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ravcnism · 8 months ago

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HEY uhm.. i've been having this idea.. like imagine kenji sato x m!reader athlete as well? help, i just thought the dynamic would be cute. it could be a rival team on the baseball league or another sports. I just thought it would be cool!

STRIKEOUT. — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: The Hiroshima Toyo Carp may have a new player in town, but his name is nowhere near unheard of. The prized star pitcher of The States takes the country by storm when he spontaneously shows up against the Yomiuri Giants. Ken Sato’s career is given a run for its money.

# # TAGS: Longform, Enemies to Lovers but like Still Enemies as Lovers, A LOT of Tension, Sports Anime-Level of Ridiculous, Star-Athlete!Male Reader, Author Doesn't Actually Know Anything About Baseball, Sort of a Slow Burn? No Beta We Die Like Onda

# # WARNINGS: Mild Violence, Mature Language, Eventual Smut if I’m Brave Enough, English is not My First Language, Around 2000 Words, Part One of ??

Night fell promptly upon the Sato residence. The sun had tucked itself into the sea and left a trail of gold in its warm, glistening wake. From afar, the ever-lively city of New Tokyo lit up street by street.

Beneath the water, in the basement, a newly-bathed Emi waddled towards her corner of the house; smelling of fresh sakura petals, and cuddling a half-crushed Nissan Skyline GT-R. Full from dinner, and satisfied by her shower, she felt the gentle arms of sleep coaxing her to a nap. With a squeaky yawn, and a stretch of her arm, she succumbed to its calls and laid on her spot on the ground. A very amused Hayao Sato came walking after her. “Silly girl. The bath and snack combo never fails to knock you out, huh?”

Kenji Sato, well-dressed for a night out, entered after. He was preoccupied by his sleeves, fingers fumbling to button them shut. “Remember, Dad. No videos after 10 pm. We can’t ruin her sleep schedule again.”

“Of course, Kenji.” His father waved him off with his cane. “You act as if I don’t know her routine like the back of my hand.”

“I’m just making sure.” He was fixing his hair, then, gelling it into place. His eyes narrowed at his own reflection, trying to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “And of course you’ve got Mina to help.”

“Definitely, Ken.” As if on cue, the round hovering bot came floating in. “We have everything under control. You needn’t worry about us here.”

Professor Sato chuckled at his son, leaning on his good foot. “You seem to have a lot of nervous energy in you, Kenji.”

The batter sighed, tugging on his collar one last time. “I’m always nervous when I’m not playing.” Deciding he looked alright, Ken left his reflection alone. “No idea why. Might have something to do with my dislike towards things that I can’t control, but I’m not gonna get into that right now–” He shuffled about, searching frantically for his jacket. “Mina, where did I put my–?” An extended robot arm appeared from the floor and handed it to him. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Try to enjoy yourself anyway, Kenji.” Professor Sato had walked over to Emi, who was fast asleep, snoring slightly. He lifted a hand and rubbed her head. “I think it’s good that you go to these games even when you’re not scheduled. I can tell it lifts your team’s spirits.”

“Yeah, well, honestly I’m still trying to get used to it. The whole sportsmanship thing.” Ken sprayed his cologne on. He made a quick jog towards Emi and kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight, Sweetie.” He looked at his dad. With his motorcycle keys now in hand, he walked backwards to their glass elevator. “If anything happens, call me. You know the drill.”

“Yes, Ken,” replied Mina. “We do. Rest assured, there will not be a repeat of last time.”

“Right, right. Last time.” Kenji forced out a laugh. “Look, if she wakes up and I’m not home yet, try to get her to tire herself out. Load up a park. Throw some balls. But no flying outside, please? You know she gets carried away.”

“Understood.”

With a final glance, and a reluctant sigh, he stepped into the lift. “I’ll be back soon.” Leaving her 20-foot Kaiju-of-a-daughter never got any easier — no matter how many times he had gone and done it. He waved his family a quick goodbye, before disappearing from their line of sight.

His dad was right. It was good that he was going. The Giants had a game to win.

"Good evening sports fans! Ladies and gentlefolk, we welcome you to the highly anticipated matchup between the Hiroshima Toyo Carp and your Yomiuri Giants.”

The stadium was bright and buzzing with excitement. Ken was used to the energy, but he never grew tired of it. There was something almost magical about having this many people in a stadium together. Something electrifying about hearing their collective voices. Whether or not he was set to play, the crowd was what grounded him into focus. He adored their cheers, regardless of who it was directed to.

“We’ve got an intense start to the game so far, the home crowd doesn’t look too happy with Tateoka’s second strikeout.”

“How's it looking?” Ken appeared beside his teammate, Yuki, who was watching the game by the barriers.

“Bad. We're dying out there, Sato. Tateoka's our second batter. We're down one strikeout.”

Ken's brows knitted together, intrigued. He had gotten here a little late and missed a good chunk of the first inning. He had missed most of the commentary, too, so he was pretty much left in the dark. All he knew was that the home crowd didn't look too cheerful. And neither did Coach Shimura. ( Though technically, he couldn't remember a time when Shimura looked anything less than disappointed. ) Ken settled into his spot, nursing a canned soda.

The pitcher’s back was against him, his jersey name too far for him to read. He couldn't see who it was. Ken took notice of their form. Their figure. “Wait, who's throwing again?”

His teammate dropped a name so familiar it sent Ken choking on his drink.

“Fucking, who?” He dropped the name of a famous star-athlete. A name he saw on billboards, news reports, articles. A name so expensive it put his vintage cars to shame. A name with a strikeout rate so disgustingly high it had the best teams falling to their knees. A staggering 1.75 ERA. Almost zero walks. Your name, sent a shiver down Ken Sato’s spine. You, the Mets’ notorious Bullet, now a surprise player of the Toyo Carp.

He watched as you turned around. Your face came into view. You were frighteningly calm. The Giants’ batter was one strike away from an out. Kenji swallowed thickly. “When the hell did he get here?”

“Yeah. Apparently they traded him to Carp a week ago. Didn't get much buzz for some reason.” Yuki scoffed. “Think they covered it up? Element of surprise? It was a pretty big move.”

The fact that Kenji had never been put up against you before was sheer dumb luck. That's what he thought, anyway. Despite the fact that the both of you had been celebrities in The States, the seasons just never aligned well enough to get the both of you to play at the same park. But he hadn't dreamed of it. Who in their right mind would? Like a bullet from a gun, your pitches were unstoppable. You had a mutant-like control over the ball. There were studies on the physics of your technique. Even the best batters would miss your throws. And at that moment, as he watched his teammate strike himself out, Kenji wondered if he'd miss, too.

He wouldn't have to keep wondering. Understanding the weight of your presence, the Yomiuri Giants opted to bring in the calvary.

“Sato.” Ken flinched at Shimura’s voice. He looked over his shoulder, facing him. “Locker room. Get dressed — I'm calling you up.”

He laughed, nervously. “You sure that's legal, coach?” He wasn't scheduled to play today, and spontaneously entering a non-player into the field was only allowed upon certain circumstances. Like an injury, for example.

“Of course it is.” Shimura grumbled. “Tokuda just broke his arm.”

The mentioned Tokuda stood behind him, sipping on some soda, with his obviously not-broken arm. “You heard the man, Ken. I just broke my arm.”

Ken grimaced, heading for the door. “The press is going to love this…” Japan's finest batter, versus The States’ fastest pitcher. Oh, this would make the headlines for sure.

Kenji did as he was told. He walked into the locker room, then walked out in full-attire. The speakers crackled to life. There was a steady rise in the crowd’s demeanor. People were slowly piecing the situation together. The announcers were losing their minds. “And It looks like — oh my goodness, folks. I don't believe this. Ken Sato has been called up into the field!”

The stadium went alight. Ken walked into the park and wondered if the lights were a little brighter than usual. He was doing his stretches, rolling his shoulders. His bat was handed to him and he flipped it in his hand. He allowed the cheers to boost his energy, and perhaps a bit of his ego.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we might be witnessing baseball history tonight! Two of the opposing team’s star players have come face to face for the first time ever. And it's happening right here, right now.”

You met his eyes. Ken’s breath hitched. You were so… intense. He couldn't properly describe it. You watched him move into position like a lion stalking its prey.

“Will Sato stop the Toyo Carp’s brand new Bullet? Or will he walk out of this game bleeding?”

The trick was to look them in the eye. A pitcher was no different from a batter when it came to a game. They shared the same weight of responsibility. The only time a stadium is silent is when they're standing face to face. Like a duel. One of Ken’s techniques was staring them down and reminding them that he was a force to be reckoned with. He was Ken Sato, for crying out loud.

Unfortunately for him, you were unshaken. Which he would’ve been offended by, if he were younger and more immature. No matter, he had other things to look for. Like the cues. Each pitcher had their own cue; a sort of tell that told Ken what kind of throw they’d be going for. He didn’t hit those pitches out of pure luck. Contrary to popular belief, he was actually thinking these games through. There were a plethora of things to look at. A pitcher’s stance, their position, which hand they were using. In an easier game, Ken would be able to read these pitchers like an open book.

But if you were a book, then you would've been written in a different language. He could find no such cues. He didn’t really have anything to calculate. You were as unpredictable as you were quick. None of his usual techniques seemed to be working on you.

The last resort: keep your eye on the damn ball, and freakin’ swing.

You held your hand outward, fingers pointed at him. There was a kind of hunger in your eyes, an expression that made Ken’s heart skip a beat. Your focused glare made him feel as if a red dot had appeared on his forehead. Like you had marked him for prey. It felt… personal. Like it wasn’t a part of the game, and you were only pointing at him. A threat. A dare.

You pulled your pitching arm back. He swore he heard a gun cock. The stadium went quiet. The crowd held its breath. So did Ken. He tightened his grip on his bat. He waited, eagerly, for you to make your move. He was counting the milliseconds, watching you, anticipating your throw, waiting for you to shoot.

And you did.

Ken blinked, and the ball was gone from your hands. He released the breath he was holding through a disbelieved scoff. He turned, and the catcher had stumbled slightly, holding your ball. The crowd grew into disarray, a rising cacophony of cheers and boos. They just couldn’t believe it. Ken Sato not only missed your pitch, but wasn’t able to move at all. He couldn’t even swing. You were too fast. Too abrupt.The ball was a white blur, there a moment, then gone the next. It wasn’t an issue of the curve, nor the direction. It was just too fucking fast.

His teammates couldn’t believe their eyes. And neither did his coach. Ken craned his head to look at you. You stared back at him, stone-faced.

He took a breath to regain his composure, resuming his earlier stance. He would never admit it, but he was rattled. He was trying to understand how that throw was humanly possible. How he had somehow forgotten to move. He could do nothing more but stand haunted as he heard the resounding “strike one!” from the umpire. This wasn’t the first time he’d missed, but it was the first time he froze. It was a spectacle to all, and a moment of horror for his fans. Did the Unstoppable Ken Sato finally meet his match? Even if he did, he was determined not to lose a second time.

“Okay,” he whispered. He took a deep, focused breath, slightly shifting his stance. He kept his feet firm on the ground, bat at the ready. “Okay, Hotshot. Bring it on.”

You kept your eyes on him and him alone. You stared at him as if you were the only two people in the stadium. The crowd went silent once again. The Giants fans were desperate to give Sato the focus he so-terribly needed, but the Carp fans were just curious to see how the second pitch would go. The air was thick and heavy with tension.

Like before, you threw your hand out, fingers pointed at Ken. You drew your pitching arm back, like an archer, and there was that sound in his mind again. The cock of a gun. Ken waited. He counted you down. He was a hunter dressed in camo, waiting for a deer to move.

Then, for the first time since he’d seen you, your expression changed. You grinned at him.

Then you winked.

Shit.

You threw the ball. Ken swung.

But he missed.

The crowd erupted into chaos. There was an indistinguishable pandemonium of disdain and celebration. People screamed and jumped and waved their banners as high as they possibly could. A number of them had already entered a state of acceptance — the Giants would lose to a perfect game. No batter would ever get through the wall that was you. But a lot of them kept their faith in the ever-notorious Sato. He could hit the last shot. He could pull this off. He might have been struggling to match your speed, but he would figure it out. They believed in him like he was a god.

And at that moment, as Kenji heard the echoing “strike two!” he certainly felt the anger of one.

Did you just fucking wink? Did you seriously have the audacity to wink at him? Kenji took it personally. Who did you think you were? Though his lips spoke nothing of the foul words he wished so eagerly to shout, it was clear on his face that he wanted you gone. It was one thing to embarrass him with a fastball, but another to rub it in. He wouldn’t let that slide. He wouldn’t allow you to strike him out.

Yoshimura was gripping the barrier so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.“Eyes up, Sato!”

Kenji breathed. Through his nose, this time. He drew a long breath into his entire body and blew it out through his lips. He wouldn’t miss. He couldn’t miss. While he might have already taught himself the humility that came with losing, he hadn’t taught himself jackshit about losing to you.

“If looks could kill,” whispered Ami Wakita, the reporter who watched the game from the press booth. Typing into her laptop, she wrote: “There seems to be obvious tension on the field. Nothing new for Ken Sato, yet, significantly different. Japan’s star player has finally met his match. This game has been a long time coming.”

This was his last chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Kenji raised his bat, and narrowed his eyes. You weren’t blind to his added efforts, and smirked at him again. Oh, how it made his blood boil.

Point.

Pull.

Throw.

Swing.

This time, the ball made contact.

The crowd blew up once more, exhausting their lungs as they watched the ball fly across the field. Kenji had hit it. Kenji had managed to catch your bullet-of-a-pitch. He dropped his bat to the ground and ran for his life. Base to base, corner to corner. Kenji leapt across the field and jumped for home.

“Safe!”

The crowd went wild. He had heard stadiums cheer for him before, but he didn't think he had ever heard anything this loud. With a relieved laugh, Kenji got up from the ground, and finally caught his breath. His teammates ran to greet him, though they had only passed the first inning. With a round as intense as that one, they felt it was only right to celebrate a little early.

And then he looked at you. Your eyes met. You were smiling at him again. He didn't like the lack of concern on your face. He didn't like that you didn't seem challenged. And he especially didn't like the fact that he was out there playing for his life, while you seemed to have played for a weekend game at the park.

Kenji was glaring at you, as if he was burning holes into your head. You lifted a hand and threw him a casual salute, flicking two fingers towards his direction. Dammit, he thought. That wink really threw him off. Which it shouldn't have.

Unfortunately for him, the game was nowhere near the last time you'd interact.

And there'd be the after-party to boot.

#ultraman rising #x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x male reader #kenji sato x male reader #ken sato #ken sato x you #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader

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bakuettes · 7 months ago

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Catch My Drift 🏁 chapter 1

Street racer!bakugo x Street racer!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: cursing, douche bakugo, slight misogyny, alcohol consumption, drug use, illegal activities etc

Kanjozoku; The term Kanjozoku is derived from the combination of the words “kanjo” (meaning ring) and “zoku” (meaning group).

Kanjozoku primarily consists of young car enthusiasts in cities like Osaka and Tokyo who have a passion for speed and a desire to showcase their driving skills.

Osaka was the place to be. Not where tourists go to take pictures and try japanese cuisine, maybe pick up a few souvenirs from the large amount of little gift shops that littered the streets but where a community of young adults with the passion for racing congregate. The night was still young, the sounds of tires screeching against the cold pavement and engines roaring was heard over the heavy base of 2000s club music. Girls dressed in scandalous outfits mingling with the guys posted up next to their pimped out rides. You could practically feel the vibrations of the noise in your head.

Three cars lined up with the drivers sitting on the hoods of their prized possession. A bright orange 1993 Mazda RX-7 FD on the far left. The car’s color was comparable to an orange or maybe even the warm sunsets that would settle over japan. The next car over was a 1993 Toyota Supra Turbo Mark IV. The bright colorful lights that surrounded the meet reflected beautifully off the cars mustard yellow chrome. The third and final car was a looker. Silver 1999 Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 with royal blue detailing along the sides and on the hood. A royal blue flexivity rear wing with matching led lights underneath the body.

It was Bakugo’s baby. Spent years modifying and perfecting it. He was a skilled driver sure but having a car like his? Most would be intimidated to challenge him. “Yo Mina, let’s get this race going!” the orange mazda driver shouted. it was hard to find anyone in this crowd but said woman emerged from the sidelines with a confused look on her face. “Woah woah, wait a second.” She looked around the lot, once overing the lined up vehicles. “where’s your fourth at? i’m counting only three.” mina crossed her arms, unimpressed. the yellow toyota driver spoke up first “it was supposed to be joaquin but he caught the grave yard shift man.”

once you were scheduled to race it was a hassle to find new drivers, the time and place was set in stone. it wasnt that often when scheduled racers were a no show but then again many get caught racing outside of meets or their car needed more time to be repaired. It was a waste of mina’s time. she was the flag girl, not their fucking coordinator. “Na, y’all either find a fourth or you don’t race. How’s that sound? Times ticking boys.”

By standers erupted in shouts of anger and disappointment. they wanted to see a race, most of them drove well over an hour to be here! gas wasn’t cheap and neither was Minas time. Hearing the crowds complaining mina sighed and pitched them an idea. “Alright! i hear you guys, relax. How about this, why don’t i find y’all a driver and we settle this now?” bakugo smirked, nodding in agreement. he never said much but he also never needed to. his aura spoke volumes. “bring ‘em on.” he wasn’t nervous, he knew his talents and was confident. resting the palms of his hands on the hood of his car, he tilted his head towards the other racers, waiting to see hear their answers. “Anyone i want?” mina questioned with a grin that would give the cheshire cat a run for his money. “anybody baby!” orange jululis shouted, raising his arms to the side. cocky bastard. mina rolled her eyes and turned away from the drivers, pulling out her phone from her bra. there was a whole list of people she could call but there was only one person she knew who could end this race quickly.

she could hear the static from the other end of the phone. “y/n, you wanna race tonight?” it was quite for a moment before you spoke in to the speaker “i’m always down, send me your lo.” your voice was smooth like silk but sultry like a vixen. it sounded like you’ve been up for a while so mina didn’t feel bad for calling you so late. she knew you came alive in the night anyway. your energetic friend squealed before gathering herself together. “you got 5 minutes hun!” and then the line went dead.

it never took much convincing to get you out. when mina called you it was 12:15 am, meaning you only had exactly 5 minutes to get there. the meet lot was about 20 minutes out. you arrived there in 4, only a minute left to spare. the sound of you engine had heads turning (a certain blonde as well) as you slowly pulled through the crowd, careful not to hit party-goers. the hot pink body of your 2000 Honda S2000 was hard to miss. everyone knew who was inside and that fact alone made them scream louder. you never really cared too much though, it wasn’t like you had vocals like mariah carey. you didn’t have the ability to move like michael jackson. you were just a damn good racer and that was enough for them apparently.

all three racers turned their heads in the direction of the obnoxiously loud honda, tensing up at the sight. well, all except for one of course. bakugo had no idea why everyone was so fucking hyped. who was that? and why’s everyone acting like they’ve never seen a pink car?? “Racers!” mina yelled excitedly “here’s your fourth!”. your black stiletto boots were the first thing he saw exit the car. then it was a black leather hat. he glanced over at the others to study their reactions and they all had excitement swirling in their eyes. maybe even a hint of nervousness? bakugo didn’t have time to be sure because before he knew it, you were leaning back against the hood of your car crossing one leg over the other. “oh shit, it’s y/n.” you weren’t new to this, you were true to this. the air was crisp and cold, you probably should’ve brought a jacket because this top (if it could even be considered one) with this miniskirt wasn’t doing you no type of favors.

from the corner of your eye you could see a blonde headed man with spikey hair almost looking annoyed as he walked over to mina who was standing in the middle of the road. “no offense but i’m not racing a damn girl. you never said it would be a girl.” you rolled your eyes, who the hell does he think he is? a race is a race. why did it matter who was behind the wheel? you best friend looks beyond over this shit, she’s been annoyed her this whole night and she’s about to lose her patience. “you said anyone i wanted, i wanted her! stand next to your car before nobody races.”

“you scared spikes?” he turned his head to the side, watching you push yourself off the car and strut to the middle where he and mina stood. he sized you up, shamelessly checking you out. “what the hell did you jus call me?” he wasn’t scared. why would bakugo be scared of some princess nobody? “can you even drive with those heels on?” your outfit was impractical he thought. a miniskirt that just barely covered the expanse of your ass (not that he really minded) and what looks like a triangle bikini top. if you were to bend over then— no. now’s not the time to thirst over you. even if he did think you were hot.

“i’m just askin.. why wouldn’t you wanna race me if you weren’t scared?” you’ve dealt with his type before, cocky, thinks they’re better than everyone and so on. he’s got sharp red eyes with a piercing gaze. you let your eyes trail away from his face down to the hardened muscles on his chest. clearly well built and his black tshirt was doing nothing to hide it. “man whatever,” your eyes moved back to his hearing the sound of his voice. “i’m not doin this, find somebody else.” he wasn’t scared, he just felt that he could be using this time to race against someone on his level. why’s it that the egotistical men somehow always find you? you would’ve just let him go but you hated the feeling of being looked down on. he’s no better than you, he doesn’t even know what you have to offer. do you did what you do best, you uped the ante.

“15 grand.” you raised your voice a bit. silence fell over the crowd. “i’ll give you 15 grand if you agree to race tonight and win, that applies to the other racers too” you say to the other two drivers still next to their cars. that made him stop dead in his tracks. were you insane? you’re acting like that’s pocket money. fuck, he doesn’t know if he should do it. he didn’t need the money, but his sister did. he tries to help his mother out the best he can, this would cover at least two months worth of bills. gritting his teeth he turns around starting directly at you “don’t start to regret this when you lose ma.” got ‘em, you thought with shit eating smirk.

you walked past him, shoulder checking the man who’s name you still don’t know. he looked at you, staring at your ass as your skirt rode up with every step you took. you must’ve felt bakugo’s stare because your hands grab them hem of the denim and pull it down, throwing him a flirty smile over your shoulder. the tips of his ears turn a shade of pink. he quickly looks to the side, licking his lips attempting to play it off as if the whole meet did see the interaction. all the racers start getting into there respective cars, starting them up. mina struts to the middle of the street once again only this time with a checkered flag. her brown skin was glowing, the lights reflecting off the body glitter she wore.

“Racers!”

mina exudes confidence. you hand your left hand on the wheel, the other hand tightly gripping on to the gear shift. foot tapping on the gas a bit. you were high off adrenaline, you lived for moments like these.

“Start your engines..”

bakugo couldn’t help but stare at you. the look in your eyes. ‘s like you got off on this, the wicked smile on your lips doing nothing to make him think otherwise. he wasn’t fazed though, he had this in the bag. maybe even after he wins he could take you out but that was something he’d ask later, he needs to focus. the flag drops.

“GO!”.

and you were gone.

𝐀/𝐍!!: okay why was this way harder than i thought? 😭 please bare with me ik im not that advanced in writing. i also don’t know a lot about cars but i research by chapter. lmk how u like it so far and i promise to produce better work as time goes on!

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frenchcurious · 1 month ago

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Nissan Skyline 2000 GT-R 1969. - source Amazing Classic Cars.

#nissan

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 2 years ago

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Nissan Fairlady Z432, 1969. Presented at the 16th Tokyo Motor Show, a special version of the Z powered by the DOHC 2.0 litre straight 6 engine from the PGC10 Skyline 2000 GT-R. The name “432” comes from the S20 engine configuration, 4 valves, 3 carburettors, and 2 camshafts. The cars cost 1.85 million yen, approximately twice the cost of the standard Z car and only 419 were made exclusively for the Japanese market

#Nissan #Nissan Fairlady Z #Nissan Fairlady Z432 #special edition #16th Tokyo Motor Show #DOHC #straight 6 #Skyline GT-R #1969 #Z car #Nissan Z

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 10 months ago

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1968 Mazda Cosmo Sport Series 2 Coupé

The Cosmo was a limited-edition masterpiece, meticulously crafted at a rate of one car per day. By the time production concluded in 1972, only 343 units of the Cosmo Sport Series 1 had rolled off the assembly line, in contrast to the 1,176 units of the subsequent Series 2 model. In the realm of collectible Japanese automobiles, the Mazda Cosmo stands among the elite, alongside its high-performance counterparts from Toyota and Nissan: the 2000 GT and the Skyline GT-R.

#Mazda Cosmo Sport Series 2 Coupé #car #cars #Mazda Cosmo #Mazda

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hirocimacruiser · 10 months ago

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SUPER TAIKYU SERIES

●Super durability series

Super Taikyu has gained solid popularity even without the All-Japan Championship at stake, due to the rich variety of machines that it offers due to its four-class mixed race, and the drama that comes with its medium- and long-distance races (including the Tokachi 24 Hours). In 2000, Hironori Takeuchi/Tetsuya Tanaka's Skyline GT-R won class 1 with 5 wins in 8 races + a victory in the Korean special race. Also, in Class 4, Masayoshi Nishigakiuchi/Takahiko Hara's Pulsar team fought alone against the Honda Civic cars lined up, and finished a close second in the series.

#Super Taikyu R34 #Super Taikyu #R34 GTR #Pulsar VZR #JGTC

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les-belles-mecaniques · 3 months ago

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1969 Nissan Skyline 2000 GT-R

#Nissan #vintage car

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japanesecarssince1947 · 1 year ago

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1970 Nissan Skyline 2000 GT-R Sedan

My tumblr-blogs: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/germancarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/frenchcarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/englishcarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/italiancarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/japanesecarssince1947

#1970 #nissan #skyline 2000 gt-r

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dennyherdipriyatna · 3 months ago

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TF 141 and Los Vaqueros Members (From COD MW Reboot) and Rouge Black Ops Members (From Black Ops Origins) x Initial D JDM & Non-JDM Car list (My Version) :

Team : Akina Speed Force 141

John Price - 2002 Nissan Skyline GT-R M-Spec Nür (BNR34)

Kate Laswell - 1998 Subaru Impreza 22B STi Premium Coupe (GC8)

Alex Keller - 1983 Toyota Sprinter Trueno GT-Apex 1600 3-Door (AE86) ('95 Corolla Levin GT-Apex 1.8L 4A-GE 20v Silvertop Engine Swap and '13 ZN6 GT86 TRD 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Koenig - 1997 Honda NSX Type S "Zero" (NA1) ('02 NA2 NSX-R 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Simon "Ghost" Riley - 2002 Mazda RX-7 Spirit R Type A (FD3S)

Johnny "Soap MacTavish - 2013 Subaru BRZ Premium (ZC6) ('02 JZA80 Supra RZ Twin Turbo 3.0L 2JZ-GTE VVT-i Engine Swap)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - 1999 Nissan Silvia Spec R Aero (S15) (2.8L HKS High Response RB26DETT Engine Swap)

Farah Karim - 1995 Honda Civic SIR-II (EG6) ('18 FK8 Mugen Civic Type R K20C1 Engine Swap and '18 FK8 Mugen Civic Type R 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Nikolai - 2000 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution VI GSR Tommi Makinen Edition (CP9A) ('05 CT9A Lancer Evolution VIII MR FQ-400 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Mara - 1998 Toyota Supra RZ-S Twin Turbo (JZA80)

Sergei Race Nov - 1991 Mazda Savanna RX-7 Infini III (FC3S)

Team : Los Vaqueros Southern Alliance

Alejandro Vargas - 1995 Toyota Supra RZ Twin-Turbo (JZA80)

Rodolfo "Rudy Vargas - 1993 Nissan Skyline GT-R V-Spec N1 (BNR32)

Team : Team RBO (Rouge Black Ops) 268

Frank Woods - 1994 Nissan Skyline GT-R V-Spec II N1 (BNR32) ('01 BNR34 GT-R V-SPEC II N1 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Russell Adler - 1997 Toyota Supra RZ Twin-Turbo (JZA80)

Alex Mason - 1996 BMW M3 Coupe 3.2 (E36) ('04 E46 M3 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Grigori Weaver - 1990 Ford Mustang GT V8 5.0 (Foxbody)

Jason Hudson - 1973 Porsche 911 Carrera RSR 2.8 (930)

William "Case" Calderon - 1998 Mazda RX-7 Type RS (FD3S) ('04 SE3P RX-8 Mazdaspeed 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Bell (Male) - 2003 BMW M3 CSL (E46) ('04 E46 M3 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Bell (Female) - 1991 Nissan 180SX Type II (RPS13) (Getrag 420G 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Troy Marshall - 1999 Nissan Skyline GT-R V-Spec (BNR34)

Lawrence Sims - 1992 Honda NSX-R (NA1) ('02 NA2 NSX-R 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Helen Park - 2000 Mazda RX-7 Type RZ (FD3S) ('04 SE3P RX-8 Mazdaspeed 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Elazar Azolay - 2007 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution IX MR FQ-360 (CT9A)

Sevati Dumas - 1998 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution V RS (CP9A) ('04 CT9A Evo VIII MR FQ-360 6-Speed Manual Swap)

Felix Neumann - 1993 Nissan Silvia K's Aero (S13)

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cultofthewyrm · 1 year ago

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NIssan Skyline 2000 GT-R by Jakub

#car #vehicles #jdm #sports cars

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visualpoett · 3 months ago

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1987 Nissan Skyline 2000 GTS-R ( KRR31 )

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chasenews · 2 years ago

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Bonhams' Box Office HitFast and Furious 4 Skyline Sold for $1.36 Million

Hero Nissan Skyline R34 GT-R Driven by Paul Walker in Fast & Furious 4 New Auction World Record for a Nissan Skyline GT-R One of the world’s most famous modern-day movie cars, the Bayside Blue 2000 Nissan Skyline R34 GT-R driven by the late Paul Walker in Fast & Furious 4, was successfully SOLD today (5 May) by Bonhams, for $1,357,000 – a new auction world record for a Nissan Skyline GT-R. The…

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blznit · 1 month ago

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「 ₊ ☆ ﾟ INCOMING TEXT: omg hv u met YOO GUNWOO of the RODANI PROWLERS yet ? they're one of the crew's street racer n actually go by REAPER. the twenty - seven y/o is typically seen hanging arnd coyote casino. allegedly they're from seoul, south-korea n hv been w/ the crew for SIX YEARS. wtvr. just watch out for them, k . ttyl !

𝐈. ⠀ 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗦

full name : yoo gunwoo. alia s : reaper. nicknames : gunny ( used by his sister in their childhood ), reaper's kid ( used by his father's associates back in seoul ) age : twenty-seven ; august 10, 1980 . horoscope : leo sun , gemini moon . gender + pronouns : cis male , he/him . orientation : bisexual . place of birth : seoul , south korea . occupation : street racer . moral alignment : chaotic neutral . traits : charismatic , arrogant , charming , egoistical , restless , competitive & unpredictable . languages : korean , english & japanese . mother : absent . father : tbn . “ doctor graves ” former back-alley doctor to a criminal organization , incarcerated since 1997 . siblings : yoo jiha street racer for nariza bois ( relationship : estranged ) . hair color : naturally black , currently dyed light blond . eye color : dark brown , often shadowed by exhaustion or adrenaline . height : six foot . tattoos : cross on ring finger , more tba . piercings : tba . car : he drives a black nissan skyline GT-R R34 , details tba .

𝐈𝐈. ⠀ 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 ⠀

1980 — 1997 : childhood & upbringing .

gunwoo grew up in the shadow of his father , a man the underworld called doctor graves . the name wasn’t inherited— it was earned , a nod to his father’s crude , unorthodox medical work . their home , dimly lit and reeking of antiseptic and desperation, was his father’s operating room . bullet wounds , broken bones , stab gashes his father handled them all , balancing the fragile line between healer and executioner . gunwoo's earliest memories were sticky with blood-soaked bandages , hushed threats , the flicker of a knife under a bare lightbulb , and police sirens whining faintly in the distance . without a mother to shield them away , gunwoo was drawn into his father’s orbit from a young age . he started small , ran errands , fetched tools , and played lookout , standing at the edge of danger without fully understanding it . by the time he hit his teens , the men his father worked with started noticing him . he had a taste for adrenaline that couldn’t be ignored . they called him reaper’s kid — him and his little sister , like the name was something he should wear with pride . by sixteen , they trusted him with more than just keeping watch and he became their driver . it wasn’t delivering packages or running supplies , his cargo was often alive , barely hanging on . sometimes it was screaming . sometimes it was quiet . gunwoo learned to tune it out . despite his growing involvement , he was never officially part of the gang . too young , they said . an “ honorary member ” at best . but he was seventeen , the first time he got three stitches in his thigh and learned what a man’s last breath sounded like .

1997 — 2000 : path to racing.

gunwoo was seventeen when his father got arrested , narrowly escaped prosecution , shielded by his youth and lack of official ties . he was placed in the care of an estranged aunt along with jiha . their aunt , a woman who had neither anticipated nor wanted the role of guardian , became an unexpected authority figure in their lives . gunwoo found himself thrust into a world he didn’t recognize . a life of rules , routine , and suffocating normalcy . the quiet order of his new existence stood in stark contrast to the chaos he’d grown up in , leaving him restless and out of place . whispers of street races in the city became a siren’s call , their promise of danger and adrenaline too enticing to resist . one night , unable to bear the weight of monotony any longer , gunwoo left . the suburbs blurred in his rearview mirror as he sped toward the city .

street races became his lifeline . his winnings , though modest at first , went to support his younger sister , even if he rarely stayed long enough to see the money put to use . for the longest time , his stolen car was his home ; the back seat carried the weight of his belongings and the passenger side bore his dreams . what those were exactly ? he hadn't figured it out . but despite his early success , the local racing scene wasn't enough . restless and hungry for bigger challenges , gunwoo set his sights beyond the familiar streets . he spent two years in japan , immersing himself in the country’s rich racing culture ; drift circuits , mountain runs , and the delicate dance between control and chaos . it was there he learned to turn his reckless into precision , his chaos into calculation . but even amidst the exhilaration of high-stakes racing , gunwoo didn’t forget his sister . he called her when he could , sent money when he had it . it was his way of keeping a tether to the past , even as he raced headlong into an uncertain future .

2001 — 2004 : miami , florida & the rodani prowlers.

gunwoo’s journey to the usa marked a pivotal shift in his life a point where the roads diverged , and he chose to burn bridges rather than navigate the complexities of holding on . his sister , once the only thread of connection to his fractured past, became one of those casualties . it was just easier to let go , to tell himself that she was better off without him.

his first race in miami , became a bruising lesson in humility . the race was against members of the rodani prowlers, despite his skills , gunwoo lost , outpacing him with a camaraderie that highlighted his isolation . for the past four years , he had been a lone wolf , surviving on his terms , answering to no one . but watching the prowlers operate as a unit stirred something in him . in a country where everything was unfamiliar , the idea of being part of a crew that had his back was something he hadn’t realized he needed . despite his loss , his skills earned him an invitation . and so , he joined the rodani prowlers , finding a new kind of family on the asphalt streets of a country that had once felt alien .

2004 — 2007 : aftermath.

when the crew broke apart , gunwoo wrestled with the decision. part of him was tempted to follow the breakaway crew ; their energy was closer to the raw, unrestrained chaos he craved . but something held him back. it wasn’t sentimentality — he wasn’t the type to cling to the past or let loyalty dictate his choices . it was pride . sheer , stubborn pride . he wasn’t about to abandon the luxury he’d spent the last three years clawing his way into . the rodani prowlers , even in their fractured state , gave him everything he needed to stay comfortable : fast cars , faster money , and the kind of recognition that stroked his ego . he wasn’t about to trade all that for uncertainty . so he stayed , though his driving style remains a constant source of friction .

𝐈𝐈𝐈. ⠀ 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

signature move : he has a daring habit of cutting so close to rival cars that he scrapes their paint without wrecking . it’s a flex of control and precision that both intimidates and infuriates other racers . each scrape is a dance with danger , a moment were the margin for error is razor-thin . it's not just about winning the race . for gunwoo , it's about feeling alive , about breathing in the thrill of the chase and tasting death on the edge of every turn . he’s not merely chasing death anymore - he’s courting it , coaxing it closer with every inch of asphalt and every pulse of his engine . post - loss spiral : losing a race flips a switch in gunwoo , dragging him into a black hole of self-destruction . he becomes unbearable , veering between two extremes : either vanishing completely or throwing himself headfirst into chaos . when he ghosts , he retreats to his room , curtains drawn , drowning in the weight of his own failure . days blurring together in a haze of silence . other times , the stillness is too much to bear . that's when gunwoo seeks out chaos . he'll throw himself into street fights , bar fights — anything to get his blood pumping and drown out the bitter taste of losing . the bruises , the adrenaline , they're all distractions , fleeting bursts of feeling to cover the emptiness gnawing at him . for gunwoo , a loss isn't just a setback ; its a wound . and until he wins again , he's either licking his wounds in the dark or tearing himself apart trying to forget . flirting with the void : he has a habit of closing his eyes and imaging the worst-case scenario - in vivid , gut -wrenching detail . the crunch of metal , the shatter of glass , the blood-slick pavement , and the bone-deep stillness of what could be his last breath . but he doesn't recoil from it . he embraces it . the adrenaline surges through him like a live wire , sharper than fear , hotter than fire . the dark possibilities fuel him , stripping away doubt and hesitation . when his eyes snap open , his focus is razor-sharp , his resolve unshakable . he's racing to prove that even the void can't keep up with him . revving for the dead : before every race , gunwoo performs his ritual — a dark , thunderous signal that sets him apart . three sharp revs of the engine slice through the air , louder than the crowd . each one is deliberate , echoing like a countdown to fate . he started doing this after his first car crash , the one that left his car in pieces and his ribs aching for weeks . the first rev is for the ones who didn't make it : racers that became cautionary tales . the second was for himself : a reminder that every race could be his last . the third was for the crowd , a promise that they'd remember his name . to the prowlers , its him being dramatic ; to his rivals it's a warning . a ghost in the glovebox : he keeps a worn-out photo of his family in the glovebox . he rarely looks at it , but its presence feels like a talisman .

#i don't know how to write short intros so thank you for reading all of this ♡#fast.intro

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