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sportsanime2016-07-07 08:59 pm
referees) wrote in sportsanime2016-07-07 08:59 pm
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Bonus Round 4: Quotes
A shipping olympics favorite, this round uses quotes of all sorts to fuel your creative endeavors.
This round is CLOSED as of 7PM on July 21 EDT. Late fills may be posted, but they will not receive points.
RULES
- Submit prompts by commenting to this post with a quote attributed to a specific person or character, along with any ship/ot3/etc. from one of our nominated fandoms.
- Example: "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - M. Gandhi
- The quote can come from anywhere. Famous people, poetry, songs, books, movies, your neighbor, etc.
- 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., Makoto & Rin). Non-platonic relationships use "/" (e.g., Makoto/Rin). Please don't say "Any pairing," either!
FORMAT
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)
Format your comment in one of the following ways:
| If PROMPTING: | If FILLING: | If FILLING as a TEAM GRANDSTAND participant: |
PROMPT: TEAM [YOUR SHIP]
| FILL: TEAM [YOUR SHIP], [RATING]
| FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, [RATING]
|
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.
SCORING
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)
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.
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!
FILL: Team Grandstand, T
words: 1005
AO3
Tanba woke to the click-p-p-ping! of the toaster on the kitchen counter. He tried to lift his head but fell back onto the couch armrest. He felt like a—a dark cinema, unlit, curtains closed. Staircases pinpricked with exit lights like glimmering eyes, and the projector still running its silvery, murmuring film.
“Nao? Naoyuki?” he mumbled, arms restrained by one or two layers of blankets. He remembered, more distinctly than he remembered falling asleep or waking up, the day Nao brought the toaster home: how Chris had deliberately blocked the entryway and said, Don’t we already have a toaster oven? And Nao’s expression when Chris kept intercepting him—Get a clue, Takigawa. A toaster oven is an Oven, this is a Toaster.
If you say so.
I do say so.
You know, it looks like the Brave Little Toaster.
The what?
Chris hadn’t batted a lash. Get a clue, Zaizen. (Oh, fuck off, Chris.) It’s an American children’s cartoon. Want to watch?
What.
And Tanba, staring at them both, had said, Sure, let’s watch. We’ll need subtitles, though.
“Hey, buddy.” Nao snapped his fingers somewhere above Tanba’s head. Not quite ready to greet the morning, Tanba burrowed deeper into the blankets. Nao’s scratchy voice grew soft and low. “What’s going on in that shiny egg of yours...?”
“The Brave Little Toaster,” said Tanba, who startled when Chris responded with laughter. “Hi, Chris.”
“Hello,” Chris returned. “The Brave Little Toaster, huh.”
Tanba sat up, disoriented. He could handle Nao or Chris; Nao and Chris meant trouble. “I was thinking about how we got the toaster...”
“A fan-fuckin’-tastic sale, that’s how,” said Nao. He was a diehard fan of expletives before noon and after five. The toaster popped again, and Chris twitched. Heading back into the kitchen, Nao grinned a very nasty grin. “Forgot I had something in there. Scared ya?”
While Nao had his back turned, Chris filched a slice of toast from Nao’s plate.
“Was that yours?” said Chris, unconcerned, to Nao’s even nastier grin, which promised vengeance. “I’m sorry. I thought you were making breakfast for everyone.”
“Be nice,” Tanba yawned. “No food fights, at least.” Chris nodded; Nao scoffed. Tanba wasn’t sure he’d ever understand what lay between Chris and Nao, that tightrope of tension, but perhaps they liked to cut their teeth on each other, push each other around. Play a little mean.
His body a bit too heavy, Tanba staggered to the sink and filled himself a glass of water. A droplet beaded on the rim. More thoughts, swimming up at him through the bright sunlight splintering over the cup: the physics of a good forkball, need a new kitchen curtain... and then the gossamer of years so distant that they felt as if they belonged to someone else or a dream. The Koushien qualifiers. Chris squatting in the bullpen, eyes hot and dark behind the catcher’s mask. Even further than that, Nao throwing pitch after perfect pitch, balanced elegantly on one leg.
More recently, Tanba had caught Chris and Nao kissing in the bathroom, stepping on each other’s feet. I can’t make out and waltz at the same goddamn time, Takigawa, pick one!
Today, Chris was wearing Tanba’s jersey from the minor leagues. And Nao was naked but for a pair of Superman boxers, his orthopedist’s badge on its lanyard, dangling from a chair. Tanba blinked and found both of their gazes on him. “Uh. Did I miss something?”
“Feelin’ okay?” said Nao instead, mouth twisted. Not in anxiety or anger; it was just a shrewd, slanted look of interest. Classic Nao, as certain and constant as soda fizz in an eight-ounce Cola or the curse on the Hanshin Tigers.
“Just a bit slow,” said Tanba, slightly confused. “Neck cramp. Why, what’s wrong?”
“We shouldn’t have left him on the couch,” said Chris, not low enough.
“You wanna try picking him up without waking him next time, champ?”
Tanba laughed, hard, in disbelief. Then he cleared his throat. “As the tallest in this apartment, I object strenuously to being picked up.”
Nao shot Chris a triumphant look. “Hear that? That’s the sound of me being right.”
“I won’t drop you,” Chris told Tanba.
“You will drop me,” said Tanba.
“You’re not doing it right, Chris, you unperceptive crab,” Nao interjected.
“Crab?” Tanba asked.
“It’s the catcher’s crouch,” Chris answered. “He thinks it’s reminiscent of crustaceans.”
Nao ignored Chris and addressed Tanba: “Look, if I picked you up, I’d drop you less of a distance ‘cause I’m shorter. Less to worry about.”
“Truly,” said Chris, with a generous helping of disdain. “Let me show—”
“You’re not allowed to finish that sentence,” Tanba warned, though he smiled anyway. Chris padded up behind Tanba, resting his forehead against Tanba’s shoulderblades.
Nao cackled. “Relax, Chris’s just messing around.”
“We’re just messing around,” Chris corrected. He pressed his warm mouth to the nape of Tanba’s neck, and Tanba felt the skin under Chris’s lips and stubbled chin prickle into gooseflesh.
“Death of me,” Tanba complained. “The two of you.”
He reached for Nao’s stack of toast, noting Nao’s distinct lack of protest. It was no longer strange to find himself sandwiched between Nao and Chris, both of whom he had, at different times, envied and despised and idolized and wished fervently to become. Both of whom he loved, now, with a not dissimilar fervor. He thought they might have all once had a wound, and to close it they’d stitched themselves together.
“No better death,” said Chris, waxing poetic.
The toaster popped a third time. The muscles in Chris’s forearm jumped under Tanba’s palm—an odd, slippery sensation, like skipping stones over a sleeve of water—and Chris sighed.
Tanba suppressed a laugh, but Nao knew. The tilt of his head was smug and defiant and careless. Of all the happy accidents that populated the earth, few had the potential to be more wonderful than what they had.
“I dunno, Chris,” said Nao. “But between me and the toaster, I think you’re a goner.”
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