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sportsanime2017-06-11 06:56 pm
referees) wrote in sportsanime2017-06-11 06:56 pm
Entry tags:
Bonus Round 2: Tic-Tac-Toe
Please read this whole post before commenting to ensure that your team gets the most points possible. There's a lot of text here, but if you read carefully and follow the instructions step by step, you will be okay.
RULES
Please refer to the first comment thread of this post for an example of how this round works.PROMPTING
- Select a ship to create your prompt card about. Platonic relationships are indicated by an "&" between the names (e.g., Haruki & Kazuma). Non-platonic relationships use "/" (e.g., Haruki/Kazuma). Please don't say "Any pairing," either!
- Visit this card generator.
- Here is a visual guide to using it.
- The large text box is where you can list prompts if you have your own ideas. Please list at least 9 prompts; you can list more if you want. (The generator says you need at least 24, but it's lying.) Single words or short phrases are better than sentences.
- Otherwise, you can use the dropdown menu found right below it. Note: some of these prompts lists are NSFW. (NSFW prompts are a-ok as long as you tag for it.) If you don't like some of the options that appear in a prompt list, you can delete them.
- Text prompts only, please. Also, each card square must be unique—don't list the same prompt 9 times.
- In "Configuration Options," make sure you select 3x3 and (Normal prompt). This is the most important step!
- Leave the tic-tac-toe card with its default colors, so everyone can read it clearly.
- Click the "Create a bingo card" button.
- Scroll down to see the card that was created for you. If you don't like the prompts it picked, you can reroll by clicking "Create a bingo card" again.
- When you're satisfied, scroll further down the page until you see a textarea box full of HTML.
- Copy and paste the HTML from the box and into the body of your prompt comment, then post!
FILLING
Fill prompts by selecting an individual square to create fanwork for, then leaving a responding comment to the prompt with your newly-created work. (Optional:) If you can fill three squares from a prompt in a horizontal, vertical, or diagonal line, you get a tic-tac-toe (and an additional point bonus)! You can also just fill prompts as you please and get standard points.
- Prompt squares are labeled as follows:
A1 B1 C1 A2 B2 C2 A3 B3 C3 - If you're trying for tic-tac-toe, you cannot combine squares into one fill. If your fill can satisfy multiple squares, pick the most relevant square: e.g., one square is sailing and another is pirates and you make a fill about pirates sailing, it's mostly pirates so put down the pirates square.
- Each fill must stand alone as an individual piece, but all your fills can slot into a larger universe if you'd like.
- You cannot fill a prompt square more than once, but you can fill every square on a tic tac toe card if you want to.
- You cannot work with your teammates to get a tic-tac-toe. Only individually achieved tic-tac-toes get the bonus.
- Multiple people can fill the same prompt square. You cannot "block" others from getting tic-tac-toe.
- Remember to also follow the general bonus round rules, outlined here.
- Here is a prompt/fill index for your convenience.
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/images)
- 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], [SQUARE], [RATING]
| FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, [SQUARE], [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.
If you see anyone breaking the code of conduct (e.g., causing drama, being rude) anywhere (not just DW), please contact the mods immediately.
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 for each tic-tac-toe card (maximum of 50 prompt points per team per round)
For fills:First 4 fills by any member of your team: 20 points each
Fills 5-10: 15 points each
Fills 11-20: 5 points each
Fills 21-50: 2 points each
Fills 51+: 1 point each
Tic-tac-toe Bonus: 2 points each for the first 12 achieved by your team
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 (see the line of links below this post).Have a question? Check The FAQ first. If you still need help, feel free to contact the mods. Happy fanworking!
PROMPT: TEAM GRANDSTAND
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: none.
Other Tags: "centuries" by fob edition, extremely obvious bait
Prompt:
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B2, G
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: remember me for centuries
Word Count: 430
Note: listen this song was used for nhl playoff promo so i had to do hockey au
***
Daiki’s laugh is bright and unforced; he nudges Tatsuya with his elbow and under the table their bare knees knock together. Tatsuya uncurls his finger against Daiki’s thigh; it doesn’t yield at all beneath his shorts (even in the deepest part of summer it only gives ever-so-slightly and Tatsuya has to try).
“Centuries, huh? How many years is it before they remove the ring?”
(Tatsuya had known, once; he’d been able to recite the number of years until they put on a new one and how far back the current one goes but he’d just been a hockey-nut kid dreaming of the Ducks’ next win, and maybe that’s pretty close to what he is now but only in facetiously-broad ways.)
“I think it’s less than a hundred,” says Tatsuya. “But that just means we have to win every year from now on.”
“That’s a tall order,” says the reporter.
Tatsuya smiles, camera-ready; he waits for the shutters to slow and then turns his face toward Daiki. Daiki’s looking at him, like he’s trying to remember Tatsuya hard enough that eight hundred years from now they’ll dig up his corpse and find that image etched on his brain.
“You’ll get plenty of pictures,” Tatsuya says when the reporters turn, distracted, to their next victims; Daiki crosses his arms over his chest.
The miniature caricature of the Stanley Cup printed on the shoulder of Daiki’s sweatshirt tugs Tatsuya’s eyes over. It’s no substitute for the real thing, only a reminder that they’re four wins away (and four losses from getting set back nearly a hundred games before their next shot), but it’s there. They’re here, as close as the Ducks have been since Tatsuya’s childhood. Daiki’s arms loosen; he drops one to cover Tatsuya’s hand on his thigh, the cracks in his palm fitting around Tatsuya’s knuckles. Tatsuya’s fingers curl into a loose approximation of his grip at the top of a stick; his other hand completes the grip where it rests on the table in response. Daiki’s eyes brush over it and Tatsuya can feel Daiki’s whole body smile.
(He doesn’t need to think too hard about the way Daiki flies on the ice, end-to-end rushes and open-ice hits and dekes between the circles; it goes without saying they’ll remember Daiki for centuries if he never wins the Cup.)
“They’re gonna remember you, too,” says Daiki. “So don’t go thinking.”
Tatsuya snorts, and Daiki taps the C on the chest of his hoodie. It’s a mostly-fair point, and right now Tatsuya’s a little more inclined to believe, so he doesn’t argue.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, A2, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: the bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints
Word Count: 427
***
For an athlete, Himuro’s skin is surprisingly tender. He’s not soft, but his hands are remarkably free of cracks and blisters. He has that mole on his face, a few more across his back, the faintest ghosts of tan lines in the summer (even when he gets a little darker it stays even; maybe that’s got something to do with him playing as the skin to Aomine’s shirt in their one-on-ones when distinction isn’t even necessary but they make it). His cuts heal and the scars fade, receding to the inside. Aomine’s heard him been described as ethereal by some gushing magazine (no, he had not read their drooling profile of Himuro for any purpose; he’d just been bored) and it’s not that much of a stretch.
But, as Aomine’s quickly discovering this summer, he bruises very easily. And those tend to stick around.
They all get a little banged up during the season; Aomine’s noticed the spots like sprinkled dust or the faded green of a dropped potato, the way touching them breaks Himuro’s breath, the few times a year they manage to find themselves in the same city at the same time. But he drops the note onto the floor, a discarded post-it along with all the rest he’ll root through later when he’s feeling low or lonely, Himuro’s hand groping his ass and Himuro’s lips on his neck, Himuro’s voice going low in his throat, his warm weight asleep in Aomine’s arms.
Himuro bangs his elbow on the door frame and swears a storm; Aomine doesn’t think much of it until the next day when the black and purple stands out against the pale of his skin; he doesn’t make much of a connection anywhere (other than to lift it and kiss it, pretend to make it better and make Himuro laugh). But then that night he’s pushing his fingers into Himuro’s thighs, thinking of how to mark him, a bite on his collarbone for when they go to the beach tomorrow, but then his fingers dig in deeper and Himuro hisses.
“That hurt?”
“No,” says Himuro. “Do it again.”
His fingers leave marks, bright red lakes of pressure; he holds them there and squeezes, leaning in to kiss Himuro until he tucks his legs up and wraps them around Aomine and there’s not really enough room to do anything but tumble awkwardly to the bed.
The next day the purple disappears beneath Himuro’s bathing suit as he gets dressed, but Aomine knows they’re there. He’d rather not let anyone else see them, anyway.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, C2, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: as long as there's a light / my shadow's over you
Word Count: 424
***
Daiki doesn’t want to turn on SportsCenter; he knows what he’s going to hear. He’s already seen the Knicks’ highlights, all different angles of Tatsuya’s forty-point night, the ball gliding off his hands and through the air, an off-balance pass transformed into a clean J, his perfect six-for-six at the line. It’s fucking gorgeous, and it’s only adding to Tatsuya’s league lead in points, as early as it is.
And because it’s so early (and Daiki’s the de facto points leader now that Midorima’s gone all defensive-forward) and sportscasters are fucking dumb, they’re all turning toward the camera and asking if anyone can believe Tatsuya’s going to keep this up all year (often pointing out the lackluster competition that dominates the early part of the Knicks’ schedule), or if Daiki’s going to catch him. Always, always, always, Daiki hears his name; even when he tries hard to tune out the English he can’t escape it and his mind tunes itself back in to hear the rest of the comparison, unfair and unwarranted.
Tatsuya’s the kind of guy who pretends to ignore his own press but listens to it all anyway and takes note; if there’s anything Daiki could give to him (other than the reserves of talent and power he craves so much, even though he’s doing just fine without that) it would be to get those guys to fucking shut up about him. Of course Tatsuya doing well makes him want to go out and turn in something better; of course he wants the best competition. But he’s not doing better right now, for whatever combination of reasons, and he doesn’t need to be mentioned here. He’s got the hardware, the points titles. Tatsuya deserves his own spotlight, outside of the shadows.
“I’m sorry,” Daiki says over the phone, leaning forward to press his palm against the wall. “They keep talking about me, and you don’t deserve it.”
“It’s not about what I deserve,” says Tatsuya. “It just reminds me that I can’t let up.”
(Out of anyone in maybe the entire world, he needs that reminder the least.)
“I want it, too,” says Tatsuya, quiet, like he hopes his phone mic won’t pick up on it. “But maybe I need to earn it.”
He’s so fucking stupid; Daiki wants to fly across the country and wrap him in a hug and hold him out for the world that doesn’t deserve him to see. He rubs his eyes; maybe if he blinks hard enough it’ll happen.
“Miss you,” he says.
“Yeah,” says Tatsuya.
FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, A2, M
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: Sexual Content
Additional Tags: None
Square: the bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints
Word Count: 521
***
here
Re: PROMPT: TEAM GRANDSTAND
Re: PROMPT: TEAM GRANDSTAND
i was following playoffs that year i remember those promos lol. HOCKEY AU IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B2, T
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: mentions of death, implied violence, implied sexual content
Other Tags: gladiator!au
Square: remember me for centuries
Word Count: 440
***
There is nothing like the adrenaline of the arena—the sun bearing down on his nape as if it intends for spontaneous combustion, the crowd cheering or jeering in equal measure (depending on who's winning, or how they're winning), the weight of a weapon in his hands as it slices through air, the sound of it cutting deep and hitting bone, and the breath he takes when the gods grant him victory (smelling of metal and sweat, of men exerted to their limits.)
There is nothing like the adrenaline of the area, and not only because he's forgotten everything outside of it.
He'd led a different life, once, raised in a small town among greenery, summer days spent running in the fields and scraping his knees, and evenings spent weeping as his mother tended to his wounds. Mistakenly, he'd assumed that the rest of his life would follow the footsteps of his father, or any path to normalcy; he had never imagined his village being razed to the ground, that he'd ever be taken prisoner and have the crying boy he once was bled out of him.
He never imagined that he'd have the constitution for survival either, not until he's forged out of iron and blood by force.
Years upon years and countless bodies of his opponents piled high later, he's become one of the best warriors to have ever stepped foot within the oval, and were he on a battlefield instead of a stadium they'd be singing songs in his honor. But glory is secondary, next to the thrill in his veins when he's sent out for a match, a man made entirely of sinew and blood lust.
Will this enemy succumb quickly at his hands, or will they put up a mighty fight? And best of all, will he summon a smile out of Tatsuya's lips, sitting high and lofty in the stands?
Because even the adrenaline of the arena is paltry compared to seeing emotion flicker across that marble face, whose gaze he can feel on his skin even from a thousands feet away. My champion, Tatsuya would call him when they're alone in his quarters, their bodies like candle wax, melting into and taking pieces of the other with them when they part.
He has forgotten his old self, as this crowd will forget him when he, too, meets someone of greater strength. But he needs no one to remember him except for the one that sighs his name on those warm nights, Daiki falling out of that mouth as slowly and as luxuriously as a leaf leaps to its death in autumn.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B3, T
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: mentions of death, implied violence, implied sexual content
Other Tags: gladiator!au
Square: you look so pretty but you're gone so soon
Word Count: 513
***
Daiki is a gladiator, for want or need of nothing but victory in the ring. Freedom is a concept he's long relinquished, deemed as something someone like him can never attain. As long as he can fight, as long as he can win, living another day remains an option. Simple pleasures are as much as he's allowed—thirst momentarily quenched, hunger momentarily satiated, or in the winter, cold bones momentarily warmed by fire. Wanting more than what he has is not only discouraged, but dangerous. Give a gladiator something else to live for and they'd start wanting to live, instead of merely exist.
The carnage, the stadium, the triumph; he tells himself he wants nothing else apart from these, and then in walks Tatsuya, reintroducing to Daiki the very idea of desire.
-
He's training, a sword in each hand, facing off against no one in particular. Trust is a rarity, not a currency, in this place, and no one trusts him not to forget himself and take a blade to their jugular the way he's done to countless others, countless times before. It's just him, the sun, the swords, until it isn't any longer.
An unfamiliar gaze settles on his back and he spins around, battle ready, only to find himself looking at the most beautiful person he's ever seen. The stranger is accompanied by his master, and he's appraising Daiki not like he would a jewel or a weapon. It's discomfiting.
"He's one of our best," says Daiki's master, speaking as if he isn't there. He's accustomed to that, but the stranger's gaze is what tears him in two, uncertain if he should stay or run far away.
"I've noticed," says the stranger, who is introduced to him as Tatsuya, a noble searching for a representative in the arena. Tatsuya's eyes travel downwards and then up along Daiki's body, an unreadable smile perched upon his mouth. "He'll do."
With that, he turns and leaves Daiki's mouth drier than a city in drought.
-
Tatsuya intrigues him, but the notion of representing anyone but himself or his master doesn't sit well with Daiki, resistant to being owned by another again. There's only so much of him to go around, though all of this goes unsaid, evident only in the fury of his strikes, the brutal swings of his swords.
He doesn't understand why he should fight for someone else's sake until the day he wins and glances up, past the emperor's approval, past the riotous audience, at Tatsuya's smile, no longer as mysterious as before.
This time, behind the pride and the satisfaction, hunger quietly sits, waiting to be sated. That's what the appraisal had been, everything he wants to do to Daiki (or everything he wants Daiki to do to him) woven into a tapestry of depravity on his face.
And then it's gone, Tatsuya's attention claimed by something or the other, and forget winning, forget living at all.
Give Daiki that smile again, and everything that comes with it. Give him this, and the gods can do to him as they wish.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B1, T
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: character death, violence, sexual content
Other Tags: angst (unhappy ending), gladiator!au
Square: i never meant for you to fix yourself
Word Count: 739
bingo!
***
The first time Tatsuya sees Daiki, it's from a distance. His skin, brown and gleaming under the sun; his movements, swift and merciless; his eyes when he turns to the crowd, as fierce and as cutting as his twin swords. Within Tatsuya's carefully calculated inner wants sprouts one that is unprecedented, a weed among the grain. Having Daiki for his own will do nothing for his status, nor for his ambitions.
And still greed sticks to his ribs, lining the interiors of his heart with it and threatening to cave in the walls unless it's satiated.
-
The second time Tatsuya sees Daiki, Daiki sees him too. It's from closer, now, with him and Daiki's master as his only audience. He's here for a farce, a masquerade—the excuse of wanting a warrior to gamble with, pretending that he has eyes on anyone else. No one would bat an eye at a noble using a gladiator to toy with the stakes, but they would if one expressed the explicit desire to take one for himself.
It's a rare occasion, him doing little to hide said desire on his face as his and Daiki's gazes meet. Daiki may not know of life outside the arena, but he wasn't born yesterday. He ought to know greed when he sees it.
-
The third time Tatsuya sees Daiki, it's from a distance yet again, with Daiki now fighting (and winning) in his name. The fourth and fifth time happen the same way.
-
The sixth time he sees Daiki, it's because he's sought out his quarters, to make certain he's being well-fed, and the like. Daiki is his now, after all, in every way but intimately.
"So this is how you live," he says, glancing around at the sparseness, the simplicity. Daiki watches him, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.
"Forgive me if it's not up to standard, my lord," says Daiki, dryly. Tatsuya matches his wit, saying, "it will do," in an echo of their first encounter. He will let Daiki wonder what he means when he's gone.
-
The seventh time he sees Daiki, it's past midnight, with the city shrouded in shadow. He brings nothing but a candle and a cloak over his head when he knocks on Daiki's door.
"Would you have me?" he says when it's opened, a peach immediately cored. The yes is already all over Daiki's face, but first he asks, "do I have a choice?"
"Of course," says Tatsuya, however it hollows him out to say it. "The contract says you must fight for me, not cater to my every whim."
Daiki listens and says nothing more, does nothing else apart from pull Tatsuya inside, setting the candle aside (to free their hands) and tugging the cloak down (to allow their hands to wander.)
-
Tatsuya loses count of how often he sees Daiki after that.
-
The second to the last time he sees Daiki, it's after he has made powerful enemies because of his status, because of his ambitions. Daiki enters the arena and is faced with three opponents, which has never happened to him before.
The audience cheers, the certainty of bloodshed more important than crowd favorites. Tatsuya watches the fight and tries not to let anyone in on the avalanche in his chest.
-
The last time he sees Daiki, it's after he's spared by the emperor, though not even the emperor's word can keep him alive for very long. Tatsuya makes his way past the other wounded, past the dying, and dirties his robes by kneeling beside Daiki on the ground.
"It's my fault," he says, a confession with his hands clasped around one of Daiki's, warm and slick with red. Daiki grins and his teeth are as bloodied as the rest of him.
"Doesn't matter," he says, bringing Tatsuya's hands to his mouth. He speaks against Tatsuya's skin as he had so many times before this, "I would've fought for you, with or without the contract."
"I never asked for that," says Tatsuya, fury and grief each raging a war inside him. "If you'd withdrawn from the match—"
"Not in your name."
"You chose today, of all days, to be honorable?"
Daiki laughs, but his eyes are wet, his face contorted. "I thought I could take them. I'm your champion."
Tatsuya listens and says nothing more, does nothing more, apart from look at Daiki, taking in his fill, greedy even now, even here.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B3, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: you look so pretty but you're gone so soon
Word Count: 438
more hockey au
***
The knife twists in Daiki’s back, or maybe it’s the extra-sharp blade of a new stick, splintering in his skin. Of all the moves they could have made, they’d traded Tatsuya across the country for little more than a handful of draft picks and a questionable contract. He’s worth way more than fucking that, way more as a hockey player alone (and then there’s the way he is as a captain and a teammate and everything else and it makes even less sense). Daiki drops his phone on the bed, the article still blaring at max brightness in his eyes. Next to him, Tatsuya’s still talking in a low voice to his agent, accommodations and possible extensions (extensions? Why the fuck would he want to stay in Boston? Out of some sort of immediate spite, a fuck-you-I-don’t-want-you to their—Daiki’s, now, just his—shitty GM?) and press conferences and uniform numbers and Daiki wants to be sick.
It’s not about him, though; he leans across Tatsuya’s torso, placing his head at an awkward angle on his neck but his ear right next to Tatsuya’s heart. Tatsuya sighs softly, knotting his fingers in Daiki’s hair, still long from the playoffs (it had taken him a week to shave off the beard and the exit in the conference final still stings like a slapshot to the forearm so he’s not inclined to let go now, even now they’re almost at the draft).
“Yeah,” says Tatsuya. “I’ll find a place when I’m out there. Let me know if you come across any with a waterfront view.”
He hangs up the phone, placing it facedown on his side table, turning the focus of both hands to Daiki’s hair. Daiki closes his eyes; he doesn’t want this twice a year during the season; that hadn’t been the deal (the hockey gods don’t deal fair, though; they don’t take promises even when they give you a good run; at least that’s how the backup goalie Daiki’s first year had described it and he might have had a point).
“Fuck,” Tatsuya says, his voice harder than it had been on the phone (and it feels worse when Daiki recognizes how far Tatsuya’s come with him, how much he lets Daiki in, tones and touches and looks on his face, careful shell peeled away from him, and Daiki wonders if it will slip back on and stick like it’s been fastened with superglue when they’re far away from each other).
“Fuck,” Daiki says in agreement and there’s not much more to say (Tatsuya’s kiss, bruising and brittle, says it all).
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, A1, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: mummified my teenage dreams
Word Count: 552
more hockey au (takes place directly after you look so pretty but you're gone so soon )
***
He’d gotten texts from no less than five (ex-)teammates about how they’d get him back, even if they were followed by “haha see you in the finals” and the weight of the combination, their childish faith (they’d all come up from the A or juniors since he was named captain, and on the list of things that make him feel so fucking old this is at the top, right behind the way his knees creak sometimes and the season feels endless in a not-straight-up-good way and the bruises don’t fade nearly so quick).
Either way, they don’t have him. They have the hotshot eighteen-year-old defenseman (NHL-ready, supposedly) who they’d gotten with the three overall, which makes sense from a hockey perspective (they’ve got a glut at forward, and rolling two and a half lines instead of three when you’ve got an actual top-four on defense is a better strategy), and so does the pick swap and the cap relief the Ducks had given Tatsuya’s new team.
It doesn’t feel like his, the way the Ducks always did. He doesn’t come in with franchise knowledge, the dubious honor and weight of being a top prospect. For the first time in years, there’s no letter on his chest; it’s stupid how empty it feels (this isn’t his team; even if he’s hear for five years it probably won’t feel like it). He laughs and jokes with the media; he tries to fit in on the second line; he goes home to an empty apartment right on Revere Beach and throws his clothes back into the suitcase and thinks about calling Daiki.
Tonight, Daiki calls him first, before he falls asleep deciding, hovering his hand on the screen until it goes dark.
“Hey,” Daiki says, clearing his throat.
“Hey,” says Tatsuya, rolling over on the empty bed.
Daiki doesn’t tell him about the kids making progress in preseason games (Tatsuya catches the highlights and it still hurts less); he doesn’t talk about the (well-deserved) C he wears. Tatsuya doesn’t tell him how shitty and weird he feels, because talking about nothing for a bit makes him feel a little better by the end (he tells himself to let go, before Daiki does, but then Daiki squeezes his hand harder and he doesn’t fucking want to).
They don’t talk about how Tatsuya had finally let his dreams feel real, captain of the only team he’s ever loved, and how he’d plunged those dreams down into the sand (not the sands back home, Zuma or Redondo or Manhattan, but right here in Revere where the sand will meet the snow soon enough) over the summer and they’ve only now stopped struggling, harder to bury than they were to keep back. They don’t talk about the time difference, how the real season’s going to make it hurt more. They try to keep it working, because they’re both too stubborn and it’s too early to quit (but sometime soon it might not be).
Tatsuya closes his eyes, listens to the familiar patter of Daiki’s voice, the traffic in the background flowing in through the open window, the familiar sounds of rush hour he won’t hear until nearly this time next year, and wonders when the hurt won’t sting so sharp.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, A3, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: just one mistake is all it will take
Word Count: 635
more hockey au
***
They lose the cup on a bad bounce. That’s what they say, officially; that’s how it goes down in the papers. It’s easy to blame the moment, but it’s more true to say they shouldn’t have let Florida push them to that point in the first place, that they lost the cup when they let Game Six go to overtime and before that when they’d collapsed in Game Five and couldn’t staunch the bleeding (could have gone in with the three-two lead instead of the deficit), when they’d lost the first and fourth games, when they’d let that first Game Four goal in shorthanded, when they’d taken those shitty penalties and overtaxed their PK, when they’d let Arizona take them to seven games in the first round.
“They played better; we lost,” he says to the press, quiet and displeased; he’s not going to pretend to be nice and calm but he’s not going to let them see how fucking furious he is, how he’d wanted to slug the stupid smirk off their stupid agitator’s face in the handshake line but had smiled at him instead, how he wants to go out and do suicides until he can’t feel his legs or his lungs anymore but the winners are celebrating with the cup on his home ice.
He’s not going to let them see it; he takes a normal shower and puts on a normal suit and his fingers don’t shake and he’s doing a damn good job, he thinks.
Their goalie’s still sitting in his stall; the media are circling him like buzzards and Tatsuya shoos them off. He sits down in the next stall; the goalie looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and his face blotchy. Tatsuya claps him on the shoulder.
“You’ll feel better if you take a shower.”
(Not really, but maybe if he believes he will.)
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
“Sorry we left you out to dry,” Tatsuya says.
He offers a smile, fake enough to show that part through, enough of a hint that he feels like shit, too.
“Just give me a minute.”
Tatsuya obliges, pushing up his sleeves. There aren’t nearly enough things to distract him here, teammates consoling each other or swearing it out, half-drowning in the showers, apologizing to the coaching staff. It fucking hurts everyone.
Daiki drops a wet arm around his shoulder; if Tatsuya felt better he’d say something about the suit but it won’t land right now. Daiki leans against him, all of him still wet from the shower (towels aren’t just something you put on to look half-decent for the reporters, something Daiki doesn’t get after however-many years).
“We’ll go soon.”
“Where?” says Tatsuya.
“Dunno,” says Daiki. “Anywhere.”
He squeezes Tatsuya’s upper arm where he hadn’t even noticed it was tense (all of his body is tense, tired and barely sure it’ll hold itself together if it stops trying at a hundred percent), and as he’s pulling himself away brushes a kiss over the side of Tatsuya’s jaw, right under his beard. Grief is always selfish; it’s very likely no one’s noticed. Tatsuya doesn’t feel like batting him away, anyway; he reaches his hand back and oh-so-accidentally hooks his pinky in the edge of the towel low-slung on Daiki’s hips. He hears it fall before it does; Daiki picks it up and snaps it at him and Tatsuya almost feels a little like laughing for the first time since the game had started.
“Five,” Daiki says. “Then we’re out.”
Tatsuya watches his ass and thighs as he walks away; they’ll never get finer than after a hundred-plus games. He tries not to think about the Cup on the other side of the tunnel, out on the ice, and it’s a little easier than before.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B1, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: i never meant for you to fix yourself
Word Count: 405
more hockey au
***
The stitches are woven, ugly and black, against the tan of Daiki’s skin, a winding line like a snake, like a tattoo on a wrestler only it’s real, the skin closed over itself, fragile on Daiki’s well-muscled arm. Daiki flexes his fingers, wincing.
“It’s not so bad.”
Tatsuya purses his lips; as much bullshit as they both give out (didn’t hit me that hard, I’m okay, that’s only three Advil, it’s a trick of the light not a bruise) Daiki’s just taken another painkiller and it’s not supposed to hurt that much after the surgery, not until he starts working it out and back to form (weeks away). He wants to run his fingertips over the rough line, before the scar forms like a mountain range, light and the wrong kind of shining.
Daiki locks their fingers together, pulling on Tatsuya’s t-shirt near the neckline. Tatsuya obliges, kisses his dry mouth and slightly-lolling tongue. They’re both tired, but only Daiki gets to rest (the reward, if there is one, of injury, Tatsuya supposes).
“C’mere, stay,” says Daiki, because he knows Tatsuya never will.
Tatsuya slides into bed next to him, over the covers, pulling them around Daiki. “Can I get you anything?”
“Hmm,” says Daiki, lazy smile crossing his face.
Tatsuya kisses him again, Daiki’s mouth loose and open like he’s still got his mouth guard in (though there’s no rubber shield between Tatsuya’s tongue and Daiki’s teeth, the roof of his mouth). The painkiller’s definitely kicking in, and Tatsuya has a game to get changed for. Daiki’s probably going to sleep through it, but Tatsuya’s going to play as hard as if he were watching, the same way he will when Daiki’s stuck in the press box in a suit and tie, pretending not to look as restless as he’s going to feel. And still, Tatsuya’s stomach drops when he thinks about playing without Daiki. It’s still hockey; it’s still the purest form of anything, but it’s going to be a whole lot harder and the team will be spun off-kilter, weights on the wrong side of a balance.
But that’s his job as captain to rectify that, even if he already misses Daiki when he’s only been out two games already.
“Rest up,” Tatsuya says.
Daiki smiles at him, pulling the covers up a little farther and closing his eyes. Tatsuya stands and watches until his breathing evens out.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, C1, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: we are the poisoned youth
Word Count: 475
more hockey au
***
There is ice in their veins, ice from under their skates running through their bodies, pumped by their hearts. They were born into warm climates dreaming of the coming winters, snowbanks and indoor rinks, street hockey with hardened asphalt under the wheels of their inline skates as a temporary substitute for the real thing, the real show. Daiki’s not sure he’s ever going to meet anyone who has this kind of connection with him, for this or any other reason, and he’s pretty sure—well, maybe thinking that kind of stuff is already too much for Tatsuya, and he’s not going to chance it.
There is ice in their veins where it should be too hot, flowing like a winter river in the north, and there is poison, too, Daiki thinks. There is bitterness; there is venom in the desperation with which Tatsuya takes every shift. He leaves it all out there, maybe more than Daiki had once upon a time (his bitterness is the way he sometimes wonders if he should hold back, until he remembers Tatsuya would never forgive him if he did it consciously or even not). It’s the hot acid with which Tatsuya delivers an open-ice hit, ruthless, against a guy with four inches and fifty pounds on him, the blue and black of the bruises up his leg and side, invisible under all those layers of padding but quite obviously there in the privacy of their house, in the shower, when Daiki tries to wash the skin tenderly and Tatsuya’s breath catches and he holds back the hiss of pain like a rattlesnake.
It is the crunch of his knuckles against someone’s face, the snap of his shot on the powerplay, off a faceoff and straight into the goalie’s chest, the curse he wants to bark at the ice. It’s the same thing Daiki feels when he’s racing to beat an icing call and the other guy slams him head-on into the boards and he whirls around, ready to throw out a shoulder and the play’s on the other side of the net. It’s the line brawl, but that’s the opposite of poison, Tatsuya at Daiki’s back, pulling off the worst of the lot and daring him to try and punch that pretty face (one of these days Tatsuya might get into trouble, but that day keeps looking awfully far away).
There is ice and there is poison and there are other things, things Tatsuya won’t let Daiki see (bares everything physically but won’t give up some thing, holding them close against the back of his mind, holding Daiki back like they’ve just dropped the gloves, circling, at arm’s length). Daiki’s not patient; he’s aggressive on the forecheck and always has been. But he can be patient; he can play the trap against Tatsuya. It’s worth waiting for.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, C3, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: i can't stop til the whole world knows my name
Word Count: 671
more hockey au
***
Tatsuya skates around the faceoff circle, knees bent, grinning out at Daiki. Daiki swallows, adjusting his grip on his stick; this is absolutely not fair. They’re both on the wing here; they’re up against each other on fucking Olympic squads, almost surreal if it weren’t for the very real crowds banging on the glass, people with flags draped all over them, the rings under the ice, too detailed in the little flaws the zamboni can’t erase for Daiki’s imagination to have created, the feeling under his skates different but that’s just the anticipation Daiki almost feels weird about feeling.
It’s so fucking weird to see different colors on Tatsuya, like some sort of bizarro-world scenario Daiki doesn’t ever want to see long-term (unless he’s there too, unless the Ducks go back to Wild Wing or something just as weird—that would be okay; he knows Tatsuya’s got a hell of a soft spot for those tacky uniforms and anything that makes Tatsuya a little bit happier is good by him).
“Stop staring,” says Akashi, behind Daiki.
He hears Tatsuya laugh, the bastard (at least most of his teammates don’t understand; one of them asks him and Tatsuya waves it off). The refs skate up; Tatsuya takes his place next to Daiki, tapping his shin with the blade of his stick. Daiki taps Tatsuya’s back, and the puck drops.
Tatsuya all decked out in the American uniform is one thing; playing against him is another. It’s not weird so much as a puzzle Daiki’s not used to solving. He’s gone against Tatsuya in practice; they’ll go one-on-one anytime; they’d had a couple of games in high school, but none of it’s like this. It’s not in a real game, not with five other players darting around the ice. Tatsuya’s got the puck; Daiki darts in to steal but Tatsuya moves laterally, a pass (avoiding the conflict, kicking it down the road); Akashi steals it but Tatsuya moves in to hit him and Daiki’s in hot pursuit.
Tatsuya goes fucking hard; it’s different competing against him as a teammate (Daiki’s always got the edge but it always feels like he’s got to work his ass off to keep it up) and that’s never got him pressing on, on, long after he’s tapped out his energy reserves, burned them up on the shift (his face is red; he douses it with water as Daiki passes the American bench and gets barely a glimpse; he’s back to composed by next shift and Daiki wonders how exhausted he’s going to be after the game).
They have to wait for the second period to truly go one-on-one; Kagami gets a piece of a sharp pass toward the blue line and Daiki swears under his breath; Kagami’s pass goes cross-ice and over the line and out of the zone, straight to Tatsuya’s stick. Tatsuya picks it up as he picks up speed, shooting forward; Daiki’s faster and he knows it, but he’s got to get out of the traffic, legging forwards as Tatsuya gets past center ice, toward the Japanese zone. Murasakibara’s a little ways out of the crease, trying to stare him down; Daiki’s closer, closer, and finally he pivots, just as Tatsuya’s about to get the shot off. He tries to shorten the motion of his stick, but it’s quick enough for Daiki to clip the shot with his stick and send it skittering out to the corner.
“Fuck you,” Tatsuya breathes, and Daiki treasures that more than than the sweet things he’s said and meant, over the phone or next to him on the bed or across the table, more than the stick-taps to his ass in the middle of a playoff game.
Everyone else is catching up but Daiki makes a move for the loose puck; Tatsuya crushes him to the boards but it’s totally worth it (especially since he gets the pass off first). It hurts like fuck, but from Tatsuya he’d expect no less.
FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, A3, M
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: just one mistake is all it will take
Word Count: 635
i heard this was where the hockey party was taking place?
***
It starts like all hockey fights do; in slow motion, with Tatsuya sending a slapshot just above the goalie’s shoulder into the back of the net. The crowd roars in place of the familiar blare of the horn--it's an away game at Chicago for the Kings--but as Tatsuya raises his leg up into a celly, Daiki Aomine is still heading towards him, catching the skate on ice with a slew foot. It sends Tatsuya flying, the crack of his helmet on ice echoing like a puck on iron.
Daiki isn't known as a dirty player; he and Tatsuya have been known to antagonize each other on ice, enough to make up a decent highlight reel, squared up and circling each other like sharks even though neither of them are from San Jose. It's not born from ill will--they’ve always traded compliments about each other's play in interviews postgame--it's part of the fun.
This time, it's an error gone wrong. Tatsuya’s vision goes white. He takes a moment before he pops back up, his bucket clattering to the ice, experiencing a moment of lucidity where he watches Aomine’s grin fade, his eyes going wide--and then Tatsuya feels like his bones have liquefied, collapsing in a pile. He doesn't remember much after that, a vague memory of being helped off the ice, but the details are too loud, too vibrant to comprehend. Daiki doesn't feel much at first, aside from the hard bench of the penalty box beneath him. But they're the network's golden boys, and it doesn't take long until the nation is watching him break down on primetime TV, his face in his palms, tears streaking down his cheeks.
He learns they've got Tatsuya at Northwestern, and by the time the game gets out, he knows the traffic will be too bad to get there within regular visiting hours. But if there's one okay thing about concussing his boyfriend--even if it he can barely stomach it--it’s that Tatsuya will be there for another day or two, and if the team staff isn't swarming, maybe he'll get to steal some time with him.
Daiki sends a text, but he doesn't call; Tatsuya's phone is probably full of condolences and well wishes, and if the battery hasn't died, he probably has been told to stay away from it for now. He gets to the hospital later in the afternoon, when Tatsuya's room is mercifully free of hospital and residual Kings staff. Tatsuya smiles a little when he sees Daiki, raising his hand in a half wave.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Daiki sinks into the chair by Tatsuya's bedside. “How are you feeling?”
“Bored. Tired.” Tatsuya narrows his eye, lip twitching as he still smiles. “Pissed.”
“Tatsuya, I'm so sorry,” Daiki looks up at the ceiling, wiping at his cheek. “It was just meant to be a hip check, but I was going too fast, and--”
“You shouldn't have come here if you were expecting me to forgive you.”
“I know,” Daiki sighs, leaning his elbows onto his knees. “I don't expect you to. It's just--I missed you.”
“Yeah, well,” Tatsuya exhales and closes his eye. “If it had happened at another game, I doubt they would have cleared me to come visit you.”
He drums his fingers on the mattress, expectant, and Daiki is more than eager to get up, perching on the bed. His fingers tangle with Tatsuya's, bringing his knuckles to his lips.
“It could be worse--I'll be more bitter when you deliver the career-ending one, “ Tatsuya smiles, and Daiki laughs, weakly in return. “I doubt I'll be back by Thanksgiving. Christmas for sure. And when I come back, I'll wreck you.”
“Good,” Daiki smiles a little wider, “I deserve it.”
“Well,” Tatsuya hums, pulling Daiki in for a kiss. “I’ve always loved putting my bruises on you.”