YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 4

[a1c0bb]

for this bonus round, the theme is historical fiction! prompts inspired by specific moments in (real or fictional) history.

this round will end on july 15th

Fills can be in any format, and you can fill your teammates prompts, but you cannot fill your own prompt.

You can post as many fills and as many prompts as you want!

for your prompt post title, please use the following format:

PROMPT: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

for your fill post title, please use the following format:

FILL: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

POINTS - BONUS ROUNDS
For prompts: 10 points each (maximum of 150 prompt points per team per round)
For fills:
First 4 fills by any member of your team: 100 points each
Fills 5-10: 50 points each
Fills 11-20: 40 points each
Fills 21-50: 30 points each
Fills 51+: 25 points each

Comments

FILL: TEAM CATRADORA

[asaphida]

Words: 836
Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Ship: Adora/Catra (we're going to just pretend that their names would be totally normal in 1910s Eastern Europe Yiddish-speaking communities)

(featuring barely-edited lines from an English translation of גאט פון נקמה, or God of Vengeance. I cannot stress enough how little I edited the on-stage dialogue, it is almost entirely verbatim. Thank you so much for the prompt and the push to work with yiddish yuri.)

The blue lights shimmer on the stage like the rain it's pretending to be. Catra's hair flows loose behind her, and the stage is warm and alive under her bare feet.

Adora smiles at her from offstage, waiting for her cue. She's nervous. Tonight, playing these roles for the first time with an audience, everyone is. But Adora's always nervous no matter how many shows she does.

Catra taps the ceiling with her stick, and Adora leans out the wood-cut window. Her white nightgown glows under the stage lights. "Manke," Adora says, Romanian accent making her Yiddish dance. "Manke, did you call me?"

"Yes," Catra says. She reaches towards Adora's hand, clasping. "Yes, Rivkale, I called you." The want that spills over Adora's face as Catra's lines entice her into the rain will never stop making Catra's heart stutter.

Catra says, "I'll let your hair down," and unweaves the braids Adora so painstakingly readied in the dressing room. You needn't put so much effort in, Catra whispered over her shoulder an hour ago, when I'm only going to undo you.

Adora had pushed her playfully away, cheeks pinking and eyes darting for listening ears, but on stage, Catra has permission to run her fingers through her hair and say, "Now let me wash it for you in the rain, just like this."

"All night," Adora said, "I laid awake waiting to steal out to you."

Catra wraps her arms around her, cupping the back of her head in her hand. She's standing on a chair to reach, but Adora's replying embrace makes her feel steady as they exchange their lines, sweet and soft and exactly what Catra thought she'd never be able to do outside of their bed.

When they step offstage to let Scorpia give her monologue, they stand exactly as close as they want to. Adora only speaks her feelings when the words are written for Rivkale, but she wraps an arm around Catra's shoulders, cool in the dimness of the wings.

They walk back on. Catra never knew how to wax lyrical about Adora, but Manke does. She's been terrified to speak them aloud on the stage, but with Adora in her arms, the audience melts away and they're running lines in the dark of their room again.

"How sweet your hair smells," Catra's lips say. "Your breast so white and soft, and the blood in them cools under my touch, just like snow, frozen water, and their fragrance is like the grass on the meadows. Cool me."

Catra can feel Adora's breath stumble, even though she's heard the words dozens of times. There's something magic about the lights, the echo, the quiet waiting from the crowd that hasn't turned into a mob after their blood.

"I'll comb your hair like a bride's," Catra says, stealing another stroke through it, gold and silk, the only riches she'll ever need. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes." Adora's chest vibrates with it.

Manke's words keep spinning the fantasy - the Shabbos table, parents aglow, a bride bringing her groom to join the family. Catra and Adora both lost their families long ago, to disease and hunger and mobs with knives and guns, but that's not the reason this can be no more than a dream between two imagined women.

"Your parents have gone to sleep," Catra says. Until Adora mouths louder, Catra hadn't noticed her voice dropping. "The lovers meet here at the table. We are shy with each other, aren't we?"

Adora swallows. "Yes, Manke."

Catra forces her voice steady. "Then we come closer to one another, for we are bride and groom, you and I." Adora's cheeks flush, barely visible under the stage makeup. "We embrace, ever so tightly." Adora's skin is just as warm as it looks. "And kiss, very softly. Like this."

They knew this part before they'd set foot in this theater. The director insisted that this play had been put on before, in other theaters across the continent. He said everyone would understand it wasn't real. Some days, kissing Adora is one of the only things that makes Catra feel real.

It's not in the script, but Catra brushes the droplet from Adora's eye before it reaches her makeup. "It's nice, Rivkale," she says, "isn't it?"

Adora nods, breathing hard, pausing long before her next line. "Yes, Manke, yes."

Catra rests her forehead against Adora's and the next part rises to her lips to keep her from kissing Adora again. "And then we go to sleep together. Nobody knows, nobody hears. Only you and I, like this. Do you want to sleep with me tonight, like this?"

The script calls for Rivkale to get nervous now, worry about being caught, fear her own lust, and Adora's never needed to act to show anxiety. The scene moves away from the two of them soon. But before Adora speaks her lines, she gives Catra one more moment of softness.

"Yes," Adora says, exactly like she has for years in every way but volume. "I do."

FILL: TEAM TOUHOU

[avagames]

And thus, the fifth.

Ship: Minamitsu Murasa x Ichirin Kumoi

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57290725/chapters/145731937

FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

[static_prevails]

Ship: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, The Locked Tomb
Words: 1,277
Notes: There's more I want to do with this version of Gideon and Harrow, but that will have to wait for another bonus round.

Contains a major scene that is mostly about self-harm. Child neglect is also implied/referenced.

I'd call this hurt/comfort, but Gideon doesn't know how to comfort and Harrow is really good at hurting.

——

You awaken to some confusion: you get up from bed, but your body doesn’t.

"Awkward, isn't it?"

You jump at the unexpected voice. (Your body remains motionless.) The voice's owner, standing inches above the floor at the entrance to your bedroom, is a tall and sturdy figure with close-cropped red hair and, defying all known laws of logic and decorum, wearing aviator sunglasses.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

The figure sticks its hand through your door. "Deathly powers. One of the few perks of being, y'know..." It cuts off abruptly. Evidently this is intended to be some sort of punchline. "Anyway, there's a whole speech I'm supposed to give, but it's a dumb speech so I'm not going to do that. Before you ask: Yes, I've been here the whole time. Yes, that means I saw everything. No, I'm not happy about that either. No, I didn't kill you, and no, I couldn't have even if I wanted to. Any questions?"

You could say that you have a few questions. You skip over such fascinating topics as who assigned you a speech? and what's with the sunglasses? and instead ask:

"So you’re telling me that I'm-"

"A newly experienced bucket-kicker. Your coil's been thoroughly shuffled. You've been drafted to fight in the skeleton wars. Wait," it scrunches its face. "That one doesn't work. Maybe... Your body's been drafted to fight in the skeleton wars, but your soul got a deferment. Yeah, good enough."

"You're dead, Harrowhark."

——

There are, as best you can tell, no upsides to death: you don't get a reprieve from existence, you can't do anything useful anymore, and you have to deal with the world's shittiest ghost.

Among the many facts you have learned in your first minutes of death:

- The figure's name is Gideon.
- She's been dead for about twice as long as you were alive.
- She talks Like That because she's spent a lot of time haunting the internet over people's shoulders.
- The sunglasses are "for the bit."
- No, she will not elaborate.

Noticeably absent is any actual information about being dead.

Fine, you'll have to figure that out yourself. You're more than capable of learning whatever needs to be learned.

You make it halfway to the door before you double over, heaving the nonexistent bile from your nonexistent guts.

"Yeah, I should have warned you about that. Your soul isn't used to not having a body, so it'll freak out for a while if you get too far away from the one it thinks you should be attached to. You should get over it in, I don't know, maybe a day or two?"

"Great," you say, despite the fact that this is decidedly not great. "Are there any other limitations of being a ghost that you also should have warned me about?"

"I mean, there's the obvious stuff - you can't eat, but you don't need to; you can't sleep, but you don't need to do that either; you're not physical so you can't get physically hurt anymore..."

You punch her in the face.

——

Okay, so maybe a ghost punching another ghost is kind of pointless. It feels good to see the shock on her face, though, even if the effect is more reminiscent of punching jello with a fist that is also made of jello.

You spend the next hour seeing how far you can get from your corpse without collapsing.

It's agony, but that's the point.

It starts with an empty-stomach nausea that leaves you dry heaving, denied the relief of emptying any offending contents. If you can stay on your feet through that - you can - then eventually it turns to an ache emanating from every one of your bones, or the places where they should have been. It's dull at first, like a headache through your entire body, but it grows sharper and angrier the further you get until it all blurs together into one screaming mass.

It's exquisite, really. It's a better distraction than anything you could manage while you were still alive.

Gideon tells you not to do it the first time, says you're just going to make yourself miserable and she'll have fun watching you change your mind and wait it out. (Her lack of perspective would be funny if you were capable of humor.) She tells you you're on your own when you collapse, but after you’ve spent a few minutes curled on the floor in the fetal position, she - to your everlasting humiliation - picks you up and carries you back to your bed, where your body awaits still undisturbed and undiscovered.

As the ache in your bones fades, the ache in your core is unmasked, as deep and insatiable as ever. In life, you could cover it with hunger or with violence, but here and now there is only one alternative, so you get up and walk again.

After the fifth or sixth attempt (you lose count), when Gideon sets you down on the bed, you are far too drained to stand. She catches you trying to roll to the floor, intent on crawling if you need to, and places herself in your way.

"Nope, we're done now. Goddamn it, Harrow, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to hurt yourself."

It's all too much. You feel a ruinous sob working its way up your body, and you have no strength to tamp it down. You roll to face away from her and perhaps salvage whatever dignity you still can.

"Nonagesimus, if you're... oh god fucking dammit," she cuts herself off as she Realizes. "Look. If it's something I said, I'm sorry, okay?"

There are so many things you would say, if only your traitorous spirit would obey you. Instead, you barely manage to choke out, "Die," before realizing just how toothless and pathetic that sounds.

"Yeah, little late for that, buddy." She pauses uncomfortably. "Look, uh - no, fuck it. Personal backstory time: So I really didn't have much in the way of 'friends' - or really, like, 'people who gave a shit about me at all' - back when I was alive, and it turns out that ghosts kinda suck shit at learning new skills, so I don't have a clue how to do this. But what I mean is, if you want me to..."

Another uncomfortable silence. Then a hand on your shoulder, and you freeze.

Mistaking your lack of reaction for consent, she lies down behind you, drapes an arm around you, shifts four or five times before reaching something that could pass as a crude approximation of holding you.

It's a bizarre feeling, and totally unfamiliar. You had imagined this, once upon a time, imagined someone (a woman) holding you (touching you), comforting you (caressing you) through your worst moments. But that was when you were a child, and you have long since put away childish things.

Perhaps your childish self had been on to something.

You think this would have been much more satisfying if you were both still corporeal, capable of endogenous warmth and firm pressure. But that's not something you experienced then, and it's not something you can ever experience now, so you discard that thought as irrelevant. Eventually, blessedly, the sobs halt, and you regain control of your voice.

"Unhand me."

"Geez, I'm just trying to help, okay? I'll give you space."

She extracts herself from next to you. You are not going to miss the closeness. That is absolutely not a thing that is going to happen, much less one that is happening now.

It is for purely utilitarian reasons that you are relieved she still stays in the room.

FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY

[ghostvines]

Haori always looked exhausted in their Zoom classes.

It wasn’t Susato’s fault that she was paying such close attention. If they were back in school she would be taking notes at faster than light speed, locked wholly into the lesson, so focused everyone else’s faces faded into a blur — but Susato was quickly discovering that such was not to be when they were online. The professor had opened class with an apology for being twenty minutes late, his toddler kept interrupting every few minutes, and only five people were even in the call in the first place. She was almost considering turning her camera off so she could read Herlock Sholmes instead. Almost.

Instead she glanced at Haori. Her best friend was a slightly-pixellated face in a small square in a stack of similar squares on her screen, but nevertheless Susato would know her anywhere.

Haori looked wan. She had pressed her knuckles to her mouth for the third time in the past five minutes to suppress a yawn, and the bags beneath her eyes looked darker than ever. Even her white ribbon was drooping.

Susato felt her heart twist. She glanced back at the professor. He was petting his (quite adorable, to be fair) calico cat.

Surely one text couldn’t count as being distracted…

She switched tabs and typed, Are you alright?, then switched right back.

Haori visibly startled, then looked down, her eyebrows creased in the way they did when she was writing.

Susato’s tab pinged.

H: yeah im fine :0!!
H: didnt sleep well thats all

Susato almost frowned to herself before remembering she was still on camera.

S: I was worried you might be sick

H: oh god i HOPE not
H: dont worry i test every single day after getting back from the lab

S: Oh! That’s a relief
S: Father makes you do that too, does he?

H: yea its basic procedure but it stays annoying
H: ah yes just what the doctor ordered after a long hard morning at the mines (laboratory)
H: stabbing my nose with miniature sword
H: i love my job

Susato snorted out loud. Then she covered her mouth guiltily.

S: You aren’t allowed to be funny while I have my camera on

H: you think im funny!!!!!!!!

S: But really are you okay?
S: If you work yourself to death I WILL throw you

H: youd never
H: also im still not over the fact that im apparently funny now
H: but yea really im fine!!! vaccine dev is worth it anyway
H: if there was ever a worthy cause to die for that would be it

God, Susato thought, Haori is so cool.

But still:

S: I would rather you not die under any circumstances!!!
S: Nothing is worth dying for. Nothing could replace you

Haori was silent for so long, then, that Susato switched back to her actual lesson to check if Haori had lost internet. It happened sometimes, where she lived…

No, there was her square, just as pixellated as always and no more.

…Her best friend, as it happened, was beet red.

Susato felt her heart twist again, this time for entirely different reasons.

H: oh my god you cant just SAY things like that

S: Like what?

H: im convinced youre doing this on purpose
H: aughthhghhfhrh
H: thank you su i promise i will not die

S: Yippee ^_^
S: Then I will cheer you on as you and Father save the world!

H: what would i do without you
H: ANYWAY THAT REMINDS ME do you want to hear our Progress Report!!

(No, the question was: what would Susato do without Haori?)

S: Always

Haori Murasame is typing…

-—-

in this AU haori and yuujin beat pfizer-biontech to the vaccine by like 3 days

Re: FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY

[asaphida]

they're so cute, this is great! of course COVID would stand no chance

Re: PROMPT: Team Rosemary

[desfraisespartout_the2nd]

FILL : TEAM TOUHOU
SHIP : Renko x Maribel

Re: PROMPT: Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front

[desfraisespartout_the2nd]

FILL : TEAM TOUHOU
SHIP : Cirno x Yuuka

FILL: TEAM TOUHOU

[d6b]

And here be the sixth!

Ship: Onozuka Komachi/Minamitsu Murasa
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57290725/chapters/145731955#workskin

FILL: Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front

[eloquentalias]

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Ship: Lissa/Maribelle
Words: 772

Before Lissa got up to pitch for her first game in the league, she felt as if all the buzz and bustle of the day were happening outside of her, to someone else, and she was just watching.

She'd been training for months, and still the lead-up to an actual game was more surreal than she imagined. Everyone present in the locker room, all at once, setting their hair and painting their faces because their bosses' approval depended on it. Having people other than Maribelle fuss over her, saying their new pitcher had to be absolutely picture perfect. The coach, mistaking Lissa's unusual quiet for nerves and assuring her she'd do a wonderful job.

Lissa knew she would. If there were anything in the world she had confidence in it was her ability to throw a ball with power, stronger than any other girl in the softball leagues she played in before getting scouted.

Frederick had made sure she was strong, prior to his enlistment, ensuring that even if Lissa were hopeless at fancy parties she'd never find herself in a scenario entirely without hope. And Chrom had always played ball with her, despite everyone in the world telling him he was too old for catch with his little sister. He caught her throws without complaint even when he started having to wear catching gloves for it, and from the way two of them talked about her throws Lissa knew without a doubt she was about to stun everyone in the audience with her pitches.

Still, she didn't feel embodied as the team walked out and the crowd cheered. This couldn't be her life, not clumsy little Lissa Ylisse, who'd never be as proper a lady as anyone wanted. They must have been straining to get a look at the other team's new pitcher, or looking at her for faults.

Those were the kinds of thoughts plauging Lissa through the start of the game, until it was time to take their positions and before she let Lissa go to the mound, Maribelle grabbed Lissa's hand.

"Are you alright, darling?"

Lissa thought for a second that out of the two of them, perhaps Maribelle should be the one finding the present surreal.

It was Maribelle who'd never played before when she offered to help Lissa train, it was Maribelle who tried to demure when she was invited alongside Lissa, and it was Maribelle who eventually conceded to being catcher even though it was "easily the least attractive" position, she had said, "what with all the padding".

In spite of all of that, when it came down to the wire it was Maribelle whose eyes were clear on the field.

"If you need to sit down I can get you some water," Maribelle said, frowning and looking Lissa over as she took both Lissa's hands and squeezed, "perhaps even some iced tea if you need some sugar, Coach can't object if it's absolutely necces-"

Her concern brought Lissa back to Earth.

Maribelle was here, they were going to play baseball, and that was real. Never mind what field they were on or who was watching - Maribelle was here and they were going to play together, and that was the most natural thing in the world.

Lissa felt herself come to life again, and even managed some energy in her voice for:

"No no, I'm fine."

Lissa even found herself smiling, as Maribelle's concern turned to confusion.

"I've got you, Mari, I can't be anything but fine."

Maribelle's confusion turned to a deep flush, and she dropped Lissa's hands. Adorable, Lissa thought, though that was the kind of thing Maribelle started to protest if LIssa said it.

"Good then, let's get to the game!"

She left Lissa for the catcher's box and Lissa, finally, got on the pitcher's mound.

Lissa could take it from here, she realized. It was a beautiful sunny day with only the loveliest, picture perfect clouds in the sky, and all Lissa had to do was throw the ball to Maribelle.

The rest, the complicated stuff, could come later.

Lissa waited while everyone else got into position, eyes firmly on Maribelle. The batter walked up as the announcer started saying it was time to play ball, and still Lissa watched her best friend, whose eyes remained clear behind the cage of the helmet.

A whistle signaled it was time to begin, and Lissa barely even waited. She threw her best ball, with all her heart, and the batter didn't stand a chance.

Maribelle caught the throw, heart and all, and Lissa knew it was going to be a wonderful game.

Re: FILL - TOKUSATSU YURI SHIPS UNITED FRONT

[eloquentalias]

KOTOHAAAAAAAA SHE'S PERFECT HERE 🥺🥺

FILL: TEAM KITTYURI

[magicmooshka]

Pairing: Sayeon Lee / Ryujin Kang (Hand Jumper)

artwork

FILL: TEAM KITTYURI

[magicmooshka]

Pairing: Kanoka Amanai / Yachi Hitoka (Haikyuu)

artwork

FILL: TEAM KITTYURI

[magicmooshka]

Pairing: Sayeon Lee / Ryujin Kang (Hand Jumper)

artwork

FILL: TEAM KITTYURI

[magicmooshka]

Pairing: Mitsuki Koga / Aya Oosawa (The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't A Guy At All)

artwork

Re: PROMPT: Team Rosemary

[magicmooshka]

Pairing: Mizi / Sua (ALIEN STAGE)

artwork

FILL: TEAM TOUHOU

[riguren]

Seventh, and penultimate chapter!
Ship: Minamitsu Murasa x Remilia Scarlet
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57290725/chapters/145731979

FILL: TEAM KITTYURI

[magicmooshka]

Pairing: Juliana / Yuri Han (XO Kitty)

artwork

Re: PROMPT: Team Rosemary

[magicmooshka]

Pairing: Yuzuki Murashige / Makoto Kurume (Skip and Loafer)

artwork

FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY

[ghostvines]

“I am letting you off with only minor penalties,” Barok van Zieks said stiffly, “because—”

“Because it was fucking hilarious,” Asougi contributed from his place lounging against the wall.

“Because,” van Zieks said, “you did only play a minor role. But next time, you will not be so lucky. Understand?”

“Whaddya mean a ‘minor role’? I was the whole brains!” Gina put her hands on her hips, then froze. “Er, I mean, if I’d done it. Which I didn’t. So… So!”

“I am sure if Miss Lestrade had done it,” Maria said, “we should be proud of her for dissecting the competition.”

“See?! Ria gets it!”

“But she did not,” Maria continued. “Pity.”

“…Yeah, pity,” Gina tacked on.

Maria was glad, for once, that the other humans were so incompetent at detecting her own facial cues; if van Zieks knew how amused she was, the meeting would probably go for another hour.

Gina slanted a mischievous grin at her.

Correction, Maria amended silently. The humans other than Miss Lestrade.

“You aren’t truly upset, Lord van Zieks,” Asougi pointed out. “They were oil barons anyway.”

A long-suffering sigh from Maria’s superior: “I suppose Inspector Lestrade could have chosen worse targets.”

“Yeah, they were all rotters,” Gina said, flipping one hand dismissively. “Uh, not that I’ve seen ’em before. Or ’eard of ’em.”

It was interesting, Maria thought, that Miss Lestrade, whose previous job had depended so strongly upon telling falsehoods, was so very terrible at them. Maria, of course, was hardly any better, on account of her lack of training; but then again she had always prided herself on telling the truth when Mama — when others were so determined to hide it.

But Maria conceded to herself that something about Gina trying to lie was deeply charming. Perhaps it was something about the way the truth nevertheless announced itself in every one of her nerves and muscles and tendons. Something about how no matter what her words might say, Gina remained so clearly herself.

“…dismissed,” van Zieks was saying. “But next time, do spare me the paperwork this has caused.”

“On it!” Gina saluted, then turned to Maria. “Oi, Ria, d’ya got any cases tonight?”

Maria ignored Asougi’s snort and van Zieks’s eyeroll, and smiled back at Gina. “I do not.”

“Great!” Gina was already dragging her out by the hand. “’Cause I’ve got somefin’ I think you’ll really like…”

-

“Your mouth tastes like the product of Apis mellifera.”

“A what?”

“Honey.”

“Oh.” Gina drew back to grin at her, eyes creasing at the corners. “Sure you don’t just think I’m sweet?”

Maria leaned in again. “More experimentation may be required, Inspector.”

“What does that — mmph!”

FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY

[ghostvines]

notes: I am not Filipino and have no direct experience with any of this, please let me know if anything is incorrect/insensitive!

---

There was a pounding on the door.

Yuujin had only just gotten up, but he shambled over from his place on the sofa and pulled the handle regardless. “Oh, Murasame-kun,” he said, surprised; he’d prepared both Filipino and English greetings on his tongue, just in case it was a government official, but not Japanese. “What are you doing here this early?”

“THE BASTARD’S DEAD,” Haori shouted.

Yuujin blinked. Then blinked again. Haori Murasame, his student who he’d always known to be polite and punctilious, was at his door at 6 a.m. and soaked in rain. It was no wonder it took a while for her words to process.

“The… who?”

“Oh!” Haori said, eyes widening. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were Susato-chan.”

“Ah,” Yuujin said. That made sense. “Well, I’m afraid she’s currently asleep, but you can come in out of the rain in the meantime—”

“Haori-sama!” His daughter’s voice. He’d somehow not noticed her coming down the hallway. “You’ll catch a cold!”

“Oh, right,” Haori said, and stepped in at last. She was beaming, Yuujin noticed, despite her hair being impossibly tangled. “But look, Su, the newspaper!”

She shoved a piece of paper at Susato as Yuujin stepped out of the way.

“…Haori-sama,” Susato said, “this is soaked through.”

“Oh.” Haori frowned. “I knew I should have brought an umbrella,” she mumbled.

Susato was smiling at her. Yuujin had figured his daughter out years ago, but it was still present now: whenever Murasame-kun was around she would develop a new sparkle in her eyes, a fond angle to her smile, leaning towards Haori ever so slightly as though drawn in by her orbit.

As a father, it did concern Yuujin; but then again, if his daughter had to fall for one of her classmates, Haori was probably the best he could hope for. It wasn’t something he knew how to bring up, at any rate. He could only hope that she wouldn’t break her heart.

Looking at the way Haori had turned red as she covered her mouth with her sleeve, he thought, with no small amount of relief, that the possibility was rather unlikely.

“Anyway,” Haori said, tucking the sodden ex-newspaper away, “I’ll just have to tell you myself!”

She leaned in and whispered into Susato’s ear.

Susato gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “You’re serious?”

Haori nodded.

Susato broke into a grin, grabbing Haori’s two hands. “That’s wonderful news!”

“Isn’t it?!”

“I should like to point out that I am also here,” Yuujin said with some amusement.

“Ah! Father!”

Haori shot a look at Susato that Yuujin didn’t know how to decipher; but apparently Susato did, because she added, “It’s alright, Haori-sama, he’s safe.”

“Marcos,” Haori said — practically spitting the name. “Ferdinand Marcos is dead.”

It took a moment for it to sink in.

“How?” Yuujin asked. “Lupus?”

Haori smiled grimly. “Pneumonia.”

Yuujin was silent for a second.

Twenty-one years. Two entire decades that his children had grown up in, of corpses on the streets and statues crusted in gold, of looking over their family’s shoulders every single second to check for any uniforms. Ferdinand Marcos had been exiled three years ago from hundreds of thousands of people protesting on the streets, a significant fraction of whom were students. The rumors that he might come back, even if they were nothing but propaganda, had been petrifying on some days.

Dead. Pneumonia.

What an utterly human way for an inhuman bastard to die.

“I’m glad,” Yuujin said.

Haori and Susato exhaled matching sighs of relief.

God, Yuujin thought, looking at his daughter. Thinking of his son, sleeping in a college dorm hundreds of kilometers away. God. He wondered if Susato and Kazuma knew how many times he’d heard them slipping outside with signs concealed under their shirts. He couldn’t have been more proud knowing what his children stood for. He couldn’t have been more scared.

Marcos was dead. His armies remained. Any shift for the better would be slow, the matter of years if not decades.

Susato and Haori were still holding hands.

Yuujin swallowed. For a second, he feared he would cry. “I’m glad,” he said again, rough. “Now, Murasame-kun, do you want breakfast?”

---

a/n: i got really into my feelings about a lot of older people i know who participated in student protests here. thus always to tyrants

FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

[static_prevails]

Ship: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, The Locked Tomb
Words: 208
Notes: First in (hopefully!) a series of River bubble AUs which I’ll be posting until time runs out tonight.

——

Harrow sits nervously at the counter, checking her watch every few seconds, trying and failing to ground herself in the clink of glasses and the fizz of their contents.

This is exactly where the tall and muscular redheaded stranger in the leather jacket had told her to wait, exactly when she told Harrow to expect her. She glances to the window, sees nothing, runs through a million panicked scenarios in her mind - a tragic crash, a cruel joke, a last-second change of heart - that might get between her and her very first-

“…date?”

Harrow had forgotten Dulcinea’s presence. (She had been there the whole time, surely?)

“Lost in your own world again?” Dulcinea smiles gently. “Checking your watch isn’t going to make it move any faster, you know.”

“I know,” Harrow responds with what she hopes is not petulance. “I just… you really think that a girl like that would go for a girl like me?”

“I think anyone would be lucky to have a girl like you,” Dulcinea responds, laying a hand on Harrow’s trembling arm.

And as the sound of a motorcycle approaches, and Harrow’s heartbeat accelerates in time, Magnus turns from his place behind the counter and says:

“Is this how it happens?”

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIME/MANGA

[rukimakino]

Homestuck AU: Summoner's Rebellion setting.

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIME/MANGA

[rukimakino]

Carolingian chivalric romance.

FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

[static_prevails]

Ship: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, The Locked Tomb
Words: 308
Notes: Part of a series of River bubble AUs.

——

The knights parade in the order of their houses, faceless pages carrying their standards before them, for the review of the Lady Nonagesimus.

First is Marta Dyas, the champion of the Second, resplendent in crimson, a white plume crowning her helmet. Her pose is regal and her chivalry perfect: she is the favorite to win this tournament.

Second is Jeannemary Chatur, child knight of the Fourth. Her visor is raised, her face glowing amid navy vestments. This is her first tournament, and she will contest it well, the Lady knows.

Third is Magnus Quinn, jovial knight and morganatic Lord of the Fifth, a gold chain plaited across his brown surcoat. He will win no pennants here, but that is no concern of his. He is beloved by all.

Fourth is Protesilaus Ebdoma, champion of the Seventh. His banner is a silver rose, and the Lady knows well that he would much rather be tending his garden than wielding the sword or the lance. But his duty is clear and his devotion unquestioning. He will acquit himself well.

Fifth is a riderless horse, saddled and dressed in the white and silver of the Eighth. Where is his rider? He was called to the tournament, and he did not refuse, but neither did he appear.

And sixth, dressed in the sepulchral black of the Lady’s own Ninth, is an unbidden knight. Her breastplate is skeletal, her unhelmed head alight with a shock of fiery hair, a great two-handed sword is strapped to her back. Her face is just far enough to be out of view, but the Lady is certain it is familiar, one that she cannot place but that she knows intimately. She must resolve this mystery.

As she cranes her neck to better see, Ortus inclines himself slightly and says:

“Lady Nonagesimus, is this truly how it happens?”

FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

[static_prevails]

Ship: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus (“Harriet Nunn”), The Locked Tomb, also featuring Ortus as “Orrin”
Words: 209
Notes: Part of a series of River bubble AUs.

——

Harriet Nunn (“as in ‘nunn’ya business’ ”) sits alone in the room, eyes stinging from the haze of tobacco smoke. She’s checked and rechecked the chairs, the name cards, the Tommy guns and 9mms hidden inside cabinets just out of sight. The meeting of the Nine Families isn’t supposed to turn violent, but you can never be too prepared, and they’ve been asking too many questions about why the Don and Donna haven’t made any public appearances in years.

There’s a knock at the door, and Orrin comes in, obsequious as ever. God, Harriet needs a better right hand. He’d practically pissed himself at the thought of drawing a weapon when they’d laid out their plans earlier that day.

“Sorry to interrupt, boss, but…” he trails off.

“Spit it out.”

“…but there’s a girl. Wants to see you, she says. Didn’t give her name, but she’s a big thing, red hair. Had to pull two guns and a shiv off her already.”

“Did she have an appointment?”

“None, ma’am. Just said she was here for you. Claims it’s urgent.”

Harriet considers for a moment. “I’ll see her.”

“Alright, boss, I’ll let her in if you say so. But,” Orrin pauses before continuing, “are you sure this’s how it happens?”