referees: (saso 2016)
SASO Referees ([personal profile] referees) wrote in [community profile] sportsanime2016-06-09 08:58 pm
Entry tags:

Bonus Round 2: Images

Bonus Round 2: Images

Back by popular demand, this round uses official canon artwork as fodder for speculation and extrapolation.
Please read the rules carefully before posting!

This round is CLOSED as of 7PM on June 23 EDT. Late fills may be posted, but they will not receive points.

  • Submit prompts in the form of a canon screencap from one of our nominated fandoms along with a ship. Screencaps can be from the anime or manga, as well as any other kind of offshoot media, e.g. official art, drama CD covers, light novel illustrations, magazine covers, photos from stage plays, and/or caps from games.
    • Doujinshi, fan-made games or any other fan-created work should not be prompted, even if you receive permission. Only prompt official, canon artwork.
    • Keep your prompt concise. Don't prompt a whole manga chapter, for example.
    • Your prompt MUST include some kind of relationship. Platonic relationships are indicated by an "&" between the names (e.g., Abe & Tajima). Non-platonic relationships use "/" (e.g., Abe/Tajima). Please don't say "Any pairing," either!
    • Upload the cap somewhere (imgur works well) and post here with the images themselves or a link to them. Including a text-only summary of the image is encouraged.
  • Fill prompts by leaving a responding comment to the prompt with your newly-created work inspired by the cap.
    • Fills can be directly connected to the cap, e.g. panel redraws or writing fic that fleshes out the moment that was capped or that fleshes out what happened directly before/after, but fills can also be more indirectly linked. As long as the work is somehow inspired by the cap, it counts.
    • Fills that are too long to fit in a single comment should have the rest of the fill placed as replies to the original fill comment. The subjects of these extra comments should be something like "part 2 of X" or "continued."
  • Remember to follow the general bonus round rules, outlined here.

Bonus round shenanigans all happen in the comments below. Brand-new works only, please.

Required Work Minimums:
  • 400 words (prose)
  • 400px by 400px (art)
  • 14 lines (poetry)
There is no max work cap.

Format your comment in one of the following ways:

  • Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to, including Grandstand or Sports Teams
  • 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
  • Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to
  • Replace RATING with the rating of your fill (G - E)
  • Place applicable major content tags and word count before your fill (when applicable)
  • NSFW FILLS: Please cross-link these fills and use clear tags in your comment. Written/text fills should be hosted at AO3 ONLY as a new, unchaptered work. 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
  • Replace RATING with the rating of your fill, G - E, as explained in the rules
  • 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 as a new, unchaptered work. 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

Posts not using this format will be understood to be unofficial discussion posts, regardless of what they contain. They, like all comments in this community, are subject to the code of conduct.

These numbers apply to your team as a whole, not each individual teammate. Make as many prompts/fills as you want!

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

For fills:

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.

If you're hunting through the prompts looking for what to fill, a good trick is to view top-level comments only.

Have a question? Check The FAQ first. If you still need help, feel free to contact the mods. Happy fanworking!
catlarks: (SASO: Cards)


[personal profile] catlarks 2016-06-23 04:04 pm (UTC)(link)
tags: mild violence, maybe; sci-fi AU
Word Count: 1,144

The readouts at the edge of Oikawa's vision are all flashing red, visual warning bells signaling that he's nearing the end of what he can take. The ache of his muscles is very real but the battlefield is not; the virtual training grounds stretch off to his either side, featureless and black, interrupted only by the arena where Oikawa stands.

They're fighting hand to hand; he ought to know as well as a computer where his limits really lie.

He blocks Kageyama's next strike, ducks around him, swings back up at his right side to toss a blow in counter. They're practiced movements, patterns of strikes and blocks, of counters and evasions, quick motions of their hands as they duck in and out of each other's sphere of personal space. Kageyama has lovely hands ā€” Oikawa noticed as much during the one contest they'd had before, when Kageyama was first accepted into the program.

Kageyama is quicker now, and sure, flowing through the drills with perfect form. It's only Oikawa's diligence, the way he's hammered each of these movements into muscle memory through repetition after repetition after repetition, that allows him to keep up. His vitals hover before his eyes, red and blinking numbers that insist to him, you're falling a step behind.

The computer keeps count, pitiless and deadly accurate, of every point, every strike, every touch they each make.

Oikawa keeps his own count: of every touch he misses, every point he loses, every time he is the one who was just a breath too slow. Kageyama is constantly in his face, eyes narrowed in concentration, moving as beautifully as a simulation. Those other readouts hover over him in yellow and blue, flashing at Oikawa, giving him clues. He hisses between his teeth because those numbers are only a tool; it is his brain that must pick up the slack.

The count hits due, Kageyama's fingers around his wrist, the blade of his opposing hand against Oikawa's gut, and the entire simulation cuts out around him as if the power had been disconnected.

Oikawa's open eyes twitch in their sockets; the vision of the training grounds that's been fed directly into his brain gives way to the earthly reality fading in around him. The VR capsule he's standing in is slick and sterile, a mess of monitors set into blue and white polycarbonate walls, mass-produced and sectioned together. He's covered in cables, all manner of hookups connected to a myriad of monitoring equipment. It barely registers.

He'd been losing ground for minutes already and yet it takes a long, long moment for it to sink in that, he's lost.

Oikawa wrote half the book on the program's virtual reality procedures, picking them apart from the inside and rebuilding them into something cleaner, smarter, more efficient in how it taught inductees to think and react. Physical training is one thing, but the body wears out easily. It runs down, gets winded, goes breathless. It takes it so long to imprint drills into its muscles, to sink those techniques into one's bones.

Virtual reality is cleverer. The body goes longer, farther, everything coming down to mental strain. Long after muscles and nerves might give out from the exertion, the brain keeps going, fights for as long as it can.

Oikawa didn't need virtual reality to figure that much out.

He rips the sensors off to the sound of little pops when the connections break free of his skin. They dangle from the walls, secure in their moorings; the heart monitor he chucks onto the capsule's slim, polycarbonate shelf. The main cable comes last: Oikawa reaches around the back of his neck and jerks it out of the port in one swift motion, light blossoming behind his eyelids as the computer forcibly disconnects from his brain.

He's a little unsteady as he pushes out of the capsule. He covers it up, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one smooth sweep of his fingers, slapping himself on both cheeks to ground himself again in physical reality. There's sweat on his face, much as most of the exertion was mental. He ignores that, too.

Kageyama steps out of his side of the chamber looking far too pleased with himself, if Oikawa is any judge of the matter.

"Tobio," he says, making his voice come out even and sure.

He can't quite force the smile to rise to his lips, foregoing the usual flippant twist of his mouth that he wears as a mask, a camouflage. His lips twist down instead, disobeying his needs and contorting into a far less pleasant, sour look.

"Oikawa," he's greeted in turn. Thankfully, Kageyama remembers his manners and affords Oikawa the respectful nod of his head which Oikawa's rank deserves.

He is still Kageyama's senior, still has a leg up on him in the grand scheme of things. Part of him wonders, for how much longer will he hold onto that advantage? Will his contributions to the program secure his authority, or will that give way before a level of skill that's still forming, growing, that somewhere deep in his gut, he questions his ability to counter or exceed?

"Don't be too pleased with yourself," he tells Kageyama. "That's only your first victory against me."

Kageyama shrugs his shoulders, a gesture that might appear careless, if not for the too-intent way his eyes focus on Oikawa's face. The joy of victory is still written into his features, with adrenaline pumping through his veins and keeping his energy up, his eyes bright, his cheeks faintly flushed. The sweat on Oikawa's brow has cooled to a clammy dampness; all of his energy fed into the rigidly-held lines of his limbs as he keeps his chin raised.

"I'm not," Kageyama says. "I'm thinking about what I can do better next time."

That's the absolute worst part of it ā€” the fact that Kageyama isn't cocky or overconfident. He's careful and studious, devoted to the improvement of his techniques and more than willing to work hard. He couples talent with determination in the worst possible way, leaving Oikawa no choice but to keep his own training on the same brutal track.

"Who says there's going to be a next time?" Oikawa asks, with a careless little laugh. "You assume too much, Tobio."

"Iā€”" Kageyama starts to say, his brows wrinkling in confusion, then drawing down with anger. "Of course there will be a next time. You're the best in the program. There's no one else I want to face more."

Oikawa pretends, badly, that the flattery means nothing to him. "Guess you'll have to keep working hard then, Tobio! Because I am the best, and I only take matches against the best. I hope that you stay good enough!"

Judging by the look on Kageyama's face, that much Oikawa hardly needs to worry about.