#probably ooc lmao

[pigeonstab]

@somegrumpynerd :3c Cross getting his first toy ever

I think it's the kind of thing he brings everywhere cuz it's his comfort item.. and he's never had a comfort item before

[cordyce]

ao’nung is frustrated.

at least, that’s what you’ve deduced from watching him sharpen his knife for the past ten minutes straight. if he keeps going, it might get as thin as a wish bone; threatening to snap at the slightest bit of pressure. as much as you’d find amusement in the sight of that, you’d rather not be in the crossfire when it happens.

“what’s got you caught in its net?” you ask, finally, as you drop the gear you’ve been mending while ao’nung simmers.

“funny,” he mutters, but mirth is not something found in his tone. another scrape, another grating. he does not look over at you.

“i know. i’m the funniest person alive. you should be grateful you have the opportunity to bask in my presence.”

it’s a ploy—a tease. like waving fresh bait in front of a young ilu but never tossing it into the water for them to eat. your tactic with ao’nung is always the same. push and pull and prod just enough that he bites back with less venom and more demure. because sarcasm is better than spite, in all regards.

except now, he doesn’t take it. now, he simply keeps his head tucked down, his lips pressed in a hard line. whittling at his knife and spouting invisible steam out of his ears.

you stand up, make your way over to him and bend slightly at the waist to slide your hands along his sloped shoulders. his muscles go taut—just a bit—at the initial contact of your palms, but relax a second later. not to their resting state, no, but leaving the field of caught off guard at the very least. you hum, lean down further as you dip your hands over his clavicles, across the upper half of his sternum.

“what is wrong, ao‘nung?” its sincere, this time. your question. because despite the dynamic between the two of you, you really do care—jokes and jabs aside.

this silence is different. you can tell by the twitch of his ears that he’s thinking; mulling something over on his tongue before he decides whether to spit it out or swallow it down. you can never guess which one it will be, not with him. he acts on whims, never strategy. there is no speculating his next move, so you simply don’t try to.

“there has been talk among the reef.” it’s all he says; all he gives. such a shell of a man, forcing you to pry open his jaws to reach the pearl within.

it is good that you’ve always been so skilled with your hands.

“there is always talk among the reef,” you chuckle, begin to fiddle with the necklace that’s strung around his neck. hooking your chin over the top of his head, you look down to watch as he grinds his knife once again. “you know they like to keep their minds busy with silly things.”

“it isn’t a silly thing.”

“oh? then tell me, what is so dire that it could have the great ao’nung this tense, hm?”

his hands falter for the first time, a pause in his rhythmic grazing. your brows furrow at that, create a hairline crease in the middle that only smooths out as he resumes his motions. scrape, scrape, scrape again. it’s like he’s doing it in sync with his heart. if you shifted your hand over just a tad, you suppose you could test that theory.

“it is talk of you.”

quiet. a mere grumble under his breath. if you were not leaned over him like this you would not have even heard him. such an odd twinge to his tone; laced with something you can’t quite decipher. can’t quite pick up on. it isn’t necessarily anger, but something flirting along the lines of it.

“me? don’t tell me you have went around spreading rumors that i am possessed by eywa’s evil sister again. i thought you stopped that when we were kids.” you laugh through it, because the jagged edges of his timbre are making your fingers itch. “you’re going to ruin my reputation.”

he scoffs. condescending, dismissive. normally you’d take that as a good sign; a call back to his regular grating demeanor. at this specific moment, however, you find annoyance in it.

“your reputation is fine,” he tilts, gives a particularly harsh press of his knife that makes you think this just might be the time where it snaps. miraculously, it doesn’t. “so completely fine.”

“then what could they possibly find reason to speak of me for?” you press, rubbing your thumb over the cord of his necklace, twisting it around your fingers. “i have not caused any trouble lately. haven’t set fire to any maruis. why, there’s nothing that i can think of that could possibly warrant—“

“they speak of your lack of mate.”

his hands are working harder, less refined. jaw clenching, deltoids growing stiff below you. it’s all starting to air itself out, his jaws have cracked open just enough that you can finally see the pretty pink pearl that rests on the bed of his tongue. but it is not enough, not yet.

“then all they speak is the truth,” you shrug over him, keep your gaze locked on his movements. you want to be sure, before you jump to the assumptions that are creating hurdles in your mind. “there is no harm in speaking of public knowledge.”

“they—“ he hitches, twists his face up like his next words are sour on his tastebuds, “they are voicing their thoughts on potentials for you. they think.. rotxo is the best option.”

“oh, yes. rotxo would be a fine potential mate.”

and, ah. there it is. the coup de grace.

ao’nung snaps his head around towards you so fast you hardly have time to lean back to avoid getting smacked in the chin by his skull. there’s a fissure between his brows, his eyes have widened past the aggravated slits they were before. his mouth is cracked open in disbelief, of the fact that you agreed with him or another matter, you aren’t sure. either way, it is clear now what has been getting under the heir’s skin.

he's jealous. and you can't help but find that the slightest bit amusing. it's not often you have ao'nung in the palm of your hand like this; akin to a bug squirming under the pad of your thumb with no clear route of escape. you think you can play this up, just a little.

"you do not think that," he states, like he needs to speak it into existence. like if he says it then it will ring true, change your mind.

(he doesn't need to change your mind, but he doesn't need to know that right now).

"why would i not?" you hum, tip your head like you're truly contemplating it. "he is sweet. has a tender heart. and he is always so quick to help me. he doesn't even complain. i think taking him as a mate would be a good decision."

"the only thing good about rotxo is his hair," ao'nung spouts, rolls his eyes at you as his face fills up with indignation. "stupid, pretty boy goody two shoes."

"oh, you're right! and he's nice to look at," you agree, nod your head right along with it, "how could i forget?"

his cheek dips; he's sucking it in between his teeth. you've really done it, you think. setting him off has never been so easy. sure, it’s never too hard to get him riled up in the middle of a bickering match. but like this? aggravated over, what, exactly? the thought of you with someone else?

maybe you’re enjoying this a bit too much.

“he is not your type.” a bold proclamation, ao’nung spits out. grasping for straws; searching blindly. “you would not go well with him.”

“i think he is my type, actually,” you dispute, and he’s stopped all his movements now. knife long forgotten as he seethes over every word you speak. “kind. loyal. good morals. easy on the eyes. yes, definitely my type. that checks off the list.”

he purses his lips, knots up his brows. “that cannot be the list.”

“no?” you peruse, play into him. he makes this too easy, really. “what do you think is on the list, then? moody? messy? long hair? a tendency to be mouthy? being the chief’s son?”

that earns you a shove off of him; a click for him to realize you’ve been fucking with him this entire time. biting back your shit eating grin would be impossible so you don’t even try to. nor do you stop the laughter that bubbles out of you as he goes back to his knife work and curses you under his breath.

you reach for him again except this time you walk around until you’re in front of him. one hand on his shoulder, you lean down to shove the knife and sharpener out of his hands and plop yourself right into the slot his crossed legs have made. his gaze is narrowed at you, his lips jutted. you simply smile—innocent, sweet—as you slide your hands around to cup the nape of his neck.

“i don’t think rotxo could handle me,” you murmur, sickeningly saccharine in such a direct contrast from seconds before. ao’nung doesn’t budge. “and the good ones are always so boring. if he was my mate, when would i ever get the chance to get up to trouble?”

“you are trouble,” ao’nung scoffs; acting annoyed, fed up. but his hands give him away as they meet the dimples of your lower back, as they slide up your spine to hold you secure so you don’t fall backwards.

his facade of pretending to not care has never been too full proof. there’s been cracks in that glass since day one.

“your trouble,” you grin. your fingers begin to draw circles along the back of his neck, tease at his hairline. “you made me this way, you know.”

“i made you nothing,” he rebuts. “you are the one who always comes up with the pesky ideas that get us scolded.”

“ah, you’re right,” you agree with a faux sigh. “humor and brains. i guess i’m the funniest and smartest person alive. truly, you should be honored.”

ao’nung rolls his eyes, peels his hands off of you. “forget ability, i do not wish to handle you now. rotxo can have you, for all i care.”

“oh?” you quirk, begin to stand up. “should i go see what he is up to—“

“sit,” ao’nung orders before you can rise no more than a few inches off of his lap; hands gripping your waist to tug you back down. the playfulness drains from his eyes, that annoyance—jealousy—flashes across sea foam irises for just a moment. “you are not funny.”

you bite the edge of your lip, making your grin turn slanted. he is so fun to tease, to toss around. his palms are warm on the dip of your waist. sliding your hands further back, you skim your finger along the side of the braid encasing his queue. faint, light. he tries to hide the shiver it causes but you pick up on it regardless. and that only makes you grin wider.

“they will speak of me until i choose a mate,” you hum as you lean closer to him, minimize the distance between your faces. “rotxo is not the only name that will be paired with mine. they all like to place their bets, you know.”

“their bets are stupid,” ao’nung mutters; gruff and rumbling out of his chest as his attention flickers, falters, the closer you get.

being this close is nothing new. being this touchy is nothing new, either. but it’s almost like your skin is buzzing, your energies feeding off one another in the moment that sends you tumbling into a smug streak. or maybe, that’s just the power ao’nung holds over you and you’re scared to admit it.

“you only think they’re stupid because your name is being outnumbered in the betting pool.” maybe that’s a little mean, but it’s fun. your fingertips are heavier now, more directed as you trace the divots of his braid with one hand and gauge the rise and fall of his chest with the other. “if you were winning, would they be stupid then?”

“i am winning,” ao’nung conveys, so sure and lacking any sense of doubt in the slightest; a variance from a few moments before. and that, well, that actually makes you falter—for just a second.

“and how do you figure that?” you mumble out the question into the minute slot between the two of you. bated and breathy.

ao’nung hooks an arm around your waist, his other hand sliding up to grip the hinge of your jaw. not harsh, not rough, but firm. cradling you carefully but securely; solidly. your breath hitches, your fingers pause on their skimming across his queue encasing.

“because i am the only one who gets to do this,” he says. blunt and honest and certain as he closes the gap severing you.

he kisses you full and deep and warm. he kisses you like he has not eaten in days and you are the one thing that can sate his hunger. he kisses you like the ocean kisses the shore; yearning and all consuming, and rushing back once more as soon as their lips must part.

and he does; chase your lips as you pull back to catch your breath. places one, two, three pecks there before he deems it a safe retreat. his eyes are lidded, but no longer from frustration. that signature crooked, haughty smirk of his is curved into his pale lips. and instead of smacking it off, you’re considering how many more kisses it would take to wipe it away.

“oh yeah,” he chuckles, lips brushing over yours as he’s already leaning in again. “so winning.”

and you can’t help but agree.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[toffeesbabbles]

redrew the other doodle on this post but I made it even more silly

(fell by underfella and killer by @/rahafwabas)

[thekansta]

A rare smiling fangxin

[moeblob]

cute? D: (thank you so much!)

[nothanksjohnny]

Always the savior never the saved

Can you imagine how exhausted the prefect always feel. Always the polite person, always the considerate. Selfishness and greed bleeds from the rest of the students but so does trauma. And so the prefect can help but try and understand.

Yet it's so exhausting. It's exhausting because they have their own problems. Away from everything they know yet they have to keep to themselves. Weakness can't be shown or the wolves of this campus will eat them alive. Each dorm having tight strings and bared teeth it's nauseating to face them. And yet face them they must.

Overblot after Overblot they can't help but want to give up. Their body aches from being crushed into a wall. The feeling of thorns digging into flesh never leaves their arms. The never ending pounding in their head they seems to floe from two small puncture wounds around their eyebrows. It hurts...it hurts so fucking much yet they have to keep their mouth closed. Like a animal wounded they mustn't shown weakness. Less it lead to their death.

Always the kind hearted, always the generous giving up so much of their time to help those they call friends. Fluttering their eyes to stop tears as a insult is thrown their way if someone is having a hard day. They can't cry. If they do they may never stop, doomed to drown in their tears unable to take a breath. Yet a wounded animal can only fake for so long until they collapse. And yet even then they keep their mouths shut. If they allow themselves to weep they'll be found. They'll be killed.

Exhaustion is all they feel as they take shallow breaths. The aches have gotten worse. Head pounding. A harsh pulse behind their eyes causing them to close. They don't register the cool hand they is full of panic brushing their face. Brushing hair out their face. It's to much to open their eyes. Only enough strength to breath. They don't react when their held close to someone warm chest. The quick beating of a heart. Strong yet scared. It's all to much movement for their tired body. Unable to tense so it remains limp.

The prefect is so tired,so alone and so scared. They can't understand to many whispered begs of forgiveness. Their not sure if they want to. So in return this wounded animal simply keeps their eyes closed and waits for the peace of sleep.

[bigidiotenergytm]

Do you have a design for polites?

do u like it-

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #142 Part 2

His parents had spent years working on their portal, to the point where they were neglecting their own children. Danny didn’t know any better, neither did Jazz. To them it was just how their family ran and for the most part it worked for them. It allowed Danny to really study space and the Stars. His room was covered with different ship models on the shelves, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and posters on the walls.

Jazz had similarly explored her own thoughts and topics as she studied Psychology. Her room was more feminine but still had a certain scientific decorum to it.  

He never thought that he’d suddenly be ripped from all the things he loved. But here he was with the trench coat man, instead of taking some biology class or something.

“What happened with the portal?” Danny asked.

The man took a long sigh, “listen… quite a lot of shit went down after your accident.” 

“That tells me nothing,” Danny glared at the man.

“I get your upset kid, but let me at least know your name. Mine's John Constantine,” 

“…Danny,” Danny muttered after a moment. He wasn’t sure he trusted the man but he guessed he had no choice. He was also noticing he felt a bit off, it was the weirdest gut feeling and Danny was having trouble telling exactly what the feeling was. It was like the feeling was telling him to trust John, although at the same time John had this weird feeling about him that had Danny feeling weary. He decided to trust John just a little, hopefully it got him back home, after a moment Danny spoke again, “…Can you at least tell me if the portal worked?”

The room was silent for a moment and then John spoke “Alright, fine, I’ll tell you what happened but some background first, do you know who the ancients are?” 

The name didn’t sound familiar, “Ancients? Like Ancient Aliens or something?” 

“No, no…” John took a swig from a flask in his pocket and then started fiddled with an unlit cigarette he pulled from a different pocket. He then looked Danny up and down, “You don’t know the first thing about the infinite realms do you?”

“The what?” None of this was making any sense and the more Danny talked to this guy the more he was getting a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Something about this conversation felt wrong, like Danny should know all of this already but he just didn’t. 

“Right well… I guess the easiest way to explain this is the portal your parents made was to the infinite realms.” John said, putting the cigarette in his mouth.

“My parents called it the Ghost Zone.” Danny muttered.

John seemed to chuckle at that, “I mean it is mainly inhabited by ghosts, however they aren’t the only ones, far from it in fact. I’m sorry but… I couldn’t allow your parents unlimited access to the realms. I had to disable it and prevent it from being reactivated.”

Danny felt a little disheartened after hearing that, he guessed John was probably right though. He remembered hearing his parents talk about how they’d dissect every ghost they found to study them. The bully’s at his school often bullied Danny over it especially after his dad and mom would continually embarrass him on parent teacher nights and on field trips.

Danny let out a small sigh, “so when can I go home?”

John looked a little surprised, his eyebrow quirked up, “so you're unaware of your situation right now?”

“Situation?” Danny trailed off, he remembered getting shocked and then he remembered waking up here, “where are we?”

John let out another sigh, “shit, well from my research you're supposed to know everything about your powers when you wake up.”

This made no sense to Danny, powers? Danny didn’t have powers, he didn't have the meta-gene.

“Powers? I don’t have the meta-gene. I think you have the wrong person.” Danny stated as he folded his arms in front of himself.

“Then how are you floating?” John asked with a smirk.

Danny looked down and he indeed was floating just an inch off the bed, he wondered when that started but the feeling threw him off a little as he stumbled a little trying to keep himself upright. It didn’t work and he fell back down on the bed with a little thud. He turned to see John watching him with a small hint of amusement in his eyes. 

“What am I?” Danny asked, his voice small and a little panicked.

“You, Danny Fenton, are an Ancient. I know the term makes it seem like you're old but the term is more because your people are ancient in age.” The explanation made no sense to Danny but he could somehow float now. He thought the term ‘Ancient’ was a little much for some floating powers.

[djevelbl]

Not me rewatching bits of parkciv season 2 bc i LOVE Parkour Villain's speeches--

[toffeebrews]

Any errink headcanons? :D

Tumblr hates me so I had to rewrite this, anyway... [Note: all my hcs ofc nothing is canon but some may be based of canon information! Sometimes I may refer to non-canon past rps :P]

Error and ink do dumb rps with his puppets together, they've made a super dramatic soap opera plot.

I think Ink realizes Error would never change and he's content with that (sigh as much as I would love to say he would).

Ink finds error's six tongues fascinating, rather than gross. In a similar way, error is fascinated by ink's star eyes (I wonder what that hc came from).

If they ever kissed it would be the most disgusting revoltingly thing ever because error doesn't know how to kiss at all and he also has 6 tongues.

If you asked them how they became friends they would just look at you and shrug. Not even they know how to happened. All they can say is they "get eachother." Error deep down has always wanted a friend and Ink gives him that. Ink is willing to deal with error's bs and error is willing to deal with ink's. Ink can feel a little lonely in his own role and among a world that is fake and Error being an outcode like hin understands him a way others wouldn't. Not even mentioning their story parallels but I gotta stop my self before I start rambling. They're some of the only people who know some of other's deep insecurities.

Ink found Error's crashes funny before he knew how absolutely painful they were. Although not sure if he would ever trigger them on purpose even before he knew ngl.

more yapping under the cut

I would define them as whatever happens when you cross a friend an enemy and a partner.

Ink loves all of his shipkids and error... feels very conflicted about all of them.

They also think the other is a freaky than them when in reality they're both freaks.

Error still thinks about when Ink proposed to him at loveball, ink doesn't think about it at all. Ink also proposed to him with a ring pop that he found in the candy bowl in my head LOL.

Ink doesn't mention his dads to him .. maybe out of fear

Other people still make fun of Ink for proposing to error at loveball and ink always goes "IT WAS ONE TIME!"

Error and Ink are both quite short, Error is only a few inches taller than Ink.

Due to loveball, Error is always scared (in a playful way) when Ink starts drinking.

Error does feel guilty for the time he left ink in the antivoid. Not all of the time, but at times when hes sitting with Ink in the anti-void he can't help but reflect on it. If he would ever admit it? Probably not.

Error and ink's dancing at loveball was a beautiful disaster. Ink is actually an okay dancer but because Error was really nervous it threw him off and it was so off beat. It was really cute though, regardless.

Ink finds errorink ship art very amusing and he shows it to error just to freak him out sometimes.

Error always kills ink first in among us. Error also always blames ink as the imposter even if he isn't.

They have a "close but not too close" rule just close enough to feel the warmth of the other person but not enough to touch. (do skeletons give off warmth?). They do hold pinkies though fr fr. Also Error does lay his head in Ink's lap sometimes, typically when they're watching something. Ink may also give Error forehead or hand kisses.

I like to think Error runs quite hot, because he crashes all the time, so hes warm like a computer LOL. Ink who in my hc has a lessen sense of touch and runs sorta cold due to be soulless lovess sitting around him because of it.

Crack headcanon, when error's eyes glitch up or hes about to crash if you really listen you can hear the sound of computer fans going ham.

Ink will often just... walk up to error and put him a different outfit. Something about his being "too basic" and "his outfit has an ugly color palette".

If you know my pinkie sense ink hc Error doesn't know HOW it works but he fully believes him every single time. Even when ink is trolling, LOL!

Error and Ink call eachother "Ruru" and "Kiki" but only to annoy the other. Specifically if ink is pleading for something he'll do it to annoy him "please ruru :(" They also call eachother glitch and squid in a movking as well LOL.

They have friendship rings? platonic rings? idk if those are a thing made from blue string.

In my own error design, he has a big tooth. Because of it ink calls him a "big kitty" to make fun of him.

[miisericorde]

I put a pause on my nonsense to bring you long hair Varre

[kwamiwayzz]

After reading AverageAstronaut's fic (aka spaceboyden on Tumblr), the artist-Nicole headcanon has also occupied my brain. Artist Nicole was also a thing I was thinking about after the pilot came out.

The way I imagine it is after the route from the first game where Nicole ditches Crispin to go to the concert with him and decides to try and off herself (but then her mom catches her and sends her to the mental ward).

Jecka and Emily haven't heard from Nicole in a few days. They both get a little concerned and decide to go to Nicole's house to check in on her, but then they hear from her mom that she's been sent to the mental health facility after attempting. The two are worried and guilty for even suggesting to the suicidal girl to try and off herself. However, Jecka feels an extra layer of guilt because she didn't take Nicole's issues, that led up to her resorting to attempting, seriously.

Nicole's mom isn't really giving them details on where Nicole is staying (either out of being overprotective or just not caring that Nicole needs her friends that aren't just people from the mental health ward). But Emily figures out a way to trace where Nicole is at.

When they go to visit her, Nicole is surprised that she even has any visitors since her mom hasn't made too much of an effort to check in on her ever since she was thrown in there. She's more hollow and quiet, but still seems to have that sarcastic quip in her. But if Jecka and Emily keep visiting her, maybe parts of the "old Nicole" won't completely disappear from the meds and therapists who pretend they're trying to help people like her.

Nicole says she's stuck there until she turns 18, and Jecka decides to try and visit her as much as she can. Emily visits too during those two years, but with Jecka's guilt (and saviour complex), she's going to try and be there for her friend.

During one of her visits, she sees Nicole drawing. Nicole just tells her that it's something that the therapists recommended she do to "keep her mind occupied" or something like that. She thinks it's all bullshit, but still kept at it for some reason. Jecka thinks it's actually helping because she sees Nicole's room scattered with a bunch of loose sketches. They're filled with a lot of things. Some mundane. Some disturbing. At some point, Jecka ends up gifting Nicole a sketchbook so that her room wouldn't be such a mess.

Years later, after Nicole gets discharged, she ends up living with Jecka and Emily as roommates. She knows she's not "cured" from all her fucked up issues, but it's better than when she was stuck in all those hostage friendships and hopping from state to state with her mom. Having visitors from the outside on a consistent basis also probably helped her from turning into a complete husk.

While Nicole is out, Jecka gets curious about Nicole's sketchbook (the same one that she gave her while she was in the mental ward). When she opens it, she sees the same pictures she first saw (some mundane, some disturbing). There's a lot of messy lines, sketches, and drawings littered across the pages. But Jecka can also tell that there's progression with her art as time went on. She's actually surprised that Nicole kept at it and didn't just stop.

Some pages are filled with sketches of the room she stayed at at the mental ward. Other pages are filled with her mom physically abusing her. Some pages have her violently attacking various men (assumed to be the many stepfathers she has).

When flipping through the pages, Jecka stops at a section where there's all these drawings of the same person.

Wow, creepy much? At least that's what Jecka would say if this was Jeffery's sketchbook. But when she takes a second longer to look, she realizes that Nicole has been drawing her (Jecka) the whole time she was at the ward.

[thevoidlands]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH WE'RE BACK

[starcraftt]

ponyboy vs. back hugs, arms around your waist and cheek kisses.

sodapop vs. tight hugs and nose kisses.

darry vs. warm, big hugs and forehead kisses.

dallas vs. awkward side hugs and neck kisses.

two-bit vs. pick partner up hugs ( if he can lmfao ) and chaste kisses.

steve vs. jumping on partner hugs and temple kisses.

johnny vs. not initiating the hug and kissing partner on the mouth. he can be a bold little fella sometimes

[askchilchuck]

Hello there chuckle fuckle. How is your relationship with your father and your mental health?

First of all, don't call me that. Second of all, my father passed quite a while ago, but our relationship was just fine growing up. Third of all, my mental health is none of your business, thank you very much.

[eshithepetty]

So.

This is it, mobsters.... our final stand. When the poll starts on @autismswagsummit, go....... do your part.

[Short ID: a comic pertaining to the autism swag summit, featuring Mob and Tome. Mob reveals that he feels insecure about how seriously everyone's been taking this, and how he's not sure he likes all this attention on him for it, but Tome argues and encourages him, saying that his could help him get Tsubomi's attention, since she's autistic herself, and might appreciate Mob being more confident about that. In the end, Mob brightens up, and gets pumped to win the bracket, before it's revealed that Tsubomi actually hopes Papyrus wins. End short ID]

Extended ID under cut:

[ID: a comic pertaining to the autism swag summit, featuring Mob and Tome. It's done in pink and orange tones, except for the last panel, which is purple.

First page: Mob sits down at the table in the telepathy club room, sighing. Tome, who is playing a video game and eating fries, looks at him and asks: "? What's wrong, Mob?" Mob looks to the side, eyes downcast, and says: "It's nothing really... it's just- the autism contest thing. Everyone's taking it so seriously but- idk. It feels weird. Like Mezato-san's cult thing, kinda." Tome, meanwhile, slides him the fries, and he takes one, and continues, "I don't think I like all this attention on me. Not for this." and Tome looks at him, chin on hand, and asks: "But wasn't that like, one of your main goals? To be popular?"

Second page: at this, Mob startles, and in the next panel he shrinks in as he replies "um- yeah, but. To be honest, I only wanted that to-" and shrinks even further in the next, blushing, trailing off with "to..." Behind him, there is the tapping of footsteps as Tome, off screen, rounds the desk, and makes Mob jump with a loud SLAM, and yells "LISTEN, MOB!" Then, she is looking at him with a frown, gesturing with one hand, and continues: "You need to look at this from a different perspective. What if this is the contest that winning would aid you the most? After all, isn't Takane herself autistic?" Mob, eyes wide and blushing, loudly interrupts with "S-SHE IS??"

Third page: Mob asks, "How do you know??" Tome, her arms crossed, eyes closed and a smirk on her face, says "Look. I'm autistic. You're autistic. We're ALL autistic, I know my kin, alright?" Under her breath, (under the speech bubble) she also adds "Plus I kind of heard her say "Leave me alone, I'm autistic" once," before she interrupts herself, her arms spread wide and flapping, with "but that's beside the point!" She continues in the next panel, only one of her moving hands visible as Mob looks up at her, wide-eyed, "My point is, maybe this is your chance to show her what you're all about; that you know who you are; are secure in your identity, proud of it, even!"

Fourth page: Tome crosses her arms again, a confident smirk on her face as she looks down at Mob and asks, "So tell me. What are you gonna do?" Mob, hunched in, shyly responds, ".... I'm gonna win...?" Off screen, Tome replies: "Say it with more confidence!" And Mob does, back straightening and a blush creeping in: "I- I'm gonna win!" Tome yells "Louder!", and Mob stands up, leaning on the table, yelling in response "I'm gonna WIN!!" And Tome, a fist pumped in enthusiasm, yells back "YEAH!!"

Last panel: Tome's dialogue box is cut off, as we see Tsubomi, meanwhile, laying in her bed, sucking a lollipop and phone in hand, as she thinks: "I hope papyrus wins." End ID.]