yurishippingolympics | YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024

The Clue(do) mansion.

“He’s dead,” Winter announces, rising to her feet from beside the body.

Cinder gestures to the pool of blood on the floor. “Obviously.”

She flashes her a look that Cinder brushes off. Winter has never been all that intimidating to her, not for a while. “He could still have been alive. We could have called an ambulance, and all this could’ve been done with.”

“Oh, please, like any of us want to be here,” May says stiffly. Funny, Cinder had almost forgotten she was here in the first place. She’s wearing an awful lot of blue.

The force of Winter’s glare switches from Cinder to her. “You think this is a game? A man just died, May.”

“Jimmy Ironwood was a fascist and an asshole who spent nearly twenty years grooming you to become his successor,” she says shortly, “so forgive me if I don’t exactly feel sympathetic.”

Winter’s face twists. It’s rather startling to see; Cinder doesn’t think she’s ever seen that exact combination of grief and self-hatred on her old best friend’s face before.

She wipes her bloodstained hands on the white of her trousers and steps neatly over the blood, avoiding both Cinder and May’s gaze. “That may be, but he is — he was like a father to me. Someone in this house killed him, and I want to know who.”

“Well, I would also like to know if we have to share a mansion with a killer,” Cinder mutters, because someone needs to fill the weird silence she left behind. “Maybe we’ll even get lucky and they’ll take Councilwoman Slate out, too.”

There’s that glare again. Cinder stares back defiantly anyway.

May makes a noise like a tire deflating and storms out of the room, the bloodstained hem of her dress trailing behind her, presumably to alert the other guests. Cinder doesn’t particularly care, but she hopes May bothers to tell them not to leave anyway. There’s something a little bit dangerous in the thought of letting a potential murderer run around downtown Atlas.

“Well,” Winter says as soon as the door shuts behind her, “that was illuminating.”

Cinder shoots her a sharp look. “Why? You think May killed him?” She kicks Ironwood’s hand for good measure. Winter winces.

“Not her, obviously. May likes to get her hands dirty, but she’s one of Robyn’s.” She looks at Cinder out of the corner of her eye, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I haven’t ruled you out yet.”

“We were making out in the closet,” Cinder snaps. Winter flashes her a grin.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re capable of. For all I know, you staged the entire thing to frame me.”

“Oh yes, because the fact that you wiped your own hands on your fucking trousers is somehow my fault —”

Winter surges across the room, pinning Cinder’s back against the wall next to the door. She doesn’t even have it in her to be surprised by the suddenness of it all, but the forwardness does give her pause. She tilts her head to the side, waiting.

There’s no kiss. Not even a brush of her lips against the hollow of Cinder’s throat, which is what she’s come to expect in meetings like these. Winter just leans forward, resting her head on the curve of her shoulder, and murmurs, “I’d like to come home with you tomorrow, if you wouldn’t mind.”

And that’s the end of that, really.

Ambergris (Ambergris book series)

An old gothic church.

Ship: Sayaka/Kyoko from Madoka Magica, link to ao3 fic here!

Another Toku classic: something's up at the abandoned warehouse.

There are five or six SDC warehouses in Vale no longer in use. Winter makes a habit of checking them whenever she’s in the area, both to deter local thieves from trying to break in and look for remaining Dust, and because she’d feel some kind of immense shame if she didn’t. She supposes it’s just a natural consequence of being raised the way she was. the entire world seems to try to fall apart when she doesn’t have both of her hands clasped around it, keeping it together.

Today in particular, she’s passing by one of the oldest — a little ways away from the docks in downtown Vale, built long before Jacques took over the company — when she hears the gunshots.

She likes to do these checks by herself, in secret, so there’s no one to call. Dust knows she’d never hear the end of it if anyone found out she was still looking at her family’s business decisions out of some kind of twisted obligation. She considers it for about half a second before a second round of gunshots go off, and then she runs.

Permission to carry weapons is limited specifically to students, active Huntsmen, and military personnel in Vale. This could mean very little — she’s heard of a string of Dust robberies from Weiss before, after all — but it’s still worth approaching with some kind of decorum intact. Most people know who she is, and after all, the most logical explanation she can come up with is drunk students sneaking into the first quiet place they can find. It happens a lot in Mantle, even with the strict discipline Atlas Academy drills into each cohort.

Still, Winter runs. Maybe it’s that unsettling sense of loyalty; maybe it’s the deep unease that crawled down her throat the moment she stepped foot onto Valean soil. It doesn’t matter, really. What matters is that she remembers the layout of the warehouse from when it was in use well enough to creep in through a side door reserved for smoking breaks and follow the sound of laughter to one of the first floor walkways.

She stops underneath the walkway in question, keeping firmly to the shadows of old crates. There are three people above, two women and a man. One of the women — a girl, really; she can’t be more than a year older than Weiss — is handing Dust cartridges to the man, and the man is packing them into a rifle. The second woman is watching, hanging languidly over the railing like a cat, the picture of idle amusement.

(Winter finds herself tracking the way she raises a hand to prop her chin against her palm, cataloguing the lazy spread of her smile, and has to shake herself out of it. This is serious.)

The man — boy, really — starts firing the gun again. Dust sprays out over the gap between the walkways, and the two kids burst into startled laughter. So it’s exactly what Winter thought it was, students being nuisances, except —

Except for the woman watching the two of them. She looks nothing like a student, nothing like anyone Winter has ever seen before. And before Winter can say anything, can try to get a closer look, she says something quiet to the girl and walks away, vanishing from sight.

Shit. She should have acted sooner.

Well, it doesn’t really matter. She’s tired, and she wants to go home. Getting rid of two idiot kids will be enough to deter all three of them coming back, at the end of the day. Winter waits until the sound of footsteps over metal has faded away before she turns to move, following the shadows up to the door she knows will take her to the first floor.

And she gets two steps in before she walks straight into the woman from the walkway.

Behind a Waffle House or Denny’s

Ship: Lawine/Kanne from Frieren, link to ao3 fic here!

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

hopelessgemini - 2024-08-20 22:26 (UTC) - Expand

A haunted house- real or fake!

Uhhh…whatever the hell the setting of Girls' Last Tour is.

LMFAO that is a very accurate way to describe it

Full disclaimer: I have watched exactly one episode of Girls' Last Tour and that is what this fill is based off of.

Ship: Chisato/Takina from Lycoris Recoil

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chisato dismounts the tank before Takina can tell her not to.

“Ooh, an airplane!” she says, pointing at it like a literal child. Takina does not find it endearing at all and brings the tank to a halt in the snow. “Can we go in?”

“No,” she replies curtly but Chisato’s already climbing. Takina does one check to make sure the tank’s stable before slinging the rifle over her shoulder and following.

(She tells herself that it’s because there might be supplies stored inside. She tells herself that it’s not because Chisato’s going in first. She tells herself a lot of things these days.)

“Pardon the intrusion!” Chisato calls out loudly before sliding the metal door open. The sorry thing creaks on its rusty hinges to make room for them.

Chisato stomps straight in and Takina trails after her cautiously, ducking her head through the doorway.

“You should be more careful,” she chides when they’re inside.

“Why? There’s no one else around,” Chisato replies and it’s meant to be light-hearted, a humorous jab at the dark reality of their situation but the attempt falls flat on its face. Chisato angles her face away so she can’t see her expression.

Takina swallows hard, staring at her back.

“I’m here,” she says resolutely and Chisato turns to her, shocked, before her face splits into its usual grin. Takina pretends that the warmth that floods her cheeks is from the sunlight.

The airplane is in relatively good condition for being abandoned. The metal floor creaks beneath them but it doesn’t give way.

There are a number of items in the airplane–from discarded guns whose insides have long rotted to handheld grenades Chisato tosses about playfully to ammunition that doesn’t fit in their barrels. Takina has to stop Chisato from nearly decapitating herself on more than one occasion.

But the real gold mine is in the wooden creates pushed to the back of the airplane’s belly. Chisato holds open the dusty top for her as she pulls out bag after bag of military rations, each one marked with big block letters going down the side.

“See?” Chisato says, sounding all too pleased with herself. “I told you we should go in the airplane! Look what happens when you stop to smell the roses, Takina!”

“There are no roses,” Takina replies and Chisato groans next to her.

Outside, Chisato tries to eat a handful of snow and Takina slaps her hand away without looking. Who even knows what’s in the snow after the fallout?

They set up camp near the tank, picking a little hill to sit on.

They’ve been eating from the same can of soup for days and Takina has begun to welcome the yawning cavern in her stomach like an old friend. She permits them to gorge on exactly one freeze-dried package in celebration of the newfound rations. Chisato nearly weeps with joy and Takina rolls her eyes at her reaction.

Time has unfortunately not worn down Chisato’s sweet tooth and Takina is treated to a full-on rant about the lack of desserts every other day. Hopefully, this “chocolate”-flavored military ration should spare her eardrums for a couple of hours.

Chisato takes one bite and smiles in response, licking the crumbs off the wrappers.

“S’good,” she says, waving the bar enticingly in front of Takina’s face. Takina doesn’t rise to the bait, instead snapping another bar in half and taking the smaller portion for herself.

There’s an uneven amount in the package and Takina lets her have the difference.

“Itadakimasu!” Chisato says, clapping her hands together. For all her grousing, she takes the extra piece of military ration like a child on Christmas day, thrilled by the gift.

Takina buries her face in Chisato’s shoulder to smother her smile.

“Huh?!” Chisato yelps, poking at her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Takina murmurs into her jacket.

Nothing, as long as you’re here.

Twin Peaks (Twin Peaks)

In deep space

Ship: Farcille from Dungeon Meshi

i don't know how deep space works... please accept this hand-wavey description

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Good morning,” Marcille says brightly, stretching her arms out above her head. Or stretching as best as she can given the confines of this crappy, styrofoam-like astronaut suit.

“Actually, it isn’t morning, given the position of–”

Marcille slams the door shut in Laios’ face before he can even reach the end of that sentence. She takes a deep breath, pictures deer bounding in a field of endless grass and tries again.

“As I was saying,” she says sweetly, turning back to the portrait of Falin that’s taped to her closet doubling as a room. “Good morning. I hope the weather’s as nice wherever you are as it is here.”

Marcille risks a glance at the inky black expanse outside the window and lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, I guess there is no weather, beside the freaky lighting storm Laios won’t stop talking about but you know what I mean.” She floats closer to the frame and tries to picture Falin beside her, sitting on her sleeping bag and telling her that it’ll all be okay. “You always knew what I meant–”

“You talking to the picture again?”

Chilchuck’s hovering by her doorway, the traitorous thing having slid open again. Marcille wishes not for the first time that this spaceship had locks. Seriously, they have an airlock so why not regular locks too?

“I wans’t asking,” Marcille says with as much patience she can muster before slamming the door shut. Again.

She turns back to the photo, her patience fraying at the ends.

“Now, where were we? Ah, that’s right, the weather. I hope–”

“Yohohohoho, breakfast’s ready!” Senshi calls, throwing her door wide open. The metal thing squeaks on its rails, threatening to come loose. Marcille really will kill everyone in this spaceship if that happens. She needs her privacy, or at least some semblance of it.

“Oh… Chilchuck mentioned you were talking to the ghost in the picture again! You know, even if you’re a young’un with an active imagination, you really shouldn’t–”

“SHE’S NOT DEAD!” Marcille shouts and promptly shoves him out of the room. At least zero-gravity’s on her side and he goes tumbling easily. Marcille slams the door shut behind it and holds it against the wall herself in a makeshift lock.

She turns back to–

To–

Ugh. Marcille resigns herself to her fate and bangs her head against the glass.

Alright, call her crazy, she’s talking to the picture. Whatever, she’s done weirder things. Probably.

And this is the only thing keeping her sane among this crowd of hooligans in deep space at this point.

It has been 129 days since Falin disappeared in a beam of light and Marcille misses her like it’s day one.

“We’re gonna find you,” Marcille tells the grainy pixels, the colors faded from the journey. She says the words like she’s trying to speak them into existence. “We’re gonna find you, Falin. Wait for me.”

Re: FILL: Team Kittyuri

static_prevails - 2024-09-03 20:18 (UTC) - Expand

FILL: TEAM TRANSFORMERS

legendtrainer - 2024-09-01 04:00 (UTC) - Expand

A broken elevator the characters are stuck together in

Twenty minutes into the second hour, Cinder announces that she fears she’s losing her mind. Winter is inclined to agree.

Instead of doing something useful with her time — like trying to crack open the hatch at the top so they can both climb out — she’s taken to bouncing the stress ball Whitley got her against the walls above Cinder’s head. It’s not the most productive, but it keeps Cinder from chewing her own fingers off, so it’s something.

Aside from that — the irregular thud of the ball striking metal — there’s no sound. Cinder makes the occasional passing commentary, really, and that’s it. The world has ground to a halt; there’s nothing to do except wait to fall to their deaths or pray the maintenance guy gets his fucking act together and shows up before they kill each other. A shame; Winter thinks she’d have liked to get to know Cinder better before one of them died.

The question, when it comes, startles them both. Cinder tilts her head up from where she’s been keeping it ducked so Winter doesn’t hit it and says, “What were you going to do today?”

“What?”

She gestures around them, avoiding Winter’s gaze. “Before all this. What were you going to do?”

“Oh. Um.” Winter shrugs, glancing away. “Just go home, I suppose. I’ve had a long day.”

“And now it’s even longer,” Cinder says observantly. “Yeah, that sucks. I was supposed to be having dinner with one of my —” she winces, “one of my friends, but she’s probably stuck in the lobby now.”

It’s the calmest Winter has ever seen her. “One of your friends?”

She nods. “Neo. You know her, probably. She — we almost killed each other a little while ago.”

“Ah, so like us.”

Cinder grins. “Oh, exactly like us. Except we actually used to be friends.”

“I was your friend,” Winter says, kicking her shin from across the floor.

Cinder, of course, kicks her shin right back. “Not the point, babe. She’s going to think I’ve ditched her.”

“Well, first she’s going to think there’s a broken elevator, and then she might think you ditched her in the lobby.”

Cinder kicks her shin again. “Maybe she’ll scale the wall outside.”

That would be a sight, Winter thinks; all five feet flat of Neo Politan crawling up the side of their shitty apartment building, specifically to come in through Cinder’s window and spite her. Honestly, were it not fucking freezing outside, she wouldn’t put it past her. Neo has proven herself to be capable of incredible forms of tactical revenge. “So, what will you do when she tries to murder you again?”

Cinder shrugs extravagantly. “Throw her out of my window. It’s seven stories.”

Fill: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

static_prevails - 2024-08-27 01:46 (UTC) - Expand

FILL: Team Kittyuri

missiletoe - 2024-08-30 18:46 (UTC) - Expand

The City (Blame!)

That's it. You're going to Brazil.

The Yu-Gi-Oh! TCG game has a type of card called Field Spells. I wonder what it’s like to be in the worlds captured in the images of those cards?

We’re currently on a cruise ship to somewhere! Get fancy!

On the tenth day of being quarantined Misa suggests breaking into the karaoke room.

“Mmrgh,” Kiyomi responds, as any sane person would do at three in the morning.

Thankfully, Misa isn’t sane. “I know you’re awake, Kiyo.”

“Ugh.” Kiyomi sits up. Her normally perfectly groomed hair is sticking away from her like a lioness’s mane; she shakes her head, which doesn’t make it better. Misa grins, impossibly — endeared? No, that can’t be what it is, this is Kiyomi for god’s sake. “No.”

“Why nooot,” Misa whines.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Witching hour,” Misa says. See, she did learn some things from Akako. “Which means no one will be around to stop us.”

Kiyomi purses her lips.

“Nobody’s watching,” Misa wheedles. “C’mon, Halle and Mochi are so asleep right now! It’s the perfect time for you to be a normal person!”

“A normal person would go back to bed.”

“Okay,” Misa says, and raises her eyebrows at her.

Kiyomi’s eyebrows furrow. The corner of her mouth twitches like it can’t decide whether to smile or frown.

Misa sighs. “Please?”

And Kiyomi stands.

Okay, so maybe Misa got herself into a little bit more trouble than she’d anticipated.

“Jolene,” Kiyomi sings, her voice cracking a little from the falsetto but her eyes locked on Misa’s own, “I’m begging of you please don’t take my man…”

Misa swallows. The ship lurches below them, caught in the perfect storm of COVID quarantine and the actual typhoon outside, but Kiyomi’s gaze stays steady on hers and she leans in far too close when she passes Misa the other microphone, and this is sleep deprivation, this has to be sleep deprivation, there’s no way Misa’s actually considering —

“Your beauty is beyond compare!” Misa scream-sings into the mic, and then — just because she can — drops it back on the table and leans in to use Kiyomi’s instead. “With flaming locks of auburn hair!”

Kiyomi startles, but doesn’t jerk away. Instead she — grabs Misa’s hand and wraps it around the microphone. “With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green,” she sings, and brushes ever so slightly against the fringe of Misa’s eyelashes. Misa hasn’t bothered putting in her contacts the past few days; her eyes are the same dark brown she’s always thought was ugly, but the way Kiyomi’s staring — “Your smile is like a breath of spring.”

Misa can’t lose now. She can’t. “Your voice is soft like summer rain,” which is true, fuck, fuck, “and I cannot compete with you, Jolene—”

“He talks about you in his sleep,” Kiyomi interrupts. “And there’s nothing I can do to keep from crying when he says your name—”

“JOLENE!” Misa shouts, and then they’re both screaming it: “Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, I’m begging of you please don’t take my man…”

The staff kick them out at 7 a.m.

FILL: Team Kittyuri

missiletoe - 2024-08-30 21:47 (UTC) - Expand

On a battlefield, with one of the armies that’s preparing for battle

On a battlefield, after the battle is over

Cinder sits in the grass and holds Winter for a long time after Jaune passes by, listening to her heartbeat through the front of her shirt. Winter’s arms don’t uncurl from around her back; her fingers stay fisted in her jacket, but she doesn’t wake up.

She won’t wake up for a while, Jaune said before he vanished. Cinder doesn’t want to believe him. She doesn’t know how to live in a world without Winter, even if it’s just for a few hours. She stays with her while her body reconstructs itself, threads her fingers through her hair, waits for someone to notice them. She can’t take her back to the camp on her own.

There are people moving through the bodies behind them, assumedly from Beacon. She recognises the voices drifting through the smoke, the figures she sees in the distance. They won’t come for her, Cinder thinks; she looks as though she’s grieving. They’ll recognise the symbol on her back and give her a wide berth.

She smooths Winter’s hair out of her eyes and kisses the top of her forehead, drawing her thumb through a patch of drying blood. Winter stirs in her sleep, drawing in a shaky, deep breath that sounds like it settles hollowly in her lungs.

She’s alive, Cinder decides, and that’s all that matters.

//

She waits until the sun sets. The sky dips purple, then blue, then black. Cinder stays wrapped around Winter’s body, trying to match their breathing for as long as possible.

Then, when the first stars are starting to appear, she shudders into awareness.

Cinder hardly even notices at first, face buried into the crook of her neck as it is. It only really sinks in when Winter’s fingers tremble against her back, when she breathes, “Cinder?”

“Oh, G-d,” she gasps, “Oh my G-d.”

Winter’s hands curl experimentally into fists, then uncurl. “Cinder,” she repeats, airless, “you’re here. I missed you.”

“But I didn’t even go anywhere.” Cinder lifts her head to look at her, blinking away tears. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”

Hey, congrats, you made it onto the
island where Fortnite: Battle Royale takes place in! Good luck in Duos!

An isolated base in Antarctica.

Ship: Michimiya/Aihara from Haikyuu!!

say hello to tragic comphet yuri... in my notes i have written WHEN YOU WAKE UP NEXT TO HIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT--

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Aihara rolls the comm between her frozen fingers, skin gripping the metal. Time for her favorite part of the day.

“Moshi-moshi?” Michimiya’s voice rings out cheerfully through the headphones. Aihara grins at the sound and gives her chair a little twirl.

“Hiya, Yui-chan,” she chirps back. Michimiya’s resounding sigh is staticky across the line.

“Enough with that, Aihara-san!” she says, indignant. “I told you to call me Michimiya.”

“Sure, sure, Yui,” Aihara replies, just to get a rise out of her. She’s only ever seen her badge photo in the military databases but she can imagine her pout as she grumbles into the mic.

There’s not much entertainment though in the middle-of-nowhere-Antarctica. Aihara had taken the job for the pay and the complementary housing–rent is a killer nowadays–but the boredom and the isolation eats away at her some days. Most days.

“Anything new to report, Aihara-san?” Michimiya asks, ever the picture of perfect corporate policy. Aihara sighs loudly and exaggeratedly into the mic in response.

“Nothing but snow, Michimiya-san,” she says, glancing out the window. “Snow, snow and more snow.”

“Noted,” Michimiya replies drily and she hears the clacking of a keyboard on the other end.

“Tell me about that guy from last time,” Aihara says, kicking her feet up on the desk. It’ll do nothing but invite trouble but Aihara always finds entertainment in needling Michimiya, even if she’s the one left bleeding at the end of the day.

“S-S-Sawamura-kun?” Michimiya squeaks, barely able to get the name out. Aihara finds her stammering endearing.

“Your childhood friend,” she supplies helpfully. “Isn’t he returning from the war today or something?”

“You remembered,” Michimiya gawks and Aihara rolls her eyes. There’s nothing else in her brain so there’s more than enough free memory up there and besides, she remembers everything about Michimiya.

“Of course,” she laughs into the mic and then Michimiya is off, talking about her beloved Sawamura-kun and how he’s so reliable, Aihara, you don’t even understand and he has just the nicest biceps and also he’s really nice, like one time he offered to help her up after she fell in high school, isn’t that just the sweetest thing ever?

“A-A-And I’m finally going to ask him out today when he comes back!” Michimiya practically yells into the mic. Aihara raises one eyebrow at that.

Sawamura-kun sounds like the most basic-ass, cookie-cutter boy-next-door Aihara has ever heard of. Not that she’d ever tell any of this to Michimiya and shatter her starry-eyed dreams.

But she bets that Sawamura-kun doesn’t call her half as frequently as she does–even if it is technically for business reasons–and she bets that Sawamura-kun doesn’t know how to get a rise out of Michimiya or pry a laugh from her lips when she’s feeling particularly down. She flexes her forearms in the glass pane and thinks she could take any Sawamura-kun down in an arm wrestle.

“I hope everything works out for you two,” Aihara grinds out between her teeth because at the end of the day, Sawamura-kun is Michimiya’s beloved since childhood, is a fully-fleshed person across the globe and Aihara is little more than her work pen pal.

“Thank you,” Michimiya mumbles before she takes a deep breath. “Mao-chan!”

Aihara blinks, stunned, before letting loose a loud laugh.

“Thank you too, Yui-chan.”

“For what?”

“For making my day a little brighter,” Aihara says, grinning. She picks up a loose pad at her desk, doodling little hearts onto the front like a grade-schooler. “Now don’t you have a date you’re about to be late for?”

“Ack!” Michimiya squeaks, checking the time. “You’re right. Gotta go, I’ll check in tomorrow!”

She ends the transmission with a click and Aihara is left at the end of the line with nothing but the snow and the silence to keep her company.

On an airplane or airship

The Lunar Capital (Touhou Project)

The Infinity Train! (Infinity Train)

THE HOLE!! (Dorohedoro)

Just driftin’ in a semi in a wasteland after the apocalypse.

Penacony (Honkai: Star Rail)

Ohtori Academy (Revolutionary Girl Utena)

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 7

PROMPT: TOKUSATSU YURI SHIPS UNITED FRONT

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIMANGA

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIMANGA

FILL: Team Kittyuri

PROMPT: Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

Prompt: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

FILL: Team Kittyuri

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

Prompt: Team Magnus

Prompt: Team Touhou

FILL: Team Kittyuri

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIMANGA

Prompt: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

FILL: Team Kittyuri

Re: FILL: Team Kittyuri

FILL: TEAM TRANSFORMERS

Prompt: Team Magnus

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

Fill: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

FILL: Team Kittyuri

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIMANGA

PROMPT: Tokusatsu Yuri Ships United Front

Prompt: Team Touhou

Prompt: Team Touhou

FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY

FILL: Team Kittyuri

Prompt: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

Prompt: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

Prompt: Team Touhou

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIMANGA

FILL: Team Kittyuri

Prompt: Team Webcomics/Webtoons

Prompt: Team Touhou

Prompt: Team Magnus

PROMPT: TEAM HORROR ANIMANGA

Prompt: Team Touhou

Prompt: Team Touhou

Prompt: Team Magnus