The Terror - Prompt Post 1

[coldboys]

This is for prompts for all things AMC's The Terror (2018). Go nuts! 

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! 

 

8. Feedback on prompts and fills is AWESOME; please take longer conversations to the discussion post.


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Comments

4/4 FIN

[(Anonymous)]

He spent suddenly and with a shudder, Cornelius’s lips still plugged tight around his length as if to drain him completely dry, the greedy sounds of every slurp and swallow bouncing echoes across the relatively bare and acoustic space of Irving’s studio, until drowned out by another shrill, needy cry, cutting starkly through and above the noise of Cornelius’s sinful, sloppy sucking with the sheer breadth of his volume. No sooner has Cornelius pulled himself off of Irving with a loud, wet pop does he grin truly wickedly, letting his mouth hang open so that whatever he’d caught of Irving’s seed spills out in thick, slimy strings right down onto Irving’s lap.

Rather than protest this indignity, Irving simply gasped, blinked, struggled to catch his breath, collapsing back weightlessly in his chair in what could only be called a swoon.

“M-my God…” he stammered, through a face still flushed as bright and rosy red as fever, an involuntary trembling passing over briefly throughout his body as if he truly had just taken ill, although both men knew better than that. He could sense Cornelius’s gaze having rested upon him once more like the soft, nigh-imperceptible legs of a landing mosquito, the air seeming to hum even still with a low, predatory hunger. “What have you done to me?”

He asked it again, if not to Cornelius, than to God Himself this time.

“I think you mean … what I’m doing to you, John, now don’t you. Not done. No, we’re still quite a ways off from done, I’d say…”

“Tell me,” Irving hissed, his glassy, pale eyes bulging wildly as his hands shot forward, grabbing Cornelius roughly by both wrists. “What have you done, Cornelius? And…”

He hesitated, then, the words swimming through his mind beyond thought and beyond reason, blurring his own intent and meaning to even himself.

“What is it that you want from me?” Voice insistent, although he’d lowered it, as if in reverence or in fear.

“Now, John … must I, really, have want for anything from you?” Cornelius shook his head, expression once again taking on that ragged cast somewhere in-between concern, compassion, and pity. “You’re lucky that I’m not so easily offended by such ingratitude that you’re showin’ me-- not that I’ve come to expect any better from the likes of all you Christian martyr sorts.”

Once more bringing himself back up to standing, Cornelius’s eyes regarded Irving with a flinty, assessing sweep from head to toe, before strolling leisurely across the room again to fish out a roll-up from somewhere within the unseen depths of his many coat pockets.

“Or is that yet another sacrilege, in your eyes?”

Irving said nothing in response, this time, his breath coming now in slow, measured breaths as he chewed upon his lower lip in growing consternation. It was neither fear nor horror that held him back, however, but the increasingly persistent awareness that he had not, in fact, been preyed upon, but had instead knowingly invited this man into his life, his work, his home. Indeed, he may not have even offered Cornelius the job at all, if not for that deep void of inflamed living darkness Irving had imagined he could already see pulsing within E.C. like a second heartbeat, living, thriving, expanding its way outward.

“You really mustn’t fear me, John,” Cornelius added softly, as the minutes continued to tick by in steady, prolonged silence. “Only reason I’m even here at all is to help you, isn’t that right? And believe me, John, I plan on it.”

More silence hung heavy between them, before it was snapped like a twig by the sound of E.C.’s striking match. Irving tilted his head in that direction, having come to appreciate the smoked, earthy scent of the other man’s cigarettes.

“You just sit tight now, John. while I go on and fetch you that laudanum.” His voice was underscored by the rustling sound of fabric, one that Irving felt no need to clap eyes to, knowing it was only the sound of Cornelius getting dressed. “And upon my return, I should very much enjoy getting to discuss with you at much further length, this demonic thesis of yours.”

“Oh yes,” Irving finally replied, his voice breathy, yet triumphant, something like satisfaction sharpening along the otherwise soft, harmless edges to his words. “I was beginning to think you’d never ask me about the paintings, Cornelius.”