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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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Robert McClure/ Mary McClure, unsatisfying sex
(Anonymous) 2022-09-29 05:42 pm (UTC)(link)FILL: untitled, Robert McClure/Mary McClure, E, cw probably a bit dubcon
(Anonymous) 2022-09-30 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)He’d brought her a posy of violets, which she’d crushed into a tumbler. But she must have liked them, a little, because she put them in the bedroom. Their scent turns the air lurid with sweetness.
She’s already under the covers. One graceful little white hand makes its languid way to the lamp.
“Leave it on,” he says quickly.
The hand halts in mid-air. ‘Graceful little white hand’ was an automatic gallantry. It’s how one is supposed to imagine one’s wife. Actually Mary has bony pianist’s fingers and knuckles so red they look as if they’ve been rapped with a cane. They excite him, the ever-beaten scarlet knuckles. He’s never told her this. He isn’t sure she’d be pleased.
He slides under the covers, his nightshirt tangling between his thighs. His haste is unseemly. It is a husband’s right to claim his wife. He cups the nearest part of her. Her shoulder, as it happens.
“Oh, Robert, your hands are cold!”
“They will warm up,” he mutters. She frowns at him. He tries kissing the furrowed brow, which does at least unknit. He tries her mouth. She turns her lips up like an umbrella but doesn’t kiss him back. No matter. Her lips are soft. They feel nice. He moves his hands and there’s more softness and niceness. Her nipples press through the chemise like the dot at the base of a question mark.
“Cold,” she says into his mouth, but it’s a whisper, and that’s a surrender.
He’s been hard since he walked in to the smell of violets, before they’d even undressed. When she puts things he gives her in their bedroom – a bouquet, a mirror, a pretty jug for the washstand – it’s like watching her put her fingers inside herself. When he makes her a present and it goes into the chamber where he fucks her, that is surely because she wants to think of him when she is in this bedroom by herself. She surely, surely imagines him.
He’s kneading at her breasts with both hands now. “That what Pussy does on the bedcovers in the mornings,” she whispers. “When she wants treats.”
In his head he says, ironically, Well, I want treats, or else he purrs into her ear that she’s his little pussycat, but what comes out is a strangled noise. He tries again, and gasps, “Well, I want pussycat.”
Disaster – but she laughs, she does laugh, and puts her arms around his neck. He has to flatten his hands on either side of her so as not to fall. It brings him naturally to a position where he is on top of her.
“Not yet,” says Mary, and pulls his hips down. The mound between her legs is very hot, even through their nightshirts. She starts to rub it against his yard. It feels so good it’s almost painful. They make a sticky coin of glue between them. He feels his nightshirt stick and unstick from the wetness.
Before their wedding night, she’d only ever felt him through his trowsers (though finding them fumbling in the study was enough for her father to march him, practically gun to head, up the church aisle). The first time she saw him naked, she’d said, alarmed, “Is it supposed to get that big? With -veins? Are you sure it’s normal?” In fact she’d technically remained a virgin for three weeks after their marriage; so terrified was she of letting him force this accidental weapon inside her that he didn’t penetrate far enough to breach her maidenhead, finishing with moans of mingled pleasure and frustration with her petals stretched to take a half-inch. Soaking the gates of Heaven, he’d called it, much to her disgust.
Now she’s beginning to slip and heat, breathing hard and staring at a point just beyond his head. Mary’s sex has a full, strong scent – stronger than violets and thick as mushrooms and mussels. He adores it. He used to lean his cheek against her inner thigh and take deep breaths of her. What are you doing? she asked, and when he’d explained, she’d burst into humiliated tears. But I like it, I like it, he’d protested. On the night she finally gave up her virtue, he dabbed a handkerchief into her shell when he’d finished. Blood, seed and woman’s wax soaked the linen. He keeps it folded like a love letter in his breast pocket. If she ever finds it, she’ll burn it.
She’s making a low groaning noise. She’s going to find her end before he’s even pulled her nightshirt up. What if she decides she doesn’t want him after that? Many’s been the night he’s had to tug himself to completion, while she lies with the pillow folded around her ears so she can sleep through the moment he cries out her name.
“No, Robbie, stay!” she gasps as he pulls back.
“Let me,” he says hurriedly. “Mary, you must. Your duty.”
He almost feels her skin cool. But she goes still, and he yanks her chemise up. His nails catches her thigh and she winces.
Her belly is white and yielding, her breasts are shaped like tear-drops. He wants to lay his head down and have her stroke his hair and call him tender things, but if he stops even for a moment she might change her mind. He presses into her and knows in an instant that he is almost done for.
“Oh Mary,” he says. He’s thrust up to the hilt. “Oh God.”
For a moment, she’s still as a gravestone. Then she says, “Don’t blaspheme.”
She sounds amused, and that’s as good as affection, so starved is he of affection. He wants her to stroke his face, so he grabs her wrist and sticks her raw red knuckles in her mouth. He wants to hear her say his name, so he whimpers hers. “Please, Mary, please,” he groans as he pumps.
“You have me,” she says, a touch crossly, as she’s pounded into the mattress.
“Please, oh,” he says. He thinks he is about to cry, or else he’s about to climax. It’s not always easy for him to tell the difference. The truth is, he hates her duty. He wants her welcome. Why doesn’t she enjoy him? What’s wrong with him? Didn’t he bring her flowers?
He finishes with the noisy flamboyance of a man being stabbed. She actually recoils. She’s remarked before on the loudness of his pleasure and pain; for that matter, she’s not the first person to express surprise that he groans so loudly when he hurts, that his rages are so absolute when he’s angry. All his life he’s been begging people to notice him. See him, care for him, don’t abandon him. What does he have to do to attain visibility? Discover the North-West Passage?
“Off,” she says briskly, and he rolls off her with a grunt of defeat. He hears a faint sloppy sound as Mary curls her fingers into the place where he’s left the cream of his pleasure. He reaches for her.
“Don’t,” she barks. He flinches back. He lies curled on the bed, his yard stickily deflating, as his wife turns her head away and begins to fuck herself. They are as good as strangers. The bedframe sighs.
Re: FILL: untitled, Robert McClure/Mary McClure, E, cw probably a bit dubcon
(Anonymous) 2022-09-30 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: untitled, Robert McClure/Mary McClure, E, cw probably a bit dubcon
(Anonymous) 2022-10-01 08:12 pm (UTC)(link)Now she’s beginning to slip and heat, breathing hard and staring at a point just beyond his head. Mary’s sex has a full, strong scent – stronger than violets and thick as mushrooms and mussels. He adores it. He used to lean his cheek against her inner thigh and take deep breaths of her. What are you doing? she asked, and when he’d explained, she’d burst into humiliated tears. But I like it, I like it, he’d protested. On the night she finally gave up her virtue, he dabbed a handkerchief into her shell when he’d finished. Blood, seed and woman’s wax soaked the linen. He keeps it folded like a love letter in his breast pocket. If she ever finds it, she’ll burn it. jesus!!!!!! Fucking!!!!!!!! CHRIST!!!!!!!!!
Re: FILL: untitled, Robert McClure/Mary McClure, E, cw probably a bit dubcon
(Anonymous) 2022-10-02 06:50 pm (UTC)(link)