#i just. dont want to hurt anymore

[semiotomatics]

figured out why my ankle hurt so much

fuckin. sciatica

[deadchannelradio]

my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

-

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped. 

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.” God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says. 

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham. 

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free. 

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile. 

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms. 

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear. 

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Can you guys watch them i need to frolick in traffic

[ganondoodle]

i gotta admit, i do feel a little .. cheated on? i guess, or jealous perhaps, that i seem to have to work so hard just to get me to draw, not even anything of substance, or a lot, i always undersell how much time it took me to draw soemthing bc i ... am embarassed about some half assed doodle taking me 5 hours. i feel ashamed of taking so long for everything.

i am taking forever for the totk rewrite that i dont even know if its any good (im more confident about my design skills than writing..), despite constantly thinking about it i still havent properly started on the rant script (its not even art ..), and my comic that i still want to continue .. i havent updated in months? a year now? (i have NOT lost interest in it, i am daydreamign and working on it in my head still..)

maybe thats a selfish thing to admit to feeling, but man, i am so fuckign jealous, i always feel like i should be able to, i KNOW i am not shit at everything, but i cant get it OUT; like back in school when my teachers told me i am not horrible, i am actually pretty good, "i know you can do this, you have the skill." while meant to be uplifting, sicne i always think (or rather, FEEL like) i am bullshitting everything and nothing i make/write is actually any good or knows what its talkign about, it also felt like ... an accusation? like i am purposfully not doing it, i am not doing enough, i am holding back somehow, like they are asking me to stop holding back, and i just look at the ground not knowing what to do or say.

and i HATE wasting time, i cant stand looking at the clock and realizing i have been doodling back and forth on this one thing for 4 hours, and now i have to go to bed. no progress. nothing to show. nothing to feel accomplished. its not always, of course, but way WAY too many times ...

i see others churn out so much stuff, high quality stuff, and jsut think .. i should be able to do that too, i have seen myself be able to do it but its random times once or twice a year when i focus on one piece like i had gone mad- i really dont like how resentful it can make me feel towards people i dont know and dont deserve it (i do not actually hate or send hate, its just that .... shitty, shitty feeling)

hopefully this will be the last time for a longer time of me doing this type of post, but i felt it so strongly right now, it needed out

[orinthered]

sorry for faithposting here it’s hard to articulate my full thoughts via twitter thread but discovering episcopalian faith after that spat with trump and cried just like an eensy teensy little bit over it

i think being raised catholic its a little hard for me to let go of my faith even as i don’t exactly choose to be upfront about it but that discovery is kind of like finding clean water after a long dry spell, it’s like… the simple tenet of “we’re not concerned about whether we’ll go to heaven or hell; the most important part is building the kingdom of god here on earth” is such a refreshing way to look at faith in god after everything else

[coolnonsenseworld]

I wanted to say that outside of semantics and divisions - I am simply happy to find communities that welcome with kindness - that welcome you by a good heart and not the ability to conform. I am happy for the opportunity to be surrounded by people who care. It's a funny world we live in - making the same mistakes over and over, multiplying the same suffering by billions. I don't think I hope for an utopia anymore, I don't think such a thing exists - but you can't call me hopeless either. And that's what matters.

As a side note - this piece is set in DanceAU, which might be better known to Patrons so far, but still it was the best and most fitting option for this occasion..... also there are 12 DanceAU pieces incoming, because I might be making another calendar so. get familiar with these mutts

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!

the perched king / tigerstar I

[hellfire--cult]

Does someone know a way to like, go back to how I was feeling with stranger things in 2022? I wish I could erase my memory to watch it all, all over again and feel like that once more. Is that so much to ask for?

[problematicsashawaybright]

I just don't understand how my mom had me, her oldest and first child, raised me for 18 years (kind of?), and then chose some guy she barely knows and is objectively terrible over me and kicked me out unexpectedly after telling me I'm no longer a part of her family and all my childhood trauma (that HER at the time husband caused) was my fault. And now she's banned me from seeing my siblings that I RAISED (because she wasn't able to at the time.), she refused to answer my phone calls or texts when I was in the hospital, terrified, crying and begging her to come help or support me because I was completely alone in the hospital in the worst pain in my life and just wanted my mom, and on top of everything, made it clear I'm not invited to family thanksgiving. I don't understand. How is she even able to do that. I don't need her, I'm an adult, but I'm still her child. I don't think I'll ever understand.

[puppppppppy]

i wrote this as a joke because I wanted to strangle a guy watching tiktoks without headphones on the bus, but im genuinely disturbed that we've gotten to a point where convenience comes first. and it depresses me even more that its used to justify and monetize greed

[romance-rambles]

spirit world alkaid | the one i can hold

How were you to know the answer you gave him that night would take on a different meaning in the future?

1.3k, heavy(!!) route spoilers, fluff and angst, reader is mc, series: as the months go by

YOU MUST BE IN THE middle of a dream.

Two Alkaids watch you, lovely green eyes glimmering with faint amusement and concern. Neither of them have deigned to answer your question, and isn't that how most of your dreams go?

You've never had one like this before though...

The smile on his face inspires your thoughts to go down an entirely unhelpful route. This was the reason you'd been drinking in the first place. After all, you have a home to return to and the people who care about you are probably worried.

In the exact same way you'd been fretting over the Alkaid—Alkaids?—in front of you. He'd been gone for most of the day, busy with important currently-not-a-Spirit-Lord matters, and—wait.

Where was the second Alkaid hiding this entire time?

A frown tugs at your lips. You're not sure if you like this dream...

"Well then, which one do you like better?" the Alkaids ask, cutting through your thoughts.

They tilt their heads in curiosity, as if the answer isn't obvious. You don't even have to ponder the question. Alkaid is Alkaid, and the second Alkaid is Alkaid too.

The answer is both, obviously.

And, as it turns out, alcohol has ridden you of your weakness. Neither your hesitation, nor your embarrassment are available to talk you down from whatever it is you intend to do to hammer that message in.

You stumble out of the porch swing he'd crafted for you, in the same way he'd once crafted—or, rather, will craft in the future—a canopied hammock, jug still in one hand and your other one aiming for one of the Alkaid's hands.

It passes through his blurry image with ease.

As you blink at your hand, confused gaze tracing the lines on your palm, a scowl begins to form on your lips. Frustration begins to build, leaving your brain to feel as though it's being squeezed behind your forehead.

Once more, you reach for his hand.

Once more, the same Alkaid does not allow you to hold it.

Instead, they both chuckle softly. No matter how many times he invokes his spell, you can't see yourself ever not falling for it—hook, line, and sinker. Your indignation is now no more than a faint memory; and what's left of it is overwhelmed by the longing and desire that, all this time, you've been too afraid to put a name on.

Somehow, you are no longer afraid.

Lips parting, you watch him—both of them—reach out his hand.

This time, you can clearly feel his warmth. He laces his fingers together with yours and gently squeezes your hand. You return the favor, wondering if it's enough to make him understand—love is its name, and it leaves your heart beating loudly only for him.

Oh, you realize, he's real.

"Well?" he whispers, his gaze tender and loving.

Your gaze drops down to his soft lips, almost instinctively. It's infectious—his smile. Perhaps some of your self-restraint remains; you don't indulge in the first thought that pops into your mind. The lingering bruise on your pride, you think, probably plays a part in that too.

As your lips curl into its mirror image, you look back into his tranquil green eyes instead. The other Alkaid remains, still visible in the corners of your alcohol-fueled vision. He watches you rethink your decision with that same smile.

It irks you enough that any pain you derive from not choosing him transforms into self-satisfaction.

"The one...I can hold," you declare, pressing your forehead against Alkaid's. The tangible one, whose eyes widen slightly at your actions. "That's...the one I like."

You have your other arm thrown over his shoulder. If the jug of win in your hand bothers him, he doesn't mention it. Rather, it is only when your hand finds a comfortable place to rest and the jug stops bumping into his back that he inhales sharply.

That one, you fear, is on him. His skin feels much cooler than your hand, your tight grip on the jug's handle having left it warmer than usual. It's a first—usually, the opposite tends to hold true.

"Your hand's warm," he says, closing his eyes. "I wonder...does this mean you don't need me to warm it up anymore?"

"No!"

You pull away, distraught. The jug of wine bumps into his shoulder. In your rush to chide him for playing with your feelings, you miss the reddish hue his antlers have taken on.

Alkaid chuckles warmly, transferring some of his warmth to your hand before he allows you to fully slip away. "Alright, I'm sorry."

He says your name adoringly, in the way you've heard lovers speak of each other. The hint of mischief in his gaze as he pleads innocently for your forgiveness should have you turning your nose up at him.

"Will you forgive me?" he asks, watching you cross your arms.

You both know what the answer to that is. Still, you keep your silence.

On a nearby tree, some of the light pink flowers transform into a bright red fruit. At Alkaid's silent command, a vine reaches out and carefully plucks out an apple. But instead of offering it to you, it leaves the fruit in Alkaid's waiting hand.

"I'm sure you haven't had anything to eat." He offers you the fruit, stifling a laugh at your miffed expression. "For you. Please?"

"I haven't...forgiven you yet." Despite your words, you still take a bite of the apple. It's sweet, though you find its taste difficult to savor when the man in front of you is much sweeter. "But since...you said please..."

His softly smiling expression doesn't change at your words. You find its much harder to tease him these days—especially when his blunt but earnest tendencies tend to put you on the losing side.

"I'm afraid that leaves me with a problem," he says. "I don't want the woman—the woman I care about to be mad at me."

You consider his words for a moment. Not the content, but the way he stumbled over his words, changing course to an entirely different phrase. There are only so many phrases that can be said with that same intensity—like a secret confession, hidden amongst the most ordinary of words.

You want to tell him that the woman I love has a better ring to it. You want to tell him you'll stay—for him. For them.

"I can...think of something," you whisper, tightening your grasp on the once bitten apple. "Stay with me...forever."

And I'll stay with you.

Surprise blooms across his expression. Along with it comes the scarlet hue that colors his cheeks, the one you never seem to be able to mimic in your paintings. He reaches out and caresses your hair.

Your disappointment at his perceived cowardice is brief and easily brushed away.

"I will." Alkaid vows softly.

You believe him.

YOU MUST BE IN THE middle of a dream.

Alkaid watches you from the steps on the porch, lovely green eyes glimmering with sadness. Adorning one of his antlers is starlight given a mortal form, the very same flower from which you'd attempted to make a garland for him. His smile betrays nothing of the fact that he broke his promise.

He says your name and then—

"You like that porch swing a lot. I'm glad."

This is how a lot of your dreams start out these days.

You tighten your grip on the vines that hold up your porch swing. By now, you've given up on any pleasantries—and on shooing him away, or walking away yourself. He always comes back the next day. He always wears that flower.

You are always sitting here, even though you've long since moved back to the world you once called home. The heart wants what the heart wants, doesn't it?

And though you can no longer hold him, your heart still only wants him.

"Stay with me," you say, as always, your voice just barely above a whisper.

And, as he always does, Alkaid vows softly, "I will."

You've long since stopped believing him.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 749: The last Straight Road*

(NdT.: same pun Kinaka always makes with his name and the word for straight road)

Pag 1

1: I....

3: Imaizumi-san!!

4: Go- good work!!

Good work!!

You were taking a long time for this lap

Pag 2

1: Yes, teh, I got a fl-fl-flat- my bike!!

Yessir!!

2: It's the tire!!

4: Only tires can get a flat

Ah- damn, yes, that's right

Right!!

6: I thought something like this might have happened, so I brought these

Replacement tubes, tire levers, and a pump. Use them

Pag 3

2: This is unusual!! I never thought Imaizumi-san was the attentive type – is it just for us!?

Yeah!! I thought first and second years were just not important to him....

3: You don't want to use the,?

We'll use them, thank you so much!!

4: You saved us, teh....!!

That's true

6: Ah, uhm... but..... Imaizumi-san

Earlier you said that

7: Sugimoto-san won't come”, what did you mean?

Pag 4

1: He retired

Pag 5

1: He's still displayed on the board, but

3: There's still time until midnight

If Sugimoto-kun....

4: Please leave the possibility open in case Sugimoto-kun wants to come back!!

5: Onoda insisted

6: Re... tired.....

Sugi..... moto-san....

Pag 6

1: He used up all his stamina and mental strength in his fight against Danchiku, and he was defeated

2: You didn't notice because you've been on the course the whole time

4: Ah... actually, when it got dark, Sugimoto-san and Danchiku-san passed us various times... teh

Huh!? That? So at that time-!?

5: You have no time to talk about unimportant things

As soon as you're done with the repairs, run, first years

6: Soon

Pag 7

1: Waa, ye-yes, teh, thank you for the tools

Yeah, there's still 40km

2: If we join our strengths....

Don't cooperate

5: Teh!?

7: From now on, you can't allow yourselves to run like friends

8: Huh....

Our “buddies” stickers.....!?

You have to fight

Pag 8

1: And win the last spot to be an Inter High member!!

Pag 9

1: Fa.... ight....

2: Against.... Kinaka-kun

3: Against.... Rokudai

4: 35km left!!

Gooo!! Kinakaa, Rokudaii!!

Do your best...!!

5: I feel like they'll be able to run the 1000km!!

Amazing!

Ah, but there was no distance between them just now?

Pag 10

1: Fight....

2: The spot as a regular in the two-times national champion, Sohoku....

3: I can't take it by just being friendly....!!

4: And also

5: There's Sugimoto-san's wish!!

Pag 11

1: Wa- wait, please, Imaizumi-san

But.... if in this training camp the condition to become the sixth regular was to finish the 1000km first....

2: Then why did Sugimoto-san and Danchiku-san race!?

4: I came here to give you a message from Sugimoto

5: I think, I think it's necessary, you know

Sohoku is a team that connect and support each other

6: Just like during our first year, you, Naruko, and Onoda, connected your wishes and aimed for the goal

7: And last year Kaburagi ran with Aoyagi-san and carried the team until the mountains on the third day

8: So I think we need it

9: Our third year Inter High members

Pag 12

1: Definitely need a “first year”!!

3: Even if he knew he was making his own situation worse, he thought about the best shape for the team would be

4: He accepted it, and fought

Pag 13

1: For the fifth place

3: Among the first years, those two are left, I look forward to see what they do!!

That's too much food

4: Danchiku probably understood it, too

That's why he fought with all his strength

6: Now you two have to run with the weight of those expectations on your back!!

7: Fight, against your opponent and against yourself!! Use all your strength

Pag 14

1: And pull to yourself that last jersey!!

2: Straaa-

Pag 15

1: Straight roaaad!!

2: - traight!!

3: …. ngh

Ugh.....

4: Kinaka-kun.....

5: Don't cry, Rokudai!!

Pag 16

1: What are you doing, oi!! I'll leave you behind like this!! I'll tear you off!!

If you give up, then it's lucky for me!!

2: My goal has always been the Inter High jersey!!

To get back at those senpai who made fun of me!!

3: To show it to the Onii-san who taught me how to ride bikes!!

So, for that....

6: So I'm telling you not to cry!!

Pag 17

1: But, Kinaka-kun....

It's that your “Straitgh road”, wasn't fast at all....!!

4: You knee? It's your knee, right?

Since when? Since a while ago?

5: Since when we were at about 800km

Pag 18

1: It's a race, Rokudai

2: You should have told me, teh

I didn't notice, teh!!

3: I'm such an incapable former manager, teh....

4: Since when I lost to you in the first years' race

6: I've been thinking that I would definitely not lose the next time we race

7: Even though the truth is that I don't really care about that anymore

So, once again...

Pag 19

1: It's a race, Rokudai!!

3: Let's do it, Rokudai!!

I can't, teh

4: Race me, pedal!!

I don't want to, teh....

5: Fight me!!

I won't pedal, teh

Pag 20

1: Because, if I fight you now, Kinaka-kun, I'll end up winning, teh

Pag 22

1: With that kindness of yours, support our senpai during the Inter High

[persy-r-bozo]

[milkbreadtoast]

guys I'm so fking sad..... one of my favorite (maybe even my favorite) Korean VAs passed away... Lee Woori-nim(이우리)... I just heard the news so I don't know why he died but I'm sure he was way too young... This is so devastating. You may know him as the korean voice of Cyno from genshin, or Lord Oyster from CRK...I need to find his other roles too... He had one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard and his acting was good too, I was really really looking forward to hearing him in many more roles esp main chara roles ㅠㅠㅠ I even included him in my TWSB fancast (for yeseo/jesse)... I've only discovered him recently (bc of crk) but I just instantly fell in love w his voice T_T so angelic and gentle and handsome... I'm so sad man. Rest in peace...

[carmenpeach]

had this moment yesterday of "what am i gonna do, go take ceramic classes and do what i enjoy in life that makes me happy instead of being useful?" and it was this 💡 of like. thats probably something to strive for. to not be miserible.

[skunkes]

if life is categorized by Before Loss and After Loss then I exist in the before but with a countdown to the after. and the countdown is always always present and debilitating. the loss will be debilitating too but i cant help myself. i will always suffer twice.