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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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Re: Oriana Wilson/Hilda Evans, sex to stop Hilda from being so annoying, E, no warnings
(Anonymous) 2022-11-26 03:25 am (UTC)(link)Such was the tradition, anyhow.
“Teddy thought it would be a good idea to paddle across a river in full spate on the first day of our honeymoon. I nearly drowned. Imagine that!” Hilda says it with a wave of her gloved hand, laughing because she cannot imagine it. She has never imagined anything awful happening to her or anyone she loves.
The fabric of the dress is too soft against Ory’s skin. She thinks of the long journey that awaits Hilda, how subtropical plants wilt and die in English gardens after being cruelly uprooted from fairer climes.
Ory smiles graciously. It is her duty to do so.
Some years later and Hilda has learned to picture catastrophe in all of its gruesome permutations. After the Terra Nova leaves port, she confides to Ory her fears of great swallowing crevasses, wasting illnesses, serpentine sea beasts. Things that not even Ory has dreamt of in her idlest hours. People have ways of surprising you.
At the moment, Hilda wails against the decaying carpet of the hotel lobby in Christchurch. She looks more like a pile of dirty laundry than a woman.
“For god’s sake get up,” Kathleen spits. “And stop your shrieking. The valets will think we’ve brought in some foreigner.”
Hilda seems to ponder this for a moment without lifting her head, then screams once again, louder and at a higher pitch, as if the first attempt hadn’t been a sufficient expression of her grief.
Kathleen turns on Ory. “You try something. You always used to say you had a weakness for lame ducks.”
Ory straightens her back, spine cracking indelicately beneath the tension that has accumulated over the last week. “And you’d only make things worse.”
Kathleen doesn’t blink. “Some of us have children. Perhaps this would be an enlightening experience for you.”
Ory considers kicking her in the shins, where her legs are bare beneath her skirts. She’s swapped out her stockings for a pair of her husband’s socks. So much for unsentimentality.
“I’ll take care of it as long as you go up to your room and don’t come back down.”
Kathleen rolls her eyes before making her departure. Now who’s being a child, Ory thinks.
They make it to Hilda’s suite eventually, one arduous step at a time. Orystruggles to find purchase on the velvet steps of the grand staircase as she hauls Hilda up in mirror image, left foot then the right. Ory doesn’t bother meeting the eye of the guests who pass by this spectacle, praying that they have not seen the photographs of the two of them standing by their husbands that were printed this morning in The Star.
Not that one should be ashamed of their sorrow. Ory simply prefers privacy, in all things.
They tip onto the four poster bed gracelessly. Ory panics momentarily, worried that Hilda will be crushed beneath her where she lies crumpled atop the linens.
And yet, she seems pacified by the gesture.
“Shall I leave?” Ory whispers. She’s not sure why she lowers her voice. Kathleen occupies the adjacent room, and is likely to keep Hilda awake all night with her customary mysterious clattering.
Hilda’s tears have dissipated, replaced by convulsive gasping. “Don’t get up.”.
Ory eases her weight down. She swallows and turns her head to the side, resting her cheek against Hilda’s lower back where her lilac perfume has faded.
“I could wash you and brush your hair,” Ory says, pragmatic. Hilda is a woman, not a child or a doll.
She verbalizes her muffled dissent into the bedspread. “Don’t move an inch.”
“At least let me get you out of this.” Ory pulls at the wrist of Hilda’s dress. She’s swaddled in several layers of baby pink material, all soaked through.
Hilda obliges sweetly, reminding Ory of the very best girls that she minded at the preparatory school; always the fretful sort, until a gentle word rendered them wholly obedient. Everyone is looking for someone to be good to them; it’s as simple as that. Ory gets to work quickly on Hilda’s buttons and clasps until only her undergarments remain, and ushers her beneath the covers.
Hilda catches her wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. “Stay until I fall asleep.” She doesn’t open her eyes, as if that would be too much.
Ory kicks her shoes off before joining Hilda under the covers. The room is stifling, either from some artificial source of heat pumped into the room or her own exertion.
The unpleasant sensation of getting into bed hot and unwashed is only exacerbated by the crush of Hilda’s body against her own as she pulls her close, sliver of skin exposed where her camisole rides up over her petticoat. She clutches Ory like a spider or a creeping vine.
“You remind me of my cousin,” Hilda says into the crook of her neck, voice cracked from hours of weeping. Her face is unpleasantly damp, lips ghosting the surface of her skin.
Ory ponders this for a moment. “All of my cousins were boys.”
“Did you ever practice with a special friend, though? For your husband.”
It’s somehow more obscene than an intentional declaration of her own desires. She punctuates this with an uncertain kiss to the side of Ory's mouth, wet and inchoate. Ory allows these soft ministrations patiently before she pulls back, slowly so as not to cause offense.
“No,” she says, measuredly, “But I suppose it is because I always knew what I wanted and what I had to give.”
“You’re making fun of me.” Hilda’s voice is small and tremulous. Her breath comes quickly as she rubs her thighs together imperceptibly.
“I wouldn't think of it,” Ory says, sweeping away the strands of Hilda’s hair that cling to her damp cheeks. “We’re just different, that’s all.”
“I don’t want us to be.” Hilda’s face crumples anew. “I already feel so apart from her.”
Ory settles herself on her elbows above Hilda. “You needn’t worry about Kathleen. She’d rather be an island. Through force or self-denial, if necessary.”
Hilda lifts one of her knees, knocking into Ory’s hip. “You must hate her.”
Most people like to imagine that Ory isn’t capable of such a thing. Hilda is more clever than she lets on. Of course she is.
“She isn’t here, is she?” Ory counters.
Hilda raises her other knee, fully bracing Ory. “No. Just us.” The tears have not abated. Maybe she’d rather have Kathleen in the room than be forced to think about her own loneliness.
Ory presses Hilda’s leg to the bed at an uncomfortable angle, as cruel and as easy as pinning a butterfly wing to a spreading board. She holds her there by the soft flesh of her inner thigh, hand snaking beneath her petticoat. Hilda is flexible, but she fusses all the same.
“You’re worse than her. She just reads to me when she makes me cry.”
Ory scoffs. “You suggested it. I’ve only brought Wells’ papers on zoological retrogression anyways. You wouldn’t want to hear it.”
Hilda pouts in a manner that implies that this usually gets her everything she wants. “Because you think I’m simple.”
Ory hooks a leg around Hilda’s waist, slotting herself in between and immobilizing her further.“Because it’s dreadfully tedious. And he’s wrong, anyhow. He ought to stick to his scientific stories.”
Hilda rises in opposition only to find that any movement elicits a terrible friction. “Tell me about it,” she says, breathless.
“He argues that human society, as it stands, has been perfected. We live in paradise, without struggle. And so we have become dull and inverted.”
“I wonder if he reads the morning papers. Can’t blame him if he doesn’t. I don’t.” Hilda squirms, seeking leverage. Only the tilt of Ory’s hips can give it to her.
“He’d say you lost your dignity for the privilege of ignorance. The way fish lost their dignity when they forgot their gills.”
Hilda’s collarbones have begun to shimmer with sweat. She must be barely getting what she needs. Ory is more than happy to go without; she kneads down against Hilda with the juncture of her thigh purposefully, an act of charity.
“I’ve seen some beautiful fish,” Hilda pants, babbling now. “I used to wish–”
Her eyes fill with childlike reverie, the black of her pupils nearly blotting out the gray. Like witnessing a cosmic event. Some things the men say about her are true. For one, she is the most beautiful of the three.
Quite agreeable too. And womanly. Ory redirects Hilda’s captive limb upwards, just so, making things easier for her. Hilda bucks upwards, greedy.
Ory never hears another word about Hilda’s abortive girlhood dream. She leans forward, stretching the ligament in Hilda’s leg with care as she places a kiss on her forehead, quick and without passion. It’s her turn to be obscene in her innocence. Hilda laps at her neck like a kitten as she quickens her pace.
"There, there." It comes out rather matronly. But what other service is she here to provide? Ory strokes the flesh of one of Hilda’s breast where it rises above the stiff fabric of her camisole. Hilda responds to the touch perfunctorily, the muscle memory making her cry out in the dark.
“Quiet,” Ory says, keeping the end goal in mind. “You’re meant to be asleep.” The flex of her thigh draws the heat of Hilda's cunt closer. The pressure is bruising, even through the layers of Ory’s clothes. Hilda has soaked through them all.
“But it’s not enough,” Hilda shakes her head against the pillows deliriously. “You’re not being fair.”
“What’s fair about any of this?” Ory says, before she can help herself.
Hilda gasps, clutching at Ory’s hip so forcefully that she comes close to rending the closure of her skirt.
“Your husband will be gone for many years. It’s always longer than you’d think.”
Hilda cries out again, but not from grief. Ory is no longer the force that holds her down, the snare of Hilda’s legs vicious around her waist.
There are in this world insectivorous flowers. Stick your fingers in and they’ll bite.
“We’re not in paradise,” Ory says, starting to feel lightheaded at the heat generated from the crush of their bodies. “Someday, but not yet.” She begins to echo the brutal pace of Hilda’s narrow hips. So much that they both conceal.
Hilda whimpers continuously, perhaps with fresh tears. Ory doesn’t think so, can’t tell in the dark anyhow. The pitch of Hilda's keening climbs impossibly high, only breaking when her body begins to crest and dip spasmodically.
When Hilda stills at last, Ory can feel a different sort of release as she sinks into her as if she were indistinguishable from the mattress.
“Ready for bed?” Ory says, suddenly gentle.
Hilda moans, drifting away already. “I’m still thinking about the fish.”
“Good,” Ory says. “That’s a good girl.”
In the morning, Ory wakes with a great vitality. She washes and makes her departure before Hilda can drag herself out of bed. In her few moments of lucidity she complains of a terrible soreness.
“No one is expecting you. Stay where you are,” Ory says, petting the top of her silky head once with her coat and hand already in hand.
She’s in brighter spirits than she was last time Ted left. She even whistles a hymn on her way down the stairs; rise up, o men of god; farther along; saved, saved, saved..
Down in the dining room, Kathleen butters a slice of toast with more vitriol than Ory thought was possible. There are dark rings around her eyes.
“Pleased with yourself? I hardly slept a wink through her caterwauling. It’s a miracle her marriage has lasted all these years.”
Ory shrugs as she reaches for the kettle. “I thought you’d crawled out the window by then. You’re never around.”
“Do you ever wonder why?”
Ory pays her no mind. She savors the first scalding sip of tea– black, rousingly bitter, as simple as all good things are. She thinks of Hilda’s fish paradise. Somewhere upstairs she is still dreaming. Ory pictures her at the bottom of a riverbed, sleeping in the weeds. How perfectly peaceful, away from her husband, unconcerned with trivialities of country or glory.
There are some earthly heavens.
Re: Oriana Wilson/Hilda Evans, sex to stop Hilda from being so annoying, E, no warnings
(Anonymous) 2022-11-26 10:35 am (UTC)(link)Re: Oriana Wilson/Hilda Evans, sex to stop Hilda from being so annoying, E, no warnings
(Anonymous) 2022-11-26 11:07 am (UTC)(link)