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 Anime/Manga

[hopelessgemini]

word count: 1217

pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall

fandom: RWBY

//

They land on a beach.

Winter isn’t conscious for the landing, has been unconscious for a long time, but Cinder is. She sees the land hurtling towards them and slows their fall, guides them into the surf — this is what she tells Winter later, slurred with exhaustion, sand in her hair — and lets go of her at last.

(There was no point in killing you in your sleep, she says, because I’m pretty sure if I left you alone you would have died anyway.

Winter smiles. Probably, she admits.)

Winter wakes up just as the sun sets. She lies on her back in the sand for a little while, searching for memories, and finds that the more she thinks about it the harder it hurts. It’s not much, but it’s there: Penny’s hands in hers, blood in her mouth, Weiss reaching for her, falling — and then, Cinder, and the void sucking them down, and blood, always blood —

“There’s no point,” someone says, “we’re probably both dead.”

She blinks up at the fading sky. “I refuse to believe I’d be in hell with you.”

“Who says we’re in hell, darling?” Cinder’s voice purrs. Winter’s fingers curl into fists, and this is how she discovers her sword is still in her hand, encased in ice, sticking to her fingers.

“I have a hard time imagining you anywhere else,” she snaps. It’s not very convincing; her voice breaks on the last syllable.

Cinder pauses, audibly. Winter stays on her back, staring up at the sky, and waits for her to speak. When she does, it’s halting, unsure: “You were crying in your sleep.”

“Pain response,” she bites out. Distinctly untrue. She knows she was crying because she knows she was dreaming, and she hasn’t dreamed of anything good since she was seventeen.

It occurs to her, then, that Cinder hasn’t tried to kill her yet. Maybe they really are both dead.

//

Strength returns to her slowly. She stays in the sand, surf kicking against her feet, until she’s sure she can sit up again — and Cinder remains out of view all the while. It should be unnerving, but she isn’t feeling much of anything right now.

She aims for sitting up and fails miserably, winds up gasping for air on her side. Cinder’s gaze prickles uncomfortably into the back of her head.

“Tried depositing your aura anywhere?”

Winter grits her teeth. “I don’t have any.”

A laugh. “You’re sure? You’ve been out for a while.”

“I don’t have any,” she repeats, “because I have almost died three times in the space of about three days —”

“Four,” Cinder corrects.

“ — and I’m not convinced I should have survived at all.”

Cinder falls silent.

Winter blinks sand out of her eyes, determined not to cry. It’s strange, how distant this all feels. Cinder, her enemy, sitting on a beach in the void between spaces with her, somehow not attacking her the entire time. It’s almost completely dark out now, and there are no stars. “To be honest with you, I’m not entirely sure how I’m conscious right now.” I’ve never been in this much pain in my life.

“There we go, then.”

“What?”

“We’re probably not dead.” Fabric shifts. “I’m going to see if I can find us any food. Don’t kill me or I’ll kill you back.”

“That doesn’t even — what?”

Cinder sighs, like it’s obvious. “We’re probably not dead, so we fell somewhere. That means if we jump right into killing each other all over again we won’t make any headway. You want to get out, don’t you?”

Winter looks up at the starless sky and finds she doesn’t have a good answer to that.

“Whatever. I want to get out. I’m taking you with me so your idiot sister doesn’t murder me on sight.”

That’s right, she thinks, suddenly indignant, that’s right; you —

Fabric shifts again, and sand with it. “So what I’m saying is: you try to kill me, I’ll try to kill you right back. You’re not in a position to negotiate, look at you. You can fuck off once you can stand if you want; all I’m asking is that you leave me the fuck alone. Sound good?”

It doesn’t sound like anything Cinder Fall has ever said before. Winter turns until she’s sprawled awkwardly across the sand, searching for her face; she finds her hovering behind her, hands propped on her hips. There’s nothing angry in her eyes, but nothing else, either. She seems — blank, unfocused. It’s weird.

“What happened to you?” Winter asks.

Cinder’s eyes narrow. Her Grimm arm flexes, leaking shadow. “There’s nothing left for me up top.”

Winter peers at her, and finds what she’s looking for: dried blood smeared on her shirt, her neck, her jaw, scratches and scars from where she’s tried to claw the Grimm out of her. Falling with her must have been an act of betrayal, it seems.

“Huh,” she says. “Well, that sounds fine to me.”

//

She comes back with food that looks edible enough. The moon — un-shattered, which is weird as shit — is high over the beach by the time she returns, and Winter has pulled herself upright and propped herself up against a log.

“That’s my log,” Cinder says. “I found us something.”

Winter eyes the plants in her hands. “How do you know they aren’t poisonous?”

“I’m not dead yet,” she grins, “and plus, I saw some like, bipedal mice eating these, so. They’re fine.”

“Bipedal mice,” Winter echoes.

“Of course, what else?”

Cinder looks at her expectantly then, like she’s waiting for her to laugh. Winter doesn’t think she’s laughed at anything in about a year, so she turns away and goes back to staring at the horizon, watching the sky and the sea melt into each other.

“Oh, right,” Cinder says, “I forgot you’re you.”

That raises a lot of questions, most of which Winter isn’t sure she wants the answer to. The moon drifts along the surface of the water in time with the waves lapping against the beach, the heartbeat of the world, and she wonders for a moment what it would be like to fall beneath it. The image of a mirror shattering comes to mind, of gold bursting through her fingers, of shifting white lights the size of her hand —

“Can you walk yet?”

She jolts a little, snapping herself out of her thoughts. “What? What sort of question is that?”

Cinder gestures at her, smirking. It’s one hell of a smirk; she is, Winter thinks distantly, absolutely gorgeous, as much as it feels like betrayal to admit. “You’re sitting, aren’t you? On my log. Can you walk?”

She looks stunning out here, framed in silvery moonlight. Winter blinks up at her — rubbing a bit of smeared blood off of her cheek, free hand propped on her hips, cradling food that looks like cheese if it was absurd — and finds herself short of breath (anger, she decides; anger), floating free.

“No,” she says without thinking about it. “I’ll camp on the beach.”

Cinder worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “And/or wait here to die, got it.”

“I — no? What?”

She gestures to her again, flame dancing across her fingertips. “Your idiot sister is here somewhere. Come on; we’re going to the treeline.”

“What? Why?”

“More shelter.”