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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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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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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)