#antarctfic

[setmeatopthepyre]

🐧 <- but picture like, seventeen of then minimum.

brb fondly picturing seventeen penguins

-> follows this <-

🐧 - antarct-fic

Evan regards him for a long moment and Tommy fights every instinct he has to shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“So,” Evan says slowly, as though teasing apart a mystery, “You want kids, and I want kids.” His eyebrows raise in that unimpressed way he gets about him sometimes that makes Tommy want to— to— well, if he’s honest, to fall to his knees and cater to the man’s every whim. Evan tilts his chin up stubbornly and it should not be as attractive as it is. “So what’s the problem, exactly?” Some of that confidence wavers. “Is— Is it me?”

“Evan,” Tommy breathes, heart lurching in his chest. “Can we— this is not the time. Or place.”

“Why? Because you can’t run away this time?”

Tommy has never been more thankful for the crackle of the radio checking in. He shoots Evan a look — what he’s trying to say with it, he’s not sure, maybe later, we’ll talk later or it isn’t you, it’s me or maybe it’s you but not in the way you think — and then he flips his mic down and replies in the affirmative, that they’re still there, still doing OK, no smoke, no fires.

Just the two of them in a dead bird, on a glacier at the end of the world.

-

make me write

[setmeatopthepyre]

iceberg (guess what i want you to write!! heehee! smooches, cam)

one iceberg for you 🫡 gonna take a stab in the dark and guess you were hoping for some antarct-fic ❄️

-

The first time Tommy becomes acquainted with one of McMurdo Station’s favorite activities, he has just finished up only his second non-training flight. They’d had him start out just observing from the co-pilot seat, getting a feel for all the peculiarities of flying over this particular part of the world; the no-fly areas enforced to protect both wildlife and research, the corrections that needed to be made for altitude pressure due to the cold air, the antenna farm and fuel tanks that were to be avoided when flying the Wind-Driven Alternate Pattern - more commonly referred to as the ‘gap’ procedure, for the gap between two hills that overlooked the base and had a habit of funneling particularly strong wind gusts between them - and the procedures for waiting until any research party they dropped off had established radio contact before departure. Everything accounted for the fact that being left behind in this harsh climate without a means of contact was a death sentence.

He’d known most of it, had spent a significant chunk of his flights to Auckland and then to Christchurch poring over the air operations manual, willing the details to stick in his mind, but theory and practice were two entirely different beasts and he was well aware that repetition was key. So, he hadn’t minded being back in training wheels, though actually flying while someone was actively checking his every move again did take some getting used to. It was worth it, to be back in the pilot’s seat.

It hadn’t taken long for calling into Mac Radio to feel as natural as radioing in to Harbor Station. At one point, Roslyn had him take point on a run out to the Dry Valleys. She had stayed silent the entire way back, watching out the window as they edged closer and closer to the Peninsula, glancing Tommy’s way whenever he’d make an adjustment. After they had landed and had run through all the post-flight checklists, she had declared him ready and had him put on the roster for solo-pilot trips.

That was two days ago. Now, Tommy wraps up his post-flight procedures and heads up to McMurdo Station’s big blue main building that everyone just refers to as 155. When he arrives he finds it more abuzz than ever. There is a palpable excitement - something has gotten everyone, regardless of department, talking amongst each other. Sure, from what he can tell that isn’t completely abnormal, but usually by this time of day everyone is worn out by their long shifts and the cold, and the vibe is generally at least a little more subdued. That is, until people kick back in the bar, or there’s some event going on. Which there are a lot of, he’s noticed. The station’s residents will clearly take whatever entertainment they can get.

This… isn’t that, he decides as he joins the short line to get help himself to a tray full of dinner. Hisham, one of the other helicopter pilots, seems to have made it his personal mission to keep everyone at helo ops up to date on the goings-on at base and he would have said something if there was anything big planned.

“What’s going on?” he decides to ask the galley crew member serving up food once he makes it to the front of the line. She’s short, doesn’t even come up to his shoulder, and has her brown hair in a pony tail pulled through the back of her cap.

“Iceberg spotted in the Sound,” she says, scooping a giant heap of fried rice onto his plate. She glances up at him and either clocks that he’s new or something else inspires the interested glint in her eye. Tommy hopes it’s the first option but he’ll take either if it gets him the inside scoop. And maybe an even bigger serving of food in the future.

The crew member sets her serving spoon down, obviously undeterred by the handful of people waiting behind Tommy. “They’re pretty rare, so we like to bet on how long it’ll take for it to round Hut Point.”

“Huh,” Tommy raises his eyebrows. He had never considered betting on icebergs, but from what he can tell anything out of the ordinary passes for entertainment out here. And it’s not the first bet he’s heard of. “So how long would something like that take? Hours? Days, Weeks?” he asks, suddenly realizing how little he knows about icebergs.

He wonders, for just one moment until he shuts that thought down, if Evan would know. Surely it had come up in one of his documentaries on penguin migrations, or something.

“I’m not telling you shit,” the galley crew member grins at him. “It’s a rite of passage to be wildly wrong about these things.” She nods over at an older woman with a long silver braid who has just accepted cash from someone sitting at a table nearby. “Talk to Katie if you want in on the action. I recommend it. We track the iceberg’s process on the webcams and everything.”

-

-> send me a prompt and make me write <-

[setmeatopthepyre]

tease tidbit tuesday tagged by the marvelous @beanarie, @leashybebes and @rcmclachlan. thank you! I was hoping to have some more pothos to share but alas, everything I have written for that is spoilers. so here is some antarct-fic

-

"You have a chance to be a part of something and you just-- you just throw it away, like it’s not important, like people like me wouldn’t be grateful to feel welcome in a place like that!" Tommy spits.

"Wh-- What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t you be?"

"I’d only get in on the technicality of being gay, not for… for actually being a part of a community. That’s never been me, people don’t want that with me."

"Oh come on, of course they do!"

"No, you don’t get it, Evan. You--" he breathes. “Not everyone gets the family you have, alright? The-- the waiting in hospital rooms together, the leaning on each other when things get tough. That’s... you are so damn lucky, Evan, and you don’t even know. To-- to have friends like that--"

"You have plenty of friends!"

"Not like that. Not waiting-in-a-hospital-room level friends."

"Bullshit."

Tommy stares. "What?"

"Bullshit. Last time you were in the hospital, you didn’t even let me tell your friends about it."

"It wasn’t anything serious!"

"You were in the hospital, Tommy, that makes it serious! If you want people to be there during the important moments, you-- you have to actually tell them when the important moments are, you idiot!"

"Don’t call me an idiot--"

"Why not? You’re acting like one. You-- you act like you’re just-- so hard to love, but you’re not! Everyone thinks you’re cool, and-- and everyone likes being around you, and you know who you are and no one thinks you’re--" he swallows, "-- you’re too much, but you don’t let anyone in and then you complain that-- that no one knows you. How is anyone supposed to know you if you don’t let them? How was I supposed to?"

-

no pressure tags for @sugarpenchant @geddyqueer @ambernotember @epiphainie @agentpeggycartering @emphasisonthehomo @trombonechurchill

[setmeatopthepyre]

Treasure

[@118dailydrabble day 16] [part of antarct-fic | bucktommy | 118 words]

Lucy picks up on the second ring.

“Uh. H-hey, Lucy. Long time. How- uh, how've you been?”

“Yeah, yeah, you treasure our friendship, yada yada. Took you long enough. What do you want?”

Buck huffs a laugh. Tries, anyway. “Uh, what do you--?”

“Cut the crap, Buckley.”

He breathes out. “Yeah, okay. I heard about Tommy. And... Antarctica. Is-- Is he really...?”

“Running away to the edge of the world? He sure is.”

“And when is he--”

“Already left.”

Buck is fairly sure the entire Antarctic ice sheet just took residence in his stomach. “Right.” He swallows. “Cool. Okay. Uhm. Luce? Can you help me--”

“Get a job in Antarctica?” She sounds pleased. “Sure can.”

-

also I wanna give a huge shout out to the amazing @geddyqueer for letting me pick their brain on all things antarctic!

[setmeatopthepyre]

Confess [@118dailydrabble day 40] [part of antarct-fic | bucktommy | 118 words] [continued from this]

“And that's my fault?”

“I never said it was.”

Evan's eyebrows draw together in thought and his eyes are so, so blue, and Tommy wishes there was an even more remote continent he could exile himself to.

Finally, Evan says, “So why are you telling me now?”

“To make you realize you don't know me at all.”

Evan tilts his head. “And you thought confessing to the fact that you want kids would, what, Tommy?”

Make you run, Tommy doesn't say. Instead: “Make you flash-forward to the moment when the kids have to deal with a messy divorce when we inevitably don't work out.”

Evan's eyes glitter. “So you're telling me you would marry me?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

[setmeatopthepyre]

here are 3 i want 3 i am greedy and rotten :)

🐧

⚔️

❓️

hi greedy and rotten I am skog

love that your emoji sequence looks like a penguin facing an unknown challenger

-

🐧 - antarct-fic

They've got some time between flights, and with the helo refueled and ready and all the checklists that need doing all checked off, there's really not much more to do than shoot the shit. Turns out, when you put three helicopter pilots in a hangar together and have them find a common topic of interest, they'll talk shop.

Hisham wiggles his fingers between the two of them. "Weirdest rescue. Go."

-

⚔️ - sweetmeats aka what can ail thee, knight-at-arms?

(continued from this)

"No further," Tommy says, voice low and hoarse in a way Buck has not heard it before, a way that would bring pleasure to hear if it were not for the terror that seems to have taken root in the other knight's very being.

Buck is helpless but to let his gaze slide along the strong line of Tommy's nose into the distance. It is there, on the house across the dented path, that a streak of white catches his notice. It is a cross, painted haphazardly across the door.

-

❓️- ❓️❓️❓️❓️❓️

It takes some getting used to, being able to recognize someone by the sound of their running alone. Not just the specific way their footsteps sound hitting the ground, or the exact pace they keep, but also by the sound of their breath — in in, out out, neatly timed with their footfalls, falling out of sync just a little as they continue to run — all underscored by the steady beat-beat of a heart kicked into gear.

It’s even weirder to be able to do all of that from a mile away, but here Buck is, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he hears a familiar presence make its way up the trail.

-

make me write

[setmeatopthepyre]

thimblefull of fic thursday

yes hi hello all these lovely people tagged me in various writing-related days of the week in the past... while. I may be forgetting people but thank you for the tag(s) @beanarie @trombonechurchill @rcmclachlan @leashybebes @apollabarnes @ambernotember @buckevantommy @chimneyz @owlgirl495 @geddyqueer @bidisasterevankinard @chococara25. please keep tagging me even if I take forever to respond to them bc I love reading all your snippets!

I dug up a lil snippet of antarct-fic to share.

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“Look,” the dark-haired pilot with the warm eyes says, leaning in. “Not to burst your bubble, but if you’re about to ask if Roz is single, as far as I can tell the answer is always ‘it’s complicated’.”

There’s a moment of hesitation that Tommy hasn’t been able to banish completely yet. That moment of will this be OK? Is this going to fuck up this friendly atmosphere for the rest of his time here?

But Lucy’s friend had insisted, and he doesn’t hide anymore, so he says, as if it’s nothing, “Oh, no. I’m gay, actually.” And then he doesn’t look for a reaction, just keeps careful track of his peripherals in case there’s movement, but there isn’t. Because it’s fine.

As promised, it’s fine.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Hisham says, like it’s no big deal, because it isn’t. “There’s a queer get-together thing every first Friday of the month, I’m pretty sure. I’ll ask Becks about it later, remind me.”

-

np tags for everyone who tagged me and also @emphasisonthehomo @screamlet @sugarpenchant @frogsinflannel

[setmeatopthepyre]

WIP wednesday enabled/tagged-ish by @peapodbond & @geddyqueer <3 really felt like sharing this slice of antarct-fic. enjoy!

-

Katie slides the bottle towards him. “Drink up, kid. The rations don't carry over.”

Buck happily obliges. They drink in companionable quiet for a while, Katie occasionally providing commentary on the people coming and going or doing the rounds, telling Buck who they are, how long they've been coming to the Ice, pointing out the winterovers and the ones with interesting stories.

They're watching two pilots (“That's Hisham, helo pilot, third timer. Girlfriend's a kiwi, she's at Scott base. Other fella's one of the Canadians with Ken-Borek. Loïc, think it was. Fixed wing pilot. They tend not to get along.”) get into an argument that both men seem too tired to actually escalate, when Buck speaks up.

“Katie, have you ever been in love?”

She dangles her bottle from between her finger tips, eyes still on the argument unfolding. “Sure.”

He props his head up on his hand to look at her. “What happened?”

Katie levels her steely gaze at him but something she sees makes her soften a little. Shrugs. “She ran off to go study insular dwarfism in Madagascan chameleons. Left me behind.”

Buck's eyebrows raise along with the corners of his mouth. “Oh. S-so you're--”

She nods, taps her bottle against his. Leans in and mock-whispers, “There's more of us than y'think, kid. Even out here.” Considers it. “Perhaps especially out here. The Ice tends to attracts people like us.”

Buck watches her take a swig of her drink and lets the words sink in. “Wait, what do you mean, 'people like us?'”

Her pale eyebrows inch towards the edge of her bandana. “What do you think I mean, Buckley?” She gestures at herself. “The gays, the dykes, the-- whatever you are. You know. The queers.”

“Oh.” Something uncomfortable twists in his gut. “I-I'm not--”

Katie leans back, genuine surprise written across her face. “Well I'm sorry, kid. I could'a sworn last night you spent all of three beers waxing poetic about your helo guy.”

Buck makes a face. “W-well. He-- he's not my... but--”

“You're in love with this man, yeah?”

And he can't help the lovestruck smile that's tugging at the corners of his mouth, dips his head. “Yeah.”

“And you're a guy.”

“Uh, o-obviously.”

“So you're...” she gestures and Buck realizes he's supposed to finish the sentence. He shifts in his seat, discomfort gnawing at him.

“Yeah, I, uh. Yes, I-I guess that would make me...” he trails off, looks at her pleadingly, not sure if he wants her to give him all the answers or just drop the subject entirely.

“So, what, are you homophobic?”

Katie's raspy voice still carries, and Buck casts a panicked glance around the bar. Thankfully, no one seems to have heard her. Or they're really good at hiding it. “No! No. No, of-- of course not. I-I'm... I've always been an ally.”

She raises her eyebrows. “An ally who's in love with a man but can't even say out loud that he's... what? Gay? Bi?”

He gives her a desperate look from where he has his face practically pressed against the tabletop. “Right? I-I should know, shouldn't I? How-- How can I-I not know?”

He's whining. That was definitely a whine.

As if by some miracle, Katie looks less unimpressed with him than she usually does, which doesn't say a whole lot, especially considering the fact that she's not even looking at him right now. She's staring off into space as she takes a long swig from her bottle. When she speaks, her voice is uncharacteristically gentle.

“You came all the way out here to follow the guy you're in love with,” she says, slowly, as if trying to explain something to a particularly dense but, arguably, loved child. Then she sighs, puts a calloused hand on his. “Look, kid, you don't need to choose from a whole bunch of labels. Hell, the only labels I knew 'til well into my thirties was dykes and fags.” And Buck tries not to flinch, but she clocks him anyway if the roll of her eyes is anything to go by.

She pats his hand. “You don't need any labels at all if y'don't want them. God knows they probably never think about it.” She gestures at the other bar patrons with her bottle. “But there's not needing a label, and there's bein' ashamed of what that label means, and a lot of us older folk used the former as an excuse for the latter for a long time. Claiming that label means something to us. It doesn't have to, for you, but if your guy spent any time in the closet, it might mean a whole lot to him.”

Buck takes a moment for the words to sink in. “What, so he thinks I'm... ashamed of my feelings for him?”

She pats his hand twice more before removing hers and leaning back. “Hell if I know, I'm not a mind reader.”

-

no pressure tagging @ambernotember @sugarpenchant @geddyqueer @beanarie @epiphainie @leashybebes @iphyslitterator @rcmclachlan @trombonechurchill