Ship: Oikawa/Kageyama Fandom: Haikyuu!! Major Tags: Emotional Manipulation (maybe), Body Horror (in author's notes) Other Tags: middle school Oikawa is a jerk Square: Eighth Circle (Fraud) Word Count: 59 lines
Bolgia Nine: Sinners who, in life, promoted scandals, schism, and discord are punished here; particularly those who caused schism within the church or within politics. They are forced to walk around the circumference of the circle bearing horrible, disfiguring wounds inflicted on them by a great demon with a sword. The nature of the wound mirrors the sins of the particular soul; while some only have gashes, or fingers and toes cut off, others are decapitated, cut in half (as schismatics), or are completely disemboweled.
***
There were three of them to start out with, all huddled together near the white back line; nearly the same face, each black-haired and tall
and eager to get started-- to spike, shine among their teammates, and prove their raw worth, but; one, he could tell, had a setter's mind.
This kid had certain genius to unearth; could understand the game, its strategy; was fast, intuitive, and so brought forth
the worst of Oikawa's savagery (the quiet kind, the kind he used up slow), so, in addition to his captaincy,
began campaigns to deal a killing blow. Dear Tobio-chan just didn't understand. Anyone could tell he didn't know
how to talk to people; tact be damned, his simple mind made blunt strokes of his words and even comments that he gave offhand
were sometimes cringe-worthy once heard. This was somewhere viable to start to cleave away from their trio one third.
He gagged to think he'd have a heart-to-heart with the kid, but what else was going to work? And so when he wheeled over the ball cart
Oikawa pulled him aside. A smirk danced across his face as he said "We surely have some plays we must rework!
And what's been going through your thick, thick head? I see you watching them, and watching you I know you see their footwork and instead
think of what they could be if they just knew a better, stronger way to play the game. Why not tell them, Tobio-chan? I always do."
(He never did. Now, really, who's to blame? The one who gives the bad advice, or takes?) And so began the forging of his name,
he festers, spoils, and soon his smile breaks with fragile friendships, too. His arrogance and sharp demands bereft of praises shape
the next two years. He'll learn. Pure excellence does not a leader make. Later, sent by Seijou's coach and perhaps some petulance,
Oikawa, big fish, swims among the fry, sits in the stands and sees the toss, its fall, the echoed bounce of teamwork gone awry,
and Tobio-chan sits down after coach's call a towel over his head so he could cry and really, perhaps there was no team at all
and Oikawa cannot figure why; he'd only sought to cleave one from the pack but doing so sent the whole team to die.
And as he stares at his kouhai's bent back, imagines Iwa-chan dropping his toss, some part of him feels like it's grown a crack,
a fracture somewhere sharp and deep. The loss stings, even though he's long removed from them. To see him fail does not seem worth its cost.
His kouhai wipes his eyes; his chest sinks, grim. This must be what it's like to lose a limb.
Fill: Team Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, B3, G
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: Emotional Manipulation (maybe), Body Horror (in author's notes)
Other Tags: middle school Oikawa is a jerk
Square: Eighth Circle (Fraud)
Word Count: 59 lines
Bolgia Nine: Sinners who, in life, promoted scandals, schism, and discord are punished here; particularly those who caused schism within the church or within politics. They are forced to walk around the circumference of the circle bearing horrible, disfiguring wounds inflicted on them by a great demon with a sword. The nature of the wound mirrors the sins of the particular soul; while some only have gashes, or fingers and toes cut off, others are decapitated, cut in half (as schismatics), or are completely disemboweled.
***
There were three of them to start out with, all
huddled together near the white back line;
nearly the same face, each black-haired and tall
and eager to get started-- to spike, shine
among their teammates, and prove their raw worth,
but; one, he could tell, had a setter's mind.
This kid had certain genius to unearth;
could understand the game, its strategy;
was fast, intuitive, and so brought forth
the worst of Oikawa's savagery
(the quiet kind, the kind he used up slow),
so, in addition to his captaincy,
began campaigns to deal a killing blow.
Dear Tobio-chan just didn't understand.
Anyone could tell he didn't know
how to talk to people; tact be damned,
his simple mind made blunt strokes of his words
and even comments that he gave offhand
were sometimes cringe-worthy once heard.
This was somewhere viable to start
to cleave away from their trio one third.
He gagged to think he'd have a heart-to-heart
with the kid, but what else was going to work?
And so when he wheeled over the ball cart
Oikawa pulled him aside. A smirk
danced across his face as he said
"We surely have some plays we must rework!
And what's been going through your thick, thick head?
I see you watching them, and watching you
I know you see their footwork and instead
think of what they could be if they just knew
a better, stronger way to play the game.
Why not tell them, Tobio-chan? I always do."
(He never did. Now, really, who's to blame?
The one who gives the bad advice, or takes?)
And so began the forging of his name,
he festers, spoils, and soon his smile breaks
with fragile friendships, too. His arrogance
and sharp demands bereft of praises shape
the next two years. He'll learn. Pure excellence
does not a leader make. Later, sent by
Seijou's coach and perhaps some petulance,
Oikawa, big fish, swims among the fry,
sits in the stands and sees the toss, its fall,
the echoed bounce of teamwork gone awry,
and Tobio-chan sits down after coach's call
a towel over his head so he could cry
and really, perhaps there was no team at all
and Oikawa cannot figure why;
he'd only sought to cleave one from the pack
but doing so sent the whole team to die.
And as he stares at his kouhai's bent back,
imagines Iwa-chan dropping his toss,
some part of him feels like it's grown a crack,
a fracture somewhere sharp and deep. The loss
stings, even though he's long removed from them.
To see him fail does not seem worth its cost.
His kouhai wipes his eyes; his chest sinks, grim.
This must be what it's like to lose a limb.