sportsanime | Bonus Round 4: Quotes

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Bonus Round 4: Quotes

SASO 2017 is over, but this round is perpetually open to new fills (no new prompts).

An oldie but a goodie—in this round, we draw inspiration from famous words said by other people.

Please read this whole post before commenting to ensure that your team gets the most points possible.

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: "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." -Friedrich Nietzsche
- The quote can come from almost anything—famous people, poetry, songs, books, movies, etc.— but please don't quote personal conversations you've had or overheard.
- Your prompt MUST include some kind of relationship. Platonic relationships are indicated by an "&" between the names (e.g., Natsuo & Yuzuko). Non-platonic relationships use "/" (e.g., Natsuo/Yuzuko). Please don't say "Any pairing," either!
Fill prompts by replying to the prompt with your quote-inspired fanwork.
Remember to 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)
14 lines (poetry)

There is no max work cap.

Format your comment in one of the following ways:

If PROMPTING:	If FILLING:	If FILLING as a TEAM GRANDSTAND participant:
PROMPT: TEAM [YOUR SHIP] Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to. Any way you format it is fine. Copy/paste/fill out the following form into your comment box. Delete the guidance text that's in parentheses. (Please delete all text in parentheses as you go. LEAVE THE HTML ALONE or the bonus round scoring program can't parse your comment. Don't forget a comment subject!) <strong>Ship:</strong> (the ship your prompt is focused on. "&" indicates a platonic relationship, "/" is non-platonic. Format the ship name any way you want, but clarity is more likely to get you fills.) <strong>Fandom:</strong> (what fandom the ship is from) <strong>Major Tags:</strong> (https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/1609.html, when applicable; these apply to content in the prompt itself and is NOT an implication of what you're looking for in a fill. If your prompt doesn't require tags, write "None" here.) <strong>Other Tags:</strong> (anything else that you feel requires tagging; can include jokey tumblr-style tags here; may also pull from the "Additional Tags" list from the URL above, if applicable; otherwise, write "None" here.) <strong>Prompt:</strong>	FILL: TEAM [YOUR SHIP], [RATING] Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team you belong to. Any way you format it is fine. Replace RATING with the rating of your fill (G - E) Copy/paste/fill out the following form into your comment box. Delete the guidance text that's in parentheses. Make sure you use tags. Here is a BR Template Creator for your convenience if the textarea is confusing. (Please delete all text in parentheses as you go. LEAVE THE HEADER HTML ALONE or the bonus round scoring program can't parse your comment. Don't forget a comment subject!) <strong>Ship:</strong> <strong>Fandom:</strong> <strong>Major Tags:</strong> (https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/1609.html, when applicable; otherwise write "None".) <strong>Other Tags:</strong> (anything else that you feel requires tagging; can include jokey tumblr-style tags here; may also pull from the "Additional Tags" list from the URL above, if applicable; otherwise, write "None" here.) <strong>Word Count:</strong> (if applicable; otherwise write "None") (Place any author/artist's notes BEFORE the asterisks. Leave the asterisks alone or you may not get points!) * (Place your fill here. You can use HTML. FOR NSFW FILLS, please cross-link these fills and use clear tags. Refer to the body of the post above for more information. To place an image in your comment, use this code: <img src="LINK TO YOUR IMAGE" alt="DESCRIPTION OF YOUR IMAGE"/>. Thumbnails only, please; more info @ http://referees.dreamwidth.org/5647.html#images ) NSFW FILLS: Please cross-link these fills and tag them clearly. saso_afterhours** is open to all NSFW fills. Written/text fills can be hosted on AO3 or saso_afterhours ONLY. Art/visual fills can be hosted anywhere; you may include a small safe-for-work thumbnail of the fill in your comment.	FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, [RATING] Replace RATING with the rating of your fill (G - E) Copy/paste/fill out the following form into your comment box. Delete the guidance text that's in parentheses. Make sure you use tags. Here is a BR Template Creator for your convenience if the textarea is confusing. (Please delete all text in parentheses as you go. LEAVE THE HEADER HTML ALONE or the bonus round scoring program can't parse your comment. Don't forget a comment subject!) <strong>Ship:</strong> <strong>Fandom:</strong> <strong>Major Tags:</strong> (https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/1609.html, when applicable; otherwise write "None".) <strong>Other Tags:</strong> (anything else that you feel requires tagging; can include jokey tumblr-style tags here; may also pull from the "Additional Tags" list from the URL above, if applicable; otherwise, write "None" here.) <strong>Word Count:</strong> (if applicable; otherwise write "None") (Place any author/artist's notes BEFORE the asterisks. Leave the asterisks alone or you may not get points!) * (Place your fill here. You can use HTML. FOR NSFW FILLS, please cross-link these fills and use clear tags. Refer to the body of the post above for more information. To place an image in your comment, use this code: <img src="LINK TO YOUR IMAGE" alt="DESCRIPTION OF YOUR IMAGE"/>. Thumbnails only, please; more info @ http://referees.dreamwidth.org/5647.html#images ) NSFW FILLS: Please cross-link these fills and tag them clearly. saso_afterhours** is open to all NSFW fills. Written/text fills can be hosted on AO3 or saso_afterhours ONLY. Art/visual fills can be hosted anywhere; you may include a small safe-for-work thumbnail of the fill in your comment.

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 each (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

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!

Page 168 of 171

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Ship: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Word Count: 473

***

"Books are mirrors," Kenma said one day. "You only see in them what you already have inside you."

"They tell a story, don't they?" Kuroo asked. "I've never seen a dragon before in my life, but if I read a story with a dragon in it, I can still see the dragon. That's not something that was already inside me."

Kenma shook his head. "It's not about the words, or the descriptions, or even what happens in the story," he said. "It's about how you read it, and how much of yourself you let bleed into the pages. Have you ever heard a storyteller tell a story?"

"Of course. Who didn't have someone read books to them before they could read? Or have a read-aloud in class?"

Kenma shook his head again. "Those aren't really storytelling. That's just reading the words on the page. When you hear them, the story you hear is whatever you create from the pages. It's a mirror in a way, but it's the mirror of the listener's ear. To use the story you brought up earlier, the dragon you saw in those stories is the dragon that you created. How many legs did it have? What did its body look like? What about its claws? Its wings? Did it breathe fire? Did it have scales? How many of those things were mentioned in the words on the page? So where did all of the other details come from? They came from you, and what you think a dragon should look like. Maybe you've never seen one before, but you've heard about them, and from them you've created your own mental image of what a dragon is like.

"A true storyteller will show you the mental image that they hold. Even if the words aren't on the page, they'll manage to paint them into being somehow, until you're caught in the world that they've built. If a master storyteller wanted, they could read you a fairy tale and make you side with the evil stepmother not through the words, but through how they used the words. You have to be careful around people like that; if there's evil in their hearts, you can see it reflected in the story that they see in a book, and like a mirror, they can reflect that twisted version of the story onto you. Books are mirrors, not just to your heart, but to everyone else's as well. The sooner you understand that, the better you can protect yourself against being caught in an echo chamber of infinitely reflecting mirrors."

With that, Kenma fell silent again, burying his nose back into his book and leaving Kuroo to think about his words. It was the longest speech Kuroo had ever heard Kenma give, and clearly about something Kenma had very strong feelings about.

Ship: Iwashimizu/Miyuki
Fandom: All Out!!
Major Tags: Blood
Other Tags: hurt/comfort
Word Count: 650

I had two places I wanted to go with this, so it ends up being a little bit of both.

***

Iwashimizu kept his hands clamped tightly over his mouth, holding back blood and trapping his voice. He swallowed and shuddered, trying not to choke on his own blood.

His hands were full, so he couldn’t do anything to hide the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, and Miyuki wouldn’t have let them go untouched anyway.

The best he could do was to force Iwashimizu’s head over the sink and order, “Spit it out.”

When Iwashimizu only whined behind his hands, Miyuki gently splashed his face with cold water, washing away the tears.

Inch by inch, Iwashimizu let go. His mouth was shockingly wet and red, and it seemed to take a long time to wash away the blood.

Miyuki’s hand became gentle on the back of Iwashimizu’s neck as he waited. His fingers stroked back and forth soothingly. Even when Iwashimizu was done and ready to press a piece of gauze to the wound on his tongue, he didn’t stop. Iwashimizu leaned against him rather than indicating that he should.

Iwashimizu deserved to be lectured for this. On the other hand, Miyuki doubted he would forget his mouth guard again.

There wasn’t much they could do but wait for the bleeding to stop, and Miyuki’s thoughts wandered. Iwashimizu was heavy, leaning against him, and he liked the weight. Yet there was something about the way Iwashimizu quietly accepted and tried to hide the pain that made him momentarily delicate.

There was something about him. Miyuki couldn’t leave him alone. They had only been playing together for a few months, but Miyuki wanted to keep playing with him for a long time.

When Iwashimizu took the gauze away to make sure that the bleeding had stopped, Miyuki kissed him on the mouth. He still tasted of too-sweet copper.

Iwashimizu jerked away from him with a noise something like, “Hunngh!”

“Sorry! I should have asked first.”

Iwashimizu shook his head rapidly and stuck the gauze back in his mouth.

“Did it hurt?”

Iwashimizu shook his head again. Miyuki stayed close by his side, waiting until the bleeding had completely stopped and he could actually try to speak.

“I am sorry. I won’t kiss you unless you want me to.”

“There was still blood. Wh-why would you want to do that?”

“You’re saying the kiss doesn’t bother you, just the blood?”

Iwashimizu nodded and hid his face in his hands. Miyuki could still tell he was hiding a spectacular blush.

“So is there anywhere else that needs to be kissed better?”

Iwashimizu was good at hiding his hurts. He wore his heart on his sleeve but his body remained shyly hidden.

The longer he loved Iwashimizu, the better Miyuki got at finding what he tried to hide.

By their third year Iwashimizu was letting him kiss just about everywhere. Bruised shins, jammed fingers, any small hurt he could find.

When he twisted his knee at practice Miyuki took him home because his house was closer and certainly not because no one else would be home for a long while. Iwashimizu’s knee spent as much time being mapped by his lips as it did wrapped in the ice pack.

When their science teacher berated him within an inch of tears, Miyuki kissed his ears until they were no longer hot and red with shame (and a long time after that.)

When Iwashimizu said, “I love you,” like it was his heart and soul laid out for Miyuki to judge, Miyuki kissed everywhere he could reach.

Yet when Miyuki was the one injured, Iwashimizu would only cuddle him, afraid to do more harm than good. Miyuki loved the attention anyway, whatever form it took.

He only kissed Iwashimizu’s forehead, thinking the pain was all in his mind. He honestly thought it would heal quickly, with or without kisses. Even if he knew, there was nowhere he could aim to kiss away guilt.

Ah, wow, that's very mature and smart not to go back into something that didn't work out. Good job, Aomine. Now just stew in your regrets and lust and stuff!

(I liked this a lot!)

Ship: Oikawa Tooru/Kageyama Tobio
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: violence, death mention
Other Tags: none
Word Count: 451

***

Oikawa's hands are paradoxically smooth and deadly. Kageyama is always looking at them, whenever they're side by side and close enough for him to take them into his own calloused hands. He can't look at anything else. Oikawa is often teasing him because of that, but he indulges him and shows him 'how pretty and deceiving they are'. Kageyama can't deny it; a single movement from Oikawa, and their opponent drops on the ground like a puppet.

“You see, my hands look beautiful but they're not as clean as you think they are,” Oikawa casually says one day, while they're eating lunch.

“I know,” Kageyama replies, because it's true. He has never thought they were anything but tainted. Tainted, in an amazing way.

“Iwa-chan is wielding a knife like an expert, but he can also use a gun of course. I prefer the gun, it's cleaner and quicker. Less trouble when you kill.”

Putting a bullet through someone's skull, or someone's heart, is easy. Kageyama's sharp eyes have never failed him, and thus far he has never missed a shot. Granted, he hasn't been sent on any major operations yet, but he knows he won't miss either. And Oikawa has his back, so everything is fine.

“Many people kill to survive, and it's not wrong,” Oikawa goes on, smiling at Kageyama. “Others protect. But to my mind, when you pick a gun, your goal is to kill. You don't pick a gun otherwise.”

Kageyama stares, suddenly feeling a chill run through his spine, and he swallows. Oikawa's gaze is intense, confident and as acute as an eagle's. He can paralyze people with his eyes alone. Kageyama has fallen under its spell a long time ago, when he was still an impressionable kid who was just searching for someone to look up to.

It was three years ago. How time flies.

“Even if I kill our target to protect you?” Kageyama asks quietly. “If the target is aiming at you and I kill it—”

“No, this is still killing,” Oikawa interrupts. “You take someone's life at the expense of someone else's. Never forget that, Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama nods, but his mind drifts somewhere else. A place where he raises his gun to shoot because he wants to, and knows it is a choice, not because he has no other way to survive. To kill or to be killed; many of them have that mentality and he can't say he disagrees.

He can't help thinking about a universe in which Oikawa relies on him, just as he relies on him, and they take on the world together, not to kill out of necessity but to safeguard their tranquility.

Well, it's a possibility,,

aaaaAAahhHH I'm glad you liked it!! I just love friends turning against each other aha;; At least Tobio got to choose how to end everything! sorta...
Thank you for your kind words!!

Ship: Aoyagi Hajime/Teshima Junta
Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Word Count: 420

***

To anyone who saw them, Aoyagi knew he and Teshima had to look like an unlikely pair. After all, he was arguably the better rider of the two, and he knew there were those who wondered what he gained from his partnership with Teshima and who whispered that maybe he was holding himself back for Teshima's sake. He knew there were also those who took his own silence as a sign of stupidity or disinterest and wondered Teshima would choose to spend so much time around him.

Aoyagi had long ago decided that trying to correct them was more trouble than it was worth. After all, if those were the conclusions they were coming to, then anything he said might not be able to change them. Friendship wasn't about words, it was about everything that couldn't be expressed in words.

It was easy to say "I love you." Three words that could be said in a second. But it was much harder to truly mean those words. Aoyagi still had never managed to say those words the way that he wanted to; when he thought of how much Teshima meant to him, and how much he cared about him and wanted him to be happy, his throat closed up around the weight of the words, and he choked before he could force them out.

It was easier to express the meaning of those three words in other ways. Sometimes it was little things like having an extra water bottle for Teshima at the end of practice, or bringing him his favorite snack when he knew Teshima was stressed over exams. Other times, it was something bigger like a meal out to celebrate an important milestone together, or a box of chocolates of all Teshima's favorite flavors wrapped nicely for a holiday. But no matter the moment, Aoyagi hoped his meaning came across clearly enough. "I love you", he hoped his actions said. "I love you more than I can ever put into words, but I want you to know that you mean the world to me, and that I would give the world for you.

Sometimes, he wondered if it was wishful thinking that made him believe that Teshima understood what he was trying to say, but then they would ride together, and he would feel how close together they were, and how they moved with one body and one mind, and he would be reassured that Teshima understood, just as he understood Teshima.

Ship: sansaka, fuku&ara, onesided! ashikiba/teshima, mido&ima
Fandom: yowapeda
Major Tags: violence, gore, death, blood, war, swearing
Other Tags: commander arakita by himself warrants the swearing tag (again)
Word Count: 3000 more or less orz

i'm really sorry about this tbh it's not your fault that you accidentally prompted a pedals au that's haunted me for over a year

***

junta will remain assigned to sohoku for the rest of the foreseeable year. the war drags on, and neither headquarters nor anaheim electronics are calling him home. junta knows the ship's layout as easily as any other city he's ever been to, more comfortable in space than he's ever been, and the thought disturbs him: that he might be better off living out here instead of on earth, with both feet planted firmly on solid ground.

both he and aoyagi have, at least, missions that will require a back-at-base debriefing after their missions are over. anaheim's new beam saber technology has needed some in-field tuneups, and it's not like anyone will miss junta if the saber explodes in his mech's hand, or incinerates him, or anything. well. aoyagi would, if he survived, but the odds are, if junta's gone in a freak beam saber accident, so is he.

aoyagi's been with him since anaheim threw them together into the beam saber test project group at von braun. he's as spacenoid as they come, and junta's never been able to tell him, not in so many words, what it's like to be earthborn. to have gravity fill the hollows of his bones and drag him down. aoyagi isn't the best engineer (no, that honor went to the little round-faced one with glasses, the prize of the kanzaki foundation's mobile suit prototype program), but he knows junta's fighting style like nobody he's ever met.

he's the one to perform prelaunch and post-mission checks on his mech. leaving sohoku these days was always dangerous; the war was heating up, with civilian deaths climbing to the tens of thousands, and junta treasures any semblance of peace he might find. he brings the battlefield back to sohoku every time he leaves; the scent of burning metal and the sounds of screaming pilots ringing in his ears.

these days, he finds peace in the mobile suit hangar. aoyagi works with silent efficiency, floating midair with ease in the lessened gravity of the mech repair bay. he turns when junta pushes off the floor to float next to him, tilts his head in greeting with the barest of smiles on his face. his mechanic's jumpsuit, striped with magnetic belts to keep his tools close at hand, is already dirtied with what junta's brought back. it always smells odd in the repair bay, like ozone and machine grease, but junta finds it comforting now. aoyagi heals his suit the way he might fix junta's soul.

the alarm washes everything orange. sohoku rocks sideways and junta is so, so relieved that they're not sucking vacuum. he dives for aoyagi, forehead pushing soft against aoyagi's stomach, a soft huff of air escaping harsh from aoyagi's lungs. "sorry," junta grunts, and half-swims, half-drags them both to the mech bay's floor. aoyagi throws him an amused glance, shakes his head but doesn't shake off junta's grip. aoyagi lands more gracefully on the floor than junta does (spacenoid, he remembers, he'll always be more used to this), and junta feels a hot rush of embarrassment wash over his face.

"all mobile suit units, ready for launch." kinjou's voice is dispassionate on emergency comms. junta has to appreciate a man who keeps his cool even at times like this.

damaged mech or not, he has to go. sohoku isn't exactly packed to the full with new suits, and as far as he can tell, aoyagi's repairs have been superficial ones. each of his mech's limbs are intact, with control systems still in place, and-- this remaining junta's calling card since he's shipped out-- he still has all six beam sabers.

junta straps himself into the cockpit. sohoku rolls again, the mech bay's floor shuddering underfoot, but junta seals himself into his unit without a second thought. he has to go. "teshima, unit ii," he says into the voice command line. "ready to launch."

shunsuke's field of vision is shot. it's asteroids and smoke bombs, grenades scattered around to catch the unwary pilot dead in his tracks. he can faintly hear shouting in his ear, the sounds of panic on the bridge moderated by captain shingo's measured voice. "imaizumi," he says, and shunsuke's body nearly snaps into a perfect salute. "what do you see?"

"nothing."

"for now," his captain grumbles, clearly thinking aloud. "let's not be caught waiting."

shunsuke can see other mobile suits launching from sohoku , but he's the farthest from the ship. they're getting hit with big streaks of laserlike beams from somewhere, and if it's beam technology then there's most likely going to be something, or someone, in range and responsible.

"come out and fight," shunsuke says, hoping the particle density is thin enough for his voice to carry. "...unless you're scared."

"scared of what," comes a reply, a grinning voice slow and syrupy-sweet. shunsuke's heart sinks into his gut. "of you, i-mai-zu-mi-kun?"

"captain, i have visuals!" shunsuke aims for the suit and the pilot he knows like the back of his hand, an attack that burns a streak of light into his retinas. he'll hit it, but he'll be hit in return; that's how it's always worked with him.

he's right. the blow that strikes him across the chest rattles the cockpit. shunsuke coughs and hopes for nothing to come up with it, nothing but air. he'd rather not be sick in his helmet. "you hit me," midosuji says, accusingly soft. shunsuke takes aim with his rifle in return.

by rights, shunsuke is most likely the top sharpshooter in this quadrant of space. he is fast, and accurate, and despite what naruko has to say is the best pilot sohoku has aboard. "midosuji," shunsuke spits out, and takes aim. "what did you expect?"

the resulting explosion creates a huge cloud of smoke in space. he's probably taken out one or two grenades, more's the pity. it was always hard to hurt that bastard once he was in his element. static crackles in his ears. there is just the nothing again, a conspicuous absence of both pilot or mech, and if there is no wreckage, it means shunsuke hasn't--

"nothing." the slimy voice trickles through shunsuke's comms. "you're still a bad pilot." from above, the weight of midosuji's mech comes crashing down. he's kicked the cockpit, maybe even crushed in the door. shunsuke's teeth rattle. "you were always bad, and gross." the light of a beam saber flashes across his vision. "you'll die gross, too."

"like hell," shunsuke grits. he ignites his own beam saber, throws a smoke grenade before cleaving it in half. it covers them both, shunsuke punching at his controls to shake midosuji off and get clear, maybe even buy enough time and speed to swing back around and hit him where it hurts.

"did you think i was stupid?" midosuji laughs, the sound choppy from static. "i'm not you. i'm not gross." he flies to chase him, shunsuke grimly flying around each asteroid, swerving to fire shots from his rifle when he has the chance. midosuji dodges each one as they come, twisting his mech into forms that must have their steel joints screaming, but he presses on, inches forward to close the gap between their suits. shunsuke lives in two places at once: in the present, fighting for his life, and in the past, when midosuji akira and imaizumi shunsuke were just two kids enamored with the idea of spaceflight, growing up in the same colony and hating each other on sight.

Ship: Iwaizumi Hajime/Sawamura Daichi
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: None
Word Count: 437

Ah this was a really cute prompt, I hope you like this!

***

The couch is made up with at least half the blankets they own and a number of fluffy pillows. There’s drinks on the floor, a big bowl of popcorn propped on one arm, and the remote on the other, and Iwaizumi is in the middle of it all, patting the space beside him as a command for Daichi to join him. Daichi flips the light off and clambers into the empty space, careful not to knock anything over as he goes. They push and prod at each other as they adjust the blankets and pillows, which devolves into a tickle fight that almost upends the popcorn bowl before they call a truce, breathless with laughter.

Daichi cuddles up against Iwaizumi’s side, warm and comfortable, popcorn in his lap while he waits for Iwaizumi to start the movie. The ominous music that comes out of the tv speakers is not what Daichi had been expecting, and he looks at Iwaizumi a little skeptically.

“If you watch a scary movie together, then the scariness is cut in half.” Iwaizumi looks absolutely, completely serious, like he didn’t just say something that Daichi would expect more from his teenage cousin. He glances at Daichi with one eyebrow raised, silently asking if Daichi has any arguments.

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, Hajime.”

“Sure it does. Why, are you scared of being scared?” Iwaizumi grins devilishly at him. “You know I’ll protect you from all the scary ghosts.”

Daichi pokes at his side. “You say that now, but in fifteen minutes you’ll be the one cowering behind your favorite pillow and trying not to look at the screen.”

“Will not. That’s all you.”

Daichi just laughs and readjusts, sliding the bowl to settle on both their laps, watching the fog surround the words on the screen as the opening credits play. Their popcorn runs out about half an hour in, and Daichi leans down to grab their drinks from the floor. He tries to keep in the grin he gets when he notices that Iwaizumi is already half behind a pillow, mostly on the side that Daichi isn’t. He doesn’t know why Iwaizumi puts himself through it when he knows that he doesn’t do well with scary movies, but it’s cute to watch him try, so Daichi doesn’t really say anything.

Instead he curls back into Iwaizumi’s side, nudging his way underneath his arm and trying not to laugh at Iwaizumi’s grateful sigh. He still doesn’t know if Iwaizumi’s excuse is true or not, but Daichi’s not going to complain about a chance for them to cuddle together all night.

junta surveys the field and watches as imaizumi flies far from the ship, taking someone with him. they'll come in waves, then, with their squad leader taking point, probably the suit that sohoku 's elite mobile suit pilot's fighting right now. junta keeps his rifle at the ready; he won't be caught off-guard again.

this time, the enemy comes to him. the enemy pilot is fast one for sure, but he moves almost as if he's hesitant to do it, unwilling to fight. his unit's limbs are sluggish. "visuals on enemy pilot, requesting specs now."

from sohoku , aoyagi transmits him a single datafile. junta opens it immediately, mobile suit data pouring out and fed into junta's scanners. if he wants any chance at all of winning, he's got to know what exactly is out there. when the suit sees what he sees, mech data detailing its fundamental structure and weaknesses, junta can strike.

this is the part that usually gets him in trouble. his research usually proves his gut instinct right, but he'd still rather trust that than what he feels first and foremost; junta's fully aware that he doesn't know everything. it's one of his many deficiencies. he, unlike the weird guy in the enemy suit, isn't hesitant; he's just cautious. cerebral. "well, if you won't, i guess i will," junta says aloud. if the enemy pilot hears him, there's no indication.

junta aims and fires in quick bursts, tracing clean paths to cut off any sudden movements. it's fast work, this, and it'll have to be squeamishly up close. junta holsters his rifle and ignites two beam sabers, one in each hand. "let's go," he says, to himself (or to aoyagi, who is surely listening), burns fuel and stardust as he streaks toward his opponent.

"junta?"

aoyagi's voice does not sound like that. it sounds raspy, and soft, and never this tremulous or scared. he knows that voice though, strains to remember a face while keeping himself in one piece. the enemy pilot doesn't attack him, not as such. he only dodges, moves swift and sure in a way that belies his skill, almost like he's dancing.

"jun-kun," the voice insists, and only the well-drilled instinct of a pilot's skillset keeps him from pausing.

"i know that voice," junta murmurs, and powers one beam saber off. "i know you."

shunsuke wishes he hadn't met midosuji when he was younger. as kids, midosuji was still abrasive, and rude, but he had the awkward grace of a kid who didn't know how to fit in, and so destroyed any possible molds that could shape him. he'd been, then, not even aware of his newtype capabilities.

"i killed your mother," midosuji smiles, wiping blood from his nose. "and mine. they're all gone."

the image of what had happened there, the silence and the dead, still leaves shunsuke awake and cold, jolting awake from sleep covered in sweat. it was never clear, the exact reason for the disaster, but the gas leak had killed everyone in the colony save for a few children, who had been taken into the cold arms of the newtype institute. it was a death toll in the thousands, a small industrial colony still building itself as it fostered new families in space. shunsuke pilots his mech with white knuckles, trapped in his memory.

"where are you," midosuji sings, and shunsuke can see him in his mind's eye as if they were only playing hide and seek.

"my mom's dead. my mother's dead." midosuji, repeating those words like a lifeline to sanity, blood trickling from his busted nose. empty-eyed, or maybe he had been empty all along, and this was the first time he'd felt fulfilled after all. shunsuke wants to go home, wants to see his mother--

junta shakes his head. it can't be him. last he's heard, he was just a kid (god, they're all just kids) learning how to pilot a suit, the same way junta did. he hadn't fallen into one by chance, like onoda, or been raised to do it right, like their elites. no, he and ashikiba had been kids admiring the mechs, amazed and astounded by the scope of what seemed like a fictional war. it had seemed far away then, and junta had so much more than a bare bunk on an assault-class fighter. he hadn't had aoyagi then, or any measure of common understanding between himself and another person, but takuto had been someone junta could trust without any strings attached.

"it is you, after all." the soft, amazed voice comes across as a mumble. "jun-kun, what are you doing here?" the ignited beam saber flickers, as if sensing ashikiba's hesitation. junta can't be fooled by something like this; he won't get taken in by this kind of trick. he's smarter than that.

"i should ask you the same thing." junta reignites the other saber, slashes both downward. ashikiba parries both, but-- infuriatingly-- he doesn't fight back. "we used to be friends."

"we're not?" ashikiba sounds genuinely hurt, as if junta couldn't wound him any more with a physical injury.

"no," junta says decisively, and leans in to fight him in earnest. "i don't think so."

lots of people are torn by the present and the past, uncertain they've chosen the right future. sangaku shakes his head as if he's got static in his ears, looks at captain fukutomi before seeing right through him. "sakamichi is in danger."

he bolts for the mobile suit hangar. somewhere, in some part of space not too far from where he is now, sakamichi is fighting for his life. he can tell. the phantom shivers running down his spine, the tang of fear on his tongue, and the shaking, shuddering movements distinctive of a mobile suit under fire: none of these things are real enough to happen to him. they're happening to someone else, and judging by the way manami's soul seems to cry out, reaching for the stars, it's sakamichi and no one else.

"manami! for fuck's sake!" commander arakita roars through comms, but it's too late. manami's thruster output goes beyond the redline, take him soaring from hakone to some place he doesn't have coordinates for, only a mental map and sakamichi's voice in his heart.

"just wait," manami murmurs, and he can't help but smile. "i'll be right there. i'll catch up to you."

"gross." midosuji's suit shows the wear and tear of battle. shunsuke's landed quite a few heavy hits on the whole unit, and even dented its chestplate until it matches his own. both their cockpits will be shattered, in parts, and the acrid smoke of their fight burns at shunsuke's lungs. he's tired; his limbs feel sluggish. "you're disgustingly weak."

shunsuke ignores him. "nt-11," midosuji snaps, momentarily distracted "report back to base. you're useless here."

shunsuke takes the opportunity to smash the side of his rifle against the head of midosuji's mobile suit. it'll take his cameras offline, at least for a few precious seconds.

"imaizumi," captain shingo's voice a cool flow of reason and logic against shunsuke's nerves, "come back. reinforcements are on the way." shunsuke thinks about ending it right here, with midosuji silent on the other end, waiting for something heavy to drop that shunsuke can't quite sense.

onoda's gundam comes screaming into their fight. relief washes over shunsuke's bones, relief and the hot, searing rush of fondness that tears shunsuke open from the inside-out at onoda's voice. he's going to be fine; they'll be fine. they'll make it.

"imaizumi, report back to base. bring onoda with you. do you copy?"

"... yes, sir."

"fucking fuck, fuku-chan, this is the mother of all clusterfucks." arakita maps out what they see: rogue mobile suits and sohoku in the crossfire, manami's beacon a white, blinking tag on their main screens. "kin-chan is fucked in the ass if we don't go, and by go, i mean have gone fifteen fucking seconds ago with him."

"manami is a strong pilot." fukutomi nods, and gestures to his bridge crew.

"that fucking means," arakita barks, jabbing his fingers at shinkai, "motherfucking go! i want us to leave a goddamn fucking imprint of this ship in space to any and all eyes in this quadrant! fucking go!"

the gundam fills takuto with a fear that he can't name. "what is that," he whispers, eyes tracking its speed through the field. it looks unscathed, despite the fighting, pristine and new and utterly terrifying. it has eyes that follow takuto through space and time. "what are you."

"i'm sorry," he hears junta say: to him, or to someone else, he's not sure.

"nt-11," midosuji snaps. "report back to base. you're useless here."

takuto wishes he could have told jun-kun goodbye.

junta's report will later say that he fought a newtype, and that would be the end and be all of that. he'll omit that he knew him, and that ashikiba was always going to be a newtype; he was always dancing along to what he said was the music of the stars, and people, and junta had sung along. his report will describe his one, simple encounter; onoda's will describe his fight, and how his mech fared; their elites will, no doubt, be fully debriefed. junta remembers a song ashikiba had sung, all those years ago, and wondered how in their lives they might have ended up on the wrong side of things, opposite each other. if peace would ever come back to any of their lives.

aoyagi holds his trembling hands as he types out his report. "i'm fine," he says quietly, but aoyagi shakes his head. "you know i'm lying, huh."

he leans in close, foreheads pressed together. junta tries to find again some semblance of warmth, and peace. "thanks."

"sakamichi!" manami's missed the battle, or at least most of it. he runs for sakamichi straight-on, bright blue eyes dancing like lit flames. sakamichi clings to him, and his warmth. he's so cold. "what's happened?"

"manami-kun--" sakamichi's voice is hoarse.

manami fixes his eyes on sakamichi's, piercing gaze focused entirely on him. "what happened?" his voice is soft. "where are you?"

the gundam had saved his life. it was by far the best machine in the war, and sakamichi had clung to its controls, grateful and horrified that the skills he'd picked up in the trials with hakone's crew had stuck. "i."

"you're okay." manami runs warm, warm hands over sakamichi's. "you're here with me."

"with you," sakamichi echoes, a lazy, faraway smile dawning on his mouth. "i like that place."

the burning smoke and the red-alert alarms fade, just a little.

Ship: Miya Atsumu/Kita Shinsuke
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major tags: none
Other tags: none
Word count: none

ty for this opportunity for kitatsumu

***

After the last panel of the day wraps up, Shinsuke goes through the requisite handshakes and small talk with a practised and amiable smile, collects and exchanges an appropriate amount of business cards, and politely turns down all invitations to join so-and-so-and-company for dinner.

"Prior engagement," he tells them, and they cajole good-naturedly, but allow him to take his leave.

He makes the walk from the conference centre back to his hotel room rather than take a taxi; the night air is brisk but not cold, and the mindless bustle of an unfamiliar city is soothing after a long day of talks and networking. He buys dinner from a small street vendor on his way back, fumbling a little over the language, but getting there, in the end.

Back in his room, he puts the food aside, and checks his watch. There's time still, so Shinsuke takes a shower, enjoying the hot water though the water pressure is lacking, and changes into comfortable clothes. He scrolls through the news while eating his dinner, and checks in on the lives of his friends on social media.

At last, Shinsuke settles into the chair by the window, makes sure that the lamps are on for sufficient lighting, props up his tablet on the table, and makes a call.

-

Shinsuke had never been sure where a relationship would fit into his life. There were, he’d thought, too many unpredictable factors. Distance was one of them, in this life that he’d carved out for himself that saw him flying frequently; stability, he always warned those who signalled interest, was not something he could promise.

Atsumu had laughed, and reached for his hands, and asked if he seemed the type to shy away so easily. Shinsuke remembers the warmth of his fingers, but more than that: the way they’d curled around his, a question and an answer, all at once.

-

On the other side of the world, as Shinsuke winds down his day, Atsumu is waking up, with a schedule every bit as packed as his own. It’ll be three days before Shinsuke flies home, five days before they both have a free day.

He considers the image of himself in the tiny square in the corner of the screen, while he waits for the call to connect. The Shinsuke on the screen looks tired, but not half as tired as he feels. He runs a hand through his hair, still damp, just as the camera blinks on on the other side, and Atsumu appears.

"Hey. Mornin'." Atsumu's voice is sleepy, but his smile is clear through the screen. Shinsuke feels his own bloom in response.

"Morning," he replies, and leans in.

Ship: Hayakawa Ryou & Kawamura Takashi
Fandom: Princess Nine & The Prince of Tennis
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: Hurt/Comfort, self-blame, Grand Unified Theory of SASO, I might have slipped in a jab or two at Hiroki
Word Count: 671

***

Ryo froze as warm arms wrapped around her. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or what she had been doing; her sobbing had taken over her awareness, with only the tears streaming over her cheeks and the rough, pinched feeling behind her eyes keeping her aware of her physical state. She hiccuped a little, her tears pausing but not stopping as she looked up.

She was still on the field. She was on the mound, her mound, even though everyone, the spectators, the rest of the team, had all since left. The sun was beginning to set — she hadn’t even noticed that, and all she could see was how the golden light seemed to shine on home plate.

A sob wracked through her again.

The arms held her tighter before letting go, only to return and slip a jacket over her shoulders. She looked back.

“T-taka-san…”

Taka hugged her again, and Ryo froze at first, before letting go, sinking into him as the tears came back.

“Let’s go home, Ryo-chan,” he whispered. She shook her head at first, and he let her have a moment as he held her tighter, before he insisted. “You shouldn’t stay here and beat yourself up about it,” he said.

She didn’t move at first, and almost fell when he moved away from her, but he steadied her once again. Before she really realized what was happening, he had gathered her up in his arms.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“I can walk,” Ryo muttered through tears, sounding completely unconvincing. “You… you shouldn’t have to carry me, I can do it myself…”

Taka shook his head. “It’s no trouble, Ryo-chan. Everyone knows I’m too strong. Might as well take advantage of it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to…” She repeated.

“I want to,” Taka said.

Ryo fell silent at that. Thinking about that. Taka was one of her oldest friends; they’d grown up just blocks away from each other, both children of restaurateurs in the same neighborhood. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time Taka had offered his help when Ryo was convinced she was too strong to need it. And he had long ago figured out when to leave her alone to do it herself or to sense when he needed to push and give her help that she was too stubborn to accept. It was a lot different than… Hiroki…

Ryo sobbed again. “I’m an idiot,” she whispered. “I could have won the game. I should have won. If only I hadn’t… I was distracted and I…”

Taka held her a bit tighter, as if hugging her while carrying her. “Distraction is a part of baseball, isn’t it?” he asked. “I don’t know, I only know tennis. But that just means now you know, and you’ll be better next time.”

Ryo clenched her eyes shut. “The whole team was counting on me and I just…”

“I’m pretty sure crying isn’t part of the rules in baseball though,” Taka said. “So no need to practice at that.”

Ryo stopped, sniffling a bit as she breathed in.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked.

Ryo slumped, letting her face rest against Taka’s chest as she shook her head. “I’m not ready to go back home yet.”

Taka nodded. “I’ll take you back to Kawamura Sushi then. I’ll make you some tea.”

They were silent for a bit, Ryo trying to steady her breathing, before something dawned on her. “Wait, were you watching the game?”

“You think I’d miss one of your games?” Taka said brightly. “Of course I was there.”

“But… your shift at the restaurant.”

“Dad said he’d manage without me for a little while, it’s fine.”

“But the game ended a long time ago… I’m making you late…”

“Ryo-chan, are you going out of your way to find things to beat yourself up about?” he asked, nearly laughing. “You have to quit that, you know.”

Ryo sighed, slumping her head again. “Thank you, Taka-san.”

“Anytime, Ryo-chan.”

Ship: Makishima Yuusuke & Sohoku Cycling Club
Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: None
Word Count: 861

Loosely based on one of the bonus drama CDs. Why are people around Maki-chan like this.

***

The whole team, Makishima observed, had been acting very weird for a while now.

It was just another practice day, nothing special planned — or well, as long as Makishima had known, there was nothing special that day. It had of course come as a surprise when Onoda suddenly appeared in front of the door, half-yelling, "Makishima-san!! Kinjou-san!! Today!! Long ride!! All six of us!!"

"Sorry sho, Onoda, I don't get what you're saying," Makishima said, although he might have actually deciphered it a little.

"Ah, ah sorry— I just, I asked— NO! I meant, Kinjou-san, captain, he told me to uh, to tell you that we're uh— we're going on a long ride together today!!" Onoda said quickly, even Makishima could see the sweat trailing down his cheeks. "And uh we're gonna!! Do it together!! Ride together, I mean, all six of us!! Of course, me too!! And Makishima-san too!!"

Makishima furrowed his eyebrows, but shrugged it off. He rather liked having something like this, actually, so it worked well for him.

The route was... unusual. They had their usual route — down the slope in front of the school then straight toward the main road, then up around the mountain, then back — and although they did modify it from time to time, it was never... it was never this. The path was pretty much through the main road and then going around a residential area. Even for Makishima, it was weird. He did ask (protest) of course, but Tadokoro said something about "we need to prepare for all different kinds of terrains!", and again, Makishima could only shrug.

"O-oooh! If it ain't a convenience store! I'm suddenly super thirsty now! Let's drop by!!"

Makishima looked at Naruko with an eyebrow raised. "We've only been riding for barely ten minutes, sho. Besides, isn't that a water bottle under your seat..."

"I suddenly really really want Pocari! Let's go, yeah?!"

Makishima furrowed his eyebrows, not only because of Naruko, but also because everyone else was agreeing. What was everyone up to?!

As if it hadn't been bad enough... well, it kept happening. The next time, Tadokoro said he was hungry and wanted some onigiri. Afterward, it was Onoda saying that he wanted to check out some biking books in the bookstore. Even Imaizumi said he wanted to rest in the next convenience store they passed by.

Something was definitely happening, and this time he'd make sure his questions get answered.

"What's up today, sho?!" he said with a frown when the other five were just getting out of the last store they dropped by. "It doesn't feel like practice at all, and—"

"I'm— I'm sorry, Makishima-san!!" Onoda said as he bowed down apologetically. There was something in his hand that did not look like food or drink, and Makishima furrowed his eyebrows for the nth time that day. "It was my fault — it was my idea, and although it was for you, I shouldn't have bothered practice time...!"

"No, Onoda, we all agreed to it, and we still think it's a good idea," Tadokoro reassured, patting the younger's shoulders. This did not clear anything up.

"What are you talk—"

"Makishima," Kinjou cut, smiling. "Onoda has something for you."

The green-haired looked at the bespectacled, confused but also curious when Onoda handed him what had been in his hands.

"This — if I remember correctly, this is one of the models you like, right? And it's—" Onoda stopped mid-sentence, and Makishima realized that behind the thing plastic bag was the cover of a photobook—

"What Onoda-kun wants to say is," Naruko said, circling his arm around Onoda's shoulders. "Happy birthday, Makishima-san!!"

"Huh?" Makishima blinked.

"Onoda remembered that it was your birthday today, and he found out that it's also the release date for you favorite model's photobook," Tadokoro said, grinning. "Sorry to drag you along with us, but we thought this way we could plan a surprise while also have practice today."

Makishima's eyes widened as he looked to Tadokoro's face first, then Naruko's, Imaizumi's, Kinjou's, and then, Onoda's. A frown was beginning to take shape on his lips as he looked down, scratching the back of his neck.

"I've preordered this photobbok, sho," he mumbled, lips pulling into a wider frown, a frown that conveyed a dozen emotions in it.

"Huh? What did you say, Makishima?" Tadokoro asked, leaning closer. "We can't hear you if you're speaking so quietly!"

"I said —" He looked up again, finding that everyone was looking straight to his eyes, and he could feel something warm rushing to his ears and cheeks. He immediately looked away, quickly making his way toward his trusty bike. "Nothing, sho!! Let's go back!!"

"Wait, Makishima-san!! We also bought some cake and drinks, we should eat now before going back!!"

Somehow, this normal, totally not special day turned out to be something special, after all. Makishima could only manage a strange smirk at the surprise celebration and the surprise present, something that the team understood was his own way of saying thanks.

Kuha, maybe this was what it felt like being in a team.

Or well, worse... a family.

Getting that comment in just under the screening wire!! This is so great, and such a good description of married people life. I love all the details and how takeda was caught by surprise and the steady date with the vice-principal for shogi. JUST A DELIGHTFUL FILL AND PERFECT FOR THE QUOTE!!

Ship: aomine/himuro
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Word Count: 790

***

day

Aomine has a reputation for being a bit of an idiot, so a part of him forgives himself for not noticing it sooner. A bigger part, though, the one that's grown up and a little more accepting of the consequences, is painfully aware that with everything Himuro has shown him thus far, the signs have been flashing for weeks, months now. Not in his peripheral, nothing he should've missed—they might as well have been flashing bright neon for how they should've strained his eyes, but didn't. Maybe there's still selfishness he can't shake, no matter how hard he's been trying, an inherent refusal to consider someone else.

-

dusk

It starts, predictably so, with the little things. Just when everything's going smoothly, or, as smooth as they could be with personalities like him and Himuro, the fissures start to show, cracks in their foundations they haven't been paying attention to.

Or maybe Himuro's been paying too much attention, and Aomine just hasn't been doing it enough.

The points of contention wouldn't be important, on any other day, or with any other pair but themselves. It's in the way Aomine would complain, and the way Himuro would press his lips into something sharper than a smile, venom-sweet when he says, "I think you had it coming."

Or the way Aomine would make an offhand remark he doesn't mean, not really, about how difficult Himuro's being, expecting a rebuttal, and the way Himuro would smile again, loss-bitter when he says, "I think I had that coming."

-

night

Completely out of options, Aomine brings it up with Kagami. It hadn't been why he'd called Kagami to a street court, completely out of nowhere—he'd just wanted to let out some steam—but it still slips from his mouth, not completely out of nowhere.

"He's being a dick," he says, passing the ball a little too harshly, forgetting that it's a one-on-one. Kagami instinctively goes for a dunk, but returns to his senses once the ball hits the ground, as if he'd needed to process it.

"You sure it isn't you?"

"It's not." Aomine scowls, amends, "not more than usual."

The defeat must be palpable in his voice, because Kagami seems to understand immediately. Aomine isn't sure if it means Kagami knows Himuro too well, or knows him too well.

"I'm not gonna tell you to stick around," says Kagami after a moment's deliberation, as he walks to pick up the ball. There's a bite in Aomine's voice when he responds.

"You're shit at giving advice."

"I mean," continues Kagami, passing him back the ball. "It's up to you decide if it's worth the effort. Don't have to tell you I think he is, but—" His face scrunches up, and he scratches his head irritably. "You're right, I'm shit at this. Do what you wanna."

Aomine's fingertips dig into the ball's surface, almost as if inviting the pattern to mark his skin.

"Yeah, I think will."

-

dawn

The next time Himuro tries it with him, Aomine thinks it time to call him on his bullshit.

"If you think I'm caving first, you need to get your head checked."

Himuro's eyes widen, just a fraction, just enough to give away his surprise. "I don't know what you mean."

"All this time I thought it was my fault, and maybe it is." The honesty burns his tongue, but he can't stop now. "If you want to end it, just spit it out."

"I..." Himuro stares at him, wearing no more smiles with varying flavors of intention. "I don't."

"Yeah, thought so." Aomine swallows; saying it had been part bravado. "Then what is it? You're scared I wanna stick around?" Kagami's words had been crude, but they seem to strike a chord. Himuro looks away, and Aomine keeps going. "You're scared I'm still here, 'cause you think I should've gone by now."

Himuro has no reply for him. It's just as well, because Aomine isn't done.

"That's not up to you to decide, asshole." Sick of their eyes not meeting, Aomine reaches out, hands on Himuro's shoulders to keep him from drifting. "Well? Say something."

Aomine feels the tremble under his palms before he sees it, and it's only when Himuro rests his forehead against his collarbones and he feels the warm dampness on his shirt that he realizes what's happening.

"Hey," he says, uncertain, out of his element even as his arms rearrange to wrap around Himuro instead. "Don't—you know I'm shit at this."

Himuro, miraculously, starts to laugh, soft and split down the middle, and Aomine's heart starts to pound right under Himuro's lips with the knowledge that he still has a chance to piece it back together. "You're doing perfectly fine, Daiki."

Bless their sportsball hearts... and bless you, because TAKA AND RYO BFFs FOREVER <3

AHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH! Kageyama is SUCH A GOOD BOY, remembering his promise!!! Thank you for this fill!!!

Holy crap, how did I never reply to this??? I read it on my way home from work the other day, and it's so nice to see the one-sided Hikaru/Ryou of my dreams... Thank you, thank you, thank you! The emotion here was so subtle and real.

Ship: Sanae Sawamura/Natsuo Ishido
Fandom: Teppuu
Major tags: None
Other tags: Violent imagery?
Word count: 556

A NERUDA PROMPT!!! i love neruda!!! i love him so much i actually wrote this in spanish first, then adapted it to english because i wanted to play around with spanish a little! as you'll be able to tell by the time of posting, i had to rush a little to get it done in time so maybe that wasnt such a great idea (lol) but! i hope you still find it interesting o)-<

***

On the day of their fall off, Sanae can’t find the right words. She gets in some words, sure, but not any that can earn her an explanation, and certainly not any that can get Natsuo to stop. 
On the day of their fall off, Sanae couldn’t have found the right words. Sanae couldn’t have done anything because her moment to act had already passed, this was over something she had already done. Natsuo knew that then as well as she knew that getting her back for it when she wasn’t even aware, no warnings nor heads-up, was low and unfair. It was knowledge that nested in the back of her head, a secondary concern, a casualty. Someone else’s words took up way more space. 
(On the day of their fall off, someone else’s words took up way more space, again. Too much space to allow for a ‘maybe I shouldn’t have done that’, maybe I should talk to— 
She doesn’t notice there’s a castle of cards on the verge of losing balance until the noise it makes as it falls down is all she can hear. You hear the explosion first, you are crushed under its weight next. Silence sounds charged with noise for a good while afterwards. She is forced to take a moment for the static to pass, but it never quite does and by the time she notices the wait has already sent a message.)

And now when they kiss, Sanae can taste it — There's still noise somewhere in Natsuo's brain, and now her thoughts have learned to follow the quickstep of the buzzing. It’s never calming down, is it? She thinks, and she kisses her again. If a kiss could be all bite they’d both pull away with their mouths dripping warmth each time, not red, bad blood. Back when they saw each other again, the first time after a while, they didn’t say anything, didn’t don't open their mouths but in they way they adjusted their postures they still showed each other their teeth. Defensive first, so mocking followed. It’s a lot of the same thing, diving in for a kiss or to avoid a fist, or throwing words at the other like bullets. If this were a Russian roulette it only had enough powder to fire once though. They weren’t holding the gun, but they’re still coursing through the fire.

It’s just for show. Or it’s a darting board, someone always standing against it like it’s a wall, accusations and taunts often knifes often darts. If it lands is it victory or foul play? It doesn’t matter when they keep throwing at the rhythm of the rumble, the vibrato that’s dig itself too into this thing —whatever they have— to be anyone else’s. It’s maddening, how it keeps them quiet, how it draws blood (by hand and by word), how they move to its pace despite themselves, how when Sanae tries to bleed some stillness into Natsuo it’s her who feels infected. It’s been years, she fills herself brush the whole picture with the tip of her lips, but there’s still something Natsuo’s not letting her see and so the right words scape her once again.

It’s maddening, how every interaction digs into flesh like a bite mark, yet the real wounds are all the things left unsaid.

OH MY Thank you so much for such a great, lengthy fill??
Arakita is so well written, and his interactions with Onoda and Manami are golden, AND THIS WHOLE AU IS PERFECTLY WRITTEN TOO?! This was such a great read overall I wish I had more time to comment on how much I loved it;;;;

Ship: oikawa tooru/kageyama tobio
Fandom: haikyuu!!
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: baseball au, yes i just used catchers' mitts as a symbolic stand-in for guns, what of it,
Word Count: 425 words

i got really emotional thinking about them as catchers and thinking about how they would compare to miyuki and chris and now i'm just really emotional about catchers and setters and here just take this

***

The day Kageyama Tobio picks up a catcher's mitt, Oikawa feels his center of balance shift.

He watches, carefully, studiously, tells himself there's no harm in his junior trying it out before he settles on something different—it often happens, someone getting it in their head they'd be a good fit before realizing the position isn't flashy enough (and that with Oikawa around they're unlikely to get play time) and they move on to something different.

But then coach puts him in the bullpen.

Then he puts him in with the relief pitcher at the end of a practice game when they're five points up, and Oikawa watches with hands clenched around the gate in front of the dugout.

Iwaizumi's reassurances—"Coach is just testing the waters, trying something new"—fall on deaf ears as Kageyama manages to get a swinging strikeout to end the game.

"You know that was their worst batter at the end, right?" Iwaizumi asks him as they pack up.

He schools his features into a bright smile, directs it right at Iwaizumi. "I'm fine, Iwa-chan, stop fussing!"

When he finds Kageyama in the practice barn late that night, after everyone's left, he watches Tobio's swing for a few minutes.

Oikawa will always maintain that he was the first to get a sense for the depth of Tobio's potential—the extent of it. He wouldn't be shaken up over a non-threat, after all, and the ownership of that knowledge is something like a comfort.

Knowing it, at least, means he can prepare himself.

He steps into the light, and Tobio notices immediately, going still for a moment before he drops his stance, bat held slack at his side.

Oikawa leans against the edge of the door. "I want you to know something," he says. "You don't pick up the catcher's mitt halfheartedly. You don't wear it half-heartedly."

It's not just the gear that's heavy.

Tobio blinks up at him with those blue, blue eyes, and Oikawa scoffs. "Don't waste anyone's time if you're not going to put everything into it, Tobio-chan."

He leaves without another word.

Three years later, he watches Tobio from the dugout during a practice game, wearing Seijou mint to Tobio's Karasuno's black.

Just like last time, Iwaizumi is next to him, watching just as closely as Oikawa.

Just like last time, Kageyama calls his pitcher—Asahi Azumane, supposedly one of the most timid and inconsistent pitchers in the prefecture—through an inning without a single hit.

On the gate in front of him, Oikawa's knuckles go white.

Ship: Takigawa Chris Yuu/Miyuki Kazuya
Fandom: Daiya no Ace
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: angst, unrequited love
Word Count: 919

I'm sorry

***

Miyuki learns from a young age that love is a lost cause.

It’s nothing but lies painted in pretty colors to sell roses and chocolates and media with couples being paid to look happy on the covers.

It’s nothing like they’re taught it is, with warm lighting and orchestra music and sweeping camera angles. Love is something filled with loss and tears and aching hearts, no matter what anyone says. His father being living proof of that.

Until he realizes he might be wrong.

Their meeting is not a particularly kind one. Chris nearly singlehandedly defeating Miyuki’s team, demonstrating skill that has no place belonging to a junior high boy. His movements fluid and precise and his strategy impeccable and it should frustrate Miyuki that he’s been shown up like this, but it only makes his heart race in his chest.

He doesn’t think twice when he follows Chris to high school.

Miyuki tells himself it’s so he can finally beat him, take his spot out from under him and watch as Chris is forced to endure the same feeling of inferiority and frustration that he has felt all this time.

It’s a flimsy excuse, but one Miyuki clings to for dear life, unable to acknowledge the near painful yet pleasant warm feeling in his chest anytime Chris speaks, and the way he can feel his heart beat in every fiber of his body when it’s him that Chris is speaking to. Or the way his breath catches when he watches Chris play, his movements and stature far beyond what they had been in middle school, stunning and beautiful. Or the way he almost has a heart attack every time he catches sight of a little too much of his skin in the bath.

Or the way his heart clenches, painful and suffocating like a vise, with tears nearly stinging in the back of his eyes as he watches Chris lose everything.

It’s a hollow and empty victory. The numbered patch feeling heavy in his hands, and he can hardly bear to look at it even though he’s spent the past three years dreaming of this moment.

Instead all he wants is to comfort Chris. To reach out and tell him it will be alright, that it isn’t over and he will return soon.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s nothing he can do to make things right, things far out of his or anyone else’s control by this point. But he can’t forgive himself if he doesn’t try.

All he’s met with is a frigid glimpse of dark dull eyes and a mutter of, “do your best,” before Chris turns away again, leaving an even bigger hole in his chest, and all Miyuki can do is let him go.

So he tries harder, desperate to take this team to Koshien, even if just to see the Chris return to a glimmer of his old self, to let him see that place even if just from afar.

In the end all it takes is a loud mouthed kid to do what Miyuki had failed to. The light returns to Chris’ eyes, bright and shining and beautiful, and it’s a strange sort of painful to realize he had nothing to do with it.

Sawamura doesn’t even know what he does, changing the world around him and bringing Chris back from the shadows and Miyuki wants so much to hate him for it, for the way Chris looks at him like he’s everything Miyuki isn’t.

But he can’t, because in the back of him mind he realizes all he wants is for Chris to be happy.

“I like you.”

Miyuki throws all caution and care to the wind, it’s not as if being safe had ever been his thing anyway.

Chris regards him, silently, thoughtfully, breathing out a sigh and Miyuki hates how composed he appears.

“Miyuki-” Chris begins, careful and wary, appearing unfazed and unmoved, as if he’d been expecting this for a long time.

Miyuki almost chokes on a sob, the realization raining down on him. Chris had known, for how long, he’s not sure. Maybe since the beginning. Simply letting Miyuki string along in ignorance that he’d been so transparent, not wanting to hurt his feelings that would never be reciprocated.

“Is it-” Miyuki breathes, “is it because of him?” The question plaguing his mind unable to escape from his lips- Is it because of Sawamura you don’t love me?

There’s a moment of silence, a moment of hesitance that feels like an eternity, as Chris regards him, pitiful and sad and Miyuki wants so badly to run away, to forget this moment forever. “I don’t like Sawamura,” he replies, matter of fact.

Somehow it’s even worse than if he had, because it’s no longer a matter that Chris had found someone he loved more, he just didn’t like Miyuki at all. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been good enough. He just wasn’t good at all.

“Miyuki,” Chris sighs, looking torn, hand moving just the slightest as if to reach out to him, and in an earlier time Miyuki would’ve given anything to be touched by Chris, but he flinches away.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” Miyuki hurriedly says, turning around and feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes, resisting the urge to run as fast as he can away from this and to hide.

He pauses, for just a moment, by the door, waiting, hoping, to hear footsteps behind him or the call of his name.

But nothing comes.

Edited 2017-07-22 22:58 (UTC)

Ship: Aomine Daiki & Youzan Miura
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke, Robot x Laserbeam
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: age gaps
Word Count: 1094

i tried to write it shippy but platonic happened - i hope that's okay! (ft. nba aomine)

***

Summer in America is the kind of summer that Aomine has grown accustomed to; Cleveland is a less busier city, much less than Chicago or New York yet more than Cincinnati. It’s hard to say the tourists make it any more busy, when he’s so used to the throngs of fans during the regular season and the playoffs; the Hall of Fame and the house from A Christmas Story are draws, but probably not as much as the amusement parks scattered around Ohio. It’s a comfortable city to live in, even more so for Aomine, whose house is out in the suburbs, relatively unbothered when he goes out with friends for dinner.

The familiarity of Cleveland is comforting, though so is the prospect of vacation during the offseason, taking a few more rest days per week, exploring and eating less healthy. But his plan for this summer is not so much a vacation as it is a return; his mom has been getting on him for not visiting home for years now, despite his efforts to still call his parents once a week. She’d rather he come home to celebrate the new year, but his schedule never allows for that, and even if he tried, the jet lag would be a whole different beast compared to, well, playing a game on the West Coast.

He owes Tokyo a debt for kickstarting his career when he was a kid, though, and even if he’s a decent cook, it’d be nice to have an authentic meal. There’s street food, too, and summer festivals; a world his job had taken him out of, but still has allowed him a healthy window to return.

Half a decade removed from Japan, his childhood home feels so much smaller now. His mother looks a little older in the face, but she’s still striking; his father has put on a few more pounds, but he was always on the lighter side, so that’s good. He still refuses to retire, and Aomine knows it’d be premature, but he’s their only son; he can take care of them financially if they wanted them too. But they’re stubborn just as he is; even if they needed his help, they’d still try their best to refuse it. He feels like less of a child in their home now, making him feel wistful in a way he isn’t sure how to phrase. It’s nice to have his dad crack open a beer for him though, praising him and his accomplishments on more equal terms.

Even so, there’s still a bit of culture shock when he comes back home. Remembering the conversion rates, a little bewildered when reintroduced to so much racial homogeneity. He brings some comforts of the United States to distract him; namely, his golf clubs, so he can drive out to a range and find some quiet.

He’s not the best at golf, but it’s about as social an activity among professional athletes as drinking is across, well, all classes--and drinks are pretty much guaranteed after a round of golf. On top of that, Reed and Hayes will definitely leave him to wade through the rough if he doesn’t practice while he’s away, and they deserve to be knocked down a peg.

The range is almost always deserted at night, which is Aomine’s favorite time to go, driving steady shots into the quiet air, save for some high school kid with dark hair and a deep tan, who seems to be omnipresent at the range no matter what hour Aomine visits. Aomine stops noticing him after a while (which would make him laugh and think of a friend, if he bothered to turn the thought over once more), the kid becoming a fixture, as he sprouted forth from the astroturf.

It’s a muggy night when he drives up to the range once more, the sky still illuminated orange when the sun has set, clouds hinting at a thunderstorm. He buys a bucket from the attendant, shrugs when he’s told they might close earlier depending on the weather. This place is still cheaper than paying for a community club membership back home. He’s about a quarter of the way through the bucket when a voice interrupts him.

“Ojiisan, you put too much power into your swing. Dial it down, and your balls will stop curving to the left.”

Aomine jumps, the head of his driver bumping his ball off the tee. He whirls around, his eyes fixing on steely gray ones, about a head shorter than him.

“Fuckin--shit,” Aomine curses again, though he doesn’t feel that bad about it; he’s not yet 25, and this kid has got to be in high school. “Don’t call me old.”

“You’ll start to feel old if you keep twisting your back so much,” The kid shrugs, and maybe Aomine does feel bad after all; he seems a touch kinder than Aomine was when he was that age--but not by much. “Just a suggestion.”

“Alright,” Aomine says after a beat, watching the kid pull the cover off his driver. “You willing to show me.”

“Only ‘cause you’re the range’s closest thing to a regular in ages,” The kid sticks a tee into the turf, standing opposite Aomine. “I don’t think I count anymore”

Aomine watches how the kid grips the club, lining his driver up with the tee. He pulls back almost in slow motion--and then he swings through, firing the ball off the tee like a gunshot. His jaw drops as he watches the ball sail, as if it’s flying to reach the stars. He blinks, stunned; he knows an athlete when he sees one. The kid smiles, pleased with his party trick.

“Wow,” Aomine whistles. “The PGA call you up yet?”

“I wish. The tournaments here aren’t the best,” shrugs the kid. “I don’t have much money to travel, so I just play with my school.”

“Better keep at it,” Aomine scratches his jaw. “Anyone who puts in enough effort can go pro.”

“I’m sorry--sir,” The kid forces etiquette, trying not to laugh through the sentence. “You’re better than some of the guys that drop by here, but I don’t think you could even qualify as an amateur.”

“I’m happy enough with my day job,” Aomine cracks a grin. “I was talking about you, kid.”

“Well, yeah,” The kid shrugs, almost bored with the suggestion. “Everyone says I should go pro.”

“As they should,” Aomine opens a palm, ceding the point to him. “But not everyone knows a few people.”

Ship:Harada Masatoshi/Narumiya Mei
Fandom: Daiya No Ace
Major Tags: Sexual Content
Other Tags: Vague robot stuff, Transformers AU because I am trash
Word Count: 693

The first time Harada Masatoshi had dealings with the white Mazda Rx9— it had pulled into his shop, and he swore the driver materialized out of nowhere, face a mix of contempt and disgust. The kid took a look around, nose in the air as if the place was the last he ever wanted to be, and Masatoshi was his kidnapper. Masa hated these types. All attitude. Unfortunately they also happened to be most of his clientele.

“This is what you guys call a high-rated performance shop? Pathetic.”

Masa never did have the chance to make a rebuttal past an audible grind of his teeth. The kid had, in the blink of an eye, disappeared back in his car, and in another blink had it positioned perfectly on the rollers of the dyno. The expensive tuning equipment was his prized possession, and what brought so many people very far out of their way to a small auto shop outside of the city. That and his abilities to bring out the best in almost every vehicle he was handed. Most of the time he was booked solid with work from all over. He still was, in fact. Not that the kid seemed to even think it a possibility. Was he even real?

“Start it already, I don’t have all day! Oh, and watch the finish. Your hands are filthy. What are you anyway? You can’t really be a human? You look like one of those big monkey men from that movie.”

He had been so distracted by the rapid fire questions and the absurdity of it all, that he had completely forgotten to object— Only realizing that something was really wrong with the situation when he swore the car shuddered when he connected the car’s engine to the dyno and his diagnostic programs.

Really wrong.

Months later, it was just as wrong, only he was more attuned to the reason.

“Masa-san! It’s been hours!”

Masatoshi ignored the car. The shudder was not a fluke. He found out the fourth time the car and the kid came to the shop, the visits too close together for the Rx9 to actually need another tuning, that the kid just so happened to not exist. Instead the car was, in fact, sentient, and car enjoyed certain aspects of the visits, like being hooked up to and frying his precious dyno with what was later termed ‘an overload’. It had taken too long to replace everything, costing him a lot of money and time.

The stalker car, in the interim, had decided to keep him company. Constantly asking for tweaks and adjustments to insignificant things without offering to pay a thing, and growing louder and louder in his attempts to be hooked up to the new and sleeker dynamometer once it came in and Masa started to work through his backlog.

It could wait until his /paying/ customers were out of the way.

Why was he still helping this car?

“Masa-san!”

Why /was/ he still helping it... why was he putting himself through this?

He grit his teeth, and kept working on hooking up the the non-sentient car in front of him. He ignored the pleas of the obnoxious stalker car without even a grunt, until he heard the telltale sound of it transforming, and the shake of the ground as it sprawled out in an incredibly undignified manner at the mechanic’s feet. Giant robots were supposed to be grand figures. This one was just…

Awful.

“Masa-san I promise it won’t happen again, just let me run on it. I feel awful. I deserve it more anyway than that piece of scrap.”

“What type of argument was that supposed to be? Take your bot-kinks somewhere else.” Masatoshi sighed as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking over at the robot that was all but rolling around on the floor of his garage in an infantile tantrum.

“A good one obviously. C’mon let me run on it.”

Masa retaliated by wiping his sweaty, grimy hand on the robot’s forearm.

Edited 2017-07-22 22:58 (UTC)

Ship: Yahaba/kyoutani
Fandom: Haikyuu
Major tags: Minor body horror?
Other tags: Shape shifting, near death experience, mention of drowning
Word count: 674

***

"Why did you do it?" Yahaba asks, pulling the quilt tight around himself and wondering how bad an idea sitting right on top of the fire would be right now.

The man, the monster, the wolf and the dog in one shrugs. Yahaba would think he couldn't talk if he hadn't yelled at him to stop fighting! as he pulled him out of the frozen water.

Yahaba goes back to watching the flames. "Whatever. Thanks. I guess."

The man with nightmares in his skin snorts, and hands over a pot filled with stew. Yahaba doesn't scoop it up to eat with his bare hands, but it's a close thing. He places it over the fire, and makes his brain work enough that he can find a wooden spoon to stir it with.

His host grunts in approval and takes the form of an ordinary looking, if large, dog and leans against his side. Yahaba adjusts the quilt so he only has a single layer of cloth between him and the warm not-animal. He adjusts until he's giving Yahaba as much contact and heat as possible. The chill that's sat close to Yahaba's bones since he plunged through the ice slowly, so slowly, begins to lift.

"I was pretty sure you were going to eat me," he comments, mildly. He's replaying how it went down in his mind, stabbing himself with the sound of the ice splintering. The creature he doesn't have anything close to a name for looks at him with a single eye until he goes back to stirring the pot. "Thanks for that bit, too. Not eating me."

The dog wuffs, but doesn't offer further input. He smells like the hunting dogs that live on the castle grounds after rain, but Yahaba is having to hold himself back from lying full length on the dog and inhaling. It's the best scent in the world. It lets him remember that he's alive, so much more than the smell of the stew as it grows warmer.

They eat together. The dog remains as a dog, lapping up and slurping down his half of the stew. Yahaba might call that rude, except he thinks it has to be so he can keep pressed to Yahaba's side and keep sharing that warmth.

They sleep after that. The dog pulling his nest of bedding close to the fire and using his nose and a glare to direct Yahaba into it, where he then climbed on top — a warm animal cap to the cosy bed.

Yahaba sleeps the sleep of the dead, with only a passing thought in the morning that he could have really been sleeping that sleep and never woken up from it.

When he wakes fully, he realises that the dog isn't a dog anymore. Yahaba's movement wakes him, and he grubles and sits up to free Yahaba from his weight.

Even half dead and exhausted to his core, one of the few parts of Yahaba's mind working at full capacity sees fit to inform him that the man's body is exactly the type he wants to have sex with. He has muscles that shift smoothly under his skin whenever they grow taught but are otherwise invisible under his solid padding.

"Sorry," the man again grunts, and goes to shift back to dog. Yahaba catches him half way, pulling his oddly stretched mouth to his own and kissing him with a sloppy insistence, because if he's going to do something he's going to do it right. The man-dog's form wavers, but he settles on something like human, though his ears are a dog's and his face has more of a muzzle. The effect is fairly hideous, but Yahaba imagines this is where his senses are at their best while also letting him speak.

"Do you have a name?" Yahaba asks, erring on the side of caution and considering that perhaps he doesnt need one. "I'm Yahaba."

The man nods. "Kyoutani," he replies.

Somehow, this is the most comfortable Yahaba has ever been with anyone.

Edited 2017-07-22 22:58 (UTC)

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Page 168 of 171

Bonus Round 4: Quotes

FILL: Team Imaizumi Shunsuke/Kinjou Shingo, G

FILL: Team Grandstand, T

Re: FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T

FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, T

Re: FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, T

Re: FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, T

FILL: Team Imaizumi Shunsuke/Kinjou Shingo, G

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T

FILL: TEAM BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, G

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T (2/2)

FILL: Team Miyuki Kazuya/Oikawa Tooru, G

FILL: Team Prince of Tennis, G

FILL: Team Daiya no Ace, G

Re: FILL: Team Grandstand, T

FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T

Re: FILL: Team Prince of Tennis, G

Re: FILL: TEAM OIKAWA TOORU/USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Re: FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T

FILL: TEAM AOYAGI HAJIME/KOGA KIMITAKA/TESHIMA JUNTA - RATING T

Re: FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T

FILL: TEAM KURAMOCHI YOUICHI/MIYUKI KAZUYA, G

FILL: Team Daiya no Ace, T

FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, T

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, M

FILL: team miyuki kazuya/oikawa tooru, T