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yurishippingolympics
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
PROMPT: Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front
Date: 2024-07-02 09:09 pm (UTC)Prompt: Team Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front
Date: 2024-07-02 09:26 pm (UTC)FILL: Team Rosemary
Date: 2024-07-04 06:40 pm (UTC)yuri and natsuki!!!!
edit: the link to the image still isn't working, so here's a more direct link
Prompt: Team Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front
Date: 2024-07-02 09:28 pm (UTC)PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 09:43 pm (UTC)It was not always necessary to be the wife of a knight in order to take this title. Sometimes, when some male fiefs were conceded by special privilege to women, they took the rank of chevaleresse, as one sees plainly in Hemricourt where women who were not wives of knights are called chevaleresses."
lady knights :) - [source]
FILL: TEAM TRANSFORMERS
Date: 2024-07-14 03:28 am (UTC)Pairing: June Darby/Arcee
WC: 747
Every once in a while, the kids got to have sleepovers with their robot companions at the Autobot base. That’s how June really got to know Arcee, as she’d stay over too, since the other parents thought the kids were at the Darby’s house.
Sometimes, June would enter the base in the dead of night, after a shift at the hospital. The kids would already be asleep, and the Cybertronians were often still up and about, having sleep cycles that eclipsed the twenty-four hour span of a human day.
It was nice to have calm conversation after a night of helping out with cut off fingers and eye injuries because of a lack of PPE (theirs was a working town, even if others like to act otherwise).
So, she had gotten around to spending a lot of time with Arcee, time where she needed to wind down.
June may have been a mother, but she was a divorced mother with blood in her veins and a sexual history that would have sent her teenage boy squirming for the hills, shooting her shot with Optimus had only been half a joke.
Shorting her shot with Arcee had been worth it. Double worth it, since these moments in the quiet were so interesting too.
It wasn’t the average quiet, not the kind she had with her previous husband, where silences were still and they barely acknowledged each other was there. It hadn’t been malicious; it was that their interests had continued to drift farther and farther apart, and more importantly, they had stopped being able to infect each other with said interests.
When June got back to the base and spotted Arcee with about twenty-five different Wikipedia tabs open on the main computer, June had been immediately curious to watch the Autobot warrior was studying. The human climbed the catwalk that allowed them to have conversations with the Autobot’s that didn’t leave them staring down at the humans like they were lost puppies. She certainly had no interest in Joan of Arc or onna-musha, and she hadn’t read The Second Sex since university, and she hadn’t even wanted to touch medieval history with a ten foot pole in her electives, so chivalry was just a word to June, but it was intriguing to wonder how Arcee had ended up with such a Wikipedia rabbit hole collection at 2AM.
“What dots are you connecting together?”
Arcee’s fins wiggled in what June had quickly learned was a greeting. “It’s stupid, but I noticed that “woman” and “women” and other words like them are used as a weird modifier in your language. I’ve thought of them as somewhat similar to “femme” like we would use to describe my spark type, but now I’m thinking I’ve vastly misunderstood the connotations.” She moved open windows around, focusing on the chivalry and Joan of Arc tags. “The fact that she was a “lady knight” seems significant, to the point that it’s odd and some even consider it evil, I think? But that seems utterly stupid.”
“Well, they did burn her at the stake.” That much June knew, but she didn’t consider her common knowledge impressive.
“Yes, but I’m struggling to understand why.”
June pursed her lips as she thought.
Acree spoke again. “Okay, maybe not struggling, more so hoping that my anger is unjustified, but I’ve also spent an hour reading about feminist movements and getting more angry.”
“Because they were needed in the first place? There’s no sexism on Cybertron?”
Arcee’s plating rattled in agitation. “No? But there’s similar cruelty? The civil war started for some legitimate reasons after all, Megatron just fueled already burning tensions to a breaking point, but as far as I’m concerned, you humans,” at this, Arcee waved a servo towards June, “don’t have different frame types. That’s where most of our discrimination came from.”
June crossed her arms and sighed. Arcee’s mind was one of her attractive traits, for all that she acted like a hot head warrior. It wasn’t surprising that she was going straight to anger, but June had helped pull a saw blade out of a man’s cheek that night. She did not have the energy for this conversation. “I think this is a conversation for when I’m not dead on my feet.”
Arcee finally turned around from the computer to face her body towards June. Her smile was apologetic. “Right, you were working. Rough shift?”
June smiled back, “Well, let me tell you…”
FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
From:Re: FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
From:PROMPT: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
Date: 2024-07-02 09:43 pm (UTC)PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 09:47 pm (UTC)[...]
Women who became pirates at times disguised themselves as men in order to do so since they were otherwise rarely allowed on pirate ships. On many ships in the Golden Age of Piracy, women were prohibited by the ship's contract (required to be signed by all crew members) due to being seen as bad luck and due to fears that the male crew members would fight over the women. Many famous female pirates, such as Anne Bonny (disappeared after 28 November 1720) and Mary Read (died April 1721), accordingly dressed and acted as men."
lady pirates >:) - [source]
FILL: TEAM CATRADORA
Date: 2024-07-08 11:07 pm (UTC)Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Ship: Adora/Catra
(thank you for introducing me to the concept of pirate yuri, it's everything)
Adora almost doesn't recognize her amongst the smoke. A pisol's flash illuminates her silhouette enough to make out her ears, tail, ducked offensive pose. Adora's never seen anyone else like Catra, at sea or on land.
Her staff clashes with Adora's sword. "Catra," Adora says, "it's me."
Catra swings the staff again, hitting the blocking sword hard enough to make Adora step back. She snaps, "Strangers call me Wildcat."
They've never been strangers before. Catra was the name that echoed in Adora's head every day when she secured the lines, laid traps for rats in the corners of the ship, tried to sleep. It's the name carved deep in her bones.
Adora's next step brings her closer to the railing. All of her training screams for her to strike back. She doesn't trust her burgeoning healing magic enough to risk it. "I - I don't want to fight, let's just-"
When Catra's staff hits the sword, the vibrations sent up the blade make Adora's teeth rattle. "It's too late to talk," Catra says, rough with rage. "You said enough when you left."
"I didn't - I wanted you to come with me. Shadow Weaver said you hadn't proven-"
"I stabbed that bitch to death in her cabin." Catra grins at the shock that must be across Adora's face. "You have gone soft. How does succession work in the Alliance? Do you have a sing-off?"
Mara handed power off to Adora with a ceremony and a sword, just off-shore of the island where she intended to live out her retirement with the woman she married on deck. Adora was the commander of the She-Ra now.
Adora says, "We were supposed to be co-captains, remember?"
Co-captains was the closest word Adora had for what she wanted, then. They'd spent long nights keeping watch in the rigging, or swabbing the deck side by side, or slipping into each other's hammocks after all the lanterns had guttered. Growing up on the Black Garnet, affection wasn't allowed. But touch was quiet, and the ship was full of dark corners.
"We promised," Adora says. "You take care of me, and I take care of-"
Catra's blow drives her closer to the edge, and Adora had to swing back to keep from going overboard. Catra's pointed teeth bare past her upheld staff. "I'm not the fucking rat-catcher anymore." Her voice twists and snarls. "This is my ship. My crew. I don't have to share the plunder with you."
"I've never wanted plunder," Adora says, and from the mingled anger and pain on Catra's face, she knows what Adora does want.
Bow is shouting that they need to retreat. On any other ship, Adora would have called it by now. She's putting herself, her ship, her crew at risk by dragging this out any further. "Come with me," Adora says. "Please."
Catra's always been faster than her. She's at Adora's throat in an instant, one hand fisted in her shirt, one poised with claws next to her face. "I don't want to leave," she spits, jagged and halting. "Shadow Weaver's dead, and I'm a better captain than you would've ever been. I don't need you, and I never have."
Adora knows what Catra sounds like when she lies. Adora reaches up to take the hand by her face, to try again, but Catra releases her shirt and melts into the smoky deck before Adora can say I need you too.
Re: FILL: TEAM CATRADORA
From:Re: FILL: TEAM CATRADORA
From:FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
From:PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 09:54 pm (UTC)Valkyries are attested in the Poetic Edda (a book of poems compiled in the 13th century from earlier traditional sources), the Prose Edda, the Heimskringla (both by Snorri Sturluson) and the Njáls saga (one of the Sagas of Icelanders), all written—or compiled—in the 13th century. They appear throughout the poetry of skalds, in a 14th-century charm, and in various runic inscriptions."
valkyries :D - [source]
FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-04 09:14 pm (UTC)word count: 1323
pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall
fandom: RWBY
characters: winter schnee, cinder fall
extra tags: descriptions of death, blood, and so on. lmk if this is too much for dreamwidth and i'll move it! very tempted to write a proper au now because this concept really interests me
//
Winter is dying; she knows that much. She just didn’t expect death to be this — nice?
Hands gripping the sword buried in her gut, she looks up at the shell of the sky and memorises the clear shade of blue, the same colour as her sister’s eyes. The sun is starting to dip towards the horizon, the clearing is empty, and the lone man who ran her through is long gone. All things considered, it’s a pretty easy way to go. She’s always thought she would die in the heat of battle.
Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. It did at first; it has not since. She feels her breath gutter in her throat as though from afar, twitches her fingers around an unfamiliar sword’s hilt and is almost surprised when they respond. Everything feels distant, untethered. It’s nice. It’s alright. She isn’t afraid.
“‘Cause you’re fucking stupid,” a woman’s voice says.
Winter doesn’t think she could turn her head to look if she tried. There’s blood soaking through the hood of her cloak from the wound in her stomach. She opens her mouth to say something, preferably hello?, and the only sound that comes out is a weak, rasping gasp.
“Yeah, yeah. Hold on.” A shift of fabric — stupid, Winter thinks, she should have been on her guard; there could have been someone waiting on the other side of the trees to finish her off — and a head pushes into view, accompanied by a radiant light that makes her wince and wish she could cover her eyes.
A woman, obviously the owner of the voice. The most beautiful woman she’s ever seen. Winter opens and closes her mouth again, realises she looks like a dying fish — or, well, a fish in an equally dire predicament — and tries another word: “What?”
It saps all the remaining strength out of her. Her grip on the hilt of the sword in her gut slackens without her telling her hands to let go; her vision swims, and she thinks, fuck, this is it, I’m going to die looking like an idiot in front of some poor villager. The woman squints at her, which is strange, considering the amount of light leaking off of her; Winter opens her mouth again, wants to say will you tell my sister what happened to me?, finds she can’t speak, can barely suck in a breath anymore —
“Oh,” the woman says blithely, “sorry. You’re not dead yet.”
Funny, because she feels pretty close to it. She couldn’t reply even if she wanted to, can’t even think, can’t manage anything except a noise that sounds like a desperate sob because she’s discovered that suddenly she doesn’t want to die — and a hand settles on her blood-soaked shoulder and a voice, that same g-ddamn voice, says, “Shh. The hardest part is about to be over. Very soon, I think.”
Winter blinks up at her, vision darkening and darkening to nothing, and sees the woman crouch over her, reach down to brush a hand over her cheek. She blacks out —
//
— wakes up, and finds her head in someone else’s lap.
She doesn’t scramble to sit up, because she can’t. Her entire body feels heavy, weak. Doesn’t suck in a breath either, because it feels a little redundant.
The woman from before, bleeding white light, peers down at her. She’s wearing a white cloak; the collar is flecked with blood. It’s clearly Winter’s. She swallows down an apology. “You okay? That was — rough.”
She coughs, bloodlessly, and discovers that she can talk. “Um.”
“Yeah.” The woman’s thumb skims across her cheek again. It’s meant to be soothing, clearly. “You were trying to say something. What was it?”
“Huh?”
“Before.” She lets go of her cheek to gesture vaguely. “Before the — you know. You were kinda… spluttering, I guess? You wanted to say something.”
Winter thinks back. Doesn’t get very far before her stomach lurches unpleasantly. “Oh, fuck.”
“Mm?”
“Shit, fuck. I — no, I died, didn’t I? I died. I’m dead. I wanted —” Her breath hitches in her throat. She sits up, narrowly avoiding headbutting the woman above her, and pulls her knees up to her blessedly un-stabbed chest. Her body — what remains of it — doesn’t follow her, lies limply behind her, eyes staring sightlessly upward. She feels sick. She feels sick. “I — I wanted — my sister, she — my sister, my brother, my mom —”
“Word will get back to them. They’ll be alright,” the woman says soothingly. It doesn’t sound like it fits on her tongue. “For now, I hate to cut this short, but you have to come with me.”
Winter presses her hands over her eyes and sobs.
//
The woman — Cinder, she calls herself; “Cinder the Valkyrie, if we’re being technical” — helps her to her feet. Winter staggers to the side and props herself up against a tree as she leans down to close her body’s eyes, breathing heavily. She doesn’t think she’s ever cried for so long before, not since she was a child.
And it was so nice before. She thinks she would have been content to die there, lying still under the sun.
“Where am I going?”
Cinder glances up. She’s been brushing Winter’s hair out of her eyes, adjusting her hands on her weapon, fixing the despairing twist of her mouth into a firm line. It looks like it fits on her face, she thinks. “Hm? Oh. Valhalla, obviously.”
“But I didn’t die in battle.” Her voice sounds weak, hollowed out by crying. She winces a little when Cinder turns to look at her properly and something like pity crosses her face.
“You’re plenty valiant,” she says, giving her an assessing look. “You’ll fit right in, believe me.”
“I don’t — I haven’t done anything. I don’t deserve —”
Cinder sighs and stands up. The light follows her, pooling around the bottom of her cloak. “I’ve been watching you. I knew you were going to die eventually, you know? You seem like the type to go down in some stupid battle for someone else’s honour. What were you doing out here?”
Winter blinks at her. “Out in the woods? I was tracking down a man who killed a villager. He — he was the one who stabbed me, most likely.”
Cinder nods. “See? Valiant. Heroic, even.” She steps up to Winter, holds out her hand. “I’ll take you up.”
She eyes her hand cautiously. Her fingers are still slick with Winter’s blood, long and callused and streaked with burn marks. But still, she’s holding it out, offering her a future, even in death — and that has to mean something, doesn’t it?
She takes it.
Cinder tugs her, once, and then they’re gone.
//
She sleeps in a room overlooking an endless battlefield. It’s weird; she thought being dead would mean she couldn’t possibly be tired anymore, but here she is.
Cinder doesn’t seem to want to leave her. She sits in a chair next to Winter’s bed, watching her as she shifts and mumbles to herself and, sometimes, cries — and, eventually, climbs into bed next to her and wraps her arms around her waist.
“Are you supposed to do this?”
She hums, pressing her face into Winter’s shoulder blades. “You seem upset. I’d like to stay with you. Being dead is — it’s difficult.”
“I mean,” Winter says, staring at the setting sun through her half-drawn curtains, “I’m not complaining.” It feels a lot more manageable with you here, she doesn’t say. It lingers on her tongue as she lets her eyes slip closed for the second time today.
“Good to hear,” Cinder murmurs. She squeezes her forearm the same way she did when she helped Winter to her feet in the clearing, circling her thumb over her wrist. “I told you everything would be alright, didn’t I?”
“Dying is hard,” she says into darkness, sinking into unfamiliar pillows with a newly familiar body wrapped around her.
“It’s awful,” Cinder agrees, “but the hard part is over.”
Re: FILL: Team Anime/Manga
From:PROMPT: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
Date: 2024-07-02 09:58 pm (UTC)PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 10:03 pm (UTC)of ships, is the most beautiful thing on the dark earth
but I say, it is what you love
Full easy it is to make this understood of one and all: for
she that far surpassed all mortals in beauty, Helen her
most noble husband
Deserted, and went sailing to Troy, with never a thought for
her daughter and dear parents."
— Sappho, fragment 16 (Voigt)
helen of troy? greek mythology? leaving a husband for a lover? sappho? lots to choose from :3c
FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-05 10:28 pm (UTC)word count: 897
pairing: suletta mercury/miorine rembran
fandom: mobile suit gundam: the witch from mercury
characters: suletta mercury, miorine rembran
a/n: i was going for a helen of troy vibe but i thought miorine being from sparta wouldn't really fit given the Everything about her
//
The sunsets over Athens are beautiful. Suletta finds herself drawn to the windows in the evening more often than not, determined to watch it sink below the horizon. Miorine’s house has one of the best views in the entire city, she thinks, and it’s moments like these that make her all the more grateful for her hospitality.
Still — she sits down in the wake of the sun, finding the horizon as she always does, turns so she can pretend she’s found Troy, nestles against the world’s edge — she misses home with an ache so fierce it burns. She wishes she could take Miorine with her when she leaves; that way she could keep the memory of the sunsets with her, pressed against her heart.
It was Miorine who showed her the sunset over the city for the first time, and it’ll be Miorine who walks her down to the docks at the end of her last day. It’s always Miorine, she thinks; it’s always Miorine.
Something shifts in the house behind her. She doesn’t turn to look, unable to tear her eyes away from the sky, but she knows it’s Miorine from the sound of her footfalls on the tiles, the warm, familiar echo of her breathing.
“Good evening,” she says, to be polite, “how was your meeting with your father?”
Miorine scoffs. “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Mm.” Suletta opens her arms and Miorine pads forward, slots in just like she always does. “Shaddiq again?”
“Worse. Guel.”
“Eugh.”
She’s silent for a long moment, tracing her fingers along the hem of Suletta’s shirt. Suletta lets her, of course, because Miorine’s touch has always made her feel alive in a way nothing else ever has. She rests her chin against the top of her head in quiet companionship, humming softly.
“When do you leave?”
It’s a soft, innocent question. Miorine asks her the same way she always does, tongue catching against the words like she can’t bear to think about their separation, but there’s something else lingering there — something raw and aching and desperate. Suletta dips her head to press a kiss to her hairline. “Soon. A fortnight, maybe.”
Miorine sighs against the hem of her shirt, against her collarbone. “That’s not long.”
“I know. I’ll miss you.”
It’s true. She’ll miss Miorine more than she missed her home while she was here, more than she missed her mom and her sister and the sky over the sea in the mornings.
And it’s this that draws her attention to the hesitation in her voice when she speaks, the strange tightness. “What if — we did something stupid?”
“Hm?”
Her voice catches, her breath comes quicker. “What if I went to Troy with you? When you left? I —”
Suletta catches up slowly, but when she does, it shocks her into jolting, nearly dislodging Miorine in her lap. “What? You want to — what? Your father would never let you do that.”
“So I won’t tell him.” She looks up at her then, eyes sparking with determination. “I’ll run. I don’t care. I can’t — I can’t be here anymore, Suletta. I want to go where you go.”
She blinks, and there’s the future with Miorine, laid out in front of her — Miorine walking with her in Troy, fingers threaded together; Miorine’s hair splayed out on her pillow, sleeping quietly next to her in her bed; Miorine’s eyes in the firelight she knows so well — blinks again, and there’s her father’s spear hanging over the door, the casual threat of war. Suletta looks down at her, clinging to the front of her shirt with raw heat in her eyes, and swallows thickly.
“You, um. Your father — he’ll come after you if you leave. He’s a general. He’ll fight for you.”
Miorine clenches her jaw. “I’ll fight for you,” she says stubbornly. “I don’t care what he does. He can’t touch us.” And, suddenly, thick with new emotion. “Propose to me before you go. Ask me to marry you, right in front of him, and he’ll let us leave.” She tightens her fists in Suletta’s shirt, draws her close. “I want it to be you.”
That knocks her sideways. Suletta stares at her, gasping for breath, and finds that she doesn’t have the words to respond. She’s never been the best with speeches. What comes out is soft and urgent and simple: “I love you, Miorine. You know that.”
Miorine blinks. “I — yes, well,” she says, almost numbly, “yes, I did, I suppose. I could have — surmised that, probably. I love you as well. Obviously.”
She opens and closes her mouth, searching for the right words. “I — um, you won’t entirely like this, I don’t think, but. If you want to come with me, I — I’d like you there very much.” Great, now she’s crying; she can feel it building on her lips, in her eyes. “Building a life with you, back home, it’s — all I’ve been able to think about since I met you, really. So, um, if you can promise me we’ll do it without putting my home in danger, I’ll take you. And if you can’t —” she screws up her face, trying to sound confident, “I think I’d be okay with staying here with you.”
She wouldn’t be, is the thing, but she could learn. She’d do anything for Miorine, she’s discovering.
PROMPT: TEAM OC MOON
Date: 2024-07-02 10:10 pm (UTC)FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
Date: 2024-07-15 09:31 pm (UTC)Words: 266
Notes: Part of a series of River bubble AUs.
——
“No quarter for witches,” Ortus spits. He’s brave enough, now that Harrow is bound and gagged. He had never dared to speak like this before. “Confess your sins and repent, and we’ll give you a merciful death. Persist in your wickedness, and you’ll be cleansed by fire.”
Harrow shakes her head, her voice muffled beyond recognition, and with a grimace Ortus releases the rough cloth binding her tongue.
“I confess that I am a sinner!” Harrow screams. “I am the basest of sinners, a crude beast atop the bones of two hundred graves! I have abused and oppressed all the days of my life, and whatever judgment is rendered against me for that, I confess that I deserve it! But of this thing you call ‘witchcraft,’ you know nothing! I have only ever practiced what the Kindly Lord has taught us. I have only ever used it for the purposes with which he tasked me. Judge me, but judge me righteously - let my other sins be laid at my feet, but relieve me of this burden!”
“That’s out of my hands,” Ortus replies. “The judge is coming now. Make your case to her, and hope that she will listen.”
He gestures into the torchlit night, and Harrow sees a figure approaching, tall, imposing, head bathed in orange as if she too is alight. Fear courses through Harrow’s veins - fear, and traces of hope, and shame, and something far more powerful whose name she doesn’t dare speak…
“Calm, it’s okay,” Abigail says from her place tied beside her. “You know this isn’t how it happens.”
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 10:10 pm (UTC)Tamamo-no-Mae is believed to have been based on the historical empress consort Fujiwara no Nariko (1117-1160), mother of Konoe, who participated in a number of succession struggles leading to the Hōgen rebellion and Heiji rebellion.
Stories of Tamamo-no-Mae being a legendary fox spirit appear during the Muromachi period as otogizōshi (prose narratives), and were also mentioned by Toriyama Sekien in Konjaku Hyakki Shūi. Edo period folklore then conflated the legend with similar foreign stories about fox spirits corrupting rulers, causing chaos in their territories."
kitsune, consort corrupting a ruler, or both? 🐾 - [source]
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 10:18 pm (UTC)“It’s so sweet to discover the remnants of such a beautiful friendship,” says historian Dr. Richard Hoff. “While neither of these women ever married, they still both seemed fulfilled by their existence living together in a one-bedroom home from around age 30 until they died of old age. Like a super sleepover!”"
what if history remembers us as very good friends?? 😳 [this is from the reductress but you get the idea]
PROMPT: Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front
Date: 2024-07-02 10:20 pm (UTC)(we've all heard of the spy sent to kill Fidel Castro who ended up falling in love with him right?)
FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-05 10:37 pm (UTC)word count: 309
pairing: winter schnee/robyn hill
fandom: RWBY
characters: winter schnee, robyn hill
//
Robyn keeps kissing Winter, even when the blade of her sword settles against her throat.
This is the first surprise. She expected her to recoil, initially, and then panic, and then call security. Winter hums dizzily against her lips as she pushes her fingers into her hair, grip loosening on the hilt of the weapon.
This, in fact, is the second surprise: she’s fallen too hard and fast for Robyn Hill to give much of a shit about the results of the election anymore. Robyn pulls back from her mouth — a stupid move, given the weapon and all — and settles her lips against her pulse point instead, hardly pausing to comment on the aborted murder attempt.
That’s the thing about Robyn, Winter thinks, gasping for breath as she stares up at the ceiling and lets her destroy her neck; she doesn’t give up once she’s got her mind set on something. She’s content with this, here, now — and so is Winter, really.
“Where’d you get that?” she mumbles against her skin, fingers still in her hair. “It’s hot. It suits you.”
Winter keeps gasping for air. Of course it’s only hot; not a murder weapon, not almost an act of actual literal treason. “Standard assassin fare.”
“Oh, you’re still on that, are you? I thought we moved past that,” Robyn murmurs. She presses her back against the desk with more vigour, hands skimming down from her hair and settling on her hips instead. “But if you’re into it I could probably —”
“I had to talk myself down from killing you,” Winter half announces, half pants. “Do you have any idea how hard that is to do when you keep prattling on about campaign rallies and voter bases while I’m actively trying to —”
Robyn cuts her off by yanking her down for a kiss by the end of her tie.
PROMPT: TEAM OC MOON
Date: 2024-07-02 10:26 pm (UTC)PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 10:29 pm (UTC)[...]
Women joined a nunnery primarily because of piety and a desire to live a life which brought them closer to God but there were sometimes more practical considerations, especially concerning aristocratic women, who were the principal source of recruits (much more so than aristocratic men were a source for monks). A woman from the aristocracy, at least in most cases, really had only two options in life: marry a man who could support her or join a nunnery. For this reason, nunneries were never short of recruits and by the 12th century CE they were just as numerous as male monasteries."
what if we became gay nuns to remain unmarried and escape the patriarchy ⛪ [source]
PROMPT: Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front
Date: 2024-07-02 10:35 pm (UTC)Minecraft/other game letsplayers, vloggers, reviewers, reply guys, comedy sketches, acoustic music covers, all that jazz.
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 10:41 pm (UTC)"[The Amazons] were a group of female warriors and hunters who were known for their physical agility, strength, archery, riding skills, and the arts of combat. Their society was closed to men and they only raised their daughters and returned their sons to their fathers, with whom they would only socialize briefly in order to reproduce. Courageous and fiercely independent, the Amazons, commanded by their queen, regularly undertook extensive military expeditions into the far corners of the world, from Scythia to Thrace, Asia Minor and the Aegean Islands, reaching as far as Arabia and Egypt."
warrior women? matriarchal society? she who unleashes the horses?? interpret as you will 🦄 [wiki]
PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney
Date: 2024-07-02 10:42 pm (UTC)FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-07 10:21 pm (UTC)word count: 1146
pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall
fandom: RWBY
characters: winter schnee, cinder fall
extra tags: child abuse, non-graphic descriptions of (healed) physical injury
//
i.
It starts as an accident: Winter brushes the fingers over the poorly-concealed scars on her neck, Cinder hisses through her teeth and damn well nearly bursts into flame, and neither of them speak about it again. This tenuous thing between them is still so new, so fragile.
Still, she senses the questions on Winter’s lips — what happened to you? Why won’t you let me touch your neck? — and she despises herself a little more every day for being unable to answer. There are things about her past she hasn’t told anyone who isn’t long-dead, and she cannot imagine herself letting them spill from her lips any time soon.
They’re lying in a patch of shade together and admiring the particular blueness of the sky (an exercise in futility; the sky is always fucking blue — Winter admits she doesn’t understand it either, but it’s ‘nice’ and ‘a soothing recreational activity’, so they’re both doing it) when she brings it up. At her behest, Cinder rolls onto her side to look vaguely at Winter’s face so they can talk properly about it, and instantly regrets it. She’s looking at her with that weird, sad expression, the kind that says she’s spent too much time in her own head.
“About your neck,” she starts, and Cinder groans, “I’d like to apologise if I caused you discomfort. Or pushed a boundary, or anything similar. You mean a lot to me, and I —” she pauses, catching her lip between her teeth, “I don’t want to push you.”
Cinder sighs, sensing a moment of rare vulnerability coming on. “You didn’t. Seriously, Winter, it’s not that big a deal. You’re fine, just forget about it.”
“I’m not stupid,” she says earnestly — debatable, “I know there’s a reason you keep your neck covered, and I’m not asking you to tell me why, I just want to — respect you, really. And I haven’t been doing that very well.”
She has, is the thing. She’s stupidly respectful. It’s been drilled into her bones since she was born. Cinder doubts she’ll ever be able to work it out of her. She sighs, shakes her head. “You are, as I said, fine. I’m not, like, in deep personal agony about it. It was a little disruptive, and that’s all.”
“Hmm,” Winter says, like she doesn’t believe her. Which is fair enough, Cinder supposes, given literally everything about her. “Well, I’d still like you to know that I’m sorry.”
She rolls her eyes. “I accept your largely pointless but otherwise well-meaning apology and clear you of all guilt for your actions.”
Winter elbows her. Cinder elbows her back. The sky burns the same shade of blue as her eyes as the sun sinks below the dunes.
ii.
It happens like this: Cinder’s fingers settle on a thick scar on Winter’s hip when she kisses her, Winter stiffens, pushes her away, and then apologises profusely for about half an hour afterwards.
Cinder does not ask, because Winter probably wouldn’t tell her, but she knows enough about her childhood to assume. She’s grateful, then, for at least one thing Ironwood has done.
She settles her head on Winter’s shoulder in the aftermath of her apologies and says, “No, shut up, I’m the sorry one.”
Winter scoffs. “You haven’t done anything. I overreacted. You can — I don’t have any issues with you touching my scars, I just — got scared.”
She wraps her hands around Cinder’s back regardless, threading her fingers together. Cinder hums into her shoulder, nose pressed just underneath a purpleing bruise on her collarbone. “Alright. You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I’m not upset with you.”
She says it, Cinder’s paranoid mind thinks, like she’s trying to convince herself while she speaks. Then again, she always sounds like that. She sounds weird and nervous and uncomfortable when she isn’t in military uniform and/or on a battlefield; it’s just who Winter is. If she was upset with Cinder, she’d make it known. And she’d do it gently, because both of them understand the other in a way that should probably disturb her.
“You’re sure,” Cinder echoes.
iii.
“You can touch my neck,” Cinder says tightly, “if you want.”
Winter looks up at her, nods once. She doesn’t move the bindings around her scar, doesn’t try to kiss it — a relief; Cinder thinks she’d have burned the whole room down if she did — but nips marks into the hollow of her throat, her pulse point, the crook of her neck, her collarbones.
Military precision, Cinder thinks, always military precision.
iv.
She takes the bindings off. Winter wears a shirt with hip windows that Cinder drools over a little, but only a little.
She doesn’t know what does it. Maybe it’s the oppressive heat in Vacuo, maybe it’s the walls they’ve been breaking down, maybe it’s just fucking timing and instinct. Either way, Winter does not stare at her scars, and Cinder does not stare at hers, because they haven’t spoken about it but they understand.
Well, mostly: one night Winter props her hands on her hips, thumb brushing her scar, and says, “It was a letter opener, if you’re curious. He was a shit marksman.”
Cinder looks at her, nods. “Electric collar.”
Winter does something funny with her mouth. “Dead?”
She nods again. “All four of them. I did it myself.”
“Good,” she says grimly, “good.”
v.
“How old were you?”
Winter twists to face her, apparently deciding that this is an answer that requires eye contact. They haven’t spoken about her missing eye or arm yet; they likely never will. “For my hip? Fourteen.” She smiles, and it looks a little wrong, a little twisted. “I told my father I wanted to become a huntress and he threw a letter opener at me. He was aiming for my leg. He thought he could stop me from trying permanently.”
Cinder whistles lowly. “Sharp fucking letter opener.”
“He was a shit marksman,” Winter repeats. “Ironwood wasn’t.”
They haven’t spoken about the — entire fucking right side of her body yet. The bridge of her nose, the burn scars, the marks from where laser fire tore through her flesh. They likely never will.
Cinder nods. “I was — I don’t know. Your age, maybe younger, maybe older. I don’t know how old I am, really.” Winter winces. To drive the point home, she adds, “I was an orphan. I was sold.” Because she’s feeling particularly spiteful, “To a hotel in Atlas.”
Winter hisses through her teeth.
Just because she can: “I killed them all.”
vi.
“I’m not going to talk about it anymore if you ask me,” Cinder says, worrying her lip between her teeth, “but the name of the hotel was The Glass Unicorn, and I burned it down when I came back to Atlas.”
Winter’s fingers twitch against the scar on her throat, the only sign of emotion to slip past her mask. “Good.”
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 10:53 pm (UTC)"The messengers came at full speed, and found the guards apprehensive of nothing; but on opening the doors, they saw her [Cleopatra] stone-dead, lying upon a bed of gold, set out in all her royal ornaments. Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet, and Charmion, just ready to fall, scarce able to hold up her head, was adjusting her mistress's diadem. And when one that came in said angrily, "Was this well done of your lady, Charmion?" "Extremely well," she answered, "and as became the descendant of so many kings"; and as she said this, she fell down dead by the bedside." - Plutarch [Wiki]
what if i would rather die with you than live without you... fellas is it gay
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 11:06 pm (UTC)literal arthurian au, or any mermaids/enchantresses out there?? 🌊
strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of governmentFILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-07 10:43 pm (UTC)word count: 410
pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall
fandom: RWBY
characters: winter schnee, cinder fall, brief whitley schnee cameo
//
The phrase ‘Lady of the Lake’ conjures up such specific imagery that Winter assumes the woman walking across the surface of the water, leaking fire, is a hallucination — then, when it becomes clear that the rest of the knights in the entourage can see her too, some kind of new and weirdly specific omen.
It’s only when she opens her mouth to speak that Winter realises what’s going on. Her voice rolls across the surface of the lake along with the fog, sharp and assessing: “Well? Which one of you is looking for me?” and Winter jolts, fumbling for the sword at her side.
“I am,” she says, sinking to one knee, “it’s me. Ozma sent me.”
The woman snorts. She comes into view as she crosses the remainder of the surface between them, a figure in a burning column of fire, beautiful and dark-haired and fierce. “Ozma, huh? Then you’ll want this.”
She kneels too, mirroring Winter, and her hand dips below the surface of the lake, but the fire does not dim. When she rises, she brings a sword with her.
Winter’s jaw drops. She hears Whitley sigh behind her, long and low and disapproving, and if she could tear her gaze away from the woman on the water, she would be shooting him a glare.
“This is for you,” the woman says. “It doesn’t have a name, so go crazy. Return it to me when you’re done.”
Winter swallows thickly. “Um. Ozma said you would give it to me whenever I was in need.”
“Yeah, exactly.” She tosses the sword carelessly; Winter fumbles to catch it. “We don’t trust you with powerful instruments of destruction, exactly. You’ve got to give it back to me for safekeeping.”
“Ah.” She picks the sword up, pulls it to her chest. Her body burns with energy wherever it brushes against the blade, even through her clothes. It feels right, it feels good. “So I should come back — here?”
The woman shrugs, smiles, and Winter feels a little as though she’s been pinned to the spot. “Any body of water will do if you throw it hard enough.”
“Understood.” She swallows again. “And, um. What was your name?”
“The Lady of the Lake,” the woman says, inspecting her nails impassively.
“No, your name. I — mine is Winter.”
She pauses, glancing up at her. That smile drifts a little before it comes back into focus. Winter wonders what she’s thinking about. “It’s Cinder.”
Re: FILL: Team Anime/Manga
From:PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 11:17 pm (UTC)The Genpei War (1180–1185) marked the war between the Taira (Heike) and Minamoto (Genji) clans, two very prominent Japanese clans of the late-Heian period. The epic The Tale of the Heike was composed in the early 13th century in order to commemorate the stories of courageous and devoted samurai. Among those was Tomoe Gozen, servant of Minamoto no Yoshinaka of the Minamoto clan."
[Of Tomoe Gozen:] "... especially beautiful, with white skin, long hair, and charming features. She was also a remarkably strong archer, and as a swordswoman, she was a warrior worth a thousand, ready to confront a demon or a god, mounted or on foot. She handled unbroken horses with superb skill; she rode unscathed down perilous descents. Whenever a battle was imminent, Yoshinaka sent her out as his first captain, equipped with strong armor, an oversized sword, and a mighty bow; and she performed more deeds of valor than any of his other warriors." -[Wiki]
heian era swordswomen, anyone?? 🔪
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-02 11:34 pm (UTC)"In her diary she wrote, "When my brother ... was a young boy learning the Chinese classics, I was in the habit of listening to him and I became unusually proficient at understanding those passages that he found too difficult to understand and memorize. Father, a most learned man, was always regretting the fact: 'Just my luck,' he would say, 'What a pity she was not born a man!'" [...] Murasaki was aware that others saw her as "pretentious, awkward, difficult to approach, prickly, too fond of her tales, haughty, prone to versifying, disdainful, cantankerous and scornful". Asian literature scholar Thomas Inge believes she had "a forceful personality that seldom won her friends."" -[Wiki]
something about a person falling in love with your writing but hating your personality :,,) this could easily be adapted to modern fic writers, too
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-03 12:00 am (UTC)"Another passage [in Treatise on the Left Emanation] charges Lilith as being a tempting serpent of Eve:
And the Serpent, the Woman of Harlotry, incited and seduced Eve through the husks of Light which in itself is holiness. And the Serpent seduced Holy Eve, and enough said for him who understands. [...] Behold, here it is before you: because of the sins of Adam the first man all the things mentioned came into being." -[Wiki]
figurative seduction/corruption of innocence, or literal biblical setting with the serpent welcome :)
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-03 12:26 am (UTC)this one is dedicated to the fe3h fans, a very specific prompt about war leaving a famous church ransacked and in ruins to be restored years later by a ruler ;P (obviously anyone can interpret this as whatever they want tho, hehe)
PROMPT: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-03 12:40 am (UTC)The first half of the story discusses Gilgamesh (who was king of Uruk) and Enkidu, a wild man created by the gods to stop Gilgamesh from oppressing the people of Uruk. [...] In the second half of the epic, distress over Enkidu's death causes Gilgamesh to undertake a long and perilous journey to discover the secret of eternal life. He eventually learns that "Life, which you look for, you will never find. For when the gods created man, they let death be his share, and life withheld in their own hands"." -[Wiki]
something something grief and mortality and loss, this too can be yuri 😥