#little/tozer

[spirkkock]

A (NSFW) Modern AU where Nedward and Jopson are a cute little married (?) couple getting their house restored and Tozer is a thirsty contractor who gets swept up into a steamy throuple??? Hello??? can anyone hear me?????

Ned and Tom inherited a Georgian or Victorian home from Edward's grandmother or something, but it needs serious work, like needs to be taken back to the studs (or the Victorian equivalent) almost. And Sol comes in to rewire the ancient (fire hazard) electrical.

Down-on-his-luck Sol (having recently lost his job with a construction company) and knows way more about building than just being an electrician is like... hey.... you know they ran all this plumbing wrong here and you can easily salvage the shaker wall paneling in this room instead of tearing it out.

So Ned and Tom are like.... yes? tell us more? so Tozer is just kind of like "well I've got a guy (Morfin) who can run this plumbing again for a really reasonable price, and frankly I could do a better job of retiling this kitchen, and I know a guy (Bridgens) who is really into restoring old Victorian toilets and bathtubs if you need one. Oh by the way - these plaster and lath walls on the first floor don't even need to be removed, I could install some picture rails here so you don't damage the plaster when you hang stuff on the walls."

so they fire the shitty company they had before and put all of their faith in Sol and his mismatched team of contractor friends.

and it's a miracle for Sol because he's had a really unstable couple of months, what with losing his job and then getting booted out of a horribly fucked up polycule and losing his housing stability to boot. So he throws himself into this job which is so much better than just working as just an electrician.

And pretty soon the house becomes (sorta) livable, so Tom and Ned move in while he's still working on it - and then shit hits the fan.

Mostly because Tom works from home and likes to watch Sol with his unnerving blue eyes and walk around in shorts that are, frankly, obscene while also (not-so) subtly bending over to put paint swatches on the wainscoting or whatever. And whenever Ned is there (Saturdays) he's always trying to be helpful but doing a miserable job of it and then moping around with his big sad eyes and his fuck-me lashes while Sol does the heavy lifting.

And this is a Big Job, and a long one, so it's months and months of this, until eventually Ned and Tom are asking Sol to stay for dinner or join them to watch the game against liverpool or whatever - and they're both driving Sol up the wall because he's so horny for both of them he could die but they're MARRIED.

and then one horribly hot day (when Sol is working on re-installing the newly restored windows on the second floor so that the central AC the HVAC guy (Peglar) put in can actually start getting used) and he's stripped out of his shirt and is sweating obscenely - Tom brings him up a sandwich and some cold water and nearly drops the plate when he sees Sol glistening and flexing like that. And it obviously results in Tom on his knees (don't worry, he's using Sol's kneeling mat to protect his lovely delicate knees from the unfinished floor) giving Sol the sloppiest, filthiest blowjob of his life and it melts Sol's damn MIND.

Only this is a huge problem because now all the sudden he's fucking Tom half the time instead of working, and he can't look at Ned in the eye because, Christ, he's been banging this guy's husband in nearly every room in their house. And now Sol is a nervous wreck because Ned is always trying to coax him into staying for a beer or some takeout. And Sol isn't even picking up on the way Ned's hands linger when he claps him on the shoulder or the long knowing looks between Tom and Ned whenever Sol goes red and looks away from Tom's ass or that pale sliver of skin where his shirt rides up.

Sol is totally going to lose this job and never be able to use them as a reference.

Until one Saturday Tom corners Sol in the upstairs bathroom while hes installing the beautiful clawfoot tub and crowds him up against the recently restored sink to shove his hand down Sol's pants. And Sol is like, "Wait-please-Tom-don't --- ohhhh god - Ned is -fuuuuuck - NED is DOWNSTAIRS" but of course Tom just cuts him off with a vicious kiss and keeps stroking him off.

And the stairs creak - which mean's Ned is coming up but Sol can barely register it because Tom's hand feels so good and his lips are so hot and demanding. But then Tom pulls away and Sol makes eye contact with Ned over his shoulder and - oh fuck - he's cumming so hard into Tom's palm that it nearly makes his knees give out.

And there's a long moment of horrified silence where Sol is frozen, cum cooling on his stomach, Tom's hand still around his prick, and Nedward is looking at him with wide dark eyes and his stupid pouty mouth open in shock. And Sol is white knuckling the sink so hard he thinks he might rip it right out and ruin all the beautiful work he's done. This is it - he's cooked - this whole thing is crashing down around his head now, while his cock is out and the tub isn't even all the way installed.

But then Ned's pink tongue is darting out to wet his lips he palms himself with one of his big hands and his voice is low and gravely and totally filthy as he says, "Christ, Sol - you two look just as hot as I imagined."

And Tom is leaning in and snickering against his throat, and Sol doesn't know if his brain is just fully been scrambled but he doesn't understand what is happening at all. But then Tom is kissing him, and when he comes up for air there's a second pair of lips there to meet him, and it takes him a moment to realize that they're Ned's. And fuck his kiss is so hot and wet and Sol is moaning.

Needless to say he's a wreck of a man and so confused to find out that Ned has known all along that Sol and Tom were fucking - duh - there was a coordinated effort to try and get him into their bed, but that Ned was convinced Sol wasn't interested so he had backed off and just been satisfied hearing about it second-hand from Tom.

So Sol gets to have hot threesomes with two beautiful men all the time now as he finishes up the house and he takes some convincing but eventually Ned and Tom get him to agree to move into one of the spare rooms (although their bed is big enough for all three of them so it rarely gets used, actually)

and maybe Ned uses a little bit of that inheritance to loan Sol and friends what they need to start an honest-to-god historical restoration contracting company.

NOW EXPANDED: [[PART 2]]

[bouncypickle]

A "what if tozer and heather were in a realtionship and little found out and was into it and then heather dies and little and tozer makeout about it" drabble

Solomon holds Will's hand with the excuse that he's trimming his fingernails. A marine never leaves a man behind. So Sol taking care of his fellow marine is not suspicious. No one can know that Sol is taking care of his lover.

Yet, he holds Will's hand in his own and squeezes.

Will's hands have always been one of Sol's favorites parts of the bigger man. His hands are large, the pads of his fingers are rough and calloused, but Will has only ever touched Sol gently. No one has ever been sweet to Sol like Will. It had been a surprise when they first got together; Sol had expected a rough bit of buggery. Instead, Will caressed his cheek with a big, work-worn palm and kissed him tenderly.

Now, Sol lifts Will's hand and kisses his knuckles.

The others think Will is dumb, more brawn than brains, but they don't know him like Sol does. Will thinks differently than other men. He doesn't worry himself with the same social norms that are so important to everyone else. Will is the oldest marine amongst them and still a private. When Sol teased him about it once, Will told Sol that he has no militaristic ambitions but rather he likes his duties as a private. Will loves the redcoats they wear, the muskets that the other marines turn their nose to, preferring shotguns, and the camaraderie of the marines on the ground.

Will is a simple man, not a stupid one.

Only, now. Well.

Will is barely a man at all, anymore. He never blinks so the doctors sealed his eyes shut with wax. He never moves, never speaks. Even still, Sol comes to Will's bedside everyday. He takes Will's hand in his own and he squeezes–hoping, hoping, hoping, that one day Will will squeeze back.

Sol blinks rapidly at the water forming in his eyes. Him and Will may be alone right now but he cannot risk his men seeing him like this. He presses the back of Will's hand to his mouth and breathes, willing his thunderous emotions to settle.

Over his shoulder, a man clears his throat and Sol jumps nearly a foot in the air.

“Sergeant,” Lieutenant Little greets.

Sol drops Will's hand like it burned him, whipping around. Little is standing just in front of the curtain obstructing Will's resting place from the larger infirmary. His eyes are diverted toward the floor and cheeks a ruddy red color. From the cold or embarrassment or both, it's hard to say.

“Lieutenant,” Sol stands quickly, “You need something, sir?”

Little squares his shoulders and looks up at Sol with a flat, professional expression. His eyes avoid Will at all cost. Sol can hardly blame the man; the sight of Will's raw, exposed brain often unsettles him as well.

“You are needed on deck,” Little explains, “There seems to be some sort of mix up in the marine watch rotation. The men are getting heated.”

Sol shifts into his role as sergeant as easily as putting on his red coat. With a nod toward the lieutenant, Sol straightens out said jacket. Then he marches past Little, intent on getting into his slops and heading up to the deck.

Edward stares at the floor as the sergeant passes by him. 

When Edward had entered the wounded marine's area of rest, he'd seen the sergeant kiss the other man's hand. The act had shocked him into stillness.

Now, Edward is alone with Private William Heather. He knows the man's name only because it has been passed around the crew as they gossip about the man's baffling medical condition.

When Edward finally looks at Private Heather, he sees that his brain is indeed exposed and that, despite this severe injury, his chest still rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm.

He is looking at a living dead man, Edward thinks.

Edward steps closer to Private Heather's bedside. His hand, the one the sergeant had been holding, is hanging off the side of his bed. Edward reaches out, stops, then glances at Private Heather's face. When the injured man does not react in any way, Edward continues. He takes his hand in his own and carefully places it back on the bed.

Edward's fingers ghost over the back of Heather's hand, where the other marine had kissed.

 Edward doesn't know what he expected–to feel the lingering warmth from the sergeant's mouth, for Heather to jerk away from him, for his skin to be cold and stiff like that of a dead man? Yet Heather's hand feels no different from any other.

Embarrassed by his own actions, Edward drops the man's hand and swiftly makes his leave.

The rolled cigarette hangs forgotten between Sol's lips. Sol doesn't remember where he got the thing, who lit it for him, or how long he's been sitting here on this rock. Nearby, the burned remains of Captain Fitzjames's carnivale are still smoldering.

Will is in ashes now.

When the fire started, Sol really thought he could get Will out. And back when Will was injured, Sol thought that Will would wake up some day. Will's eyes would open and he would squeeze Sol's hand and smile again. 

For so long, Sol has been living on hope–hope with its sung promises like hymns in his heart. Now that ever-singing bird in his chest has been burned down to ashes along with everything else.

Someone sits down next to him but Sol doesn't look to see who it is. No one he cares to see, anyway.

“I–” Lieutenant Little starts, “I saw you. That day in the infirmary.”

Sol scrunches his face in confusion. He's drawn out of his dark thoughts by trying to recall what the lieutenant is talking about.

“You kissed his hand.”

Sol tenses up but when he looks at Little, the man only looks tired…and sad. His shoulders are sagging with exhaustion, his eyes surrounded in dark smudges. Little turns just enough to look at Sol, to meet his gaze.

“I know it means nothing. Not out here. And not from me. But…I am sorry for your loss.”

In a sudden flash, emotion has clogged Sol's throat. His breath hitches unevenly. They are alone, here, and no one can hear them over the catastrophe all around.

Little pulls a pipe from his breast pocket, and begins cleaning it out. He seems a bit nervous before he speaks.

“Tell me about him?”

Sol pauses, thinking.

“Your name is Edward, right?”

Edward bobs his head in affirmation as he blows the leftover debris from his pipe.

“Solomon,” he introduces, then, “What do you want from me, Edward?”

Edward stops. He looks at Sol again. His face is pinched with an emotion Sol can't read.

“I have heard that relations between men are…violent and animalistic. But I saw you that day…You kissed his hand.”

Sol’s cigarette no longer burns but he makes no move to take it away from his lips.

“Will was different.”

“Different how?”

“I know he looked a right mean bastard but Will never hurt a soul unless he had to. Will was…soft. I loved that about him. I loved everything about Will.”

Edward stops, pipe half-packed but his hands have gone still.

“I did not know men could love each other like that. Seeing Mr. Bridges and Mr. Peglar…You and Private Heather…” Edward looks at Sol again, “I can think of nothing else.”

Sol finally discards the remains of his cigarette, crushing it against the rocks with his boot.

“You,” Edward continues, “I can think of nothing but you.”

Raising his head, Sol looks Edward over. His Lieutenant's coat is starkly clean but the clothes underneath are dusty with soot. There are snowflakes caught in his dark hair, sticking to his eyelashes and beard which are both as untrimmed and shaggy as his hair. Sol licks at his cracked bottom lip before he stands.

“This way,” Sol jerks his head toward a supply tent.

No one is around, everyone is too busy digging out charred bodies and trying to identify them beyond their burnt remains. This tent was far from the fire, stocked with some extra crates of tinned food. Sol is supposed to be checking the perimeter and Edward should be taking stock of what supplies weren't burned, besides.

When Sol starts heading toward the tent there's a pause behind him before Edward follows. Sol isn't thinking much of anything as he leads Edward into the tent. Longing aches in his chest, making Sol sick with need. He needs to feel warm, to feel desired, to feel alive.

So when the tent flap closes behind the pair of them, Sol immediately turns and drags Edward into a kiss.

Their mouths meet forcefully, hard enough to crack open the never-healed splits in their chapped lips.

Sol savors the taste of their blood on his tongue.

Edward lets himself be pulled into a kiss. At first, they meet as men–rough, gruff, handling each other with no care. Edward feels his lip split, tastes blood, and goes utterly still.

The image of bleeding gums ringed in gray receding so far back teeth fall out is all Edward can think of.

When Edward flinches, Solomon eases back. Their eyes meet. The moment Edward licks at his bloody bottom lip, grimacing, Solomon's expression softens. His hand, gloved in a fingerless wool mitten, comes to rest upon Edward's cheek. His thumb swipes away a dash of blood at the corner of Edward's mouth.

“Apologies,” Solomon rumbles, almost a laugh, “Got carried away a bit. Give us another one and I'll go easy this time, aye?”

Edward swallows, throat suddenly dry. He wants, oh does he want, but Edward is nervous, uncertain, sick to his stomach at the thought of kissing another man. Even still, his heart soars, blood pumps, his gut tightens with arousal.

They are at the end of the world. What does it matter?

Edward takes hold of Solomon's waist as he would a maiden. Then he tilts his head and leans in to kiss Solomon again. This time their lips, though still cracked and chapped and bloody, meet softly.

Solomon is warm. Edward's breath shudders out of him, hands squeezing the other man's hips to steady himself. He presses forward boldly to deepen the kiss and Solomon wastes no time slipping his tongue into Edward's mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and stale gin. It's better than anything Edward has tasted in as long as he can remember.

With renewed vigor, Edward moves his hands to push at Solomon's clothing. He knows that under all those layers of fabric, there is living warmth. Edward digs into that heat, seeking more greedily. When Edward finally touches Solomon's flesh, Solomon jerks away, breaking their kiss with a hiss.

“Fuck that's cold.”

Edward quickly moves to pull his hands back. Solomon immediately stops him, catching his wrists.

To Edward's surprise, Solomon tugs his hands back until his fingers are touching the front of Solomon's bare stomach. Against his rough, frost-coarsened fingertips, Edward can feel Solomon's muscles jump. His skin prickles with goose pimples. Solomon shivers.

Edward cannot be bothered with Solomon's discomfort. Not when Solomon feels so incredible under his hands, not when Solomon himself presses further into Edward's touch with a shaky moan.

Edward sinks his fingers deeper into Solomon's flesh. His stomach is thin but there's muscle there still, under a scant layer of fat. Edward's grip tightens, his head spinning. He cannot recall the last time he touched another human in any meaningful way. 

Now, under his hands there is heat and hair and sweat. He imagines he can feel Solomon's blood gushing through his veins. With desperation, Edward shoves his hands up Solomon's clothes even higher. His palm lands atop Solomon's beating heart. When Solomon gasps out a breathless little noise, Edward shudders with the realization that he's gripping Solomon's breast.

He tightens his fingers.

Sol is not expecting Lieutenant Edward Little to be this forward. From what he knew of the man before this, Edward seemed uptight and repressed. Sol is forming new opinions on the man now.

Edward grabs his chest and grips it hard, enough to make Sol whimper. In the past, Sol never minded a bit of rough sex. However, that was never Will's way and Sol was happy with that too. Now, though, Edward's rowdy handling has Sol going stiff in his pants dizzyingly fast.

Sol's hands scramble into Edward's hair and beard and drag him into a heated kiss. He licks his way into Edward's mouth again. Once he finds Edward's tongue, Sol sucks. Edward makes a choked off noise of surprise. The sound dwindles into a moan that Sol feels inside his own mouth.

Sol breaks their kiss but he doesn't dare put any space between them. They're both panting.

“What do you want, Edward? You want my hand? My mouth? Want to bend me over that crate there? Or shall I take you instead?”

Edward ducks his head, shuddering.

“Dear lord,” Edward whispers, “I want–Can I just–?”

Sol offers no resistance as Edward pushes him backward. His back collides with a stack of crates, tin cans inside rattling. Immediately, Edward is pulling at his clothes. They both know better than to get naked in this kind of weather. That does not stop Edward from forcing open the collar of Sol's slops. Sol gasps as his neck and the top of his chest are exposed.

Quickly, Edward closes the space between them. He protects Sol from the frigid air by burying his face into Sol's neck. Edward's hips shift and he pushes a leg between Sol's knees. When he grinds forward, Edward rubs off against Sol's hip. Through their layers of clothes, Sol can feel the stiff length of Edward’s cock against him.

As Edward sucks at Sol's throat he also reaches down, slides his hands back up under Sol's clothes, and grips his waist. So Sol grabs Edward by his ass and encourages him to grind forward. When Edward follows his lead and rolls his hips, Sol throws his head back, cutting off a moan.

He hasn't touched another man like this, hasn't been handled like this by another man, in years. Will and him never tested their luck aboard the Terror. Sol's barely even had his own hand since Will's injury. He won't last long, even with nothing more than a bit of pressure over his clothes. Edward's trembling hands make Sol think the other man won't last long either.

[staud]

THE TERROR x THE THING (1982) Inspired by @devilsmamba's art

[froggerland]

I love Little and Tozers dog motif as much as the next person but i think Hickey’s fox and Goodsir’s sheep energy deserve more love!!

[goddisposez]

the terror + customer service slip-ups

rip franklin expedition. you all would have fared just as badly in a customer-facing job during the holiday season

[lunafresas]

so. is anyone out there still jopping (watching the terror 2018)

[djdolleyes]

I will probably make another one

Edit: i did

[vamplifying]

a gift for thee on this most hallowed of weens: a bunch of really stupid terror posts

[andrew-rannells-mustache]

Some important reminders for the upcoming holiday season <3

[tsarjozinzbazin]

some various things from the weekend bc yes :)

[dyinginthearctic]

"That's your name, isn't it? Edward?" or Who calls Edward what:

"Edward": 15 times

Crozier - 9

Tozer - 3

Le Vesconte - 2

Fitzjames - 1

"Lieutenant" / "Lieutenant Little": 9 times

Crozier - 3

Fitzjames, Tozer - 2

Blanky, Goodsir - 1

"Sir": 8 times

Tozer - 3

Chambers, Crispe - 2

Best - 1

[littlelouprophetjohn]

the terror — army dreamers

[froggerland]

Captain make a dollar, marines make a dime,

First cut down ‘cause they’re first in line,

So why not sulk on company time <3

[desertas]

THE TERROR 1x08 - Terror Camp Clear (SCRIPT) | inspired by laissezferre

[ghostshipglamour]

[djdolleyes]

Part one

Part two