yurishippingolympics | YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024

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bonus round

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 4

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

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

A story set in the Old Republic era of Star Wars (think KOTOR or whatever the equivalent is in the new continuity).

Late 70s/early 80s punk scene

Y2K

Marx and Engels but make it yuri

Fall of the USSR

Space race

JFK assassination

9/11

Meiji era Japan

Victorian era London

Suffragists (your pick of place and time)

Webcomic artists in the early 2000s

Civilians (or members of the civil defense) during the Blitz

Ship: Sayeon/Ryujin from Hand Jumper

link to fic here!

word count: 1391

pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall

fandom: RWBY

characters: winter schnee, cinder fall, a very dead arthur watts

extra tags: alluded-to gore/violence. my apologies to the inventors of gothic fiction for the genre i just butchered to write funny detective winter schnee

It is, characteristically, a particularly stormy night.

Winter looks up into the sky overhead as she waits for Cinder to come outside and open the fucking door, counting the seconds between the thunder and lightning. The storm is practically on top of them; the wind hasn’t stopped whipping rain directly into her face for the whole walk over. She isn’t looking forward to heading home in the morning.

That is, she thinks, if she can stand to leave.

She knocks on the door again, then kicks it for good measure. Something inside clatters, assumedly Cinder rolling halfway down the stairs in her blankets. Around her, the wind picks up again, and she draws her hood further over her head, determined not to let her hair get too wet.

“There’s been a murder,” Cinder says as she opens the door.

“Of course there has.” Winter steps inside, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, and wrestles her coat off in the hallway. “There’s always a murder when you’re involved.”

“I didn’t kill him this time,” Cinder says haughtily, drawing her blankets higher around her shoulders. “It was ghosts, or something. You know, the ghosts.”

“Right,” Winter agrees, setting her briefcase down by the door. “And that’s why you were sleeping. Because there’s been a murder that you didn’t do.”

“I mean, I’m glad he’s dead.” She scrunches up her nose, looking petulant. “But I didn’t kill him. That would have been effort.”

Winter sighs. “Well, we’ll see. Where is he?”

She gestures to the living room. “In there. Fair warning, he’s a bit —”

She rounds the corner, gets a good look at the state of the corpse, and backs away again. “Mangled?”

“See? Not me. Ghosts.”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Winter mutters, “and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t do that. Have you thought about how you’re going to clean your living room of evidence?”

Cinder makes a face. “I’ve been trying not to. I was hoping you were going to do that.”

“I mean, I can try.” She runs through the contents of her briefcase in her head, winces when she remembers she didn’t think to bring gloves. “You may need to cut your losses and move.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Cinder says. Her disgusted expression twists into a thoughtful frown. “That’s Arthur Watts. He’s my landlord.”

“Oh, that looks terrible, Cinder.”

“I know,” she groans, “but do you really think I could gut him like that?”

“He may have swallowed an explosive,” Winter suggests. The thought makes her grimace. “Did you hear anything? Why is — actually, why is he here in the first place?”

“Not very good at collecting evidence, are you?” Cinder grins. She steps up into the circle of Winter’s arms and settles her head on her shoulder, humming softly. “He was like that on my carpet when I woke up. I called you. I went outside. I came back and went to bed. That’s all.”

Winter rests her chin on the top of Cinder’s head. She believes her, obviously. They’ve long moved past the need for dishonesty. A little ironic, perhaps, given the number of murders under Cinder’s belt, but still. “So someone wanted you to see his corpse? That seems pretty safe to assume, don’t you think?”

“Eugh,” Cinder says eloquently. “A favour?”

“Or a threat.” She fixes her gaze on the mirror in the hallway, finding their reflections and the awkward curve of Cinder’s half-smile. Winter would never say it out loud, but she adores it when Cinder smiles like that, like she’s unused to letting herself relish in the sensation of being held. “Friends with any murderers?”

Cinder hums against her collarbone. “Mm. Many. No one insane enough to do all this, though. That’s why it was ghosts.”

Winter snorts, but plays along. “Why? Any vengeful axe murderers lurking in the floorboards?”

“He probably killed the last tenant,” she muses, “maybe it was them.”

“How do you figure?”

She lets go of her blanket to gesture into the living room, rolling her eyes. “There were bloodstains on the carpet when I moved in.” She wrinkles her nose. “And now there are more. It’ll take forever to get those out.”

Winter sighs. That’s probably her cue to get on with actually looking around, then. “I’ll ask my brother nicely. I’m sure he knows someone who won’t ask questions.” She lets go of Cinder, ignores her protesting whine, steels herself, and walks back into the living room.

“Any news?”

Winter runs a hand through her hair as she looks over. It’s probably meant to look dashing, but it comes off a little more awkward than anything. Indescribably charmed, Cinder props her chin on her hand and watches her pull herself back into ‘talking to people’ mode. “Nothing concrete yet. How many escaped convicts do you know?”

Cinder, an escaped convict, tilts her head to the side. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I doubt anyone with a track record of actual murder would be this sloppy.” She gestures to the room around her, to the blood caked on the walls and the gutless man draped over the sofa.

“See? Ghosts.”

Winter’s brow furrows. “Swallowing an explosive seems more likely.”

“And more Watts,” Cinder concedes. “He always was a bit — well. You know.”

She removes the gloves she stole from Cinder’s sink with a sigh. “Stuck up? I remember.”

Cinder grins to herself. Winter’s only met him twice, both times because there was a similarly gruesome murder in her living room and she’d needed letting into the property to investigate. He really did suck. “Maybe another tenant got fed up and decided to leave me a present.”

“Maybe,” Winter mutters, circling around to the back of the sofa. Her expression seems to be caught between a wince and a scowl. Cinder watches her get onto her hands and knees and peer at her carpet with no small amount of satisfaction. “Tenants don’t generally tend to exhibit the same behaviour as cats, though.”

She gets up, nods to herself, and walks briskly out of the room. Cinder has to scramble to her feet to follow her, leaving her blanket draped over one of her more irrelevant chairs. She’ll regret that when they inevitably wind up in her bed. “Where are you going?”

“To get a glass of water. You do still have that, don’t you?”

Cinder rolls her eyes. “No, I gave it all away to charity. Diverted the pipes and everything.”

Winter is already wandering around the kitchen when she catches up, skimming her fingers along her countertops and making weird, detective-y faces to herself. There’s a glass in her hand that she’s somehow avoiding filling, skirting around the sink and poking things like it’s a game. Cinder would be offended if she hadn’t already done it every time she’d come over for murder-related purposes before. “Nothing’s been taken,” she murmurs — and, turning to Cinder, “Did you notice anything different in the rest of the house? Missing items, that kind of thing?”

“Someone stole the doormat,” Cinder says, which goes without saying, “but that was about six months ago.”

“Oh, of course. How relevant.” Winter turns around and resumes inspecting the contents of her cupboards. “No glasses missing, right?”

“Nothing sharp,” she confirms. “Nothing at all, actually.”

Winter glances over at her again, and this time there’s something different in her eyes, as awkward and new as it always has been. “Well, I’ll need to sleep on it, see if that helps.”

She’s still so bad at flirting. Cinder steps up to her, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “In my bed?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well,” she lets her gaze drift through the windows, to where the rain is still hammering at her shitty garden in her shitty neighbourhood in the middle of nowhere, “there’s not a guest room. So I suppose we’ll just have to share.”

Cinder wakes up when Winter lurches out of bed and shouts, “Fucking obviously.”

She rolls onto her side, groaning when Winter starts digging around for her clothes in the dark. “What’s obvious?”

“The evidence,” Winter says passionately. It shouldn’t be attractive. “I’ll be back. Hold tight.”

Cinder watches her tug her shirt over her head and disappear downstairs with her tongue caught between her teeth. Winter is, she reminds herself, one of the strangest people she’s ever met.

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.

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.

The Summer of Love, 1967 San Francisco

Edited 2024-07-05 22:48 (UTC)

word count: 453

pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall

fandom: RWBY

characters: winter schnee, cinder fall

extra tags: discussion of. you know. the world ending

Cinder looks at her watch, then the clock on the wall. Back at her watch, over to Winter on her bed, reading a book.

“Winter,” she says.

Winter looks up, rolling her eyes. “What?”

She points to the clock. It’s almost midnight; Winter’s dad will kill her when she comes home tomorrow morning. “The world is supposed to end in about six minutes.”

Winter snorts, goes back to her book. “You really believe in all that? It’s stupid. It’s just a bunch of conspiracy theorists.”

“Well, no, but. I mean, what would you do if it did?”

“What do you think?” She puts her book down and rolls onto her back, stretching her hands over her head. “Panic like the rest of everyone else.”

There’s a weird tingling feeling in Cinder’s gut, a sense of impermanence, of change. She gets up and crosses the room to her bed, sitting down next to Winter so the bed dips and she’s forced to roll against her. Winter shoves her away as she sits up, grinning. “No, I mean, what would you actually do? Like what would be on your list of priorities? Now you’d never turn sixteen, right? Never get into college, never go see your sister’s concert next week —”

Winter shoves her again. “That’s just depressing. What’s your point?”

“I’m saying,” she says, digging deep for confidence that isn’t a front or a ruse for once, “that if I had six minutes to live — five minutes, sorry — I’d probably spend it making out with you.”

“Hardly long enough for a makeout session, don’t you think?” Winter hums, picking her book back up again, and then seems to process what she’s just said.

Needless to say, she puts the book back down.

“Yeah, I mean, couldn’t really get my tongue all the way down your throat,” Cinder says airily, and then whatever she’s about to say next dies in her throat when Winter sits up and grips her shoulders.

“You’re thinking about kissing me?” she asks, blushing.

She’s already gotten in the habit of speaking before she thinks. Cinder tilts her head to the side and regards her, relying once again on what little genuine confidence she has to pull herself through. “You’re really cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Winter flushes darker as her reward, looking down. Her hands are still braced on Cinder’s shoulders, though, which doesn’t really do much to help the awkward atmosphere. “You — I am not —”

“You’re very cute,” Cinder repeats. “Why were you asking?”

Winter looks at the clock, then back at her, the corners of her mouth set in determination. “If you’re thinking about it,” she says, “then get on with it. You’ve only got four and a half minutes.”

i think this is my new longest fill? fhfhfhhh couldn't resist

Fandom: Genshin Impact
Pairing: Furina x Yun Jin
WC: ~800

“Oh, Lady Furina, is that you? How fortuitous! It's me, Xavier! I haven't seen you since the Fontinalia Film Festival!”

The well-dressed man gestures so emphatically as he speaks that Furina can't help but wince. Other patrons of the café are beginning to stare and whisper amongst themselves. Furina sighs, taking off the sunglasses Navia lent her to maintain her anonymity whilst on dates, and dropping them unceremoniously on the table.

A lot of good her disguise did. She'll probably be on the cover of The Steambird tomorrow.

Yun Jin smiles, pleasant as always, and touches their knees together underneath the table. “You really are popular,” she remarks, low enough that only Furina catches the undercurrent of amusement in her voice. For once, it isn't happening to her.

Yun Jin slides the sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose, and winks over the lenses.

“I'm... a bit occupied at the moment, but I suppose I can spare a minute or two,” Furina says graciously to Xavier, gesturing meaningfully to the two tea cups on the table, although he doesn't quite get the hint. “How has the launch of Musketeer Pictures been treating you? I'm flattered that you came to me first, truly, but I really have too many paid projects lined up to consider directing another film for exposure...”

“Oh, dear, I actually mailed multiple letters detailing my offer – perhaps I have the wrong address on file?” Xavier frowns, rubbing his chin. “I was wondering why you hadn't sent any response yet.”

Yun Jin's knowing smile only grows more smug by the moment. Furina's cheeks color as she waves a hand in flustered dismissal.

“Salon Solitaire has been sorting my fanmail for me, so they may have – it doesn't matter, what is it I can do for you?”

“R-right!” Xavier squares his shoulders, seeming to take notice of Yun Jin for the first time. He clears his throat awkwardly, looking between them, before launching into his pitch. “Well, it just so happens I'm putting together a documentary on musicians all around Teyvat. I've already conducted an interview with the head organizer of the Iridescence Tour, collected footage from the Lantern Rite Grand Concert in Liyue Harbor, and – long story short, I want to shine a spotlight on our inimitable Opéra Épiclèse, of course! And who can speak of opera without also speaking of Furina de Fontaine, national treasure, in the same breath?”

As Xavier continues heaping lavish praise on Furina, she casts a helpless look at Yun Jin, silently pleading for an escape route. Still Yun Jin's polite smile does not waver, even if her eyes are positively sparkling with mirth.

“Sounds lovely so far, dear,” she murmurs, nodding along with Xavier.

Traitor, Furina mouths at her.

Yun Jin daintily takes a sip of her tea, pinkie extended, and pretends not to notice.

“...Got some great shots of the Rock 'N' Roll King of Hanamizaka, as well as the Shining Idol of Mondstadt, so if we could film you singing for the big montage at the end, that would... I'm sorry, have I seen you somewhere before? You look familiar,” Xavier blurts, turning to face Yun Jin.

“Why, you haven't heard?” Furina grins, pouncing immediately on her opportunity. “This is none other than Mademoiselle Yun Jin: playwright, director, and star of Liyue's Yun-Han Opera Troupe! She would be thrilled to be a part of your pet project!”

It's Yun Jin's turn to wince. “Well, I am currently on vacation in Fontaine, but if you direct future business inquiries to Heyu Tea House, I shall be in correspondence with you upon my return,” she deflects modestly, inclining her head.

Underneath the table, she stomps on Furina's shoe. Furina disguises her yelp as a cough to maintain her dignity.

“Both of you, in the same place, at the same time?” Xavier exclaims, enthusiasm reignited. “Are you working on some sort of collaboration? A joint opera production? Perhaps I can interview the two of you together for the documentary! Are the two of you good friends?”

“Very good friends,” Yun Jin agrees calmly, over Furina's nervous giggle.

Yun Jin removes her sunglasses and folds them neatly before placing them beside her tea cup. She reaches out to gently cup Furina's cheek in her palm, gazing deeply into her eyes, before drawing her into a slow, passionate kiss.

The only person who blushes harder than Furina is Xavier, who stumbles backwards in his haste to beat a quick retreat.

“M-my apologies, Lady Furina, Lady Yun Jin, I didn't realize – this was a date, I didn't mean to interrupt you, ladies, do carry on and expect my letter in the mail–!”

Furina is ready to crawl underneath the table. Yun Jin, on the other hand, can barely restrain her delighted laughter.

Edited 2024-07-06 02:50 (UTC)

1970's Disco club

Ancient Egypt, Old Kingdom (this is the era of the construction of the Giza Pyramids and the Sphinx)

Ancient Egypt, Middle Kingdom

Ancient Egypt, New Kingdom (era of Hatshepsut, Tutankhamun, and Ramsses II)

A Byzantine Soldier and an Ostrothic Soldier meet during Emperor Justinian's reconquest of the Italian Peninsula, enemies to lovers yuri naturally follows.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 8 of 13

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 4

PROMPT: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Ace Attorney

PROMPT: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

PROMPT: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

PROMPT: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

FILL: Team Kittyuri

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

PROMPT: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

FILL: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM

PROMPT: TEAM TRANSFORMERS

PROMPT: TEAM KITTYURI

PROMPT: TEAM KITTYURI

PROMPT: TEAM KITTYURI

Prompt: Team Magnus General