sportsanime | Bonus Round 1: Memory

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Bonus Round 1: Memory

Let's start our summer by looking at the past—things that happened in canon, or maybe in an AU, or maybe just as wishful thinking...

This round is CLOSED as of 7PM on June 9 EDT. Late fills may be posted, but they will not receive points.

Please read this whole post before commenting to ensure that your team gets the most points possible. (There are changes from last year!)

RULES

Submit prompts by commenting to this post! You prompt should consist of one scenario beginning with the phrase "Remember when", along with any ship/ot3/etc. from our list of nominated fandoms.
- Your prompts can take the form of recalling canon facts/events ("Remember when Nozomi and Eli got parfaits after school?"), non-canon events ("Remember when Megumi and Jin met at the Tadokoro Family Reunion?"), or somewhere in-between ("Remember when Bokuto and Kenma first met?"). Headcanons and AUs are welcome!
- Your prompt MUST include some kind of relationship. (This is not the sports anime gen olympics.) Platonic relationships are indicated by an "&" between the names (e.g., Rei & Nagisa). Non-platonic relationships use "/" (e.g., Rei/Nagisa). Please don't say "Any pairing," either!
Post fills by leaving a responding comment to a prompt with your newly-created work.
Remember to follow the general bonus round rules, outlined here.

FORMAT

Brand-new works only, please.

Required Work Minimums:

400 words (prose)
400px by 400px (art)
14 lines (poetry)

If PROMPTING:	If FILLING:	If FILLING as a TEAM GRANDSTAND participant:
PROMPT: TEAM [YOUR SHIP] Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to, including Grandstand or Sports Teams Write it exactly as it appears on the team roster or your team will not receive points Place the prompt's relationship in the first bolded line of the comment. Including the canon isn't required, but it's nice. Below that, place applicable major content tags (when applicable; otherwise write "no tags" or "none") Visual example	FILL: TEAM [YOUR SHIP], [RATING] Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to Write it exactly as it appears on the team roster or your team will not receive points Replace RATING with the rating of your fill (G - E) Place applicable major content tags and word count before your fill (when applicable; otherwise write "no tags" or "none") NSFW FILLS: Please cross-link these fills and use clear tags in your comment. Written/text fills should be hosted at AO3 ONLY. Art/visual fills can be hosted anywhere. You may include a small safe-for-work preview of the fill in your comment. To place an image in your comment, use this code: <img src="LINK TO YOUR IMAGE" alt="DESCRIPTION OF YOUR IMAGE"/> Visual example	FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, [RATING] Replace RATING with the rating of your fill (G - E) Place applicable major content tags and word count before the fill, where applicable NSFW FILLS: Please cross-link these fills and use clear tags in your comment. Written/text fills should be hosted at AO3 ONLY. Art/visual fills can be hosted anywhere. You may include a small safe-for-work preview of your work in your comment. To place an image in your comment, use this code: <img src="LINK TO YOUR IMAGE" /> Visual example

code of conduct

SCORING

For prompts: 5 points each (maximum of 50 prompt points per team per round)

First 3 fills by any member of your team: 20 points each
Fills 4-10: 10 points each
Fills 11-20: 5 points each
Fills 21+: 2 points each

All scored content must be created new for this round.

Etc.

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Miyuki Kazuya/Kominato Ryousuke (daiya no ace)

Remember how Miyuki knew better than to fuck with someone bearing a curse but with Kominato Ryousuke, he couldn't help but allow his curiosity to get the better of him? (Bonus: Remember how he attempted to purify/exorcise Ryousuke, remember how that went horrifically wrong?)

horror, witchcraft/magic, religious imagery, off-screen sibling death, vomiting, drowning, scopophobia, 2471

“I’m haunted,” is what Ryousuke tells him. He folds his hands together in his lap, and smiles with a serene, unassuming twist of his lips.

The trinkets in Miyuki’s shop whir faintly; the brass ornament on his countertop spins in place and sends tiny flickers of light across the dusty room. With the dimmed corners of the shop swallowing up the faint sunlight that filters through the frosted window, they’re as bright as beacons and twice as useless. Overhead, the wind chime with shards of jade knotted into the end of its tethers sways in the silence.

“Haunted, how?” Miyuki asks. He steeples his fingers together, and returns the smile. He’s always grateful for a mystery.

“There was a death in the family,” Ryousuke explains. “Several weeks ago, perhaps. I noticed a few strange things happening around me, odd things with no natural explanation.”

Miyuki raises an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Ryousuke lifts a hand, and curls his fingers over with each example. “Mirrors cracking when I walked past them. A second shadow, whenever the sun is hidden behind clouds. The sound of another person breathing when I’m waking up,” he pauses, and glances up at the swaying wind chime with a thoughtful expression, “A breeze where there shouldn’t be, inside closed walls.”

The wind chime stills. Ryousuke tilts his head. If Miyuki didn’t know better, he’d say that Ryousuke looked somewhat pleased.

“Alright, a haunting,” Miyuki agrees. The list checks in close enough, as innocuous as it sounds. “I assume you want the spirit gone, then? Is it causing you any problems?”

“Not to me, no,” Ryousuke replies. He examines his hand, where all his fingers save one are tucked into his palm. “I have no issues with the spirit. It’s not harming me.”

“What?” Miyuki pauses, momentarily thrown. “Then why come to me for an exorcism?”

Ryousuke’s smile turns crooked. “Because it’s adamant at hurting everybody else.”

first attempt.

“Kominato-san,” Miyuki interrupts politely. “Please don’t touch the chalk.”

The circle that Ryousuke sits in is a tenuous ring of entrapment; a thin line drawn from bird bone, crushed into a powder and compressed into a stick of chalk for easy use. Now, the chalk rests next to where Miyuki sits cross-legged on the concrete floor, alongside the loose bundle of dried rosemary and twigs from a cherry tree.

Ryousuke draws back, finger coated with the dusty powder. “Are you conducting the ceremony soon?”

“Yes,” Miyuki replies, as he lights a candle and cups the flame. It grows, a thin plume of smoke rising into the air. “I’ll begin.”

He barely gets four words into the supplication before it happens; a whisper brushes past his ear, as soft as someone pressing their lips to his skin. There’s a pause, like a suspended breath, then a crack erupts across the room, loud enough to have Miyuki jump and scramble backwards with a shout.

The flame goes out with a hiss, and casts the small, underground room into darkness.

Fuck, Miyuki thinks, heart racing. “Kominato-san?” he tries. He hides the shiver in his voice with a swallow, as well as he can. “Are you—”

“I’m fine, yes,” Ryousuke calls back. He sounds unperturbed, and through the darkness comes the noise of someone standing up and dusting off their knees. “Your floor, on the other hand, isn’t.”

And when Miyuki manages to turn the electricity back on, and casts an eye over the damage—it’s as plain as day.

An enormous, searing gash through the concrete, with jagged edges that all but warns Miyuki, leave me alone.

third attempt.

“Drink this,” Miyuki says, as he hands Ryousuke a copper bowl.

The fluid inside is clear and pristine, aside from the telltale oiliness of multiple prayers and blessings. It clings to the edges, a thin veneer of slick that gleams under the low light of Miyuki’s shop. Blessed water should at least numb the spirit possessing Ryousuke, if not soothe it into slumber altogether. Miyuki was reckless, earlier. While it irks him to utilise a guarantee, given that blessed water is little more than a crutch at best—after the first disastrous attempt, he’s learned to be more wary.

Ryousuke takes the bowl from him. His bare hands make contact with Miyuki’s fingers, and Miyuki feels that atmosphere of malevolence congeal thickly in the air. “It really doesn’t like me, does it?” he observes, amused.

“You’re trying to disconnect it from me,” Ryousuke answers. He dips a finger into the fluid, as if testing it. “Of course it doesn’t like you.”

He raises the bowl to his lips, and tips it back.

Miyuki watches the bob of his throat as he swallows, and is only faintly relieved to feel the thickness in the air dissipating. It should be relatively simple now; he’ll redraw the circle, and refresh his supply of rosemary—

Ryousuke lowers the bowl. There’s bright crimson at the corner of his lips, staining his teeth—Miyuki flicks his gaze down, and the edge of the copper bowl is lined with the same shockingly vivid shade. It’s blood.

One deep inhale, and that sweet, acrid scent filters through his nostrils.

He stares for too long; Ryousuke swipes a thumb over the corner of his mouth and examines the residue. “I thought it tasted strange,” he says. “A little too sweet. Like sugared water.”

Miyuki takes the bowl back, and sets it aside.

The second attempt at the ceremony blows out the lenses of his glasses, leaving shattered glass on the floor and transparent dust settling on his nose. He runs one finger along the edge of the cooper bowl, and licks the red fluid off his finger.

His guess was right; it tastes like blood.

fifth attempt.

On the fifth attempt, Miyuki invokes a spirit from the nether realm; an old god from the underworld, powerful enough to incinerate the skinned offering on the plate before them almost instanteously. Ryousuke sits in front of the makeshift altar, and doesn’t flinch when blue-green flames burst to life in front of him.

For a split second, Miyuki feels that rush of power: energy thrumming through his veins as though his body were a conduit, and the thrill of command were simple electricity. This will work, it has to work—

Then he’s on his hands and knees, curled over and retching onto the concrete. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and nausea swamps him like a rising tide. The sensation swoops through him, once, twice, building until he’s vomiting bile and gasping through barely suppressed sobs.

Jesus, fuck, he thinks through the daze of pain, clenching in his gut. He glances up through blurred vision, to see Ryousuke standing above him like a heralding angel.

He sees it then—a second shadow, cast onto the back wall by the candles flickering around the altar. It’s dark, a pitch-black figure next to Ryousuke’s own shadow which has been scattered by the multiple sources of light.

The figure wavers like a heat haze.

“Fuck,” Miyuki croaks out loud, when he trusts himself to speak without emptying the contents of his stomach again. He curls his hands into fists, willing the nausea away. “That was—fuck.”

“I think,” Ryousuke says after a moment, sounding contemplative. “You’re just making it angry.”

sixth attempt.

Miyuki conducts his research this time.

“No,” Ryousuke tells him. He sits in the one rickety chair of Miyuki’s shop, fingers drumming into the wooden arm, pock-marked with dents. “I never see the spirit’s face.”

The clearest glimpse Miyuki had caught was when Ryousuke had passed by the old mirror he keeps in the attic. An dusty relic, framed in an oval border of lacquered oak; it had cracked, fine lines spreading across the surface like fingers stretching out over ice. He’d seen the reflection of one eye, pale and staring, before it disappeared to reflect the cramped attic space again.

“You said it hurts others,” Miyuki says. “How? When?”

“Anyone who gets close to me,” Ryousuke answers. He leans back in his chair with a considering expression. “Physically, that is. People who touch me usually refuse to do so a second time, saying that it makes them feel ill. I brought home a partner once, and they woke up choking, bedsheets twisted around their neck.” He smiles, narrowed eyes lending him an unreadable look. “They thought I did it.”

Miyuki decides not to reply with, I wouldn’t exactly put it past you—even if the knowing expression on Ryousuke’s face invites it. “Who was it that died?” he asks, changing tack. “Were you close?”

Ryousuke props his elbow up on the chair's arm, and rests his chin on his upturned hand. “My younger brother,” he replies, in a voice as light as always. “More so than I thought, perhaps.”

The next exorcism sees Miyuki bind Ryousuke in rope, each twisted paper knotted into its length containing a prayer. His hands, tied together and to his chest, where the prayers concentrate over his heart. Ryousuke sits patiently, as Miyuki finishes outlining a circle of chalk, this time with symbols three times as elaborate as the first attempt. His eyes gleam, watching Miyuki work around him.

Miyuki recites a passage from one of his oldest books, a leather tome with smudged ink, and gets halfway through when the tome explodes in his hands. The rope encircling Ryousuke crumbles away, and Miyuki is left coughing wretchedly as fine dust settles into his lungs and dries his throat to burning.

This isn’t working, he thinks, and feels the thrill twisting warm and heavy in his gut.

ninth attempt.

Water sloshes over the edge of the bathtub, as Ryousuke struggles. His hands are like iron, gripping Miyuki’s wrists until it feels like his bones might grind together, but Miyuki holds him down below the water until he feels the instinctive struggle lessen. He needs to push Ryousuke to near death, cross him over the line of the living to untangle him from death’s edge—it’s a theory he’s turned to out minor desperation, and Ryousuke agreed. Out of curiosity or confidence, Miyuki isn’t entirely sure.

The surface of the water is too choppy to make out anything clear, but his heart skips a beat when he thinks he sees the flicker of a reflection.

A near facsimile of Ryousuke, down to the pink hair and thin, pale lips.

It’s enough to startle him, and his grip loosen momentarily. He realises his mistake too late, when he feels an hard impact to the back of his head, shoving him into the bathtub. His face is forced underwater, and he’s too dazed and confused from the shift in gravity to react—he inhales on impulse, and chokes. Struggling is useless, the force weighing down on his head too heavy to shift, and he begins to think, oh shit—then fingers wrench through his hair, yanking him up—

“—don’t drown before you finish the job,” he hears, in a tone mild and breathless, but he’s too busy sucking air into his own lungs to retort.

Miyuki spends a good few minutes sprawled on the bathroom floor, heaving rapid, hiccupy breaths. His heart is pounding, a thousand miles an hour.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” Ryousuke asks. He sounds amused and altogether too calm for someone still sitting in the bathtub where he’d nearly been drowned. Water trickles from his hair, down to rejoin the main body of water lapping around his waist.

“Nope,” Miyuki wheezes, through stuttered lungfuls of air. He bares his teeth into a grin, and manages to keep them from chattering. “Just one of my winning traits, I’ve been told. Can’t resist a challenge.”

“Oddly enough,” Ryousuke says, sounding distant. “Neither could Haruichi.”

tenth attempt.

When Miyuki is flung against the wall so hard that he ends up winded and concussed so that he has to lean against the countertop to regain his balance: he decides it’s high time to call it quits.

He touches the back of his head gingerly—there’ll be a lump there tomorrow, but his hand comes away with only sweat on his fingers so the damage, he hopes, is mild.

On the other side of the room, Ryousuke stands up from sitting in seiza. The altar in front of him remains unchanged. Plumes of incense smoke rise on either side, and the offering of soup and packaged sweets are untouched. Attempting to appease Haruichi’s spirit, is apparently as futile as attempting to exorcise it by force.

“I give up,” Miyuki says, when Ryousuke turns to him. He says it quickly, before he can change his mind, and feels regret twinge on the heels of his words.

He gets a raised eyebrow in reply, but Ryousuke doesn’t sound too surprised when he agrees, “I was wondering when you would.”

“You were useless,” Ryousuke tells him pleasantly, and Miyuki winces.

They’re back in the front shop, with the same gaudy ornaments and relics that Miyuki keeps on display. In the end, it’s safe to say that all of his efforts have gone to waste, and while the words have no real bite—his pride still stings. The wind chime is swaying again, jade shards clinking together. It feels like a victory breeze, and Miyuki is on the wrong side of it. “I won’t be charging you,” he says instead, and tries to appear apologetic.

“I certainly hope not,” Ryousuke says, snorting. “You’ve wasted my time.”

Miyuki allows himself a smile, even if it is strained at the corners. “I doubt you’re in any immediate danger,” he says. “Your brother is—” possessive, perhaps, or jealous, or maybe even astoundingly violent, “—persistent.”

“He’s always known what he wants,” Ryousuke replies. A wry smile grows on his face. “Even in death, he’s still chasing me. Persistent, is a good word.”

He takes one step forward, and Miyuki stiffens. It’s strange to realise that Ryousuke only comes up to his chin—he has enough presence for two, enough force of will to seem twice as large, and the air of disquiet sets Miyuki’s nerves on edge. This close, Miyuki isn’t sure whether to back away or stand his ground, and he’s not sure that either of them is a good option in the moment.

“Thank you, Miyuki Kazuya,” Ryousuke breathes, and he’s close enough for his voice to send tingles down Miyuki’s spine, “We won’t be seeing you again.”

There’s a flash, a fleeting shadow and the sensation of being regarded by a wide-eyed stare—then it’s gone.

Ryousuke strides out of his shop without a backward glance and Miyuki exhales, loudly.

Edited 2016-05-29 18:27 (UTC)

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Bonus Round 1: Memory

PROMPT: TEAM MIYUKI KAZUYA/MIYUKI KAZUYA

FILL: Team Miyuki Kazuya/Narumiya Mei, M