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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: Behind the Scenes, Cherry/Oates, E
(Anonymous) 2023-02-04 09:18 am (UTC)(link)For as long as men have set out on absurd expeditions to inhospitable places, they have kept a box full of venetian masks, dresses, and props, for moments when morale plunges down in the murky depths of the long, dark winter. Even the most stoic of expedition leaders will indulge, and though they will reflect disparagingly in their journals afterwards on the debauchery and raunchiness of men long separated from their wives and sweethearts, conceding grudgingly in the end that it is a necessary measure to stave of madness and mutiny, history will not mark how they laugh alongside the men at the most base of innuendos and double entendres.
Captain Scott is no stranger to polar theatrics, and although he tuts and shakes his head at some of the sorts of things that happen on their little makeshift stage, he has never lifted a finger to stop it—sometimes, you can even hear a quiet chuckle. Grif has written an irreverent little number, one act long and to be performed in an explosive ten minutes or less, ending with himself buried under a lady’s skirts. It may, he optimistically predicts, get a laugh out of Scott.
They do, of course, need a leading lady, and their dear Cherry proved the obvious choice. He is really the fittest to fulfill the role, Oates thinks, slipping behind the curtain and setting eyes on him. Cherry is a frightfully attractive young thing. His face is soft and a touch feminine when he’s clean-shaven, his cheeks are full and often tinged with color, and of course the sweetness of his demeanor makes him all the more desirable. Oates knows he’s not the only one who looks on at him this way.
The scientists have been good enough to offer up their space as a “backstage,” secluded from the rest of the hut as much as the thin curtain will allow. It’s certainly not a question of modesty–they have almost all, by this point, stripped fully before one another to shower in warm rains on the deck of the Terra Nova, or simply as part of after-dinner roughhousing. These are simply the rules of the theater, the men know, and they follow them.
“I’ve never had to put a corset on before,” Cherry laughs self-consciously, holding it about himself. The dress itself is wrinkled and faded, having been stored away for goodness knows how long in its box. Even so, it fits Cherry remarkably well. The color, once a striking mauve, now faded to a dark, dusty pink, compliments his dark hair, the blush high in his cheeks. The neckline dips low, exposing the pale length of his throat down to his collarbone. He looks all at once demure, bashful, and perfectly innocent, as well as utterly indecent.
“You look a treat,” Oates compliments him, slipping behind Cherry in the confined space to help him fit the corset. The blush the compliment incites warms Cherry’s face, and he’s red down to the back of his neck, as if the dye of the dress has bled out and stained his skin. He’s the loveliest thing Oates has ever seen. He’s compelled to bend and press a kiss to the nape of Cherry’s neck, and Cherry, despite himself, mewls like a kitten.
Oates smirks, his mind filling with all the things he could do to Cherry in this rare moment of relative privacy, but he dutifully turns his attention to the task at hand, giving the laces of the corset a little tug. It cinches his waist beautifully, makes Oates want to grip it, just to see how much his large hands could encircle. “What does this play of Grif’s entail, anyway?” He asks as he laces him up.
“Well, I don’t mean to give too much away,” Cherry replies, good humor giving his voice a pleasant inflection, “but I know I’m to play the part of Grif’s paramour, and that he will eventually wind up beneath my skirts.”
“Of course he will,” Oates scoffs, “I can’t quite blame him. I daresay a good number of us in the audience would be happy to be in his place.”
Cherry laughs bashfully. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know I’m a poor substitute for a real woman.”
“Nonsense. But I think you know that, don’t you.” Oates’ resolve is slackening fast, and temptation wins over as he bends forward and kisses Cherry’s neck, right below his ear. “You know how sweet you look, and what good it’ll do the men to look on a flower as pretty as you, out here among all the ice. Awful generous of you, Cherry.”
“Mmn,” Cherry moans softly, as Oates mouths along the exposed length of his neck.
Oates knows he has him completely in the palm of his hand. With his frame enveloping Cherry from behind, Oates corrals him against the wall, until his cheek is pressed up against it and his glasses are knocked askew. “Do you want to know what we’ll all be thinking?” Oates asks, lifting Cherry’s voluminous skirts and bunching them up at his waist. “There will be so many eyes on you, each of them wishing to have their way with you.”
“Oh God, please,” Cherry gasps. He has his trousers on, still, beneath all the petticoats. Oates makes quick work of divesting him of them.
Cherry has never fucked anyone else–not on the expedition, nor at any point before. He had admitted as much to Oates, months ago when they had first fallen in together. Oates can hardly believe it, with how whorish he can be, how eagerly he takes it, but then, Cherry has been full of surprises.
“You’d let them, wouldn’t you?” Oates continues. He wraps his hand around Cherry’s cock, hard and hot and leaking. Cherry cries out so loudly Oates can practically feel heads turning and eyes falling curiously upon the thin curtain that conceals them. Hastily, he stuffs two fingers into Cherry’s mouth, shutting him up effectively as Cherry begins sucking them at once.
“You’d let them take you, one after the other. Fucking you arseways until you can’t take any more.” Cherry whines, the sound quiet and muffled around the fingers in his mouth, which languidly stroke the length of his tongue. Oates is hard by now, and ruts up against Cherry.
“Will you be quiet?” he murmurs into Cherry’s ear, and is met with an eager nod. Oates withdraws his fingers from Cherry’s mouth, and brings them, dripping with saliva, to his hole. He presses firmly, rubs the tight muscle, and Cherry’s breaths come out strained and hitching as he struggles to stay quiet. It would be cruel to deny him any longer, and Oates finds he doesn’t have the fortitude to, anyhow, so he presses forward, breaching Cherry with a long finger.
“Yes, yes, Titus, please,” Cherry is whispering rapidly under his breath, and Oates forces himself to recall the values of patience, as all he desires right now is to sheathe himself inside Cherry and drive relentlessly into him.
Cherry takes a second and third finger beautifully. They are thick and calloused, Oates’ fingers, and they plunge so deep inside him–Cherry writhes on them, almost unbearably sensitive. Oates has often toyed with the fantasy of giving him more and more, until Cherry’s body accepts his whole hand. Cherry loves everything he is given, and Oates has yet to encounter any of his limits.
Cherry’s brow is tinged with sweat and his brow is all furrowed–he appears deeply focussed, the way he does applying himself to any task he is given. He pushes his ass farther backwards, desperate for more sensation. Oates is fingerfucking him so hard and fast he feels lightheaded. “Please, please, can I touch myself,” he begs, and Oates grunts in the affirmative. Within seconds of taking his prick in hand, Cherry is convulsing with the force of the orgasm that hits him.
Oates swears, slipping his fingers out of Cherry after his crisis passes and he has finished clenching and spasming. “You’ll wet my cock, won’t you, pet?” he asks, and before he has even finished speaking, Cherry sinks to his knees, gazing up expectantly. “Christ,” Oates murmurs to himself as he fishes his cock out.
Cherry’s mouth is just as hot as his hole, and Oates watches with immense satisfaction as his prick sinks past those soft lips, all bitten and reddened. He hardly waits for Cherry to adjust, knows he doesn’t have to–gripping the back of Cherry’s skull, he begins fucking his mouth, care and patience having gone fully out the window.
He pulls Cherry off his cock just in time to paint his pretty face with spend, which Cherry accepts enthusiastically, catching some on his tongue. “So good for me, Cherry, so bloody perfect,” Oates sighs, running his thumb through the mess on Cherry’s lower lip.
“We’d best get you cleaned up, love,” Oates says, grabbing the errant scrap of fabric closest at hand to wipe Cherry’s face when he wobbles to his feet. “Can’t have you going out on stage all painted like this,” he smirks, “your makeup smeared.”
“Oh, Christ,” Cherry huffs, “Grif is probably getting impatient. I’m only glad he didn’t come looking.”
That does strike Oates as a little odd–the chatter of the audience hasn’t quieted, and when he peaks his head out the curtain, the stage is empty. “Where has he gotten off to, anyway,” he wonders aloud.
“Maybe he’s had second thoughts and called the whole show off,” Cherry suggests.
“That doesn’t seem likely.”
“No,” Cherry grimaces, pulling his trousers back on, “I suppose not.” There’s an almost drunken sway to his stance, his hair is disheveled and his face pink–he’s visibly well-fucked, and hardly fit for the stage.
A thud sounds from nearby, giving Oates pause. “Did you hear that?” he asks.
“Hear what?”
“You stay here,” he says, and slips out from behind the curtain. There are whoops and hollers at the appearance of a figure on stage that quickly devolve into boos when Oates slinks off.
“Is the show starting anytime this season?” comes an impatient cry from the crowd.
“Very shortly, Birdie,” Oates responds, “we’re missing our director.”
He beats a quick path to the storage annex—there are only so many places to hide, in a hut this size, and the sound he’d heard had almost certainly been on the other side of the wall.
He’s got his suspicions as to what’s going on and, perhaps somewhat hypocritically, doesn’t want to walk in on an eyeful of that. “Grif?” he calls out, as a cautionary measure.
He rounds the corner, and sure enough, there’s the senior geologist, adjusting his sleeves. “Hullo, Titus,” he says nonchalantly, “am I wanted onstage?”
Oates gives him a judgemental once-over. “Imminently,” he replies.
“Well, then I guess we’d better see to it,” comes a third voice, and Debenham emerges from behind crates and shadows. Oates has to do a double-take. Deb is Cherry’s mirror-image, from the long, elegant skirts to the red-flushed face and tousled hair.
“Ah,” Oates says, with a hint of indignation on Cherry’s behalf, “gone and given Cherry’s role away, have you?”
“No, no, of course not!” Grif says quickly. Oates awaits further elaboration. None is forthcoming.
“So then why is Deb–”
“Understand my vision, Titus,” Grif interrupts, splaying his hands out wide as though he is about to spin some great yarn, “myself, the adulterer.” Here he pauses long enough that Oates fears he will have to prompt him to speak again, but Grif continues on his own. “Cherry, the temptress. Which makes Jessie here, of course, my wife.”
“...Ah.”
“Well? You seem nonplussed.”
Oates heaves a sigh that is nothing short of long-suffering. How the Owner handles all these men, he’ll never know, and he has to fork up some respect for that. “So be it, Grif,” he says, “so long as you never try and put me in a dress.”
Re: FILL: Behind the Scenes, Cherry/Oates, E
(Anonymous) 2023-02-04 02:17 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Behind the Scenes, Cherry/Oates, E
(Anonymous) 2023-02-04 02:41 pm (UTC)(link)