#I'm already writing another fic....

[neonganymede]

Head in hands... maybe wip wednesday tomorrow....

[sinofwriting]

Hello Lovely!

Let me just say that I’m obsessed with your fica and they always get me through my studying breaks! Can I request print 1. “Kiss for good luck” with my favourite American boy Logan 😩🥰 he’s been hitting a lil different lately.

P.S hoping this disaster start of a weekend is over quickly my gods!!

Not gonna lie seeing your name in my inbox made me so happy. Hope your doing well! And yeah let's hope this disaster of weekend ends quickly.

Title: Nerves Alight Words: 375 Prompt: “Kiss for good luck?” w/ Logan Sargeant Note(s)/Warning(s): Reader is American and from Nevada (the state that Las Vegas is in). Also, Logan calls her Dice because I'm a sucker for cute weird nicknames.

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She couldn’t help but feel nervous as she watched Logan get ready for qualifying. Despite being together for nearly a year and a half this was the first race she had been able to attend. She had been at Miami, Montreal, Austin, and Mexico for the races but not at the tracks themselves, too busy with school, either class or studying, or doing the tutoring sessions she had already signed up to do before Logan had convinced her to join him.

He had pouted, whined, tugged at her a bit when she told him she had to stay at the hotel or in Miami’s case his place, but she had remained unrelenting. Even when he offered to just give her the money she would have been paid for tutoring. She had a five star rating for a reason and in her three years of tutoring she had never canceled a session.

So watching him now, at his third home race in her home state, after the events of the first free practice and after overhearing that Carlos Sainz apparently had lost some feeling in his legs for a few seconds, she couldn’t help but worry. Her nerves set her a light as her hands uselessly clenched and unclenched. Her legs crossing and uncrossing.

“It’ll be okay, Dice.” He tells her, crouching in front of her and taking her hands in his. “Everything will be alright.” He soothes, when she doesn’t roll her eyes at him calling her Dice. She gives him a shaky smile. “I know. I just never watched it in person.” He knows that's not it, but he’s grateful that she doesn’t actually say why.

After the race ended, he’d happily reassure her fully and let her talk about how scary it was to see him in the car after FP1 but now, he couldn’t. Needed to focus on qualifying and he was beyond grateful she understood that.

Hearing a knock on his door, he sighs at the signal that they need to leave and he stands, offering her hand to pull her up and she takes it. Pulling her a little closer, he leans in close, noses brushing against each other.

“Kiss for good luck?” She smiles and presses their lips together.

@teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @crystals-faith @andreea-15-25 @rewmuslupin @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @topguncultleader @copper-boom @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @benstormy @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[beneaththebrim]

paying extra attention to costume changes on my rewatch for fic writing purposes (i was a little sloppy about it in my first 飞花 fic, simply too horny to bother double checking) and found this little gem in episode 11 (ie the ep that puts li lianhua into a wedding dress):

beforehand he's just wearing one of his usual 青色 color scheme. note that before this he'd just gone to di feisheng's room, where fang duobing interrupted their... mhmm... case discussion plans

(they looked rather put out at being interrupted, mind you)

then of course they do the wedding dress thang, but it gets all wet. side note: di feisheng is very interested about the bruise on li lianhua's neck. hm. after they interface with the guo house people, there's a cut to li lianhua being dry, and another costume change:

fellas that is not the green robe. that is li xiangyi colors.

you cannot convince me that di feisheng didn't pick out li lianhua's clothes. thank you 《莲花楼》 costume designers. you're doing god's work.

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[airjemsfandump]

"So," Zayne started, lifting a finger to his lips as he appraised the lithe thing Sylus has brought with him, "I take it that this is the new shipment that came in three days ago? Why did you bring it with you?"

Sylus's mouth curved up in a slight smirk. The man never missed a thing. "This little thing has been too busy sulking instead of providing us with the information we need."

He shot the 'little thing' a narrow look and he was answered with a pointed frown.

"While having my jugular slit would be more preferable than asking for your help, we have wasted enough time for this nonsense. We need your expertise to get him to start talking. What do you think?"

Zayne looked at the man trapped between them and he was met with a scathing glare. A sudden sharp thrill of excitement sparked in his veins.

He smirked. "I might have a few ideas."

[rcmclachlan]

Trademark: Top-tier Bucktommy writer + generally Cool + getting Buck pregnant

Thank you + thank you + thank you!

[immoralkombat]

intricate rituals

Training was supposed to be finished three hours ago, and yet here Johnny is, wrapping his hands up in new bandages, getting ready to kick Kenshi's ass again.

It was Johnny's idea, naturally. After all, he and Kenshi never had a Madam Bo, so they need more training to compensate for Lord Liu Kang not giving either of them the advantage that Raiden and Lao got. Kenshi might've had the yakuza, sure, but Johnny only ever got stunt training. If this extra training session isn't for Kenshi, it's for Johnny this time.

He warms up, jumping in place as he stretches his arms across his chest. Kenshi meanwhile is practicing a couple slashes with a bamboo sword. He claims that Lord Liu Kang made him switch out his actual katana for it so that he wouldn't accidentally kill anybody, but Johnny tries his best to turn that into the belief that Kenshi doesn't want to hurt him.

It's been a month since Kenshi broke into his mansion, a month since Johnny found out that he was chosen by a literal god to defend the entirety of Earth against potential invasion, a month since he had Kenshi tied up in one of his kitchen chairs and grilled him about the history of Sento. And in that month, Johnny thinks that he's at least gone from 'mortal enemy' to 'frenemy' on Kenshi's list. They'd been bunked together at the Wu Shi ever since they got there, something that Lord Liu Kang insisted on as team-building. Johnny was lucky that he woke up at all during those first few days.

It's been three weeks since he first saw Kenshi smile at him, three weeks since he finally told a joke that landed, three weeks since he heard Kenshi call him "Cage" for the first time and it didn't sound like he was seconds away from pulling a sword on him. He thinks that maybe it's just because Kenshi has to spend time with him, or maybe it's genuine forgiveness that Johnny doesn't really deserve. Either way, he remembers it like it was yesterday, and if he weren't a better actor, it'd cause him to get flustered beyond words every time he thought of it again.

It's been two weeks since Kenshi first asked him to watch a movie together, two weeks since they started actually talking to one another, two weeks since Johnny caught him looking at him and smiling for the first time. Every time he thinks about it, it makes his cheeks warm. He has to ball his fists and leave little crescent shapes in his palms to get the blush off of his face. He wishes he could blame it on the lingering resentment he feels for Kenshi breaking into his fucking house and threatening his life, but he knows better. He knows way better.

It's been a week since Lord Liu Kang told them that the tournament was going to be in a few weeks, a week since Kenshi accidentally touched his hand while he was passing some salt at dinner and Johnny hasn't stopped thinking about it since, a week since Johnny finally came to terms with the fact that he had a bit of a crush on this guy.

It's been two hours since they last sparred. Two hours too long.

Johnny looks Kenshi up and down, an act he'll try and justify as sizing up his opponent when asked about it. "Hey, Brown Eyes Red Dragon, you gonna finally stop swinging that shit around and let me start kicking your ass, or...?"

The swordsman looks down at him. Kenshi's an inch taller than him. He shouldn't find that as pleasing as he does. "A good fighter will take as much time to prepare as they can. Something you'd know if you weren't snoring through Lord Liu Kang's lessons."

Johnny snorts. "I'm a fuckin' movie star, Keanu. I don't get time to prep. I just naturally kick this much ass."

He watches Kenshi roll his eyes and he smiles. He thinks that there's more affection behind that than it seems. At least, he hopes so.

Kenshi puts his sword back in its sheath and straightens his shoulders. His tattooed fingers flex and stretch at his sides as he rolls his neck. Thank God there aren't any mind-readers nearby, because every single thing running through Johnny's head is X-rated.

"Alright, Cage. Are you ready?"

Johnny nods, using his hands to help crack his neck. "Better question is, are you?"

Kenshi scoffs at him, his nose sneering upwards. He's even hot when he's pulling an ugly face and that's part of how Johnny knows that he has it bad. "Forget I asked."

He starts by throwing a punch while Johnny is preoccupied with staring at his sneer. It connects with his jaw and makes him draw his head back. He really should've told Kenshi that the face was off-limits, but he guesses that that's on him. He should've clarified beforehand. All's fair in complicated one-sided interest and war.

Johnny counters by going to a split and immediately tapping his nuts. He makes sure to restrain himself from going full strength because he knows that he could easily obliterate him, but he doesn't really want to do that. He thinks that maybe Kenshi deserves to have his balls. At least for now. That's completely subject to change in the future, but right now, he likes him. As expected, his tatted hands immediately go to soothe his jewels.

Johnny takes the time to get up and readjust before he goes for another hit, a kick to the leg that brings Kenshi to his knees. He tries to ignore the dirty thoughts that flood his brain when he sees him at that precise height, in that precise situation. He fails. Pretty miserably.

He looks down at Kenshi, a nice change of pace. "Gotta say, I'm a fan of this view," he says, unable to keep his ego in check.

Kenshi looks up at him with fire in his eyes and Jesus Christ, Johnny is the best actor in the world if he's gonna keep pretending that he's not already willing to do unspeakable things to this man for the foreseeable future. He lets out a long sigh, trying to figure out his next move.

Unfortunately, Kenshi seems to have already figured out what he wants to do to get himself in a better spot, which results in Johnny not even spotting the move before he's suddenly making contact with the cobblestone on the ground. He winces as he feels a particularly tall stone dig into the twinge in his back. He doesn't seem to care that he could easily have a concussion now, because Kenshi is looming over him, the sun haloing behind his head. Were he not responsible for the ache that spans the entire back half of Johnny's body, he could probably be mistaken for an angel.

"This view's more my speed," he retorts. Johnny's too occupied with the pain shooting through him to acknowledge how clever (and hot) that was.

Something he doesn't expect happens afterward; a tattooed hand extends forward and offers to help him up.

He thinks about it for a second, how easy it'd be to take it and accept mercy he doesn't deserve. It feels almost like a cinematic parallel. It's like the kindness Johnny refused to offer him when they first met. It's all of the best qualities of Kenshi, hidden beneath the yakuza ink that covers his hands. It's every reason why he fucking deserves Sento, why Johnny's dismissal is just another reason why he fucking sucks and why Cris left him. It's another reminder that he isn't John Carlton anymore.

He takes the hand and pulls him down to land on top of him.

Kenshi takes the brunt of the fall on his hands as he sticks them out to stop him from cracking his face against Johnny's big head. Johnny winces for him at the thought of how fucked up his palms are gonna be. He makes a mental note to play the hero later and help him bandage them up in their dorm after this.

Their chests are pressed against one another for a moment, too short to savor and too long to go unnoticed. It knocks the wind out of them both, and they seem to draw a breath at the exact same time, both ragged and loud.

There's a leg between Johnny's. He thanks Lord Liu Kang that Kenshi's knee didn't land high enough to bust his balls. He's less grateful for everything else about feeling Kenshi's leg between his.

"Congratulations, Cage. You've given me yet another reason I should just kill you in your sleep." Despite the words he's saying, his voice couldn't sound any more friendly and kind. It makes Johnny's heart beat just a little bit faster.

Johnny chuckles. "Oh, please. You're gonna keep me around. After all, there's no way you'd find a prettier sleep aid than me."

Kenshi rolls his eyes again, but doesn't make a rebuttal. Johnny wishes he would. That way it'd be easier. It'd be way fucking easier if Kenshi just kept bantering with him, that way he could ignore the nagging feeling in his chest.

He can't stop himself from looking down at Kenshi's lips. He knows it's a mistake even as he's doing it. He knows it's a mistake when he looks back up and sees Kenshi's eyes widen.

"You're a hell of a fighter, Last Samurai. You're lucky you caught me on a particularly bad day, y'know that right? My back hurts like a son of a bitch."

Kenshi doesn't respond.

"If I didn't have a movie career to think of, I'd keep kicking your ass."

More silence.

"C'mon, you usually got some sort of comeback by now? Cat got your tongue?"

Nothing.

"...Please, say somethin'."

"What was this really about, Cage?"

This time, Johnny doesn't have a reply.

Before he can even try to say something clever, he feels lips against his own. He lets out a surprised noise that gets muffled by Kenshi's mouth closing over his. His eyes are wide open and staring right at Kenshi, whose eyes are closed tightly as he kisses Johnny with full force. It almost feels like another attack, the force that's behind it. He feels their teeth clack together a bit on impact and he hopes that Kenshi didn't just break his nose with his own.

An inked hand moves to rest against his jaw as his eyes finally begin to flutter closed and his lips move to kiss him back. He moves his hands to rest at Kenshi's waist, every single fiber of his being screaming at him to go for the neck and bring him closer, push him down more. He needs to feel more of him pressing onto him, but he settles for a kiss for now. Kenshi's thumb smooths over his cheek. It's surprisingly tender considering that he's trying his damnedest to stick his tongue in Johnny's mouth right now. It's bold enough that Johnny lets him.

They finally start to get the hang of it after a few seconds, it seems. Kenshi finally tilts his head so that Johnny can breathe through his nose. He feels blood beginning to trickle out of it, but Christ alive, he doesn't fucking care because he's kissing him. He can taste blood in his mouth and he lets it mix into their spit, and he doesn't fucking care because Kenshi's hand is moving to grab him by the neck.

Johnny can't help but let out a hum of approval as he feels the grip on the back of his neck tighten and pull him up to rest on his elbows. He decides to let him manhandle him. He thinks that was the point of the sparring match, but he won't tell Kenshi that until they've sufficiently talked things through. He doesn't want to seem too eager, but he also wants to tell Kenshi that his hands would make for such a pretty fuckin' choker. He wants to play it cool, but he also wants to rut his hips up against Kenshi's thigh.

He settles for continuing the kiss until Kenshi pulls away.

Kenshi's dark eyes scan his face, first looking to Johnny's still-closed eyes, then to his kiss-swollen lips, and then to the blood running out of his nostril and into his mouth.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Kenshi says. It hurts way worse than his nose.

Johnny shakes his head. "No need. Everybody ends up wanting to fuck me sooner or later. Just surprised by how quick the turnaround was for you, Neo. Usually I have to wine and dine my enemies before they start trying to get in my pants."

Kenshi's cheeks are a deep red as he gets up and the pleasant weight that had been resting on Johnny's groin is lifted with him. He turns his face away from Johnny, leaving him to look wistfully at the sharpness of his jawline. "Shut up. This never happened."

"Whatever you say, handsome. You're still not getting Sento back."

This seems to snap Kenshi out of the flustered state he's in, because his cheeks turn to a more normal color and his brow furrows. "You're lucky I left the yakuza, Cage. You'd be long dead by now if I hadn't."

He dusts off his knees, leaving blood from his palms on the cloth that covers him before he walks out. It's just then that Johnny realizes there's gonna be some of Kenshi's blood in his hair and around his neck.

He'll wear it like a scarlet letter for the next few minutes, before he has to go and shower off before dinner.

[kandicon]

On the assumption that any lost body parts of the mechs still exist after removal and don't, like, disintegrate or something:

Note: since the fictions talk about all brains being rounded up and put to work no matter how small or unusable, this poll does not require that the mechs had to have their brains harvested as a whole for a brain to be counted (aka brains collected by a death from head explosion, for example, still count).

The Toy Soldier and Drumbot Brian are not included for obvious reasons, but the idea of ferrymen looking really hard to try and find their brains after they "die" and being confused is very funny to me.

[spiderscribe]

@noodleblade It's the deadceptor epilogue fic #1 that you inspired a while ago :3 the one where they run into cyberverse kobd and take the chance to catch up, and obviously this meeting goes very well...

[blacktofade]

Fic: gemtho [NC-17]

Inspired by the "game" from Gem's S10E03 (aka I found an excuse to write filth).

--

“You said I could take anything,” Gem reminds Etho, who stares up at her, eyes wide and skin flushed above the line of his mask.

“Yeah, but I meant — ”

Her hands work at his belt and then his pants, getting both of them open, pushing and shoving for what she wants.

“I made my choice,” she says, managing to slip his pants far enough down his hips that she can see he’s half-hard already. “I’m gonna take you.”

His hands are tight on her waist and his mask shifts in time with his breathing, but he doesn’t argue. Not even about the fact that she has him flat on his back in the grass just outside of his home, where anyone might see.

“You could’ve just asked,” Etho groans when Gem spits into her palm and reaches down to stroke him.

“It’s about the game,” she reminds him, and it feels good to have the weight of him in her hand again.

They haven’t done this since they moved, swept up in the chaos of starting over, but she’s missed it — missed him.

And it’s clear Etho feels the same, because it hardly takes any effort to get him the rest of the way hard, the curve of his cock and the wet tip of it making Gem ache inside.

Etho’s hands slide higher, groping at her in a way he doesn’t usually, not unless she really gets him worked up, and she finds out quickly that it’s what she needs.

Part of her wishes she was wearing her skirt still, because if she was, all she’d have to do is tug her underwear to the side and she could take him. Instead, she has to pull back, away from everything she wants.

Etho grunts, but it doesn’t take Gem long to kick off her boots and slip out of her pants and underwear, and Etho stares like he can’t get enough, even after seeing her bare so many times before.

Briefly, he reaches down as though wanting to get his fingers on her — or maybe in her — but she bats his hand away, too impatient for anything that’ll slow her down.

“Gem,” he tries, voice tight, but Gem’s already holding his dick steady, guiding him into her as she slowly sinks down.

Etho’s head tips back, his throat bared, which makes it easy for Gem to fold forward and get her mouth on it.

He feels so good filling her up and he doesn’t move, letting her set the pace she wants, even as she works a bruise onto his skin. The fact that he doesn’t tell her not to makes her even wetter, knowing he wants to walk around with it, that he’s okay with anyone seeing it.

She digs her teeth in, just enough to make him moan as she finally settles on his hips, his cock as deep as she can get it. It’s been long enough that the stretch of it stings a little and she knows she’ll feel it later.

She gives the line of his jaw a final kiss before pulling away, sitting back and looking down at him.

His headband has shifted, his hair a little tangled and flyaway, but he’s breathing hard and staring back at her with dark eyes.

“Still wish I’d taken something else from your base?” Gem asks and Etho exhales forcefully.

“No.”

She smiles at the fact that he answers, like he knows she’d force him to if he didn’t, and then rolls her hips, giving him what he clearly wants.

He lets out another breath and Gem continues, enjoying the feeling of him nudging so deep inside, and she keeps at it for a long moment, reaching between her legs to rub at her clit to help adjust to him.

She could come like that, given enough time, but she doesn’t think she has the patience for it. After so many weeks with nothing but her own hand, she wants Etho to make her come hard and fast.

“Y’know, I never said you couldn’t move,” she muses, watching Etho’s expression shift. “You’re doing that voluntarily.”

His gaze tracks her and she sees the moment he understands, and she feels the moment he understands when he brings his hands up to her back and the world starts to tilt.

Somehow he manages to roll them, slipping out of her only long enough to untangle his pants from around legs, before he pushes her thighs open again and shoves back inside.

She laughs, throwing her arms out and enjoying the softness of grass beneath them.

Etho fucks her with a strength she still hasn’t grown accustomed to, still takes her by surprise, and it’s exactly what she needs.

“God,” she groans, curling her legs around his waist, trying to pull him even deeper with every thrust. “I missed this.”

The frantic snap of Etho’s hips wordlessly says he feels the same, but she can see it in his expression, too. The way he stares at her as though he’d try to find her in any universe they fell into.

She shuts her eyes and turns her hands palms-down, clutching at the ground beneath her, breathing hard and chasing the feeling growing inside her.

Etho moves against her, though his thrusts never stop, and Gem startles as his mouth finds her own, mask no longer in the way. She pushes a moan between his lips alongside her tongue and he kisses back with a fierceness she’s never felt from him before.

It’s like it’s the only way he knows to tell her he never wants them to be apart again.

“Yeah,” she says against his mouth when he finally breaks away to catch his breath, and she hopes he knows it’s the answer to his unspoken question.

Their bodies are loud in the silence around them, but she can hear and feel how Etho is already beginning to lose rhythm, the way he trembles trying to keep up the pace.

“Want me to pull out?” he asks, lips grazing her cheek and Gem shakes her head.

“Don’t care,” she pants, because either way she’ll have to wander down to the river to wash. She’s so wet, she’s a mess already.

Etho adjusts, just enough that every thrust manages to rub her clit at the same time, and she doesn’t stand a chance.

“Etho,” she begs, and in no time at all, he has her coming the exact way she’s needed — deep and devastating.

She’s still shaking from it when Etho gets a hand under one of her knees and pushes it up, fucking her faster but with none of the precision, and when he follows her over the edge, it’s with a loud groan that she can feel through his chest.

He keeps moving — maybe to push his come a little deeper, though probably just because it feels good — and with how wound up she feels, she knows she should take advantage.

“Keep going,” she tells him. “Just a little bit more.”

He’s probably sore and oversensitive, but he still obeys, and Gem reaches between them, circling her clit with two fingers just long enough to make herself come again, the second orgasm hitting sharper, but just as hard.

“Gem,” Etho says, sounding a little astonished, a little broken, but Gem lets herself go boneless with a laugh, her legs dropping from around Etho’s waist.

“God, I needed that,” she sighs, and Etho carefully pulls out before dropping into the grass beside her.

She stays there, eyes closed, catching her breath, a gentle tugging at her hair that suggests Etho’s playing with it as he rests next to her.

She can feel his come dripping out of her, cooling quickly, and yet can’t bring herself to care.

When she opens her eyes, Etho’s watching her, but when he notices, he smiles — a rarity for her to see.

Carefully, she rolls toward him, throwing one leg over his own and bringing a hand up to his face, thumb nestling in the dimple of his cheek.

“I’m glad we’re neighbors,” he tells her, and happiness bubbles up through her chest and escapes as a laugh.

“I’m glad, too, Etho.”

When she leans in to kiss him, he meets her halfway.

[siliconforbrains]

Okay, it's like 10pm on a work night and I haven't had any coffee today so my thoughts are a little scrambled BUT. I WAS THINKING.

(About In Stars and Time of course I'm always thinking about that game)

A couple of years ago, at the height of Steddie -my sister was big into it and recced me some fics okay- I read this fic about Steve dealing with time loops ("The one in which a time loop is fucking exhausting" by badpancake) and there was this specific detail about the epilogue that stuck with me.

It was the idea that, once the time loops were done and over with, people would slowly start to remember bits and pieces of what happened in earlier loops. After being fractured for so long across dozens of timelines and experiences and outcomes, time was finally healing, and broken shards of lost memories would find their way back into people's minds.

And that got me thinking about a post-game what-if scenario where the same happens to the gang as they travel through Vaugarde.

Like they still don't remember everything -just bits and pieces. Experiences so emotionally charged that they found a way to cross the sands of time and reach them again.

The question is, what would those memories be? The first answer that comes to mind is some of Siffrin's deaths, of course. I can't imagine watching your friend get pancake-d by a boulder would be pleasant, nor witnessing them turning their own dagger to themselves. Or offering him a slice of your favorite snack only for him to go into anaphylactic shock in front of your very eyes, for that matter!

But there would be other instances too, wouldn't they? Death is not the only thing that shook them to their core. What about their first death to the King? Or Bonnie's fate at the end of Act 3? What about basking in the blissful feeling of victory against the tormentor of your land only to turn to look at your friend and know something is very, very wrong?

What about fighting through the House with a party of 4 instead of 5, bloodied, confused, staring in the face of the King knowing you're about to die and wondering why your friend left you all when you needed them most?

I honestly have no idea where I'm going with this, but I've been rotating this concept in my head since this morning and thought I'd get it out on here so y'all can suffer with me tehee

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

Hey, Amee!! I hope you’re doing well <3

If by any chance you’re up to it, could you please write a fic about Heist Mark being super jealous of Yancy because he and Y/N clearly seem to be into each other?? I LOVE your art and writings and I couldn’t get this idea out of my head <3 (Obviously no pressure, though!)

I'm so happy to hear you enjoy my work, thank you🥺💖 and thank you for your request! it got me out of a terrible writer's block. on that note, sorry this took quite some time, I've been in a bit of a funk of on and off general creative block, and unable to finish any writing at all for even longer. this was a pretty fun challenge! I myself view Yancy platonically so I wasn't quite sure where to go with this initially, and I had to fight every urge to just make this heist mark x y/n dfsjsjsv. that said, it did end up being more heist mark-centric than maybe you intended? in which case, I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself😔 yancy is there but very briefly haha

Don't you tell me that you never even thought, 'maybe we could run'

2,603 words | Read on AO3

‘We're all gonna be rehearsing tomorrow so youse best get some sleep.’

You nod as you close the gate to yours and Mark's shared cell, stifling a yawn.

‘Goodnight, Yancy.’

You hold each other's gaze for a moment, before he turns and heads off, a tattooed hand over the back of his neck and a sweet smile still on his face. You watch as he disappears into the outer hallway and a guard appears to lock up your cell for the evening.

Your long-time accomplice and friend stands at the edge of your vision, arms folded.

‘Having fun with your new boyfriend, buddy?’ he asks, sounding unimpressed and slightly strained.

‘Oh, shush, Mark,’ you chide, but your stomach flips at the notion.

‘Yeah… Well, while you were busy playing Broadway,’ he glances to either side of the cell outside and continues in a lowered voice, ‘I've been hard at work hatching our escape. And I'm telling you, it's foolproof.’

‘Uh huh. As foolproof as your other three failed plans? I really don't wanna get thrown in solitary again.’

‘Please, that was one time! — and I don't see you bothering to come up with any ideas. Even though you pretty much got us into this mess.’

That accusation ticks you off, but you're quick to retaliate.

‘Are you seriously still hung up on that? How is this my fault? You couldn't fly a helicopter, why would you assume I can? You shouldn't have even presented it as an option!’

Your exclamation earns you a couple looks from other inmates slowly filing into their cells for the night.

‘Nevermind that now,’ Mark says, infuriatingly placatingly, ‘do you wanna hear the plan or not?’

The thread of uncertainty that you've been avoiding coils tight in your chest and you pause, wondering how to bring up what's been nagging at you for days.

‘Um, so, I've been thinking. What if… what if we don't try to escape?’

‘Ha ha. Funny joke, pal.’

‘I'm serious, Mark. We could just… stay here and wait out our sentence, if we play it safe we might even get our time reduced on good behaviour. We could be gone in like a decade. Or a few years! Maybe. Probably. Maybe.’ Wishful thinking, perhaps.

He scoffs, as if the idea isn't even worth considering.

‘There is no way you're genuinely telling me to just wait it out. Maybe you haven't noticed since you've been in la-la land lately, but we're not on vacation, we're in prison,’ Mark spouts, voice growing thick with agitation. ‘What was supposed to be the heist of a lifetime, would've set us up for decades to come, is still on the line! And we're on a bit of a time crunch here — I don't trust that warden guy one bit with the Box, or in general,’ he sneers. ‘I mean what kind of name is Murder-Slaughter? Ugh, do we even know for sure if he still has it?’

‘Yancy mentioned seeing it in his office the last time he was there, which was earlier today, so yeah, probably.’

‘Ugh, there you go again about Yancy. It's always Yancy this, Yancy that, blah blah blah, Yancy!’

‘Wh– I was just answering your question!’

‘Y'know what? I'm sick and tired of being the only one taking this seriously while you act like it's all a big party.’

He places a hand on his hip, the other poking a finger towards you as he speaks. It would be comical, if he wasn't acting like a jerk.

‘What's up with you?’

‘What's up with me? What's up with you? You seriously wanna stay in this— this shithole, ‘cause of what? Some pretty face you've known for all of like, less than two weeks??’

‘Oh my God, Mark, it's not that terrible, and Yancy is actually my friend, he's been nothing but welcoming and kind since we got here, and—’

‘Oh, did you forget that he tried to beat you up when you first met? Real interesting, how you let that little detail slip.’

‘We just got off on the wrong foot, he's really—’

It's then that you see it — something in the slight hunch in his gait, the furrow of his brow, his pursed lips and tense jaw — and you wonder why you hadn't noticed before. It's not just anger and frustration, it's something bitter and personal.

‘Mark… are you jealous?’

Bingo. His eyes only widen a sliver, for a fraction of a second, but you're so used to reading him that even the most imperceptible of reactions on his usually very expressive face have become familiar to you.

‘Psh. I'm not jealous.’

‘You so are jealous! Oh my god, you're super duper jealous,’ you say with a grin, revelling in this new information.

‘Shut up, why would I be jealous?’ he protests, trying to sound nonchalant. But it's too late. You've already seen through it.

‘Is that what this is about?’ you say with a laugh. ‘You just want my attention back or something?’

He stares blankly for a moment.

‘Are you serious right now? You actually think the only reason I'm mad is because some random dude just waltzes in and starts acting all buddy buddy with you and you fall head-over-heels,’ he jeers with his hands either side of his face, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly. ‘Hook, line and sinker.’

‘Mark—’

‘I mean, never mind your partner, right? You know, your best friend who you've known and worked with for years? Who cares what he thinks?!’

‘Mark, I—’

‘In fact, he can get punched through a wall for all you care! You won't even bat an eye, as long as there's a random spontaneous musical number immediately afterwards, it's all in good fun!’

‘Ok, that's not fair,’ you push back. ‘Of course I was worried! But I was also surrounded by violent criminals at the time, we've been over this!’

‘Oh, so they're “violent criminals” now? But they're simply “hurt, misunderstood souls” when it suits you?!’ he shoots back, making air quotes to emphasise his point.

‘They're people, Mark! They're allowed to be… multi-faceted!’

‘Lights out, everybody,’ comes a guard's voice, ringing through the hallway as it suddenly becomes dark, save for the glow of dim lamplight emanating from one or two of the other cells.

‘Whatever, let's just get some sleep,’ Mark grumbles under his breath.

‘You always do this!’ you whisper harshly, but inadvertently let the volume slip back into your voice as you feel your blood boil. ‘You try to cut things off and act like the “bigger person” just to get out of an argument that, newsflash, YOU'RE LOSING.’

‘Oh, whatever, what-f*cking-ever!’

‘You're being so damn overdramatic, Mark! It's not like I'm trying to break up our team.’

‘Yeah, well– well maybe we should!’

You don't know why it jolts you like a gunshot when he says it, but it does. His words, the force and resentment behind them, pierce you to your core. It stops any quick-fire response you had at the ready in its tracks.

Regret immediately flashes across his face, but he quickly attempts to cover it with a steely, hardened gaze. ‘Clearly, we want different things. So maybe it's for the best.’

‘Hey!’ one of the guards calls out from across the hall. ‘Lights out means quiet, you two. Don't make us separate you into different cells.’

With a frustrated huff, you reluctantly traipse off to bed, yours being the lower half of the bunk while Mark settles above you.

It really is a rather decent bed. The mattress is nothing special, but comfortable, and the soft blanket is accompanied by an oddly luxurious, fluffy pillow. Definitely above what you'd expect is probably average prison standards. Frankly, you don't know what Mark's problem is with this place. It's honestly not half bad. As far as you expect jails go, it surely could be a lot worse.

You lay back and let your breathing even out, trying your best to allow some of the bubbling anger to die down. Eventually, you hear the guards leave.

Time passes, it could be minutes or hours; it's not like the passage of time has felt right at all to you since that last heist.

It's silent, save for the sound of your breaths and Mark's above you. You're still upset with him, but the sound of him breathing nearby has always been oddly comforting. The two of you have had plenty of close calls as a pair — even times when you had to patch each other up after jobs that went particularly badly. If you got injured on a heist, you couldn't simply call an ambulance or show up at a hospital in an emergency and risk having your whole operation blown. That was simply the nature of your line of work.

At the worst of times, as long as you could hear those steady, even breaths, you could tell yourself he would pull through, and things would be fine.

You idly watch the mattress above you, letting the rhythm of your friend's breathing become a gentle white noise, and think.

You think about that heist and the Box. Ancient, coveted, mysterious. Sitting atop its perch in the museum vault, in all its glory and allure, practically asking to be stolen. The gleam of the gem encrusted in its surface. You wonder if the prize held within would be worth all of this, if you managed to get it back.

You think about Yancy, a little rough and a little troubled and not seeing much point in trying to kick old habits; but fun and soft and sensitive and full of remorse. You think about the feeling of your hand in his when you practise a routine with him, how his whole face lights up when he's excited or falls when he's sad or pensive. You think about how he has made this penitentiary into a home, and these inmates into a family.

You think about Mark. Silly, stupid, steadfast Mark, snarky and thoughtful and loyal. Who isn't actually as dumb as he lets on. Who is resourceful and quick-thinking when a plan needs to be formed. Who makes bad puns and trusts you whole-heartedly, and who always lets you decide which course of action to take, no matter how much he disagrees, simply due to his unwavering faith in you. Mark, your co-worker, your friend, your partner in crime. Who is maybe a little enamoured with you, despite you trying to ignore it. Who you half-heartedly agreed to go on a date with, not having it in you to turn him down, nor prepared for the guilt that would be eating away at you now.

You think about one of the first things he told you when you landed yourselves at Happy Trails: About how he doesn't belong here, but maybe you do. What if he were to leave and you were to stay? The thought breaks your heart a little.

Then, a whisper from above into the quiet, gently interrupting your thoughts.

‘Hey, you still awake?’

‘...Yeah.’

You hear his voice, soft-spoken, but clear enough that you can hear the sincerity laced into it.

‘I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so worked up.’

‘Yeah, I'm sorry too,’ you reply, matching his volume.

‘And I didn't mean it,’ he says, and you think you hear the slightest tremble in the statement, almost as if he's fighting tears, and for a second you wish you could see his face, ‘what I said before, about uh, splitting up. I know I joke about that kind of thing all the time, and not coming back for you… But you know I don't really mean it, right?’

You've certainly had your doubts in the past, but those moments seem so far away now; footnotes in a slowly unfolding tale, stepping stones on the journey the pair of you have taken together as you worked your way from theft to theft to get to this point. As much as you'd butt heads over the years, you could always count on each other and you always stuck together.

‘Right?’

‘Yeah, I know…’

‘...And, alright, your lack of interest in breaking out aside, maybe I am kinda jealous.’

‘Ha! I knew it.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He sighs. ‘It's just… it took us a while to be like we are now and yet, you're suddenly so close to him when it hasn't even been that long, it just doesn't feel fair. I dunno, it's stupid.’

‘Nah, I get it. I'm sorry if I made you feel left behind.

‘And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel pressured into something you're actually just not all that into.’

You feel a bit of tension leave your chest as a small smile appears on your face. ‘I appreciate that.’

In some ways you're grateful for the small bed separating you and preventing you from being face to face. You think it makes this easier for both of you.

‘I don't want to lose you, y'know? I mean, we're supposed to be partners. Ride or die, remember?’

‘Oh, Mark… You know I still trust you with my life…’ You pause, considering your words. ‘For the first time in ages, things feel a little more complicated than just being about us.’

A beat, then you hear him inhale, and he says your name, foregoing any of his usual nicknames.

‘...Are you… happy here? Does he make you happy?’

‘There's things I miss about freedom, sure, but it's not so bad here. And let's face it, our crimes were probably gonna catch up to us eventually, one way or another, right? And Yancy…’ You let out the smallest huff of laughter, smiling to yourself once again. ‘You're right, it hasn't been very long… There's just something about him, I guess. I know he might be a little much at times but I enjoy being around him, and he honestly seems like he wants to make up for things he's done in the past by being here. Maybe nothing will come of this but even so, in a weird way, he kind of makes me want to do better?’

Mark breathes a good-natured huff of laughter as well, and the two of you take a moment to muse on the irony of that sentiment.

‘I just– I can't handle being stuck here,’ he finally says. ‘But you're right, nothing I've tried so far has worked, anyway.’

‘Y'know… Yancy knows all the ins and outs of this place. He could probably help us if we wanted it.’

‘Do you want it?’

Do you want to leave or stay? The real question beneath it all.

You're quiet again, and it feels as if every possibility is laid out before you, only obscured.

‘I don't know,’ you say eventually. ‘I need more time to think. I just don't want you to think I'm making a choice between you or him, there's so many other things I need to consider. That we need to consider.’

‘That's fair… Just don't take too long, ok? Not like we can pause or rewind time, haha.’

‘Right… In the meantime, could you at least try to get along with Yancy and the others? You might like them if you give them a chance.’

‘... Fine, I'll try,’ he acquiesces.

You raise a hand to your mouth to cover a yawn. A far more comfortable silence falls over the room, and you start to feel sleep overtake you.

‘... Hey, Mark?’

‘Yeah?’

‘We're still partners.’

If nothing else, you hope this will reassure him.

‘...Ok. Sweet dreams, partner.’

[quackle]

mkulia au fic idea where they hate each other irl while unknowingly dating each other online. would very much eat that up actually. i loveeeee when haters love each other without knowing it

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 750: Blue sky

(Thank you to @monkeyingaround for helping me with a couple of things in this chapter!! <3)

Pag 1

1: Right?

Hahaha

2: 'morning!

'morning!

Did you bring the thing we talked about yesterday?

Pag 2

1: Summer is here

Pag 3

1: Yeah

2: Look at the color of the sky!!

3: It's a crisp blue sky!!

Well, the color is sky blue, after all

4: Ka....!! You're seriously so narrow-minded! Your eyes are so narrow, too, and that's why you're not close with our kohai

My eyes have nothing to do with... huh!? The kouhai!?

Se... senpaii!! Teh

5: Huh?

Pag 4

1: Rokudai!!

Naruko-san, Imaizumi-san

Good morning!!

Why are you greeting us with so much enthusiasm?

2: You have a huge bag as usual. What is it?

Thank you so much!!

Why are you thanking us!!

Oh, Kinaka is here too

Good morning!!

3: We collected

4: everyone's laundry at training camp, and now we're putting them to dry!!

Yes

Don's take it all on yourself!!

5: It's towels and t-shirts used at training camp that we don't know who they belong to!!

Ah yeah, but even so

Pag 5

1: And the weather is nice, so putting them to dry is nice!!

You already finished drying the first round?

An extreme manager spirit!!

2: What about the other first years?

Ah, they haven't arrived yet, teh

They're not coming?

3: I'll kick them out

Huh...!

What a fast decision!!

4: Think about it again, please!!

Hmm, then let's kick out half of them

Waaa.!!

…. that's what I meant, Hotshot

What?

5: Ah, uhm... by the way, uhm... what about Onoda-san?

Ah, he should be here soon

6: Ah, he's not a morning person?

….. no

Pag 6

1: After training camp, Onoda-kun....

2: Fu fu fu

Ratatata, to the sun...

3: I want to go together... fu fu fu

5: Far

6: Far away..!

Fu fu

That student on the city bike i so fast!!

Pag 7

2: Good morning, everyone...!!

3: He watched everything I recorded while we were at the training camp, and now he's here!!

All the anime!!

4: Look, he's gleaming!! That's the face he has when he's in a good mood because he watched a good anime and came to school while singing its theme song!!

Ohh...

5: Interesting... he watches anime, and... his face is gleaming....

You're taking notes about Onoda-kun's life?

Pag 8

1: Ahh, I'm so happy that “Kawazanyou wa at shiro”, shortened in “Kawashiro”, really has good animation as the preview reviews had said

Oh, yeah?

Imaizumi-kun, will you watch it too?

I'll think about it

Think about it...!!

2: And the second part of “People of the dead”, “the bloody battle” was so scary but so good!

Oh, yeah?

3: You have never seen it, but Onoda-kun

4: He hums an anime song during races

5: And he becomes super fast!!

7: Th.... that's so cool...!!

Pag 9

1: Now!!

2: Third years

Make up supplementary lessons for the members of the bicycles racing team that were away for trainig camp

3: It'll be boring like every year, but we'll get through it

Yeah

Tch, supplementary lessons?!

Pag 10

2: Apply this formula

3: Therefore, the value we're looking for is...

6: Go, Rokudai

For us, too

Pag 11

2: Another three minutes

3: I can see a light!!

He's coming

4: Ohh!!

5: I wasn't expecting this, Furuya

Yeah, Murakami

6: The only one among us first years who could run the whole 1000km in this training camp in the time limit is-

Just a little bit more!

You're in time!

Press on the pedals one last time!

Pag 12

1: The former manager and beginner, Rokudai Renta!!

Pag 13

1: The only survivor

2: Two minutes before the time limit, 23:58, the first year Rokudai

3: completes the 1000km...

4: and is ranked

5: sixth

Kinaka-kun!!

Pag 14

1: You did it, Rokudai

2: Kinaka-kun!!

Ugh-!

3: Thank you, Kinaka-kun.... I could have never done it if you hadn't been there, Kinaka-kun, teh....!!

You did it with your own strength

Guaaaa, thank youu....

Pag 15

1: Cough cough

Are you alright!? Is it your throat, Kinaka-kun!?

You slammed your elbow into it

Teh!?

Hahaha

3: Alright now, let's gather around, give an ending ment, and then leave

Yeah!!

4: Please make a firm ending speech, captain!!

Ah....!!

5: Right... a speech... I have to say some wise saying.... wh- what should I do

Kakaka you can just say whatever you're feeling!!

6: Anyway, finally

Pag 16

1 / 3: All six members who will fight in our last Inter High

Pag 17

3: Are here!!

Pag 18

1: Thank you so much!!

Thank you!!

-you!!

-you!!

2: I'm tired..

But you retired so early on

Yeah but the senpai's race was so intense

I know, right

3: Ahh... this year even just watching it from here made my heart rate increase

4: Yes!! It was an intense training camp!!

Pag 19

1: We're counting on you, Rokudai

4: Oi.... Issa, wake up

5: The teacher looks incredibly angry!!

6: Huh? That daifuku is half the price!? Really, Naruko-san?

It's no use, he's sleep-talking!!

Pag 20

1: Everyone worked really hard at the training camp

3: It's coming soon this year, the Inter High

[mamuzzy]

When i reach 1000 posts in my drafts I will drink a beer like a boring normal person and attempting to play videogames without probably telling anyone that it happened because there is nothing to be celebrated about that I can't keep up with my friends OCs and fanfictions so I save them to be when I actually have time and energy to read them with full brain capacity. (yes i triggered myself into sadness. don't worry about it.)

[captaincrowe]

a quick meme update on that luminerik fic i've been working on. y'all this happens four times before they even reach octagonia 🤦