sportsanime | Bonus Round 6: Remixes

Entry tags:

Bonus Round 6: Remixes

The goal is in sight, participants! Let's finish strong by drawing upon the thousands of fanworks you've created this summer and putting them in new lights.

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

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

RULES

Choose a fanwork created by other participants in a previous main or bonus round of SASO 2017 and create a new piece based on it. You could create a fanart of another work, an FST inspired by a piece’s style, a podfic of someone else's work, retell another person’s fanfic from another point of view, create a new fanfic inspired by a great piece of art... go wild! Sequels do count as remixes, with limits: "And then the same thing happened again" is not ok, but "And then some totally new thing happened" is fine, and please don't create only sequels.
You cannot remix your teammates' works. You cannot remix your own works. You can remix fills that were created to your own prompts.
You can remix a remix, but if we see any remix chains we'll be upset, so do this with moderation and restraint.
You must have permission from the original creator. There's a blanket permissions post here (feel free to add yourself to it!), or you can leave a comment on their original post asking for permission.
You must include the dreamwidth link to the original work in your post.
Since all fills are based on previous works, there will be no prompts for this round. Simply post your fill as a comment in response to this post.
Remember to follow the general bonus round rules, outlined here.

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)
8 tracks (fanmixes)

There is no max work cap.

Format your comment in one of the following ways:

If FILLING:

If FILLING as a TEAM GRANDSTAND participant:

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.
(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!) Ship: Fandom: Major Tags: (https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/1609.html, when applicable; otherwise write "None".) Other Tags: (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.) Original Work: <a href="url">link</a> (place the DW link here) Word Count: (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.
(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!) Ship: Fandom: Major Tags: (https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/1609.html, when applicable; otherwise write "None".) Other Tags: (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.) Original Work: <a href="url">link</a>(place the DW link here) Word Count: (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!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Ship: Murasakibara Atsushi/Himuro Tatsuya
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: podfic, it? might be kind of loud? but hopefully not?
Original Work: link by

ellipsometry
Word Count: none

hello _(:3J L)_

***

listen here! (3:20)

Ship: iwaizumi/himuro
Fandom: kuroko no basuke, haikyuu
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Original Work: link by

intricacies
Word Count: 541

***

Sometimes, Himuro wishes he wasn't the kind of person who dwelt in the past. He's met others like this—who lived in the moment, who had few regrets, who never took anything for granted—and at all those times, felt the slightest twinge of resentment in his chest for not being more like them. It's unfair to everyone involved, because they can't help who they are, and because he can't help who he is.

Still, the jealousy simmers, and the urge to constantly look over his shoulder, at where he'd been, at the things he'd done, at the people he'd left behind, remains.

Memories of Iwaizumi, most of all, catch him off guard, however irrational they are. Himuro hasn't seen him since he left for America, hasn't seen him since his return, and has resigned to not seeing him at all, if it's been this long. He might not even be in Japan anymore; neither of them agreed to wait, or agreed much to anything. Whatever they had petered out slowly, the dying embers of an extinguished fire. Their ending didn't have definite goodbye, which might be why Himuro finds himself lingering, when his fantasies get the better of him.

If his family hadn't been prone to moving, he could have stayed nearby, somewhere separated from Iwaizumi by only one train ride. If they'd kept in touch, if his younger self hadn't thought it futile to keep writing to a boy who'd held his hands, gentle and firm, to warm them up, they could have met again when he came back. If Tokyo were not so big and busy, Himuro could've tried to search for him, instead of giving up before he's even started.

As things are, he can only double take when he thinks he sees Iwaizumi clad in a jersey jacket when the basketball team drops by Miyagi for a scrimmage, or sitting in a cafe across from a boy with wavy brown hair. They seem like friends, or more than that. And maybe it isn't Iwaizumi, at any of these times, but who's to say Iwaizumi hasn't found someone of his own? Ten years is a long time; ten years is enough to change, to grow, to become indistinguishable from the boys they once were.

Himuro's kissed others since then, has been with others since then, however short-lived, so it's not like he's carrying a torch for a long lost first love. But it would be nice, impossible as it might be, to see him again.

When he does, though, it's not winter, not like the last time—snowfall's replaced by cherry blossoms, and the wind that ruffles Iwaizumi's hair on the opposite side of the tracks is not biting or cold. Himuro doesn't drop the coffee he's holding or anything like that, but his lungs wait for the train to pass before they breathe again.

He doesn't have to move an inch when it does, because Iwaizumi's coming towards him, with recognition on his face and hope in his voice.

("Do you remember me?")

And Himuro doesn't laugh at the ridiculousness of the question—how could he forget?—but he does smile, remembering the warmth they'd shared in that empty shed.

"Of course I do, Hajime."

Ship: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: Character death
Other Tags: supernatural elements, ghosts
Original Work: link by

nautilics
Word Count: 536

***

i.

He never really stops being a twin.

When Osamu is nothing but ashes in an intricately decorated urn, cradled in their mother's arms as she cries, Atsumu looks away. He turns to his side, looks at his brother, looks through him, and hums quietly.

"I didn't think I'd see you again."

Osamu is looking at their mother, at their father, who has his hand resting on her back, his shoulders shaking as well. He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his back to them, so that he's only looking at Atsumu.

"Did you really think you'd get rid of me that easily?"

ii.

Atsumu doesn't grieve, the way that everyone expects him to. He doesn't talk about Osamu, who feels like a second shadow these days, trailing silently behind Atsumu as he tries to go about his life. No one else can see Osamu, but Atsumu doesn't mind that. He doesn't care if it means that he needs to tell a few lies to explain why he behaves the way he does, when he's having conversations with someone that doesn't exist, as far as everyone else can tell. He shared Osamu enough when he was alive. Let Atsumu keep him to himself, now that he's dead.

iii.

They figure it out by accident.

Osamu, for all that he follows one step behind Atsumu these days, never actually touches him. Atsumu doesn't reach for Osamu either, not wanting to know whether his hand will go right through his brother, or if he'll feel something, but it won't feel like enough.

Except it's a month since Osamu died, and it doesn't matter if Atsumu has his ghost for company. It doesn't change the fact that he's dead.

When Osamu reaches for him, Atsumu feels his hand. He can feel the warmth of it, like Osamu is still alive.

For a moment, Osamu looks a lot more solid than he has since he first showed up as a ghost.

iv.

"I think I'm feeding on your energy," Osamu says, and he sounds a little concerned. "Am I draining it from you? Do you feel tired?"

"No," Atsumu replies, and he's telling the truth. "I'd let you do it anyway, even if you were leaving me exhausted."

It's not the answer that Osamu wants to hear, but he can at least appreciate the fact that it's the truth. He nods reluctantly, then pulls his hand away. He sits on the edge of Atsumu's bed, noticing the way the mattress actually dips down under his weight.

"I'll give you as much as you want," Atsumu says, and his voice cracks a little over the words. "Anything you want."

Osamu pats the bed beside him, and when Atsumu sits, he rests their shoulders together. He's warm, he's solid, and he's never going to look a day older than he does right now. Atsumu accepts it, leans against Osamu in return, and reaches for his hand.

"It should've been me," Atsumu whispers, voicing the niggling thought that's been living at the back of his mind for a month now.

"I'm glad that it wasn't," Osamu replies, and rests his head against Atsumu's too. "You'd be the most annoying ghost."

Ship: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: Incest
Other Tags: Drowning imagery, nightmares
Original Work: link by

nautilics
Word Count: 456

***

You'll have to let go of each other one day, you know.

Their mother says it to them with a smile when they're young, when they're in preschool and they won't stop gripping each other's hands, refusing to speak to anyone else when they can just stick to what's already familiar. They cry when they're pulled apart, they howl when they're out of sight, like they're comforting themselves with the fact that they can at least still hear each other, but it's unbearable for everyone involved.

It's easier to keep them together and so together they stay, inseparable and almost indistinguishable from each other all the way through elementary school, and then for the first half of middle school.

It's towards the end of their second year of middle school that Atsumu's nightmares begin.

The first time it happens, he screams himself awake, scrabbling at his sheets, sitting up in bed and feeling the water still pushing against him from his dream. His mother rushes into the room, but he's already on the other side of the room, climbing into Osamu's bed and curling against him, holding onto him so tightly that it takes both their parents to pry him away and get him back into his own bed.

"You okay?" Osamu asks, whisper-quiet once their parents have gone back to sleep.

Atsumu thinks about it, about his dream, about the red thread that started from him and ended wrapped around Osamu's throat and his arms, dragging him down into the water, binding him so that he couldn't even fight to save himself.

With a deep breath, Atsumu hums quietly. "Yeah."

Osamu huffs quietly. "Liar."

When Atsumu has the same nightmare again, he's just started his final year of middle school and he doesn't scream this time. He wakes up, his heart pounding in his ears, and thinks back on the details of the dream. It's all the same as he remembers from the first time. He thinks about the red thread again, wrapped even tighter around Osamu this time. It still starts from Atsumu, like this whole thing is his fault, and he's starting to understand what it means, what he can and can't do, what he wants, and what he shouldn't.

So when they're at volleyball practice the next morning and their coach asks them to pair up for drills, Atsumu picks someone else. It leaves Osamu standing there for a moment, blinking at him, surprised and hurt before finding another partner himself, and that hurts Atsumu too.

He doesn't want to deal with other people. He isn't interested in the world outside of the two of them. It's new and difficult and unpleasant.

It's still better than letting his dream come true.

Ship: Aomine/Kuroko
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Original Work: here by

hatchbacks
Word Count:

Loved this poem and totally had to try recording it!

***

Listen here!

Ship: Oikawa Tooru/Yahaba Shigeru
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: None
Original Work: link by

nautilics
Word Count: 458

***

It's a practice match. It's nothing special; the Nationals are already over and this is just something to ease their way into the new team, the new leadership.

It's still Yahaba's first time on the court as the team captain. He has his new jersey, just like the rest of the second and first years do. He looks down at the number one, mint green against white, and blinks in surprise when he feels Oikawa reach out to tap his chest.

Oikawa, who has been watching from the sidelines, no longer playing, but wearing his uniform for one last time anyway, as if this is his way of saying goodbye to the Aoba Jousai court. He rests his strong fingers against Yahaba's chest, just above his heart, and smiles at him.

"Your heart's pounding, Yahaba-kun."

Yahaba feels the blood rush to his face, and he lowers his head. He has no reason to be getting this worked up over a practice match and he knows it, but so do the rest of the team and they all went just as hard anyway. They won; this isn't just Yahaba's first game as captain, it's also his first victory as a captain, and Oikawa is standing there in front of him, smiling at him like he understands every single thought that Yahaba is having right now.

The thing is, he probably does.

"This feeling, right now?" Oikawa taps his fingers against Yahaba's chest for emphasis. "It's like you're floating, right? It's like that feeling you get when you're riding a bicycle down a steep hill and you feel like you could fly, like you could do anything you wanted."

Yahaba nods mutely, wondering how Oikawa's managed to capture the feeling into words so perfectly, because that's exactly what he's experiencing right now.

"That's what being a captain is about," Oikawa tells him. "It's about loving your team, about wanting to do your best together, but wanting to do the best for them too. It's that feeling you get, when it all lines up perfectly and you work the way you know you can. That euphoria. You're not going to get it every single time, but remember it anyway. Chase it. Don't you ever let it go."

Yahaba looks up at Oikawa then, and his face still feels flushed, but that has less to do with the victory and more to do with Oikawa himself, now. Yahaba isn't the natural leader that Oikawa is, and he's always admired the ease with which Oikawa says these things, the way he makes it look completely effortless.

"My second piece of advice," Oikawa says, lowering his voice with a cheeky grin. "Fake it til you make it, Yahaba-kun. I believe in you."

Ship: Kita Shinsuke/Sugawara Koushi
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: magic
Original Work: link by

nautilics
Word Count: 406

***

The first time they walk past each other after their match in the Nationals, they're on the same university campus.

It's winter. There's snow on the ground, and Suga has a ball of it sitting in the middle of his palm as he walks down the main walkway, his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, his eyes downcast purely because he has his head bowed against the cold wind that blows through the open space.

He catches the glimpse of a vaguely familiar figure out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn't look up immediately. It takes him a moment for his brain to kick in and tell him that yes, it's cold, but this is someone that he knows, and he should most probably acknowledge them, no matter how badly he wants to get back to his apartment where he can huddle in front of the heater.

When he looks up, he realises that it's the captain of Inarizaki. The previous captain, he corrects himself immediately. Kita, Suga remembers his name. Kita's carrying a handful of snow as well.

For a fleeting moment, Suga thinks about throwing his handful of snow across the distance between them, right at Kita. He doesn't, tightening his grip on it instead and then blinking with surprise when he feels something.

He looks down, and there's a small plant sprouting in the middle of the snow, that he knows wasn't there before. He frowns down at it, and then looks at Kita again, noticing that he has a plant shoot in his hand full of snow too.

Suga takes a deep breath and walks over, to where Kita is just standing there and staring at him.

"This is weird," Suga says by way of greeting, lifting his hand up to indicate the shoot in it.

"Yeah," Kita agrees, looking between Suga's hand and his own. "We're growing the same plant."

"How strange," Suga muses. "I should have spare pots on my balcony. Just the cheap plastic outdoor ones. I didn't expect to be using them any time soon, so they might need be cleaned out first."

"Are you going to replant them?" Kita asks, raising his eyebrows.

"What else do you suggest we do with them?" Suga asks.

Kita presses his lips together into a thin line. "I suppose."

"I have hot chocolate at my apartment," Suga says with a cheerful smile. "I'll make it worth the trip."

Ship: Kita Shinsuke & Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: Blood, character death, violence (implied)
Other Tags: Mafia AU, mentions of drowning
Original Work: link by

nautilics
Word Count: 445

***

Kita likes wearing red the best. Practically speaking, it does nothing to hide the blood spatter; it always stains no matter what shade of red he wears, either too dark or too light, or just outlines of where the droplets have landed against the material. He doesn't particularly care about that; if he wasn't good at finding ways to hide or destroy evidence, he would have picked a completely different career path.

He's just fond of the way that it brings out the blood that gets smeared on his skin when he's working. (Working is a very loose way of putting it; Kita is certain that he shouldn't be calling anything work when he enjoys it this much.) He isn't as careful as he should be, but that's because he doesn't just have one guard watching his back, he has the twins.

He can hear them now, just outside the door, leaving Kita to his handiwork and bickering with each other, the way they always are, picking up a conversation exactly where they left off last time, no matter whether it was a matter of minutes, or hours, or even days. Kita has given up on trying to understand how they make it work, but it works for him just fine. They work well in tandem, and they're the reason Kita gets as much free reign as he does, with the knowledge that they'll both be there to make sure that he can work uninterrupted, that if the situation goes south, they'll have noticed long ago and already gotten Kita out of there.

Most of all, there's the fact that they're the two deadliest people in the entire organisation, just after Kita himself, and he's the only one they'll listen to. Kita isn't very obviously the leader, when he's this quiet and tends to stand in the background and let the others do their own planning. It doesn't matter. Every single person who works for him knows exactly who the boss is, and what will happen to them if they refuse to do as they're told.

"Remember that time I sunk a guy to the bottom of the river?" he hears Atsumu say outside the door. "And they just never found him?"

"That was me," Osamu replies. "I sunk him. You were watching from the car. Complained that I wasn't weighing him down enough. Showed you, didn't I?"

"Pretty sure it was me."

Kita smiles to himself, listening as they continue to argue over it. He knows it was both of them, and they bickered their way through it together.

He doesn't resolve their argument, though. Let them come to the conclusion themselves.

Ship: Imayoshi/Hanamiya
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Original Work: here by

hatchbacks
Word Count:

IMAYOSHI HANAMIYA POEM COME ON you had to know I would do SOMETHING about it!

***

Listen here!

Ship: Imayoshi/Hanamiya
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Original Work: here by

hatchbacks
Word Count:

So I love your ImaHana pieces and just. Really hope that my podfics do them justice.

***

Listen here!

Ship: Futakuchi Kenji & Oikawa Tooru
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: None
Original Work: link by

nautilics
Word Count: 419

***

Oikawa hates family reunions.

Well, no, that's a lie. He loves them. He really loves his family, both immediate and extended, and it's always fun to see his aunts and uncles and his grandmother and grandfather, all in the one place, where he can stuff his face full of food and listen to everyone telling him how tall and handsome he's grown, how well he must be doing as the captain of the volleyball team, how they're so proud of him.

He only really hates one thing about family reunions, and that's the way Futakuchi is waiting for him in the lounge room, an expectant smirk on his lips as he sets up the old playstation, so that they can play Soul Calibur against each other.

Tooru's good at sports and hey, to be fair, Futakuchi's pretty good too. It doesn't change the fact that when it comes to video games, he doesn't really know how to do anything more than mash the buttons and hope for the best. As far as he can tell, it's not like Futakuchi would know all the combos for the good moves either, but Oikawa will allow that he always seems to mash the buttons in a better way than what he himself can manage.

He loses the first fight so quickly that it's a little embarrassing. Futakuchi laughs, opening the packet of sour gummis that he's stolen from the pantry, sticking one in his mouth and grinning at Oikawa around it. Oikawa growls under his breath, changing the character he's playing as, and then demands a rematch.

He loses that one too. Then the one after, and the one after.

"I hate this," Oikawa declares. "I hate you."

Futakuchi just laughs, as his character wins yet another fight. "Tooru, did you get worse since Aunty Yuki's birthday?"

"Ugh!" Oikawa cries. "Shut up!"

Futakuchi keeps teasing him, and Oikawa knows that he's pouting, but he doesn't do anything to change it. He just grabs a handful of sour gummis out of the packet in front of them, and shoves them all into his mouth,

He hates sour gummis. He knows this. Futakuchi knows it too, and it's exactly why he picked them, of all things, to steal from the pantry, knowing that he'll get them to himself because Oikawa won't want to share.

He chews angrily on them anyway, because he might hate them, but at least this means that Futakuchi isn't going to get them.

That's enough of a victory for him.

Ship: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: plant magic
Original Work: link by

nautilics
Word Count: 446

***

There are textbooks for these sorts of things. Rules and methods to follow, but Atsumu's never needed a single one from the moment their magic first manifested itself as a row of unruly flowers along the windowsill of their shared room, back when they were ten years old.

Atsumu's gotten even better at it since, and it doesn't even occur to Osamu to feel jealous about this fact. Not when he has abetter understanding of the textbooks anyway, who takes longer to actually put a spell into practice, but will always get better results for it. It works for him, just the same way that the more impulsive style of magic suits Atsumu to a tee. They both now what they're good at and it doesn't really matter which one of them is good at what, anyway. The best part about being able to do the same kind of magic is being able to do it together.

There are spells that are too big to be done alone, too ambitious, but if they combine their magic and concentrate on it, they can do it together. Osamu's a good driving force behind those spells, reading everything that's written about it in all the spell books that they have, learning everything that he can about it and then using that knowledge to guide Atsumu's magic, so that they're both shaping the spell together, in different ways but still both arriving at the same end result.

The way that Atsumu's magic works always feels a little more explosive than Osamu's, which is quieter, subtler. Osamu's ready for it, though, and he knows how to direct that sudden burst of magic into the right direction, using his control to bind their magic together, until they're both standing in front of a large bouquet of bright flowers on their dining table.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Atsumu asks, looking at it.

"Of course she will," Osamu replies confidently. "She'll love anything we give her, because it's something we've given her, but she's definitely going to like this one. Look at all those purple flowers. They're her favourite colour, and they're going to keep blooming for a while, thanks to the magic. It's going to look great on the dining table."

"We're going to have to do something even bigger and better for her next birthday," Atsumu says, the same way he does every single year.

"We'll find something," Osamu says, nodding. "There are plenty more spell books we haven't even started on yet. We're never going to run out of things to try."

Atsumu grins, already back to playing with his own magic, making flowers bloom between his fingers. "Good."

Ship: midorima/akashi
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Original Work: link by

yrindor
Word Count: 464

***

Like all the times before it, it is Midorima who finds himself outside Akashi's door. Their days in middle school had him in this very spot, waiting to be let in, on the occasion that Akashi would invite him over to play (shogi, or music, or both.) In Midorima's opinion, the school grounds would've sufficed for doing either of these things, but Akashi would insist on his company, and Midorima has always found it difficult to deny Akashi much of anything.

Now, his company is not warranted or asked for, but he still finds himself outside Akashi's door; still finds himself waiting to be let in, in a metaphorical sense as much as in the physical. The Winter Cup is over, and so is the part of their lives they have all spent pretending they aren't friends. Or so Midorima hopes.

Much of it hinges on this moment—on this door, opening, and on Akashi, smiling upon seeing Midorima at the entrance to his room. (Midorima still knows the way to it by heart.)

"It's been a while, Midorima," says Akashi, sweet as a greeting, soft as an an apology.

Unlike all the times before it, they do not play either shogi, or music, as if to say that they will have other times ahead to revisit their old routines. Midorima seems to have walked in on one of Akashi's calligraphy sessions, all his previous work not strewn about the room but piled neatly beside him after they have dried. Nothing but silence passes between them as Akashi hands him his own parchment, brush, and inkwell, and nothing but wind whispers in the room as they sit across from each other, legs tucked neatly underneath themselves.

Akashi smiles again, quick, familiar, and lacking the sharpness he'd worn this past year. "Shall we start?"

Midorima nods, and the two of them bow their heads and busy themselves in their own worlds—or at least Akashi does, because Midorima cannot ignore his presence if he tried. He takes a breath, glancing down at the blank piece of paper he'd been given, wondering if he has anything significant to write.

In the end, he takes the brush and carves out a single word in black, stark against the whiteness of the parchment. His strokes are bold, as if he could cover every mistake the two of them have made, every regret they've harbored, everything they could ever be sorry for, in a few lines of heartache and ink.

When he's done, he sets the brush aside, waiting, once again, for Akashi to notice. Spring, his paper says, with the sort of bravery only beginnings ever have.

He wonders if it will Akashi will smile upon seeing it, and he wonders what that smile will say now.

Ship: Mayuzumi Chihiro/Akashi Seijuurou
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: harry potter au, swearing
Original Work: link by

multilinear
Word Count: 648

***

Here’s the thing: Mayuzumi, as a rule, hates going to town.

It’s not as if he’s missing much by holing up whenever he’s got a bout of inspiration—he (or rather Akashi, in a bout of generosity or condescension, Mayuzumi hasn’t figured out which one yet) has someone deliver groceries to him once a week. Food that he’d Accio up the stairs, or which he’d just plain forget about in the frenzy of writing (which is more often than not.) He hates the crowds in general, the shitty reporters who somehow are able to recognize him by how evasive he is, being stopped by fans bugging him about release dates.

Ignoring the jibes on the book review column of The Daily Prophet is easy, but not so the sound of unwelcome visitors Apparating right into his room as if his protective charms meant nothing.

“Akashi,” he murmurs, when said person looms over him, hand on his shoulder like an increasingly annoying ghost of the kind that not even Mayuzumi wants to be when he dies, “Didn’t our last conversation go something like, if I’m not fucking dead or on the verge of dying, don’t barge into my room like this?”

“As I recall, you appeared rather abruptly last—“

“That was an emergency.”

“You haven’t been eating. Also an emergency.”

“You haven’t been listening.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, a stalemate: Akashi with his infinite patience starting to wear thin; Mayuzumi contemplating how fucked he would be were he to set Akashi’s robes on fire, all the while knowing Akashi is reading his thoughts and most definitely judging him for it. Then he exhales, shrugging Akashi’s hand away as he sets his pen down. “Fine.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t already figure out what I mean,” Mayuzumi almost snaps, but he holds it in just enough to keep his act together. “Come on.”

-

“Hm.”

You know how to talk, Mayuzumi thinks, using his most annoyed inner voice. They’ve mastered this sort of nonverbal conversation since their Hogwarts days, where Akashi would find him hiding in one of the secret passageways to read or occasionally, write. He’d sit there watching Mayuzumi, offering unprompted advice that to Mayuzumi’s chagrin seemed to actually work.

“Why are you doing this?” Mayuzumi had asked him once, exasperated enough to actually talk.

“If you finish this faster, you’ll have more time to study for your NEWTs.”

Trust Akashi’s life to always revolve around exams and exceeding any socially acceptable standard he might come across. Even now, sitting across from him and nursing a decidedly ordinary cup of coffee (Mayuzumi’s feels his income best spent on figurines and commissioned paintings), Akashi is flipping through one of Mayuzumi’s latest releases, humming as he does so. Mayuzumi sighs and stuffs a biscuit into his mouth.

“If you’re gonna start nitpicking—“

“If I were, I wouldn’t do it now,” Akashi finishes, looking up with a faint smile of the sort that catches Mayuzumi off-guard. Sort of—disgustingly fond, if he will. Mayuzumi scrunches his nose in an effort to look unimpressed, but nothing escapes Akashi’s notice. “This morning’s Daily Prophet seems to have done the job for me, albeit badly.”

“Amazing,” Mayuzumi says drily, watching the spoon float out of his cup. “The great Akashi Seijuurou reading a pedestrian, lowbrow excuse for journalism. What will your colleagues at the Ministry ever say.”

“You flatter me, Chihiro.”

Mayuzumi snorts. “Right.”

Still—Akashi seems content enough sitting here with him having shitty coffee and not-flaky-enough biscuits instead of outside with a big-ass tea spread on his big-ass lawn, so who’s Mayuzumi to say anything about it? At least here he won’t have to worry about reporters trying to crawl through the windows.

Akashi lays a hand over his, in the middle of his thoughts, his hand slightly warm. This time, Mayuzumi does not move away.

OOOH MY GOD!!! SORRY IM OBLY NOW COMMENTING I'VE BEEN BUSY WITH UNIVERSITY LATELY BUT OH MY GOD I..... IM SO GLAD I CHECKED DW TODAY I LOVE THIS????? and im so happy you liked that fic!!!! it was my first time writing Junta's POV and i put so much effort into it so im really happy you liked it!!!!! and i love that graphic too i think both things go well together??? gosh im so happy to you so much!!!!

i must agree with the previous poster: the clothing looks *great*! and of course you know you have my heart: i am so weak to third years, and a jun who never gave up his dream of pitching is so wonderful (although i do love him as a centerfielder, which is honestly my favorite position after catcher).

fantastic work here!

i wish i knew more about art and could be articulate about it, because i don't know what it is about your style that i love so much, but i do really dig it. i could look at it for a whole graphic novel.

anyhow, there's a sense of connection here between jun and takako, even though they aren't looking directly at each other, that draws the viewer in immediately. and jun's smile is a story in itself.

(also, thank you for doing this because i missed the original fill, which i will definitely read now!)

Ship: midorima/akashi
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: character death
Other Tags: angst, hospital mention
Original Work: link by

hyalinee
Word Count: 485

***

He has always been adept at pretending—that nothing is wrong, that someone is not gone, that his insides don't hurt. This skill has carried him through life, with all its banal cruelties, just fine, and he doesn't expect it to fail him.

So far, it hasn't. So far, normalcy, apart from the obvious gaps, comes easy. So far, he goes through his days with no one the wiser, unless they know him, or them, well enough to have attended the funeral, and that's how he prefers it.

(Always preferred to suffer in private, to shoot hoop after consecutive hoop all alone in an empty gymnasium, acting as if landing the next basket was all that mattered even when his world was caving in.)

And those who know him well don't say a word, however kind or well-meaning, having anticipated its reception. Sympathy still swims in their eyes but he can pretend not to see that either. This way, the earth can still turn, instead of tilting on its axis.

If he were one of his patients, he would have talked his own ear off in reprimand long ago. Ignoring the pain does not mean the injury no longer exists; walking around with an open wound means he'll bleed out sooner rather than later, leaving behind a trail of red on the street.

But how else can he reconcile reality with this absence? This ache, with his every day? He can't. He won't. Not yet.

First, he has an instrument to acquaint himself with, a sound that he's been longing to hear, ever since—

The case of it is untouched, where it's propped up against the wall in the corner of their bedroom. A light coating of dust has settled on the fabric, but he sets it on the clean sheets, reverently, as he unfastens its lock. Inside, an old violin rests, a heirloom with nowhere else to go.

A single regret scratches at the surface of his heart: he never did take the time to learn it, even if Akashi could accompany him on piano, a kindness that did not go both ways.

It's not too late (except that it is) to start.

He knows the basics, just from watching—where he should press down, or how he should hold the bow. He has the fingers for it, he thinks, long and deft, and wonders if it's something he'd thought up on his own, or something someone else once mentioned.

With his eyes closed, he draws the bow over the strings, his fingering tentative but his notes sustained, into a child's practice piece. It's clumsy, like the way he loved; lonely, like the way he misses.

Someday he will manage a nocturne, and make it easier to pretend Akashi is here all the more, but for now his mind merely sings along to the rhyme: little star, how I wonder where you are.

I WAS SMILING SO BIG LISTENING TO THIS OH MY GOD thank you so much ;w;

Ship: midorima/akashi
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: implied character death, implied suicide
Other Tags: angst
Original Work: link by

hyalinee
Word Count: 610

***

i.

Midorima has his doubts from day one. It's precisely what the letter on his bedside table had warned him against, and perhaps that should have convinced him that its contents are telling the truth. Believe yourself, if nothing else, says a passage, in his own neat handwriting. Perhaps this other self finds this easier to do, but it's a tall order from himself at twelve years old, when he is immobilized by something as simple as going without the day's lucky item. He lives by the stars, not by some mysterious letter from the future, despite how accurate it is to have predicted the skip of his heartbeat at a certain red-haired boy's kind eyes, and even kinder smile.

ii.

Watch over him, the letter goes on to tell Midorima, which is ridiculous on many fronts. For one, there is no field in which Akashi would do better with Midorima's guidance—he already excels in them all. For another, it assumes that Midorima is capable of looking elsewhere when Akashi is in the room. Perhaps watching Akashi, period, would suffice, even if a voice in his head chides him for lying to himself.

You will regret standing at the sidelines.

iii.

Some call them miracles, and others call them monsters, but everyone would agree that the Teikou Middle School Basketball Club surpasses expectation.

Their own, especially so.

Midorima feels the change in himself before he sees it in anyone else, though they are not too far behind. They used to be content with winning matches in the morning and walking home together in the afternoon, but not anymore. With growth comes consequence, and with greater heights come a higher place to fall.

Stop them from fighting.

This, at least, his future self had prophesied. But knowing it would happen is different from preventing it. Seeing it all fall apart does not mean he knows how to put them back together.

Aomine isolates himself in his tower. Kise becomes not unlike a cat toying with its prey. Kuroko fades into the background. Momoi cries when she thinks no one is looking. Murasakibara challenges Akashi (and loses). Akashi wins, above all else (at a cost)

Through it all, Midorima watches from his peripheral, choosing not to get involved.

Do not take the easy way out.

The easy way, he reasons, would be to cut all ties with all of them, and he's still here, isn't he?

iv.

They graduate, and get as far away from each other as possible. It's just as well; Akashi is no longer the boy Midorima used to play shogi or piano with, and his smile has turned sharp at the corners, making Midorima's heart skip for a different reason entirely. He keeps the letters, dog-eared as they are, close to himself at all times, except he no longer reads them. It's not that they've stopped making sense; it's that he seems to be hurtling towards the same ending, and can no longer bear to watch the collision.

At training camp, Kuroko tells him something he should have already known. Kuroko's letters from the future are much less harsh than his own, but no less pleading.

Please save Akashi-kun.

In return, Midorima reveals his own, but the shared secret does not lift a weight off his chest as much as it adds another.

"I didn't know what to do." He can't look at Kuroko, who, by all intents and purposes, is just another friend he has failed. "I still don't."

He'd been too young, back then, to regret what he had and hadn't done. He does not have the excuse now.

I'm just really glad that you think I made it justice because yours was so good<3

Thank you for your kind words :3

Ship: Manami Sangaku & Teshima Junta
Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal
Major Tags: Death, suicide
Other Tags: supernatural elements, demons, skulls, possible eye strain
Original Work: link by

krankran
Word Count: None

I love the dialogue you write between characters so much ;_; especially these two!! I'm sorry when I think reaper/shinagami I guess I just think "gaudy vampire-esque outfits." I was also going for a pop sort of style with the coloring I hope it's not too bright ;_;

***

textless

with text

Ship: kagehina
Fandom: hq
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: autoplay at link, egregious kazoo use
Original Work: link by

horchata
Word Count: none

***

lololol

got me settin so crazy, my baby
i'm not myself, i feel so foolish
i don't do this
i've been playing myself
saying 'i don't care'

but your jump's got the best of me
your spike's making a fool of me
you got me sprung and i don't care who sees
baby you've got me, you got me

got me settin’ so crazy right now, your jumps
got me settin’ so crazy right now (your jumps)
got me wishin’ we playing right now, your touch’s
got me wishin’ we playing right now (your touch)
got me itchin for practice right now, the way
that you’re callin’ for tosses right now
looking so crazy in love's
got me looking, got me looking so crazy in love

baka, baka, baka, hinata
baka, baka, baka, hinata

Ship: victuuri
Fandom: yoi
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Original Work: link by

foxrocksthesesocksss
Word Count: 935

***

japan, after london, is bright.

hasetsu is a small town compared to the megalopolises victor's played: vienna, that grand dame of europe with its vaulted, stately concert halls; st. petersburg, where victor remains the favored son; paris, where he'd met a beautiful man with beautiful hands playing a lonely piano. katsuki yuuri had left him a brief, tentative message with an address, the last from a series of voicemails and texts sent to each other at strange hours, between time zones.

victor's heard yuuri's voice recite the address so often he feels like he knows it by heart. he's never been, but it must be a lovely place; any place that yuuri calls home must be, victor thinks, to produce such a person. it's small, and quaint, and bustles with life in a way that's different from any other place victor's seen. he draws some stares, but victor's used to that by now; he is, after all, an internationally-renowned concert pianist lately credited for revitalizing the the art.

he checks into the inn with minimal fuss. "i'm here to see katsuki yuuri," victor says, smiling who he presumes is the innkeeper, and therefore yuuri's mother. she looks like him, with a kind, sweet face. "i'm victor nikiforov."

victor is delighted to find out that, when properly surprised, she resembles yuuri too: the round cheeks and round mouth falling open, visibly radiating what victor can see in her expressive eyes. "wait until yuuri comes home," she breathes, grinning. "and sees you."

victor can feel the flush from the baths lingering warm under his skin. the hot water and the steam had been gifts, tension he hadn't known was there slowly unwound and melted down. victor wanders the inn, fascinated by the place, hair damp against his neck and limbs sluggish from the blessed heat.

he spots something familiar down near the inn's front doors, the closest thing they have to a foyer. there's a small, glossy baby grand at odds with the traditional furnishings of the building; it stands out to him because he, like the piano, is an outsider brought into the place.

victor stretches out his hands and carefully lifts up the lid. it's well-maintained, and the bench is a bit dusty, but victor, for once, would like to play something entirely of his own free will. he sits down, tucking his bathrobe under himself while his spine straightens, wrists lifted, as second nature.
he plays as his mind wanders, playing ravel with nimble, swift fingers. the waltz only appears soft; it, like katsuki yuuri himself, is one of technical mastery--only an artist can bring out its true colors. the waltz is a singularly composed thing, gentle in its contours but rigid in its form. he changes things as he goes along, switches from ravel to scriabin, daydreams about how yuuri's hands must fly over this same piano. perhaps yuuri did not favor the russians, as victor did, his concert repertoire leaning more toward the romantic and french, but the tempestuous conflict between composition and passion, art form and artist, is a familiar one, shared by them both.

it is only moments on this thought, the idea echoed by his hands, before victor decidedly turns back to debussy, to yuuri and his musical hands. victor plays "re: a person i knew" as a wistful tune, thinks about how curious he's been to see yuuri and the place that he calls home. it would have been nice to dance to, this song, even if it was only between their fingers in the middle of the night, at charles de gaulle airport between flights, when yuuri had managed to make even that sterile place a little more intimate.

bill evans is an energetic romantic, but jazz compositions for pianos never last as long as victor would like. still, he's pleasantly surprised by the sound of someone clapping softly when the final notes evaporate in the air.

if yuuri in paris, tired and stressed from travel and the stale air of airports, was handsome, yuuri in hasetsu, at home, is a dream come true. victor's heart skitter-pat beats and he forgets that he's ever heard applause before; he hasn't, not like this. from one musician to another, the appreciation of craft is always resonant; from one lover to another, a lover of music and (potentially, very soon, victor hopes) a lover of the musician's soul, it ignites victor afire from his toes and to the roots of his hair.

victor smiles at yuuri and can't help but have it be a wide, open-mouthed grin. this must be what it feels like to fly, on the wings of a virtuoso's fingertips playing the sweetest music composed on earth. "yuuri!" victor says, and pats the space beside him on the bench.

yuuri looks hesitant, but still sits down on the bench. he holds himself up straighter for it. victor has never been so endeared to someone in his life. "victor," yuuri breathes, as if victor wasn't the one enthralled by yuuri's presence.

"it's so good to see you!" victor laughs, and hopes that yuuri, once again, might play him a bit of something from his soul: something from the repertoire, or something jazzy, or anything at all that might sound like a love song.

when yuuri plays, touching the keys with hesitant hands before finding his stride, he leaves gaps in the freeform for victor.

it does, in a way, sound very much like no love song victor's ever heard before. possibly, he thinks, and he can't help but delight in this: it's a song made entirely for him.

Ship: Masuko Tooru & Kuramochi Youichi & Sawamura Eijun
Fandom: Daiya no Ace
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: None
Original Work: link by

hilaryfun
Word Count: None

basically hil saved my entire life with room 5 + pudding

***

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 22 of 43

Bonus Round 6: Remixes

FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, G

FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T

FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, T

FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, T

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T

FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, G

FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, G

FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, T

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T

FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, G

FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, G

FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, G

FILL: Team Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou, G

Re: FILL: Team Teshima Junta/Aoyagi Hajime, G

Re: FILL: Team Daiya no Ace, G

Re: FILL: Team Daiya no Ace, G

FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, G

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

FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T

Re: FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, G

FILL: TEAM Teshima Junta/Aoyagi Hajime, T

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, G

FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, G

FILL: Team Daiya no Ace, G