Dear yuletide santa:
I'm sorry I potentially terrified you with my requests. And thank you thank you thank you for doing your best and stepping up when I'm guessing off the top of my head two of the four requests I made made you flail, like, a whole lot.
I also know that I am conscieveably sentencing you to 2 months of either a minimum of 6 hours of Jack Davenport, 2+ hours of Clive Owen, 20+ hours of Robson Green, or 30 hours of OMG SO PINK OW MY BRAINS. Which could be considered heaven or hell, depending on um... how fond you are of Robson Green, research, and cheesy 1980s pop music?
(I'm actually assuming that you're fine with Clive and Jack. Because well... aren't we all?)
But I recognise that writing something set in a different time in (potentially) a different country might make you flail a whole lot, so I am offering you soothing cups of tea and sympathy.
I've said this before, but it's always worth saying... I know I have a rep for being a 'shippy het gal based on what I write (which, erm, doesn't exactly reflect what I read, which is pretty much everything. We're talking gen, slash, het of all kinds), but honestly? What I love most are characters (whether friends, lovers, family members, enemies, what have you) interacting with one another and exploring their relationships--groping and kissing, or not. So don't feel beholden. And I admit, I am a huge gen fan as well.
I love characters. I love dialogue. I love plot. So far as the 'ship side of things goes, I also am all about the UST and the lead-up and the foreplay and the tension, more so than teh hawt sex itself (and am fine with there being no hawt sex at all). And I will love whatever you give me, because it is a pressie, and everyone loves pressies.