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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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FILL: The English Vice, Oates/Atch, impact play, minor public humiliation, M
(Anonymous) 2023-01-02 09:30 pm (UTC)(link)One would have thought that all the possible topics for discussion had been exhausted to death after his first lecture. One would, in fact, have hoped. Yet after the applause from his final anecdote subsided, Titus was faced with a sea of raised hands and eager faces. Lord, they would be here for hours yet.
Oates rallied himself and nodded at Meares, seated in the front, who had been first to raise his hand. “In terms of discipline,” Meares drawled, not even bothering to take his pipe out of his mouth, “have you found that the environment affects how well they take to it? And to what degree?”
“I don’t imagine it’s universal for the race,” Oates replied, “but yes, many of the more senile crocks tend to forget what ice is every other morning. Thus repeated applications are far more necessary than they would be in a kinder country—or with healthier animals.”
Meares, quite used to this sort of ragging from him by now, puffed out a ring of smoke and folded his arms.
Next, Cherry asked, quite sweetly, “Can they tell you are—that we are acting out of their best interest?”
“Naturally,” Oates said, “I trust that they do. It is all in the touch.”
Cherry nodded, solemn and credulous. Oates could have moved on then to the next topic. But something rather wicked had just occurred to him.
“I shall demonstrate. Dr. Atkinson, will you join me here?”
All heads turned to Atch. Murmurs as he got to his feet and made his way to the lecture area to stand beside Oates. Oates pointed at the floor.
“Pardon?”
“Hands and knees, if you will. You are now a pony.”
Amidst roars of laughter from the men, Atch obliged. Low enough so that only Oates could hear, he said, “What are you playing at?”
“Right,” Oates said to the audience, ignoring him. “Let us consider the good doctor as a misbehaving horse. He has done something very bad. He has run off into a blizzard and gotten lost, and subsequently injured. This sort of poor judgment must not be reinforced. It must be discouraged.”
The hubbub continued: a shout of “You naughty thing!” from Griff; the habitual “Say!” from Silas. Teddy was so eager to witness whatever was to happen that he was half-up out of his seat.
“Gentlemen, please calm down. I do believe he is redeemable,” said Oates.
Leaving Atch positioned where he was, he went to fetch his riding crop from where it hung on his bunk. It had not, and would not be used on the ponies during their labors. It was in fact a sentimental object of some importance, but Oates felt it appropriate to bring out at this juncture. More than that: he was about to have fun.
Returning, he did not go so far as to mount him (though the thought tempted him towards a smile) but merely stood at his side. He tapped Atch’s flank gently with the crop. “The horse recalls what he did. Yes?”
Atch said, “Yes,” and when Oates tutted and tapped again, harder, Atch went on, “Oh, very well. Neigh.” Speaking the word, rather than making the actual sound, but that was all the better as far as the droll humor of the piece went, for the crowd loved it.
“Very good. Now—thrice for the past, and thrice for the future. Yes?”
“…Neigh.”
Each tense twitch, each sharp intake of breath at the application of the crop’s keeper pleased Oates. Through thick layers of winter wool it did not make much of a sound and probably not much of a sensation—yet it was still very good.
For him, and apparently for Atch too: because when he hauled him back up to his feet after the decreed six strikes, the surgeon’s face was quite red (more than usual, given his frostbites) and his eyes blown wide and dark. He wobbled; Oates steadied him, then spun him proudly round to face the assembled men.
One more helpful flick to the arse: Atch, thus spurred, gave a shaky but grandiloquent bow and was cheered back to his seat.
Wilson then asked something very interesting then about snow-shoes for horses, and Oates was obliged to take up the subject. But it could not be said that he was entirely focused on it. Nor for that matter—mouth still slightly agape, and mind clearly somewhere else—was Atch.
***
In the stables, late, close to the warmth of the stove and quite out of sight, Oates laid down stripe after stripe on Atch’s bare back. The crosshatch was, he thought, becoming rather nice. He wished Atch could see it for himself. Perhaps a photograph… but no. That would not capture in any sense the fine sounds the man was making nor the sensation which with each solid hit traveled up the handle of the crop and sank hotly into Oates’s bones.
“More?” he asked.
“I shall take it,” Atch said, “if you will give it.”
The evening’s demonstration had been enjoyable for all, but really this was nothing like anything he would or could ever do to a horse. It was a man’s game.
Thwack. Thwack.
Had he learnt it at school, the inverse of Oates’s own education in such matters? Or was this altogether new to him? Well, he might ask later, or he might not. It was hardly important how it had come to either of them. Only that here now was another way in which to converse.
It was Oates’s luck, really, that the man he found already by far the most amenable out of any of their lot was yet still equal to this. Eager for it, even, and with admirable capabilities.
When eventually Atch began to judder under the blows and his breath began to catch tellingly, Oates did not wait for a request to halt. In this the signs were so often known to him better than those who showed them. So he stepped away, replacing the crop in his belt, and took up the pot of liniment resting on the bench.
“Titus?” Atch murmured. Eyes still closed where he rested against the stable wall. “S’that it?”
“Mm,” grunted Oates. “Don’t move.”
With his own bare hand he applied the ointment. Gently rubbing it into damaged skin, cooling the blood-heat which radiated from the marks he had made. Aiming for the most part to soothe, but he could not help digging his nails in just the once, causing a temporary renewal of those sweet delicate groans.
Gallantly he pretended not to notice the way Atch had begun to grind himself against the stable wall. Instead, finishing up, he gave Atch’s shoulders a few moments of deep massage, thumbs brushing up at the overgrown hair curling at his nape; he ran his fingertips lightly down the whole gleaming mess, admiring his handiwork; and then without another word he sat down, kicked his feet up, and began preparing a smoke for them to share.
Re: FILL: The English Vice, Oates/Atch, impact play, minor public humiliation, M
(Anonymous) 2023-01-19 12:19 pm (UTC)(link)