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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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FILL: Heavy Petting, Tozer/Armitage, drunk and needy, E, dubcon themes
(Anonymous) 2022-10-08 03:13 am (UTC)(link)The rest of them had gone: all the Marines and men out onto the streets, towards brothels or gambling dens or home, if a home could be found. Only Tommy and Sol were left; Sol was on his eighth pint at least, thanks to an active effort on the part of the barmaid, who had become increasingly desperate as the crowd dwindled. As he nursed his own drink (only his third) Tommy harbored a not-unreasonable fear that her efforts might be successful, especially given she had surreptitiously tightened her corset at least twice, and Sol had not failed to take notice, leering in his charming way up at her. But as the next pint sloshed his way, he leaned to the side, tipping onto Tommy’s shoulder a little, and he seemed not to see the drink in front of him.
“You done, then?” Tommy asked. It was the first time he’d spoken in a while; they had been sitting silently since the last of the others left. Tommy never knew what to say to Sol, was the thing. There had been so many moments when he’d almost—but no, he couldn’t. If he couldn’t when he was sure they would all die, then he certainly couldn’t now, or ever, with plenty to eat and drink and plenty of other people in the world for the both of them.
Sol grunted, “Mm. Maybe. Need a piss. And sleep.”
“We can get up, then.”
Tommy helped Sol onto his feet; from his own pocket as Sol swayed beside him he paid the barmaid, trying to convey apology in his eyes. Sorry you won’t get what you want. It’s alright, you get used to it. She narrowed her eyes at him and stuffed the coins into her blouse with mild aggression.
At least Sol wasn’t the kind of drunk who couldn’t get his prick out to piss on his own; but he was still struggling to do up his trousers as he came back around the corner, laughing at his own misfortune. “Sorry,” he said, falling back against the wall and giving up with one button of his placket still undone. “Ah, Christ. Look at me.”
Tommy was standing a good yard away from him, hands in his pockets. A cold breeze blew in from the water. He looked at Sol. They were at a crossroads. Literally: Sol’s lodgings were a block further to the west, while Tommy needed to turn off to the east at this corner to reach his own boarding-house.
“Can you make it back alright?” Tommy asked.
“Dunno. Might need help…”
The smile was still in his voice as his head lolled back onto the brick. His hand twitched as if to beckon, but maybe Tommy imagined it. His own room was shared with a middle-aged merchant stoker who stank of rancid butter and snored like an engine; he did not particularly treasure the idea of heading home.
“Tommy,” Sol said then in a low rumble, "c'mon," and Tommy was moving before he knew it. “There you are,” Tommy thought he heard Sol say as he slung a hand around his shoulder.
It wasn’t so hard getting Sol back; the man was a soldier and he could march no matter how soused (or scared, or…) The difficulty was only—
“You’ve got to let go now,” Tommy said. Sol only groaned, clinging on, drooling just a little bit onto Tommy’s coat. Tommy very tentatively tried rubbing Sol’s arm in order to encourage him to loosen his grip, but it had the opposite effect: he made a happy noise and leaned eagerly into the touch.
“Don’t stop that,” Sol might have said, but Tommy could not be at all sure, he could not trust his hearing in the best of times, but especially not now, a good few drinks in himself and blood rushing loudly in his one working ear as it often did when Sol was close by.
He was never this close, usually, though.
Sol would hardly remember this in the morning, would he? It couldn’t hurt to just—to just see if—oh, but he was so warm and so very close to him, nuzzling up and practically panting like a dog—as a child Tommy’d had a puppy once which whined if left alone, a piteous howl that would only cease when a hand came to his neck to scratch—
Tommy lifted a hand to the back of Sol’s head, gently carding through his hazel hair, and was rewarded with another sigh of pleasure. “Thassit,” Sol said. “Mmmm. Yeah.”
He wanted it. He really wanted to be—touched. He couldn’t get enough of it, and who was Tommy to deny him? There was no one else here, after all, who could or would do this for him: laying him down into his bed, where he lay loose and pliable as a ragdoll, allowing with no resistance the removal of his boots, coat, and then the rest of it. His eyes were closed in half-drunken delight and he’d begun to hum a tune, of which occasionally a lyric could be understood—“each tar despaired, even gallant Tom, to see his love again—“ Eventually he was in his stockings and shirt, and Tommy sat at the edge of his bed stroking his flank, gentle pressure through thin cotton, marveling at the firmness of the muscles beneath, the sheer hot bulk of him, quiescent and gentle. Tommy explored his thighs and his arms and his stomach, reveling in the sounds each touch produced, a wordless song of satisfaction.
Then Sol was speaking again. But too low for Tommy to hear. He could have been saying anything. He could have been saying, Come and hold me, Tommy, I want you. You're beautiful. He could have been saying, Touch me, fuck me. He could have been saying someone else’s name. A woman’s, maybe. He could have been saying—
Tommy could not ignore any longer now the prominence to which Sol’s prick had risen beneath his shirt. He drew the curtain and viewed the main attraction, jutting proudly from a cloud of dark curls. A thick vein rain up its flushed length; its slit, emerging from its hood, was already pearling with clear fluid…
“I can’t,” said Tommy very quietly.
He took one of Sol’s hands from where it lay on the bed and, very carefully, placed it on his prick; he guided Sol’s fingers to curl around it, and then to move. Instinct took over as Tommy pulled away: Sol’s hips moved in languid thrusts, dreamlike, chasing his pleasure. Distracted by the matter at hand, he did not whine as Tommy withdrew.
From across the room Tommy watched the scene unfold, committing it to memory. Then he used his own handkerchief to gently clean Sol as best he could when he was done. Sol was nearly asleep by then, it seemed, his mouth slack and his breathing deep and even.
With his boots and coat still on Tommy got up onto the bed and lay down behind Sol. His front to Sol's broad back, his arms around, like a husband and wife in their marriage bed. Taking in the smell and feel and weight of the body before him. Then before his tears could soak Sol's shirt any further Tommy pressed one soft kiss to the pale skin of his nape, arose, and took his leave.
Re: FILL: Heavy Petting, Tozer/Armitage, drunk and needy, E, dubcon themes
(Anonymous) 2022-10-08 04:03 pm (UTC)(link)