lewd things with a bottle of whiskey — dear god, Hodgson really must shut off this stream of thoughts, or else he will go mad.
Well. Madder. He’s sure they’re all already half-there.
“Can’t we just —“
“Hodgson, please —“
“Edward —“
Little inhaled sharply, and hunched over, shoving his hand against his mouth.
Oh. That was unexpected. Hodgson tilted his head, gaze flickering between his two fellow lieutenants. Irving was holding his breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Little rocked back and forth slightly, his breathing uneven, cheeks aflame.
“Edward,” Hodgson said again, softening his voice. It won a shudder from Little. That was a start. “Edward,” he crooned, in a silky tone, creeping up behind the other man’s chair. Hodgson’s hand found Little’s shoulder; he trailed his touch along the fine column of his back, up and down, until Little was trembling with it. Ironclad as he was in principle, he still lacked the resolve to order Hodgson to stop — so, he didn’t. “There, doesn’t that feel better? Isn’t that what you need? Yes… dear Edward, doesn’t that feel good?” His hands were on Little’s neck now, caressing fine tendons beneath burning skin. Hodgson had musician’s fingers, long and lithe; the human body, he found, was not so different from the clavier. They both trembled the same way… and oh, such music!
“That’s it,” he muttered, trailing his hands down Little’s chest. Somehow, his mouth found the other man’s, at a crooked angle; Hodgson swallowed up Little’s next moan, feeling it reverberate between their bodies. Little shuddered, hands digging into Hodgson’s shoulders. He had every opportunity to push him away… but Hodgson knew, somehow, that he would not.
“Sing for me, darling,” Hodgson crooned against Little’s mouth, and was rewarded with a delightful groan. Who would have guessed, straight-laced Lieutenant Little would be so vocal?
“For the love of God…”
Across the table, the litany of prayer had increased in volume and desperation. Hodgson was quite sure the Act of Contrition didn’t have so much begging in it.
“Please,” Irving whimpered. “Please! You must stop… you must… it is unnatural, I will not see it, please… your souls. Your souls.”
“My soul is afire,” Little gasped, head dropping back in ecstasy. Hodgson, busy sucking a bruise into his neck, hummed his agreement.
This was the state — Hodgson debauched, Little distracted, Irving in tremors while working his hand desperately beneath the table — in which they were found, when Mr. Jopson saw fit to remind them they forgot to close the wardroom door.
“Ah,” said the steward, poking his head inside. “Very good.” Jopson didn’t blink, or blush, or anything expected; he just looked grimly satisfied, as though watching a wound being cauterized. “You’ve got things handled, then… or will you be requiring assistance, sirs?”
Hodgson took a moment’s break from tearing Little’s clothes off to assess the captain’s steward. Jopson was very handsome, all lean and boyish, with striking eyes — completely devoid of fever flush, hmm, that was odd, wasn’t it? — and fine hands. Hmm, yes… very fine hands. Long fingers, slender wrists… he must know a myriad of ways to put them to use.
“Oh, god,” Irving begged; Little shuddered beneath him; and Hodgson decided, the more the merrier.
“If you would, Mr. Jopson,” he said, beckoning the steward inside. “I believe Lieutenant Irving requires assistance.” He tore his hands from Little’s chest; the man beneath him let out a cry, trembling from the sudden absence of touch, but Hodgson ran a hand through his hair to soothe him. “If you would be so good as to see to him, I will attend to Mr. Little…”
Jopson offered a brisk nod, and shut the door behind him.
He had thought Captain Crozier’s condition dire, before doing his duty as steward and relieving him. Yet even Jopson could not help being startled by the intensity of Lieutenant Irving’s affliction. The poor man’s cheeks were flushed a violent red, his lips chewed swollen, his breaths coming in urgent pants. There were tears in his eyes. When Jopson approached, he tried to push back his chair, but his limbs were uncoordinated, too weak from arousal to support him.
“Shh, sir,” Jopson said gently, guiding the man’s hand away from his own prick. “Let me see to this… there, now. Let’s not have these tears. It’ll all feel better once you’ve spent, I promise… will you let me take care of you?”
Irving gasped wetly and ducked his head, unable to meet Jopson’s eyes. “I am a sinner… oh God, I am so ashamed…”
“Shh.” Jopson stroked along his shoulders, running a free hand through Irving’s hair in the gentlest of caresses. It wasn’t long until Irving’s sobs ceased; only then did Jopson’s grip tighten, firmly pulling Irving’s head back.
“No more of that now,” he said sternly. “You’ve taken ill. Now take the cure.”
Irving turned to putty in Jopson’s capable hands, and fell to pieces once he spent. Jopson held the broken man, rocking him gently, until his frantic litany of prayers faded into silence.
----------
Upon Doctor McDonald’s orders — who also assured them that, no, they would not be punished for breaking the articles, no, they were not being disloyal to their wives or sweethearts, and yes, there would surely be a priest to confess their sins to on the other side of the passage — most of the men took the cure.
Some were reluctant; they had to be persuaded; but none went unwillingly, and all were glad, once it was done, just to have it over with.
(The Marines figured it out ahead of McDonald’s orders; they had themselves cured and playing a round of poker while the rest of the crew were still moaning in their berths. They were more than happy to help out any man who asked, especially an enthusiastic Sergeant Tozer. That man must have helped most of the marines, and at least ten seamen on his own; he was privately dubbed by the crew Most Valuable Man To Have Around In Case of Unprecedented Sexual Emergency.)
McDonald sighed, bracing himself against the rail and looking out to the horizon, as morning dawned after a long night. The sounds of suffering inside the ship had faded into pleasure, and finally, to silence. For the first time in days, the crew was able to breathe, and McDonald could rest.
“Well,” he sighed. “Glad that’s over.”
“Indeed,” murmured an equally-tired Bridgens. “May it never happen again.”
“I’ve seen more men’s cocks over the past three days than I wished to see in a lifetime,” Peglar contributed, laying sideways across a bench with his head in Bridgens’s lap. “And that’s not something I thought I’d ever say.”
“You’ll recover,” Bridgens replied, tweaking his nose.
“So will they,” McDonald hummed. “Once they get their dignity back. Eventually.”
For a long moment, the three men stared out to the horizon, victorious.
Until, without warning, a devastating crack and crash shattered the tranquil morning.
“Oh no,” said McDonald — and, leaning over the rail, was just able to see the window of the Captain’s Great Cabin utterly smashed, part of the wall gone along with it. Something bobbed in the sea, being rapidly lost in Erebus’s wake. “We forgot Sir John!”
From inside the Captain’s Cabin, Lady Jane Franklin’s portrait gazed down on them all in chaste judgment.
Re: FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 2
(Anonymous) 2022-10-04 12:04 am (UTC)(link)Love this, delightfully zany and raunchy!
Re: FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 2
(Anonymous) 2022-10-04 06:36 am (UTC)(link)And MVP twink!McDonald! With trusty assistance from true love’s darlings Peglar and Bridgens, and the most valuable man to have around in case of sexual emergency, I am dying
The warning for aroused sir John!!! Poor sir John, hahahaha
Re: FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 2
(Anonymous) 2022-10-04 10:46 pm (UTC)(link)Tozer's Most Valuable Man to Have Around in Case of an Unprecedented Sexual Emergency medal had me laughing out loud.
Re: FILL: a relentless fever, (everyone, pairings implied), M, slight dubcon, horny sir john [part 2
(Anonymous) 2022-10-05 12:21 am (UTC)(link)