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Polar Explorer RPF - Prompt Post 1
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:
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:
Regular view: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html
Regular view, last page: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html?page=999#comments
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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Cherry/Atch, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2022-11-09 06:45 am (UTC)(link)FILL: Splendid in this trying time, Cherry/Atch, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2022-11-14 07:34 am (UTC)(link)The growling of the dogs burrowed into his head like iron corkscrews. He choked on the smoke from the blubber stove and retched onto the floor and made sorry attempts at doctoring himself from the medicine kit. He prayed. He wanted his mother. He wanted Bill… he was so cold, Bill should be getting the Primus going, otherwise he and Birdie would freeze before they ever reached Crozier, and he wanted to help but he couldn’t, he couldn’t move, it hurt too much and the dogs were whining, yelping, scratching at the door and the roof was collapsing over their heads and they would die and they were dead and Cherry screamed, begging, stop, stop, please, God, please stop—
A face swam into focus out of the haze of pain. Atkinson—!
And behind him, blurry, the others, leaning over in concern. They had come back from Cape Evans.
“Good lord, Cherry. What happened?”
A question he found impossible to answer. Nothing had happened. Things had only continued. He tried to sit up and speak, for he didn’t—he couldn’t be seen like this, it was humiliating.
“No, no. Please—don’t move.” A insistent hand on his chest pushed him back down; then Atch called Silas over and together they lifted Cherry from his abject sprawl on the freezing wooden floor and placed him back in his bunk. Atch quietly gave instructions to Silas; Silas said something before hurrying away which Cherry couldn’t quite hear, but it might have been “And then he’ll be alright?”
Atch’s attention was on Cherry now. He was stroking Cherry’s head, pushing fingers without care through the grease and soot coating his hair. “Relief has arrived,” he said. “You did well, and now you can rest.”
“I didn’t,” Cherry managed to choke out. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it…”
“No matter. Silas, some water too, if you will, please.” Now came that old friend morphia and a few of Atch’s bitter tonics and a bolus, which Cherry duly swallowed. These brought some relief; and Atch remained by his bedside as they took effect. When Cherry struggled up into a seated position just to prove he could, Atch caught him as he toppled forward and held him there, hand moving in gentle circles on his back. Then he began to massage feeling back into Cherry’s own chilled hands, gentle warmth and pressure which felt so deeply good he nearly cried.
“You were doing alright before we left, dear boy,” said Atch, “and you’ll be doing alright again soon enough. I know you will be. And in the meantime I’ll be right here.” He said it with such easy authority that Cherry couldn’t help but believe it. He let Atch bear his weight and warm him; he took deep shuddering breaths and inhaled the smell of him, the rough outdoor scent they all shared but underneath it something musky and sweet.
Rocked back and forth like a child, he began to drift off into a contented drugged sleep; he was laid back down and had the impossible impression before the soft dark descended that someone might have been kissing him.
***
After the funeral Cherry was left alone with Atkinson. Dmitri was with the mule party, probably cadging their tobacco. It was past midnight. Rivulets of golden light leaked in through the tent fabric. Cherry was utterly exhausted. On his knees he balanced his journal, pencil poised against the paper, having scratched out the last three lines he’d written, because they didn’t sound right, they weren’t right at all, but for the life of him he could not find the ones that were. Perhaps they didn’t exist.
“Go to sleep, Cherry,” Atch said. He himself was half-in, half out of his bag, carefully wrapping and securing the box which contained the vital records.
“I have to write.”
Atch blinked slowly at him. “Get some rest, and you’ll write in the morning.”
“But I must write now. I must record, that is my duty, that has been my only real duty. But I can’t—What use am I if I can’t find the words? Shall I fail at this, too?” His voice shook.
“Cherry, you haven’t failed at anything, I won’t hear that from you now or ever, do you understand? Nothing which has gone wrong was due to you, of all people, you are a perfect angel and there is no one who does not know that you did it all to your very, very best.”
Cherry couldn’t meet Atch’s kind gaze. He tore off his spectacles and rubbed at his own eyes, willing himself not to cry, for Atch had not cried yet, and he should not until Atch did. “I won’t sleep tonight, I don’t know how you can plan to,” he said through the lump in his throat.
“Because I am very tired, and tired men need sleep if they are to drive dogs. That includes you.”
“But—aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what? That I’ll see them in my dreams?” Though Atch was unfailingly polite he was also unfailingly direct, when other men would talk round a subject in circles till their meaning came across. That was the doctor in him, one assumed.
Cherry swallowed, and nodded.
“No, I am not afraid. In fact I hope I do see them,” Atch said matter-of-factly, “so that I might be able to tell them all how marvelously you’ve carried on, and how worthy you are to carry on their memory.”
All the strength went from Cherry’s body. He was weeping before he even knew it, despite his promises; collapsing like the tent had with its poles removed.
Then Atch was beside him, offering that embrace which promised more relief than anything in his apothecary, a strong grasp which held him effortlessly above the crevasse that loomed…
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blubbered, but Atch wouldn’t hear it, he never would hear any of it, any of Cherry’s apologies, he shushed and stroked Cherry until he quieted and there was only the sound of the tent and the lamp and his own labored sobs, diminishing and then evening out.
Eventually Atch said, “Brave heart, Cherry,” and pressed his lips swiftly to Cherry’s forehead. Then he pulled away, but Cherry wasn’t ready. He tugged Atch back towards him, really wanting only to be held longer, but when Atch drew in again it was to give Cherry a long and lasting kiss. Cherry gasped into Atch’s mouth; surprised, delighted, even. Atch held him and kissed him and for a little while Cherry forgot to be afraid.
“Can you sleep now, do you think?” Atch asked, his face still quite close to Cherry’s, and his thumb softly and intimately sweeping the curve of Cherry’s ear.
Dizzied, Cherry said, “I think so, yes.”
“Then goodnight, Cherry.”
Atch gave Cherry’s shoulder one final squeeze, then drew back into his own bag and turned away. If he was at last crying then, then Cherry could not hear it above the wind.
Re: FILL: Splendid in this trying time, Cherry/Atch, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2022-11-14 08:01 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Splendid in this trying time, Cherry/Atch, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2022-11-14 08:16 pm (UTC)(link)Auuugghhh sobbing forever
Re: FILL: Splendid in this trying time, Cherry/Atch, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2022-12-01 01:00 am (UTC)(link)