#you’re so welcome for the pain :DDDDDDD

[saturn-sends-hugs]

STEPH. MY WONDERFUL BEAUTIFUL FABULOUS FRIEND.

WHEN WE BLEED IS PHI’S FIC BAHAHAHHSHSJSJSNSJNDMDKD

I don't have the brain power to fully comprehend what I just read in When We Bleed so I'm just gonna post this and hope it encapsulates my feelings

@saturn-sends-hugs I'm in your walls

[enemyofrome]

dear yuletide author 2019

Hello, Yuletide Author!

Thank you so much for writing for me! I have rambled at great length about my favourite fandoms and characters, but (besides the DNWs) everything in this letter is intended only as suggestions -- please don’t feel limited to the ideas I’ve put down here. I hope you have fun with this, and I’m already super excited to read whatever you come up with! :D

Things I like: humour, enemies-to-lovers, competence, sparring, healing from past trauma, characters who appear imperturbable or flippant but are riddled with painful vulnerabilities, and the reluctant showing of that vulnerability. I’ll read anything from plotty intrigue to plotless fluff. Also 1000000% here for AUs (modern, ancient, coffee shop, soulmate, whatever) and crossovers between any or all of my requested fandoms. Historical accuracy appreciated; historical liberties welcome.

Tropes I’d rather not read: genderswaps, A/B/O, conflicts based on misunderstandings, het ships.

Things I don’t want to read: incest, rape, abuse, “period-typical” sexism/homophobia, graphic violence or torture, erasure of canonical disabilities. Toxic family dynamics are a particular trigger and I’d rather a fic not focus on them too much, even if it’s canon. I read all ratings, but I tend to skim sex scenes unless they do something for plot and characterisation.

2017 letter here.

Requests:

1. Carthaginian Historical RPF (Hasdrubal, Mago, Hannibal)

I love the younger Barca brothers with my entire goblin soul, and there is so little satisfactory fiction that treats them as characters in their own right, rather than  sidekicks or lesser copies of Hannibal. So I would absolutely liquefy over a fic that gave them the attention they deserve, and explored their relationships with each other and the rest of their family.

(Hannibal optional. Scipibal more than welcome but also optional.)

Their lives are obviously fraught with tragic endings, but I would prefer not to read deathfic, or family dynamics that are unremittingly hateful, abusive or toxic. On the other hand I never say no to lighthearted fluff, you feel?

Ideas:

Battle of the Upper Baetis, aka Hasdrubal And Mago Are Capable of Strategic Badassery Too!

Blood oath! Did the younger brothers swear it too? There's a story that their father died to save Hannibal and Hasdrubal while they were getting chased by angry Spaniards -- how'd that go down? What was their relationship with Hamilcar like? What about their mother and mysterious unnamed sister(s)?

Sibling bonding! Pranks! Cracky extended family gatherings! The Scipibal wedding! (Trying not to kill the Roman-in-laws at the reception!)

Modern AU! Carthage Wins AU! Etc. (Just no The Barcids As Romans AUs, please.)

If you're looking for more inspiration, or just eye candy, here's a docudrama starring Alexander Siddig as Hannibal. There's also Extra History for a quick and humorous if not wholly accurate crash course on the First and Second Punic Wars, featuring some adorable stick figures.

2. Dialogues - Plato (Alkibiades)

Alkibiades ranks very near the top of my Favourite Historical Assholes list, and as a character he combines all the tropes I love to read about most in fiction: the brilliant, silvertongued charmer with all that dash, flamboyance, too few scruples, and maybe some good intentions buried deep, deep down inside. I never get sick of his complexities and contradictions, and I would love to read a fic that teases those out.

Ideas:

Youthful exploits! Scandals! (I’m endlessly amused by the fact that there is an entire genre of Renaissance paintings of Sokrates dragging Alkibiades out of various brothels.)

My hell ship: Alkibiades/the entire city of Athens. There’s a line in Aristophanes’ Frogs ("They pine for him, they hate him, dismiss him, and want him back") that is the most delicious sort of pain ever, if you’re in the mood to write something angsty.

On that note, there’s no one person that I ship Alkibiades with, but I’m happy for you to pair him romantically with just about anyone else in the Symposium.

We see a lot of Alkibiades from an outsider’s POV -- in the Symposium and other dialogues, in Plutarch and Thucydides and Aristophanes, in Mary Renault’s The Last of the Wine -- but I don’t think I’ve ever read anything set in Alkibiades’ own headspace. What does he want, really? How does he feel about Sokrates and the rest of their squad? In exile, does he pine for Athens as much as it pines for him?

3. The Untamed (Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji)

Listen I’m only halfway through the show at the time of signups BUT it’s already murdering me with feels and I will definitely be done with it by Yuletide reveals, so don’t worry about spoilers. Just know that I am entirely here for nauseating Wangxian fluff, preferably angstless, and will screech over it relentlessly.

I obviously haven’t read a ton of fic about these characters or developed specific prompts/headcanons about them, but! here are some Ideas:

Casefic! Fighting creepies together! I love how they work together in the show and how in tune they are with each other’s thoughts (I think what I told my gf was, “they are dumbasses in the same way”). Competence kink! Murderous music kink! One of them gets injured and hurt/comfort ensues!

Schoolfic! College AU! Maybe they have to work on a group project or research paper together and LWJ is resigned to having to do all the work himself, and suffers an emotion when WWX actually gets shit done.

Awkward meet-the-in-laws situations! (If you take this route, I’d prefer an AU where Shijie is somehow alive and happy and Jiang Cheng relaxes his fucken eyebrows for a change.)

WWX’s “LAN ZHAN LAN ZHAN :DDDDDDD” mating call.

BUNNIES. Little Apple the donkey. BUNNIES.

dnws: WWX topping in any way, shape or form

[sasori-no-akasuna]

The voice you hear your thoughts in is your soulmate’s but you don’t know who they are until you hear them speak for the first time. // :DDDDDDD I dare you to try and tell me this isn't a good idea.

@leafmedic

“What do you think a human life is?!”

She screamed the words at him, blood dripping down her face like rain. Her fingers clenched into fists once more and he could only marvel at how beautiful her anger was; how explosive, how passionate. She leaned into a fighting stance, daring to get into his face despite the amount of pain he must’ve caused her. 

“What do you think blood ties are?” She hissed, baring her teeth at him like some sort of wild animal. He took the time to memorize her features, but her icy emerald stare didn’t budge. She glared him down like he was worth less than the dirt beneath her heel. 

And, for once, he felt as if he were. 

Of course, that caused anger to spark in his empty chest, curling and eating away at anything it could find. “Those are not the words of a true shinobi.” He deadpanned. There was no sense in fighting anymore, soon enough the flames would die out and his heart would cease beating. 

She won.

“Why?…” Suddenly her voice was soft, her eyes warming into something akin to pity. “Why can’t you think any other way?” Why are you like this? What are you? 

What happened to you?

——– 

That damned dream again…

It came at the same time every night, waking him an hour before his alarm - just as the sun begins to rise. The girl’s words would haunt him, hanging like a cloud over his head for the entirety of his day until he lays down to sleep once more. 

“What do you think a human life is?”

“Why can’t you think any other way?” 

Why…

Sasori shakes himself free of the dream’s grasp as best he can and sets about preparing for his day. The kettle is set on the stove to boil, and the blinds are opened to let light into his modest home. 

He then showers and dresses and makes his way back into the kitchen. The kettle is pulled off the stove and poured into a mug. Tea is left to steep as he takes this time to gather the things he would need for the day. 

Weapons and documents were neatly placed in a small backpack and his three main scrolls were attached to the back of his belt. A few pouches were added to his hip and thigh and he shrugged his flak jacket on and sat down to enjoy his morning tea. 

Unfortunately, he would never have the chance. 

A sudden pounding on the door sent the tea cup careening out of his hands, spilling all over his pants before shattering on the floor. He’d have to clean it up later. For now he had to get to the door; no one ever came up to his house unless it was an emergency— 

“Hey.” 

Sasori jerked to a halt and narrowed his auburn eyes at the man standing in his hallway. “Komushi,” He growled, “What have I told you about knocking like that?” It shouldn’t surprise him anymore, but multiple wars had done a number on his reflexes. It was automatic to move fast at the sound of someone banging on your door. It could be a matter of life and death.

“Heh,” Komushi grinned and kicked the door shut behind him, “Sorry ‘bout that. I remembered as soon as I did it, which is why I went ahead and let myself in.” 

 Sasori rolled his eyes and made his way back into the kitchen to clean up his mess. “You owe me another mug.” He groused as he retrieved the broom and began sweeping the porcelain pieces up. “What do you want, anyway? Did you break your arm again?” 

“Cool,” Komushi leaned against the door jam, all sunshine and happiness. “I’ll get you this really ugly mug that reads ‘#1 Boss’ in fluorescent green. I’m sure you’ll like that one.” It was a running joke for him - he startled tea mugs out of Sasori’s hands and bought him the ugliest replacements he could find, knowing Sasori would paint over them. 

Komushi frowned at Sasori’s question and glanced down to his arm, “Huh? Oh, no, the arm works fine as always. You’re a total pro at this now, you know. Nah, nah, I’m here ‘cause the Kazekage has new orders for us.” 

Sasori dumped the glass into the trash and wet a dishrag to clean up the spilled tea. “New orders? This early in the morning?” The third was very lenient on his war heroes, rarely giving them missions that would have them moving this early unless they specifically requested it. 

“Yeah, he says he’s sorry, but there’s a convoy coming from Konoha and he wants you out there to meet them. Apparently their captain is a very early riser, so we have no choice.” Komushi arched a brow at him, “Not that it matters, anyway, you’re already ready to go.”

“Not quite,” Sasori sighed and tossed the rag into the sink, “give me five minutes and I’ll meet you outside.”

——

“Hey!” 

Komushi jumped off the boulder they had been using for surveillance and raised his hand in greeting to the small group that approached. “Welcome to Suna, guys, did you have a hard time finding us?” 

The shinobi came to a stop, one separating from the group, identifying themselves as the captain. Sasori propped his arm on his knee and let the desert’s morning sun warm his skin. There was no sense in interacting with Konoha nin - Komushi was trained in the art of democracy now, after all. 

Not to mention, Sasori wasn’t a fan of Konoha. 

Too many biases leaked over from his teenage years to be completely civil to them. Komushi could take the lead and Sasori would merely play supervisor. 

The squad captain lowered their cowl and smiled back at Komushi, charmed by his personality. Komushi had that effect on people. Sasori sighed softly and turned to gaze at the rising sun, wishing, yet again, that he’d brought his sketchpad.  

“No,” She responded softly, “We had no trouble at all.” 

The sound of her voice jerked Sasori’s head around to get a good look at her. Pink hair, feminine face, petite frame… He was positive he’d never seen her before in his life. 

But then she lifted her gaze to meet his and he was sure his heart stopped. 

Emerald eyes, covered in an icy anger, her words taking a bite out of his soul. Power vibrating in her clenched fists, her body language screaming that she was ready to meet him head on. Not an ounce of fear.

“Why?” The word echoed in his ears, “Why can’t you think any other way?”

“What do you think a human life is?!”

His nightmare was standing before him.