coldboys | Polar Explorer RPF

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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He had stepped very quietly over the threshold, meaning to do nothing other than observe the rise and fall of Bill’s chest for a little while. To freely admire the blindfolded martyr in repose: to say a prayer over him, perhaps.

No one on the ship would say that a soft footfall was his normal attitude; peace-keeping was the aim, not subterfuge. Yet Bill was, it seemed, already awake underneath the bandages, not sleeping as Koettlitz had sternly instructed, and at the gentle creak of the deck he turned, his chin lifting as he sought, and Shackleton froze.

“Con?” rasped Bill. “No—no, please don’t go, it’s only that I’m so horribly bored… you wouldn’t read to me, would you? No, you’re too busy. I understand. Just sit with me a while, won’t you?”

Bill was not asleep but he was not entirely lucid, clearly; there was a slur to his voice characteristic of the strongest the medicine chest had to offer. It was hard to deny him anything in the best of times. And in his piteous state nearly impossible. Shackleton, conscious of his tread, carefully came to the chair.

Almost at once Bill reached out to find his hand. “There you are,” he said with such relief and contentment that words dissolved on Shackleton's tongue. He had been about to say, it’s me, Bill—he really had been—perhaps it could wait a little longer. He let Bill clutch his hand; he ran his thumbs over the frostbitten and flaking knuckles, massaging Bill’s palm with a gentle but firm’s pressure, the way he imagined Scott might, when he and Bill were alone…

Scott and Bill were alone, more and more. Cosseted together, one might say. A world of their own.

To peer through a keyhole which had not existed mere weeks ago and catch the barest glimpse of them: Shackleton could have hardly predicted how it would make him feel. He tried not to feel it, and yet. To seek him at his side and find him gone caused something like a sore, unhealing and raw.

But it felt a little better now, despite.

Bill made some satisfied sounds and Shackleton shifted in his seat, coming a little closer.

What might Scott say now? There there, Bill, or That’s a good fellow. Such kindnesses off his own rough tongue would give the game away at once. What might Scott do now? He might pass a hand up and down Bill’s chest, palm playing over fabric to feel the familiar muscles beneath. The pale skin unseen. The virile heartbeat, its energy without outlet in a bedbound body.

“Oh, Con,” said Bill. A smile tugged at the edges of his soft mouth as Shackleton stroked him. “I really am sorry, you know. Only the view was so beautiful, and I couldn’t help myself from staying outside to capture it. It will look marvelous, anyway, when I finish it. A fine frontispiece for the new issue of the Times. It may bring Shackle to tears, I hope—oh, I'm sorry. I won’t speak of him now. Don’t stop. Do go on…”

Shackleton’s hand was moving lower and lower. Bill was beginning to shift his hips upwards, small thrusting motions that betokened one thing and one thing only. His lips were slightly parted and his cupid’s bow glistened with the faintest sheen of sweat. Who knew what he was picturing behind his aching eyes? Shackleton wished he didn’t.

Yes, Bill may have whispered, yes. Shackleton thrust his hand into Bill’s wool unders and found his stiffening yard. He tried to restrained himself somewhat; Scott would not have such fixity of purpose. Shackleton knew Bill was only a man, and treated him as such, and loved him for it; but Scott saw him as more than that, walking around dazzled and stupefied. It would be like touching an angel.

Does he savor the hot human feel of Bill’s straining member in his hand as he works him to his crisis? Does he understand how lucky he is? His mouth would be dry and nervous, not flooded with spit and the desire to taste. He might close his eyes, overwhelmed by the sight of what his touch was doing, and miss the best of it, the end.

Shackleton realized too late that he failed to go as slow as he ought to. Scott, ever lumbering and deliberate, must always drag it out. Ah, well. Bill certainly didn’t seem to mind. Shackleton had never seen him so given over.

Lord, he was lovely. Worth going blind to behold.

“You should have me with this bandage on more often,” said Bill, languorously, as Shackleton arose and moved to leave. “It quite makes the difference.”

Something in the way he said it. A twitch of the lips. Shackleton froze. The thought flashed across his mind: has he known, this whole time?

Shackleton stared at the satisfied face in its white cloth wrapper. Bill could not be so cruel, surely. No. Not him. It was he himself who was a villain. He did not wish to be, but he could be. If and when one was needed. Surely not for much longer, though: when summer sledging began things would fall away, all of this would end, they would go back to how they had been. Balanced on a pin-head. Room enough to spare.

I AM SHRIEKING! AUTHOR ANON!!! THIS IS SO GOOD! The way you write the relationships between the three of them..whoof. This line particularly: To peer through a keyhole which had not existed mere weeks ago and catch the barest glimpse of them: Shackleton could have hardly predicted how it would make him feel. He tried not to feel it, and yet. To seek him at his side and find him gone caused something like a sore, unhealing and raw. WOWOWOW! Peering through the keyhole- that imagery will be sticking with me. The way that Shackleton sees himself versus Con as well: I'm eating it up with a spoon. DELECTABLE! <3

Original Anon here- thank you for my life, holy shit. I immediately read this three times in a row. You manage to do so much with the polycule dynamic in such a brief amount of time, I can’t get over how it’s basically a threesome I’m abstract. I’m also obsessed with the way the tables (potentially) turn at the end. Masterfully done, and super hot!

I am LOSING MY MIND

bill you conniving little shit

Polar Explorer RPF - Prompt Post 1

FILL: A circular design, Wilson/Shackleton, snowblindness + subterfuge, dubcon (or is it)

Re: FILL: A circular design, Wilson/Shackleton, snowblindness + subterfuge, dubcon (or is it)

Re: FILL: A circular design, Wilson/Shackleton, snowblindness + subterfuge, dubcon (or is it)

Re: FILL: A circular design, Wilson/Shackleton, snowblindness + subterfuge, dubcon (or is it)