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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 Daiya no Ace
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Prompt:
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B2, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: Destiny is cheap
Word Count: 685
***
It makes it worse to say that maybe they just weren’t meant to have this. Tatsuya forgets who volunteers that, one of the other third-years as a balm to the bitterness of defeat; he balls up his fists under the table and no one notices because they’re all crying, all focused on their own insides, their own grief and loss. Basketball is a team sport, but it hurts them all separately; perhaps it’s oddly fitting that after this loss they will go their separate ways. But that’s too much like thinking about fate all over again, and Tatsuya takes another breath.
Wei is looking at him, eyes red and puffy but sharp on the back of his neck; he’d felt Tatsuya’s fist move against his leg and Tatsuya doesn’t feel like explaining. He doesn’t feel like anything, really, other than sending his rage in crashing waves the way he knows he’s not supposed to.
The bus ride back to Akita is quiet, the sound of the tires on asphalt and then, as they go north, salt, preparation for the storm, the hum of the diesel engine. The lights are off; everyone is asleep. Across the aisle from them, Coach’s head is leaning on the window, her suit jacket on the empty seat next to her. She looks worn down but at least she gets another crack at this, more years and more teams and more Winter Cups (more disappointment too, perhaps, so maybe it evens out).
Wei’s hand is on the inside of Tatsuya’s leg, just above his knee. He’s been looking out the window the whole time, letting Tatsuya lean against his shoulder; he turns his head now and looks at Tatsuya’s face.
“What was that about?” he says.
It’s ambiguous enough that Tatsuya has room to deflect if he wants; it’s a courtesy Wei’s been extending him about which Tatsuya feels almost guilty. It’s good to have the room, especially when he’s tired and miserable and the thoughts are careening and bouncing across his mind like pinballs in a machine, rocked from side to side about what he could have done, what he should have done.
“Blaming it all on fate,” says Tatsuya. “I don’t like it.”
Wei lifts his arm, dropping it around Tatsuya’s shoulders and pulling him in against his side, a position all-too-familiar but one that hurts just a little bit; they haven’t officially resigned yet but they’re no longer really captain and vice, first and second.
“Control?” Wei guesses.
“It’s more like…agency. What does anything you or I do matter if we were meant to lose?”
Wei hums; he doesn’t get it, really, but he lets it rest. Tatsuya closes his eyes; he feels the brush of Wei’s lips against his forehead. It doesn’t soften the blow, much. Blaming everything on destiny, sitting in the comfort of being meant for something, is the easy way out, something that eases the blow of bitterness right now. Is it worth the price of denying your own agency, your own efforts? Tatsuya’s never seen the point of it; it always sounds to him like an excuse not to try. It’s so easy to be tempted to give up, to throw everything away, but it cuts deeper and longer, regret burning the smoother scar. Everyone’s dealt a hand, but anyone can bluff their way into house money. Just because someone else has a royal straight flush doesn’t mean they’ll play it right; just because they’re meant to win doesn’t mean they will. Destiny is cheap; victory is expensive, and victory is earned, not predisposed (such a victory would feel mediocre, taste sour on his tongue, not a victory at all because there would be nothing to defeat).
It’s hard to express, hard to think about, even; he ends up going in circles. Fuck fate. This is his defeat, the fall he’s taking. This is his own doing, this moment, the bitter hurt and the steady rise and fall of Wei’s chest, the two of them fitting together like bridge beams. There is no higher power behind this, only them.
Re: FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B2, T
FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, A2, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: bodily fluids (blood), death (reanimated dead people?), body horror,
Other Tags: rot and decay (potentially)
Square: vampire au
Word Count: 494
domestic intercultural vampire life
***
It’s nice that they can stay up together throughout night, unlike all the others Tatsuya had encountered in the past.
(Although Wei is always quick to correct any mutual friends when someone says the v word around him, it’s not exactly a false statement. Tatsuya isn’t usually one to tease him on semantics, but—well.)
“I’m home.”
“Hey.”
Wei waves to him lazily from the couch, which he takes up the entirety of. His laptop’s open, playing some Chinese gaming show that Tatsuya’s glanced at a few times but could never tell what’s going on. It’s just beginning to get light outside—the shift at the hospital today had been tiring, but at least Tatsuya had gotten something out of it.
He takes out the blood bags from the cooler and walks into the kitchen.
“Can you get me some water?”
“Yeah, sure.”
The bags go into the fridge, and Tatsuya reaches for a glass from the dish rack. He’s got a moderately well-stocked supply of nutrition now, though Tatsuya—some baser part of him—still would not say no anyone if they offered themselves up.
Though that’s not something Wei can help him with. When Tatsuya brings him the water, setting it down on the table beside the laptop, he feels an insistent tug at his shirt hem. “Yes?”
“Wanna watch with me?”
“You don’t seem like you’ve eaten yet,” Tatsuya says, sitting down next to—well, on top of, considering the size of the couch—him, a hand resting on Wei’s knee. Skin against skin, Tatsuya’s unnatural coolness against Wei’s clamminess, especially telling now that Tatsuya can tell nothing’s gone to his stomach in a while. Ever since Tatsuya had started getting busy again, in fact. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Wei shakes his head. Even after so long (a good few months, mere drops in the bucket of the time they would have together) Tatsuya still doesn’t quite get how jiangshi work. The rules are easy enough for Tatsuya’s kind: avoid the sunlight, avoid the pointy ends of sticks, take blood whenever they can and need. He can readily pass as human at night, especially after a good feeding to give him the radiant glow of almost-but-not-quite-alive.
One look and Tatsuya can tell Wei misses being outside, much more than he’s hungry. “We should go out tonight. It’s the holidays, there aren’t that many people around to see.”
(Even after he is done feeding, Wei’s condition stays the same, just with more control of his body. It makes their makeouts a little awkward otherwise, but Tatsuya has done more for less. Much more, in fact, that he finds it a little endearing when he arrives home to see Wei shuffling around in the kitchen to prepare something for him.)
Wei sighs, looking at him with a wry smile. “Yeah, good idea.”
Tatsuya leans over, but it is Wei who pulls him down, stiff joints be damned, any mentions of food and the video promptly forgotten.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, C2, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: I know you're here to spy on our secret evil organization im actually tired of being here lets take em down from within
Word Count: 707
***
There’s no mistaking that this is Liu’s target. Bangs over his left eye, drop-dead gorgeous, smirk on his lips, the right height and weight. He doesn’t look much like a higher-up in a terror organization, but that’s perhaps what makes Himuro so effective, a silent killer, evil disguised as sweetness. Liu tells himself not to look to hard, that it will give him away, but he still ends up looking a little too long. Himuro meets his gaze, steady and appraising. The smile spreads on his face; he flicks an eyebrow as if he like what he sees. Liu swallows. He’d been sent here to destroy the organization from within, point a gun at this man’s heart, not to flirt with him.
Then again, honey traps can be quite effective, and even though that’s not part of Liu’s plan it might be a quicker way than trying to work his way up. He’s just got to work his way into Himuro’s bed, skip the sweet-talk part (because he’s always been too blunt to get information out that way) and show the weapons, get him to spill and go in for the kill. With someone like Himuro, it’s never that simple, but Liu will make it work.
“Liu Wei,” says the chief, Okamura, a brawny man with a beard who bears an uncanny resemblance to a gorilla. “Police defector.”
Himuro’s whole body shifts; Liu steadies his gaze. “That’s right.”
“Don’t think I’ll trust you right away just so you can go ratting out all of our secrets to your police buddies.”
“What police buddies?” says Liu.
“He’s got a point,” says another man (Fukui, if the piles of information Liu had been given are correct). “Swapped partners three times. Had a nasty exit.”
(The exit was part of the setup; the partners who’d quit and retired were accidental but what led him to be chosen for this operation in the first place.)
Both Okamura and Fukui are peering at Liu now; Himuro remains placid.
“Show him the ropes,” Fukui says, pushing him over to Himuro.
Himuro is as gracious and charming as he is attractive, and Liu feels himself loosening, opening up just a little bit. The stakes are still high, but he might as well try to have some fun and flirt back. He finds, soon, that he likes hearing Himuro’s laugh, and even when he’s trying to dig out useful information (or something that might lead to it) sometimes he finds himself putting in an aside or diverting the subject, just a little, to make him do it. It helps the ruse; Liu reminds himself of that seemingly more and more each day.
He’s the one who invites Himuro back to his own room, weeks later. It’s bugged; he knows that much, but he can get them where they’re out of view of the cameras, for the most part, and where the sound of their voices carry less to the mics, make it look like an accident. Even if showing this would give them more of a reason to trust him, they still know it’s going on. But this is too much to show them, too much to let them have it.
“You’re not subtle at all,” Himuro says, lying on top of his chest after, and Liu tries to slow his pounding heart by telling himself Himuro’s talking about the flirting. “How long are you planning on staying before you give it all away?”
He’s not.
Himuro looks at him carefully. He’s been talking low enough that the microphones probably haven’t picked him up, unless he’s got one implanted in his body without a scar (or unless that other eye is one giant camera).
“I don’t know,” Liu says.
“I know you’ve got a bad track record, but are you looking for a partner?”
“What do you mean?”
Himuro shrugs. “I’m sick of the way things are here. I’ll help you take it down.”
It doesn’t sound like the truth, but Liu’s too unsure, wants it to be true so badly (fantasies of running away with Himuro are now trying to wrench their way through the door to his mind).
“Deal,” says Liu, pulling Himuro in for another kiss.
Himuro doesn’t object.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, B1, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: Fire Emblem AU
Word Count: 413
***
Tatsuya is beautiful on the battlefield, terrible in his fury. He is quick to transform into a slim white dragon, snapping its jaws and breathing ice on his prey (and his opponent is almost always that; they turn from an equal or greater human into something so easily crushed by his force, dwarfed in size), great winding tail swishing and one eye blazing with the steel of a thousand lances. He’s the type of unit Yosen’s team had always needed but hadn’t known they did until he’d appeared, almost literally, flown across the ocean from a land far away (sometimes Wei wonders if he’s a prince in exile or disgrace; it’s not something he can just ask but from the way Tatsuya holds himself it seems more than barely plausible).
He moves quickly, deft, unlike Wei, almost stationary in his suit of armor, lunging toward a target who darts away twice as fast (even if they do end up bumping into Tatsuya, or if the blows they land against Wei are glancing, it still feels a little bit like he’s not doing his part when it comes to offense, wielding a heavy sword but barely scratching it in his efforts). Even as a human, without wings to fly him across, he darts from position to position on the battlefield, and sometimes Wei just holds back and watches him, waits for enemy forces to charge and cuts them down.
But all of life is not battle, and Wei is thankful for that. There is the castle they fight for, the home they protect; there is a reason for the fighting and a place to rest, a place where the toll of transformation seeps into Tatsuya and he sleeps in Wei’s arms all day, curled up and quite human. He is beautiful like this, too, still breathing fierce, hands tight around the blankets. When he wakes, Wei finds him by the window, staring out at the fields and the flat lands, rolling hills behind them running straight into the horizon toward the sea, perhaps towards his faraway home. Wei knows the feeling all too well, a mercenary converted to the life, the people, the way of being here. It’s not something he’d wanted, but it had happened regardless with the changing of the seasons, over and over until he’d lost count of how many had passed.
Wei tries to kiss him until he forgets sometimes, but it never works. Sometimes they get close enough, though.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, A2, M
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: vampire au
Word Count: 462
***
http://saso-afterhours.dreamwidth.org/26536.html
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, C3, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: Rugby/Hockey AU
Word Count: 856
***
It happens so fast, just as Liu’s about to swing his body over the boards on change, already almost to the ice. Murasakibara’s behind the play, behind the refs, jawing with one of their opponents; they’re locked together and hitting at each other’s ankles and then the other guy darts out and slashes Murasakibara straight in the wrists.
Murasakibara drops his stick; the play is still going on and at least they aren't in the Yosen end. The refs haven’t whistled and there’s a battle behind the net for the puck; the guy who’d slashed Murasakibara is headed over and just before he gets there Himuro makes his move. Two sets of gloves are flicked to the ice; Himuro’s got a slight height disadvantage but it’s not enough for the other guy to hold him too far out; he lands the first punch straight in his opponent’s face. A few lefts later and the other guy is kneeling on the ice, Himuro on top of him, still trying to land another hit before the refs pull him off. He skates over; this won’t be good.
“Fuckin’ slashed him—” Himuro starts, and Liu bumps him.
“Look, kid,” says the ref. “We didn’t see it; you don’t hit harder than you have to—”
“He just came back from a wrist injury; I’m pretty sure that’s fuckin’ targeting,” says Himuro.
“Captain,” says Liu, no warning tone (none needed).
Himuro glares up at him; he looks even more pissed off (they’re probably trying to hand him out an instigator penalty, which all of this can't be helping with; the last thing they need is Himuro getting another misconduct). Liu looks back down, the wild mess of Himuro’s sweaty hair, gloves tucked under his arm, fury radiating like light from a star. He needs five minutes, at least (and like this he’s still so terribly pretty, the anger and the blood on his knuckles only accentuating that and God, Liu wants to kiss him because the sight of his fist moving so fast was even more beautiful, but Himuro absolutely does not need a reward right now).
The instigator minor is easy to kill. It would be easier with Himuro, the way special teams always are; there’s no one Liu would rather have taking faceoffs in the defensive zone and no one Liu would rather have aggressively chipping the puck past the blue line and out. He trusts the rest of the well-oiled Yosen machine, the interchangeable parts of a whole, the trap game ingrained into their muscles. But he trusts Himuro more.
His first shift out of the box Himuro skates while he’s on fire, ignoring the chirps directed his way, designed to get him all riled up. This time he’s got focus; this time there’s no teammate to duck in and defend (Liu still feels a little victorious when he pounds their little pest into the boards and his bloody nose hits the glass; Murasakibara’s fine but he might not have been and even aside from that this is for getting Himuro in the box for five). Himuro grabs the puck in the neutral zone, off where it skips over an opponent’s stick, and this time he’s not playing. He skates like the fire from the fight is in his veins again, blasting through his skates and cutting the surface of ice before he even gets to it; he stick-handles pretty past the flat-footed left defenseman and his shot is open. He doesn’t wait for the perfect one; he lifts the puck blocker-side and it’s damn near perfect enough.
Liu’s the first one in, crushing him in a hug; their lead’s up to three with four and a half to play and Himuro hugs him back, squeezing him around the waist, face buried in Liu’s chest, Liu’s heart thumping from watching that goal, the way it had carried, the bright red light, Himuro’s face.
They hold the lead; their opponents crumple pretty easily after that. They try to go after Murasakibara again but the refs halt it, go harsher, and they end the game with five powerplay shots in the last minute (none go in, but if there’s ever a time to even out the averages this would be it; Coach will probably be mad but she’ll always find another reason to make them work harder).
Himuro’s the good kind of tired after the game, the kind where he doesn’t really seem to feel the bruises splattered across his body and doesn’t push Liu away, physically or otherwise. The goal was pretty fucking good; he doesn’t need Liu to tell him that but Liu does anyway, whispering the words quietly in his ears under the late October wind that blows leftover rain at them, unsticking it from browning leaves. It’s getting dark out earlier, but it’s still not too dark to see Himuro’s face. He’s not satisfied or complacent (he wouldn’t be Himuro if he was really capable of that, would he?) but he looks good. Happy, even, as he slips his hand into Liu’s, the scraped skin of his knuckles brushing under Liu’s fingers.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, C1, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: you always wait for the bus when I drive home from work with my sweet bicycle wanna have a lift
Word Count: 667
***
Waiting for the bus is perhaps the worst part of Wei’s very mediocre workday. Being on the bus isn’t that bad; even when he doesn’t get a seat he can stare into space and not think. Work is boring, but he’s getting really good at Fire Emblem: Heroes, thumbs swiping under the desk when his supervisor’s not around (which is most of the time) or when he’s on a call he doesn’t need to be on. The weather always sucks, though; it’s almost always too bright to see his phone screen and there’s no shade or place to sit down, and he gets to watch as traffic crawls and happy people commute home in their air-conditioned cars.
Sometimes Wei wants to give them the finger, but he just sighs and unfurls his hands in his pockets and waits. He hasn't even seen the motorcyclist today, the one good thing about this wait. Always, about five minutes before the bus gets here, some guy comes zooming by on a sweet-ass motorcycle, helmet and jacket and boots and black jeans, darting and weaving through the cars as they honk at him, twice as fast like a mirage, something Wei only wishes for out of colossal boredom.
He listens to the distance; the wind picks up. He can hear the familiar purr of an engine, and here he comes, going lane-to-lane, screeching in front of commuter sedans and behind old wide wagons until he stops, right in front of the bus stop. Wei stares, and the cyclist takes off his helmet.
Wei’s never seen anyone this pretty before, holy shit.
“You want a lift?” says the cyclist.
He’s staring straight into Wei’s eyes; he could mean no one else. Maybe this is actually a daydream woven too far into reality. Wei pinches his thigh through his pants pocket, and nope. Wei nods.
“Hop on,” says the cyclist, opening the seat of the bike and pulling out an extra helmet.
Wei takes it; the old lady who’d been waiting with him (a semi-regular on this route) gives him a murderous look. Wei ignores it in favor of lifting the helmet over his head. It fits; the cyclist is already back on, revving up the engine. It’s a big bike; Wei wonders if it’ll handle his weight, but he’s pretty sure the cyclist will kick him off (he’s the kind of guy who would know, Wei decides, based on nothing).
We swings his legs over, inching forward.
“Grab my waist,” the cyclist says, before shoving his own helmet back on.
And then they’re off, and holy shit. Wei holds thightly, half-afraid of being thrown, legs hugging the sides of the bike.
“Let me know what's your stop!” the cyclist shouts.
“Last on the route!” Wei shouts back, wondering if it’s lost in his helmet or in the wind.
The cyclist takes one hand off the handlebars to give him a thumbs-up, and holy shit. They’re going so fast now, blazing through the green lights with barely enough time to look for anyone turning, making hairpin spins around other vehicles and bicyclists and pedestrians; Wei feels as if his breath’s been knocked out of him multiple times before they even hit the first red light, and he barely enjoys the feeling of the cyclist in his arms until they're nearly there, too soon and too late.
God, Wei wants to do this again.
He gets off, taking off his helmet and handing it over. “You, uh, want to come in?” he asks.
The cyclist looks at him, amusement in his one visible eye (how the fuck he can see in traffic with his bangs like that Wei has no idea). “I have somewhere to be, but I’m free tomorrow. I'll pick you up?”
Wei nods, and the cyclist gives him a cheery wave before getting on again and—shit. As he drives up and the engine fades, Wei realizes he hadn’t even gotten the guy’s name.
Re: FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, C1, T
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, A1, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Square: we had to keep our relationship hidden when we were together now you moved away and idk if this will ever work out in this life but I love you and I ain't giving up
Word Count: 1490
***
Tatsuya's gone and done every damn last thing he’d said he would, everything he’d said with false bravado perched on the edge of a bare dorm mattress, Wei still trying to shove three years’ worth of his life into his shitty set of suitcases. He’d said he was going to go home, go back to school, make it in the NCAA, make it in the NBA, the types of things Wei’s pretty sure Tatsuya never used to let himself dream about, let alone guarantee. But there’s a different kind of heat in his gaze, the slow and steady flame of a burner on a gas stove rather than a raging forest fire about to eat itself, and focusing on that distracts from how divergent those plans are from Wei’s, how many kilometers across the Pacific Ocean is (and then some).
Wei’s already got his future laid out in the CBA. He wouldn’t expect Tatsuya to join him under the best of circumstances (because for Tatsuya there would be no best-case there; Tatsuya’s all or nothing, best league in the world or no pro career at all, even though the gradient is long and slow between the extremes). But still, there’s a finality about it, absent even from their sketched-out plans already revealed to each other, going back home alone, as if there’s no room for the two of them as a unit.
There won’t be at first, probably; the pros are no small commitment. But after an adjustment, they’ll figure it out; they’ll have holes and off-days and time between practices when they can’t fall asleep, and time difference or no they can call or text. It’s a vain hope, Wei knows, even more vain if he says nothing, but if this is it he doesn’t want to go out on a quarrel he could have avoided it. These days, free from studying and work and practice, should be drenched in rose-gold, Tatsuya’s laugh and his radiant smile, his hand small and sure in Wei’s, Tatsuya sleeping on top of Wei because it’s still so damn cold here at night even as the days grow longer. It’s sappy as shit, but Wei’s pretty sure coming here, meeting Tatsuya, is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
But now there’s a fucking line for that, because Tatsuya’s the best thing to happen to the Knicks in years, a mid-first-round draft pick after his senior season, stock steadily rising as he’d torn up the NCAA tournament year after year. The Knicks are mediocre; sometimes they’re slightly worse and those are always the years they’ve traded away their top picks for another dubious veteran or risky contract that never seems to pan out. Wei knows all these because, miserable and stupid as he is, he’s reading all of the rumors about his ex-boyfriend, even farther away (land, ocean, an entire continent between them now), on every fansite he can comprehend, Chinese and English and too-rusty Japanese that Tatsuya would tease him for (if he were here, if they could be anything).
Tatsuya’s future is sealed with gold wax, and pining is no use. It’s ridiculous to keep moping, years later (even if he hasn’t had anyone else), and if he can't get over Tatsuya or hold onto some dumb hope of a reunion in Asia (when? The NBA lockout that probably won’t happen?) he’s just got to go to Tatsuya. Easier said than done, but easier done than pining forever or asking Tatsuya out over Skype when they’re thirteen time zones away from each other and the only times they talk it’s skimming the surfaces of their lives. It’s almost impossible to get within arm’s length of Tatsuya in the same room, and over the internet it’s a losing battle, and besides. Wei doesn’t want to do this from across the world.
It’s not as easy as writing a letter to declare his intents for the NBA draft, or letting his automatic eligibility take over; the scouts have to see him play. All of the teams send representatives, but it’s hard to tell where they’re looking and what they’re looking for in a player, how hard they’re looking (because they scout the American colleges thoroughly, high schools, eve, to keep tabs on the younger guys). Wei knows there’s not much glamorous about a big defensive wing, nothing that’s going to catch a scout's eye. He doesn’t have a signature move; he leads his team in minutes but his scoring is selective (he’s more likely to pass the rebound out than to dunk it or dribble across and drive) and he’s not busting out the blocks or rebounds or numbers. He’s good; his coaches wouldn’t tell him he’s doing all the right things; he wouldn’t get selected for international tournaments; if he wasn’t (but he’s not grabbing the glory for China, either; there’s no spotlight on Wei like there’s always been on Tatsuya).
He hears Lakers, Magic, Suns; he hears the coach yell at all of them not to hog the ball for some international scout looking at the players on the other team. Wei doesn’t, not really, but he takes a few shots he usually doesn’t, and they fall, sinking through the net well. The other team’s built smaller; he can shoot over most of them (a late growth spurt that had left him scraping seven feet, so it’s not like that’s unrealistic against some NBA teams, especially if they move him to guard). So he does, relaxing into the flow of the game, dishing the ball out and looking to put on the pressure, not asking for more but taking more of what he gets.
“You’re having yourself a night, Liu,” says one of his coaches says, but not in a bad way, almost with approval.
It’s not until Wei scans over the boxscore from the team scorekeeper that he realizes he’s scored thirty, and he’s not expecting it but he’s not surprised when one of the scouts is waiting for him.
“Liu,” he says. “Great game. You’re eligible for the draft this year, right?”
“Yeah,” says Wei (he’d just barely missed hitting twenty-two by a few weeks last year, one of the pros—or maybe cons—of being born in July).
“You don’t usually show up that much on the scoresheet, but I like your instinct,” he says. “I’m Xiao, by the way, Lakers.”
He rummages in his pocket, plucking out a business card and placing it in Wei’s hand.
“I think we’ll run into each other a few more times.”
Los Angeles is pretty damn far from New York, but he’s got to start somewhere. Tatsuya’s hometown isn’t bad in the scheme of things, and if Xiao gets hired by someone else, if Wei gets drafted and traded, if Tatsuya gets traded—maybe it’s blind optimism; it’s just a cursory look from one scout. They see everyone in the league; Wei’s not going to put up these numbers every time they come (instincts or no, that had to have played a role). But it’s a start, and maybe Wei’s got to live hope-to-hope for now.
The scouts keep coming, the Nets (please), Spurs, Clippers, Raptors, Wizards. Liu's got more business cards than bills in his wallet; they’re starting to call him; his agent talks about getting someone she knows over in North America to represent him for the draft and field more calls, get him a workout. Tatsuya texts him a link to an ESPN article naming him an international player to look for, with a “really, Wei?” attached, and Wei sends him a set of skull emojis in response. He pictures Tatsuya laughing, and it makes the extra workouts easier.
He works out for the Raptors, but it’s the Lakers who take him in the fourth round, buoyed by Xiao, Wei supposes (and the diminishing returns from later rounds).
The team puts him up in a hotel for a week, so he can get settled before the summer league and find an apartment, and Wei finds himself flipping through the Yosen school directory that he’d brought with him. Tatsuya hadn’t opted out of giving out his home address; Wei hopes it wasn’t fake and his parents still live there and that Tatsuya still visits them this time every summer, but hope’s brought him this far.
It brings him to knock at the door, and wait until it opens, and on the other side there’s Tatsuya, a little taller and tanner since the last time Wei had seen him in person, maybe even more gorgeous.
“I’m here,” says Wei.
(Maybe he should have bought flowers, chocolate, a gift, more than just himself.)
“You are,” Tatsuya agrees, and Wei’s not sure who hugs who first.
He is sure of the way Tatsuya's arms feel, stronger and tight around his back and so very right, just like they always have.
FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, A2, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: Blood (sort of)
Other Tags: Pain kink
Square: vampire au
Word Count: 460
***
Himuro's eyes are dark with desire and Liu sighs to himself, thinking, oh here we go.
"Wei," Himuro greets him, lounging on Liu's chair as if he's been there the entire night, as if that's exactly where he belongs. "It's a lovely night, isn't it?"
"You know the dorm rules," Liu says without even looking at Himuro, taking his scarf off and hanging it up on the hook just by the door. He unbuttons his heavy coat, grateful to have it off because the internal heating is on and it's a stark contrast to the cold outside. He's going to overheat if he doesn't change into something lighter. "It's meant to be lights out. We're not allowed to be out of our rooms."
"I'll make sure not to walk through the halls, then," Himuro smiles. "You know what I want, don't you?"
Liu sighs a little louder this time. "I am guessing that you want the exact same thing you want every single week."
"Ah, you make it sound so boring," Himuro hums, tapping his finger against his lower lip. "You know better than that, don't you? I've shown you just how fun this can be."
"I guess," Liu allows mildly, even though he'd rather not talk about that. He had trouble looking Himuro in the eye for several days after he first realised how much he likes being bitten. He continues taking off his thick, warm clothes, noting the way Himuro sits up, watching with appreciation. "Don't get that excited. I'm just taking everything off except for my shirt and jeans. I'm keeping those on."
"Ah, but I can always hope," Himuro replies with a smile. He licks his lips once Liu is done with his outer garments and has hung them all up in his closet. "Come here, Wei."
Liu steps closer, and Himuro is on his feet in an instant, pushing him against the nearest wall, head pushed back to bare his throat so Himuro can lean in and take a deep breath.
"I can always hear your heart pounding at practice," Himuro murmurs against Liu's skin. He presses a kiss to Liu's pulse point and then pulls back, licking his lips again. "It can be so distracting sometimes, knowing that your blood is pounding and just there, waiting for me to drink it."
"If you're going to do it," Liu says, baring his neck a little more. "You know what to do. There's always so much more talking involved than I expect."
Himuro laughs, pinning Liu against the wall by the shoulders. "Well. Wouldn't want to disappoint, now, would I?"
Liu hisses as he's bitten, and it's not entirely due to pain. The curve of Himuro's smile against his neck says that he knows it too.