Polar Explorer RPF - Prompt Post 1

[coldboys]

This is for prompts for all things general Polar Explorer RPF.

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!

Under this umbrella you can prompt: 

• Historical versions of Franklin Expedition(-adjacent) guys (Rossier, Gore/McClure, etc)
• Madhouse at the End of the Earth/Belgica Expedition
• Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration - Shackleton, Scott, Amundsen, Mawson
• Andrée Expedition
  
• Karluk Expedition
• etc

Prompts in line with adaptations of Heroic Age stories can also fit here, for example if you want to specifically prompt Hugh Grant!Cherry from The Last Place On Earth getting wrecked (which someone really should). 

No blorbo too obscure for this post! EXCEPT: NO PEARY ALLOWED. God I hate that guy.



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.

Mertz/Ninnis, sex crying

 

Solo gen can be prompted as well alongside (a) character name and description

e.g.

Gen, Emil Racovitza, discovering a crazy new fish

 

4. Fills should use this format in the subject line: FILL: [TITLE], [PAIRING], [RATING], [ANY WARNINGS]

e.g.

Fill: The Very Next Day, Cherry/Birdie, E, cw self-harm

 

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

Amundsen/Various, 5+1

[(Anonymous)]

5 people Roald Amundsen fucked + 1 person who fucked him

Re: Amundsen/Various, 5+1

[(Anonymous)]

PLEASE SOMEONE PLEASE. THIS IS A MATTER OF NEED NOT WANT.

Oates/Atch, pony play

[(Anonymous)]

Ride him hard and put him away wet

Shackleton/Wilson, Sexy McMurdo Negotiations

[(Anonymous)]

Bill seduces Shackles into giving up rights to McMurdo. Bonus points for dom!Bilson…these are scoundrel days indeed. You decide how in on it Scott is.

crean/anyone, first time bottoming

[(Anonymous)]

we've always got big lad tom crean topping, which is a totally understandable creative choice given *gestures vaguely to his whole situation*, but i think it's time to let the man get railed, just this once. give him a rest.

Lecointe/ADG, milking

[(Anonymous)]

De Gerlache's tits have filled out and he's in constant pain. Even the brush of fabric against them is too much but he's too scared to do anything about it. Cue Lecointe milking him. Also open to lactation and suckling from him or any other Bèlgica boy. Make it nasty and embarrassing for ADG

Re: Lecointe/ADG, milking

[(Anonymous)]

OP here with more thoughts: maybe Cook made ADG drink some concoction for medical reasons (lack of vitamins or what have you) and it's what causes the lactation? Cook is off somewhere communing with Antarctica with Amundsen so it's up to Lecointe to deal with it

Mertz/Ninnis, reincarnation

[(Anonymous)]

Please, I need a sweet reincarnation/soulmates au where Mertz and Ninnis finally get to be happy. Any era, any situation.

Griff/Priestly, showing Silas and Deb how annoying they're being

[(Anonymous)]

It's time for the other half of the scientist polycule to shine! Griff and Priestley have had to look at (and listen to) Silas and Deb hooking up all over the hut for weeks now, and they're ready to prove a point by also having loud sex all over the place. Maybe they even fall in love in the process, which will make things REALLY interesting when Griff marries Priestley's sister a few years later!

Stenhouse/Worsley, searching for pirate treasure

[(Anonymous)]

Stenhouse and Wuzzles, lads of all time, are spending their post-Antarctica years sailing through the Pacific searching for adventure and pirate treasure, but maybe they find love instead!

Kathleen/Oriana/Hilda, threesome

[(Anonymous)]

i just think they would have the most insane, charged, passive-aggressive-turned-just-plain-aggressive threesome of all time. most of all i want hilda reduced to a wet mess at the center of it all, please!!!

Griff/Nelson, feminization, humiliation

[(Anonymous)]

Nelson keeps forcing his terrible opinions about women on everyone. Maybe what he really needs is for the guys to force him to crossdress and treat him like a lady for a bit. Maybe Griff takes it too far...

Wilson/Kathleen, hate sex

[(Anonymous)]

More Kathleen antagonizing Bilson until they fuck about it.

Bilson kneeling alone in church, praying. Kathleen shows up and sits in front of him and lifts her skirts, no underwear.

The Scotts have tea with the Wilsons, Kathleen inches her hand up Con's thigh where Bilson can see it.

Etc.

FILL: Funhouse Mirror, Kathleen/Wilson, E, hatesex [1/2]

[(Anonymous)]

To Kathleen, there were three kinds of men in the world. First, there were those that squandered their potential, that were weak or useless or otherwise entirely uninteresting to her. For purposes of romance, she could shove in with this lot those men who were far too old or young for her. Second, there were those who were fun to play with—who were games to her. They represented a broad range of sparkling personalities, hardened physiques, or minds honed sharp with witty repartee. It was ever so fun to win these mens’ attentions, to learn their language and dazzle them by speaking it, to show them all she was and then never let them have her.

The third kind of man was the father of her son. Though that position had been under contention, when it came down to it, there was only one who could fill it.

Even married, Kathleen still had a lot of fun with the second sort of man. She so adored playing the game—and especially liked a challenge! And the man she was currently after was the definition of a challenge. He was rather good-looking, and certaintly intelligent, but, well, he didn’t like her, and she rather disliked him. The trouble was that he enjoyed denying himself pleasantries. But given all that, how much more satisfying would it be to bring him round to her considerable charm? Freed from the pesky need to guard her virginity until marriage, she was quite free to show him what was really good for him.

~~~~~

Kathleen Scott simply would not leave Bill Wilson alone.

The two had gotten off on the wrong foot immediately. When Bill and Ory stayed the night at the Scotts for the first time—shortly after Kathleen had become Mrs Scott and while Captain Scott was away at sea—Bill had found Kathleen to be the most irksome hostess. She was gaudy and loud where he and Ory were prim and quiet; her sense of humour was decadent and literary where he only occasionally indulged in skylarking, which she deemed childish. All told, she seemed a proper show-off a complete lack of control of her tongue. It disappointed him greatly that his friend should have chosen a woman of such little real substance. He got the sense from her cold eyes as they said farewell that their negative impression of one another was mutual. It was just as well. He had little time to waste, and surely they would only be seeing as much of each other as their expedition duties (which, he reminded himself, on paper she did not have) required. The kindest adjective he could find for her hospitality in his thank-you letter to Scott was “abundant”.

Of course he had been polite. Having learned through harsh trial to control his temper, Bill was always polite.

But with the way she was torturing him now, Bill wondered if he had poisoned her tea by accident, and was unaware of it.

It started rather suddenly. At a dinner party, Kathleen had dropped a fork below the table whilst sitting opposite him. “Be a dear and fetch it for me,” she had ordered, cool as anything, and so Bill ducked under the table only to find himself looking directly at her wet slit. She had hiked up her skirts and spread her legs wide. She wore no undergarments. He had popped up, beet-red and only just remembering the fork, from under the table, and had to continue with the dinner as if without incident.

Things like this kept happening. On a train, Kathleen had stared straight at Bill while slowly running a hand up her husband’s leg, squeezing the softer fleshy upper thigh. Seeing her demonstrating her ownership over Con made Bill’s blood rise. No matter, he thought in anger, I’ll have him to myself for over a year while she is at home changing diapers. He spent a very long time on Communion that evening.

On the mail steamer to Australia, when Kathleen was so late to tea that Bill was obliged to knock at her cabin and inquire after her welfare, she had answered the door wearing only a sheer dressing-gown. Bill could not help staring down at the dark outlines of her nipples as his face grew hot and he tried to converse normally.

All told, when she started playing footsie with him at tea-time in their hotel in Melbourne, he had had it to the gills with her. It was already wearing at him having had the responsibility for fundraising and for managing the wives, and now there was little to do but sit around and endure a stultifying wait for the Terra Nova with a mix of intemperate personalities. Oriana had accompanied Hilda to meet some of the latter’s distant relations in town, but with the ship due any day Bill and, unfortunately, Kathleen preferred to wait at the hotel. Hence the dismal tea. And hence her resorting to further antagonising him. Well, he was done with it!

In one swift motion, he withdrew his legs from under the table and stood up, the chair clattering across the floor behind him more loudly than he intended. A few other hotel patrons glanced up for a second before returning to their tea, no doubt making knowing faces at each other about that couple over there.

Bill hovered above the table, standing over the still-seated Kathleen. As calmly as he could muster, he said “I should very much like to speak to you in private. We ought to make some things clear to each other.” Such as how he was a married man and she a married woman, and he had no interest in her. None whatsoever. She didn’t bother him in the slightest, so she may as well stop now.

Kathleen sipped her tea without a care in the world. “I’ll be up to your room shortly.” She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. Anyone else might have mistaken it for a smile.

~~~~~

“What are you playing at?” Bill demanded immediately when Kathleen closed the door behind her. She had expected he might at least feign calmness in his usual manner. Kathleen had never understood why others called him serene, or, god-forbid, easygoing—to her, his placid surface clearly hid a dangerous current. That was precisely what made him interesting (if infuriating) rather than just boring. If he could no longer even muster that façade, well, then her game to provoke him was very successful indeed.

“Oh, you are riled up!” She winked at him, then took in the room. The expedition was hard-up for funds, she knew, but the Wilsons seemed to have drained this room of what little personality it had to begin with. It looked as if no one had lived there in years. “My, this place is drab. But what else would I expect? I haven’t seen Ory wear a different tea dress yet, and you hardly need more than a pair of binoculars to be happy, don’t you?”

Bill ignored this. “Mrs Scott-”

“Dr Wilson.” Kathleen intoned, very formally. She was being a menace and enjoying every second of it.

“Your behaviour,” Bill continued valiantly. He had clearly rehearsed something. “-has been entirely inappropriate towards me. Given such behaviour I think it is fair of me to admit to you that I find you to be rather an inflammatory person. Since you have married my dear friend and colleague of nine years I have endeavoured to show you every courtesy. You have repaid me by parading your vulgar person about.”

“You find my art vulgar, don’t you, Dr Wilson?”

“I am not speaking of your art-”

“Oh, but you do, nevertheless. It’s altogether too gay and fun for you. It’s not a dour little painting. You don’t know how to have fun—at least, not the way adults do. You would rather lie down in a field covered with bird droppings for hours and dig worms out of bird corpses.” As Kathleen said this, she made her way toward the bed, the creaky springs of which sagged in the middle. She sat down on the edge, the picture of innocence.

Bill’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I’d rather you didn’t sit on the bed.”

“Is it sacrilegious?”

“What do you want from me, Kathleen?”

“You’re the one who asked me to come here.”

“Because you keep-”

“What do I keep doing?” Her voice was low and soothing. She sometimes spoke to Peter this way. Bill was flustered, searching for words and rules to fit a situation that needed none.

“I told you, parading your vulgar person about.”

“Oh, do you mean all the free shows I’ve given you!” Kathleen put a hand on her heart, feigning ignorance and concern. “My dear Dr Wilson, of course I want you to know what good hands Con is in, what forms I’m capable of moulding him into!” Of course she wanted to see him squirm. To show him how much better she was than he.

At this, Bill paused, then said in a scarily quiet tone. “Mrs Scott, I do not know what sort of person you seem to have mistaken me for.”

She paused, then prompted. “…but?”

“But what?”

“If you wanted me to leave, there would be a ‘but’.” Kathleen stood. A few seconds passed, though it felt like much longer, and still Bill said nothing, so she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the rack without breaking eye contact. “I have a proposal.” Bill was a statue. Kathleen was familiar with statues, and he made a poor one. For one thing, he was quivering with rage. She continued, “Let us drop all pretence. We shall be completely honest with each other, here and now, and then after today we shall never speak of this again. It’s easier than pretending we aren’t interested in each other because we both value the same man. It’s easier than pretending we don’t dislike each other with every fibre of our beings. What do you say?”

Bill Wilson closed the distance between them in two strides of his long legs, which Kathleen always found reminiscent of a wading bird—a very ugly creature. His face was more beautiful, and his expressionless eyes looked down his long straight nose at her. “I say,” he began, and then kissed her on the lips, close-mouthed. A cruel little peck. “That I quite honestly haven’t the foggiest idea what he sees in you.”

This set Kathleen off, agitating her emotionally and physically, as she felt her thighs clench and the area between them grow damp. Oh! But she had him. Nothing was more satisfying than bringing an angel crashing down to Earth. She grasped his starched collar, sharpish, and cared not for the integrity of the shirt as she swung him round and pulled him down on top of her onto the bed. Bill Wilson was light for his height. Perhaps his bones were hollow, like his precious avian friends, she mused. Taking advantage of his surprise, she shoved her tongue down his throat.

“I shine through deeds, not words.” She hissed into his ear as he scrambled to hoist himself up on his elbows.

“Funny. So do I.” And he buried his lips in her neck, sucking hard enough to send shivers down to the tips of her toes, but halting before he left a mark.

When they kissed, it was as two drivers fighting over the reins of a hansom cab. Kathleen was fluid and electric. Bill was precise and formidable. Kathleen rucked up her skirt, freeing a leg to wrap up and around one of Bill’s; he reached his free hand down and traced up to her knee before sliding back down and gripping her bum, pressing her sex against his clothed crotch.

“My goodness, Billy,” Kathleen breathed as she palmed the needy tent that had formed in Bill’s trousers. “Tell me again how my vulgar person repulses you.”

He got up suddenly, taking away her prize and standing at the foot of the bed to unbutton his shirt. “As you wish. You are hedonistic, you enjoy making a spectacle of yourself, and above all you are selfish.”

“And you are nothing but a self-deceiving prig who thinks himself above these things.” She registered the flush spread over his chest as he discarded the shirt.

“Certainly not.” He extended a hand to her, and when she too was standing he started working her dress off, long fingers going like knitting needles. “But I find a relationship with God helps. You ought to consider spending more time on your knees.” He undid the last button of her dress and pressed her hands to his belt.

Grinning impishly, Kathleen tore at the buckle. “Are you sure you want my teeth on your prick?”

“You’ll treat it with care.”

“It’s not as if you’ve found any use for it.” Kathleen teased viciously, sinking onto her knees as she yanked Bill’s trousers and undergarments down. And there he was, erect and flushed. She was just about to take him in her mouth when she felt his soft fingers wrap under her chin and tilt it up. His eyes shot daggers down at her from their lofty height.

“You’ll treat it with care or I’m afraid you’ll make your husband very unhappy.”

And because Kathleen knew nothing would please him more than the abnegation granted if she refused, she nodded. He released her, and she choked on him with a vengeance. The wave of hot pressure overpowered him and he slumped back on the bedpost, gripping at her hair as he momentarily lost balance. She aided in steadying him by grasping his arse, making sure to scratch him while doing so. Breathing in his scent, she ran her tongue up and down his shaft, up and down. When she focused in on the sensitive head, Bill Wilson produced the most undignified whimper, which would have made her lips curl into a smile if they were available for that purpose. Involuntarily, his hips bucked into her face. She was ready for it. How wonderful, to see such animal instinct from the man. To see this stiff haughty man reduced to something she could control with the pull of a lever. He was just like the rest, after all.

She spat him out, before he came. She wanted to save him, to fuck him properly. This was the only chance she was ever going to get to show him her art. Her clay was now workable.

Oates/Meares, phone sex

[(Anonymous)]

Not a lot to do alone at Hut Point other than take care of the dogs and jerk off. Meares gets Oates on the telephone so he can keep him company during the former, and perhaps the latter as well...

Gen, Clem-Bilson rivalry

[(Anonymous)]

The piano twinks meet Bilson and are totally charmed by him. Clem was already angry that Bilson "seduced" Scott away from him but this means war

Gen, Cherry reads the Worst Journey graphic novel

[(Anonymous)]

He can be a ghost or reincarnated but I'd love to see Cherry read the graphic novel for the very first time and see his story and all of his friends on the page

Scott/Cherry, surviving Bilson

[(Anonymous)]

Somehow Con survives the trip back from the pole (also maybe Birdie?) but Bilson dies. Con and Cherry grieve together

FILL: No Return, Scott & Cherry (hints of Scott/Cherry), G

[(Anonymous)]

They return heroes.

England loves a man who has won, and loves even more a man who has lost honestly: with honor, sweating and bleeding and staggering home. The photographs cause a sensation, and the— The deaths, he says aloud, to practice. Con speaks and lunches; he becomes less of a stranger to his son; he smiles at Kathleen even when she inspects him too closely. She would flay him, he thinks ungraciously. She wants to know who he is underneath his skin, which still prickles and numbs unpredictably. Even if he knew, he doesn't know what he could give her.

It is cruel that widows must continue to live under their husbands' names. Sitting in the small, airless room with Mrs. Wilson—Mrs. Formerly-Wilson, Mrs.—he had bowed his head and said, "He was cheerful to the last. He was true—" and then his throat had corked and he had reached blindly for her hand.

She had not wept. Her hand lay in his as lifelessly as a liver. After an appropriate time, she had risen and said, quietly, "Thank you for telling me." Then she had showed him out and closed the door between them. From behind the wood paneling had issued a human sound he had never before heard. God, he had thought, his hand on the latch with the idea half-formed to open it, and then an odd blank existed, and then he had found himself by the sea.

He finds the water again now, though he has exchanged the rumpled hills of New Zealand for the knobbed sycamores of Battersea Park, and the clean wash of seawater for the choked Thames. The grass struggles up through a warm summer, untouched for two weeks by rain. A new miracle each day to see it again. Bill would have loved it anew: the rush of air through the leaves, the wheeling birds. He would have loved it better; he would have known how to greet it.

Beside him fall familiar footsteps. "Scott," says Cherry, who went south a boy and came back a man with eyes like bitter almonds.

"Cherry."

They walk together for a time. They have talked over what there is to talk over. Or Cherry has, anyway, boiling with sunny rage, burning it for fuel. He moves more quickly now, and less carefully. Con watches him for signs that the fuel might run out, and that the fire might spread. Now, in the absence of a formal hierarchy, he is not above its reach.

“I’ve had a letter from Mrs. Wilson."

"Please send her my regards."

Cherry snorts. “I should like to continue membership in her good graces."

"Then know she has them."

"She knows," says Cherry to the path. "She doesn't want to remember you."

Con stops. From behind the door had come a sound, wordless, and he had known its meaning, and he had wanted to make it himself. A wolf howling to hear its howl join the others.

But he will not justify himself to a man who has made himself a nuisance in museums and in Victoria Street, in the service of some ending other than the one he was given. "There's no need for you to remember me. I’m here.“

Cherry pauses, several steps ahead, but does not turn. "I can't forget," he says. "I thought I would. But everything is—" He taps his temple with two fingers. "I don't want to, I think."

"Don't want to remember? Or forget?"

"Yes," Cherry says, and does turn, enough for a smile that leaves his eyes unmoved.

“You won’t forget him.”

The smile, such as it is, vanishes. “I know that. In what world could a man like him desert memory?”

“In this one.”

“Never. Not in this one; not in the next.”

Cherry is furious now, rigid and icy-eyed. “I shouldn’t have to—remember.”

“You’ve something to say, say it.”

“I’ve said it. I’m sick of saying it. You left with a good man and came back without him.”

“So did you. So did we all.”

“You think I haven’t— That I don’t—”

“No,” says Con, moving slowly and quietly forward. “I think you loved a singular man, and I loved a singular man, and we went to a dangerous place, and every possible circumstance conspired against us.”

Cherry’s hand closes and opens. He lifts it to tug at the knot of his tie. “I experience the strangest sensations,” he says. “I dream of voices in the snow. I’m certain I can reach them. But as I advance, they recede. I shout after them, to stay where they are, that I’ll find them, and then I wake and it’s time to buck up and not be one to make a fuss.” His eyes are shut, his fingers hooked into his collar. “It’s my—”

“Stop,” says Con, closing the distance and pulling Cherry’s hand away from his throat. “It’s not yours to take. He had scurvy the first time, you know. It was awful, and he kept it from us. But he banished illness, and came again when I asked. Because I asked. He left the world. He would have done anything to come back to it.”

Cherry laughs softly. “Eaten one of his penguin dishes.”

“Almost anything.”

“Hauled until he couldn’t.”

“I didn’t leave him,” Con says. “He was steel until he wasn’t, and then all there was for it was to wait.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t leave him.”

“No one who knew him could have.”

It’s not true, exactly. Con did leave him, after life had its turn at departure. He could have stayed, and been a braver man. Instead, he pried Bill’s journal and sketchbook and green-backed book of poems from the cold that was in him forever now, and leaned his own life homeward.

Cherry accepts an arm linked through his. He accepts the suggestion of a stroll, rolled wordlessly body-to-body along the path. As they walk, he tucks his head down and to the side, as if he and Con are the sort of friends who share confidences. The heat of his hand wends its way under Con’s skin. He imagines the particles of warmth, collected like coals. At the end, Bill had slipped as easily from this life to the next as he had once slipped from his first life into Con's. Con had had no warmth to offer. He would have, he thinks. He would have offered of his body, of his heart. "I would change places with him, if I could," he says. "Every day, I wish he was the one who had made it back."

"So do I," says Cherry, and draws his elbow closer in so that Con can feel his ribs, the muscle beneath them, and beneath that something cavernous he has no name for. There are dark wells so deep that a dropped coin will offer no echo. Con drops a coin, and listens.

Cherry/any, vigorous debate

[(Anonymous)]

Terra Nova lads passing time debating Issues of Day tackle the thorny problem of sodomy. How will they know what's at stake without a practical demonstration? Adaptable Helper Cherry is enlisted to demonstrate (with Oates?)

kathleen scott/isadora duncan

[(Anonymous)]

kind of a “sculpt me like one of your explorer husbands” situation, yaknow?

Cook/various, fuck or (get scurvy and) die

[(Anonymous)]

"Cook's inquiries revealed two main complaints. One was the absence of female companionship. From the breathlessness of his report, one gets the sense that Cook was not a dispassionate observer."

Cook decides to take the health of the expedition into his own hands, quite literally e.g 'Cook fucks and sucks the crew of the Belgica through the dark Antarctic night.' Use as much or as little medical justification as you like, and whichever combination of characters, get weird with it!

Con/Kathleen, roleplay

[(Anonymous)]

Sometimes Kathleen is a brave and charming explorer and Con is the shy and sheltered maid Kathleen seduces

Huntford/Clem, time travel

[(Anonymous)]

While "researching" for his book, Huntford accidentally touches a time travelling device that rejuvenates him and takes him back to the heroic age of Antarctic exploration

Re: Huntford/Clem, time travel

[(Anonymous)]

are they going to kill each other or are they going to fuck. I know which one I'd prefer.

Mertz/Ninnis, meet cute

[(Anonymous)]

No crevasses please

Gen, the Terra Nova lads do the Full Monty

[(Anonymous)]

They need to raise more money for the expedition! Everyone loves a sailor

Bilson/Birdie, warming up after a snow bath

[(Anonymous)]

in a Christian kind of way

Birdie/any, show this man a good time

[(Anonymous)]

It is the year of our lord 2023 and we're sexualizing Birdie Bowers. Please show him the time of his life, dealer's choice of partners and situations!

Re: Birdie/any, show this man a good time

[(Anonymous)]

Reckon these can go here for posterity...draw fill, Chirdie.

https://twitter.com/wobstersRus/status/1679553674371289089?t=Scu8xyOHnj53FP8RUWIhpQ&s=19

https://twitter.com/wobstersRus/status/1679553852138459136?t=hlgqQaS0PvBmsCjbNzsKFg&s=19

Wilson/any, Fill Bill

[(Anonymous)]

Honestly I just want someone to write something with that title. Toxic polycule double teaming Bill? Bill makes his way around the Terra Nova crew? Bill goes into heat? Feeding kink? Anything