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Meet the Muse

brynhildring

LEGAL NAME: Tsukishima Kei

ALIAS[ES]: Tsukki, Glasses-kun

DATE OF BIRTH: September 27th

GENDER | SPECIES: Male | Human

PLACE OF BIRTH: Somewhere in Japan

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Nashi Dorm, 012

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Japanese

EDUCATION: High school

OCCUPATION: Student

DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS: No | No | No

LIKE[S]: ??? uh

DISLIKE[S]: everything

FEAR[S]: Working too hard for something only to wind up disappointed + failure

PERSONALITY TRAITS: Jerkass woobie

{ P H Y S I C A L I N F O R M A T I O N }

HAIRCOLOR: Blond

EYE COLOR: Brown

HEIGHT: 188.3 cm / 6'2"

TATTOOS: None

PIERCINGS: None

{ F A M I L Y I N F O R M A T I O N }

SIBLING[S]: One older brother (Akiteru)

PARENT[S]: Mother

CHILDREN: None

PET[S]: None

{ R E L A T I O N S H I P I N F O R M A T I O N }

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: lmao

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Lmao

#:info

{ king rat } | kuroo

It comes as a small annoyance and nothing more when he's tugged aside and told he'll be switching lab partners, which he meets only with a simple, mildly agitated voicing of, "But, I already have one..."

Side glances at Yamaguchi reveal that he's been shoved upon someone else, jittery and nervous and nearly knocking over test tubes—then opening his mouth to apologize and falling short (a "Sorry Tsukki" pushed back into the ribs of his throat). Tsukishima lingers long enough to watch Yamaguchi give a weak-hearted wave, then moves on—with a scowl twitching and tugging at the corners of his mouth—only to stop short.

He eyes Kuroo Tetsurou with the same, casual disdain he gives everyone else (a natural habit that comes too difficult to break, not like he'd bother to). Similar to every other encounter he's had with him, Kuroo adorns smirks and an easy slouch like a perennial headache (constantly pushing and forcing his way into Tsukishima's field of vision, and carving away at the worst possible nerve ending). He sighs, gives in, but doesn't bother to smooth the look of annoyance from his features.

"What are you doing?"

#tetsvrovs #mini01: kuroo #one day i'll get better at writing tsukishima? that day's not today tho

pinchserves

He’s winded by the time he arrives at Nashi dorm, gulping greedily at the air in short, quick gasps. The blue splashed across his chest seeps in through the seams of his shirt where it’s cold against his skin, shocking gently bruised ribs.

He lets himself into the room, the same way he’s always wormed his way into Tsukki’s life - uninvited and quite tenacious - straightening the books upon his desk automatically as he passes (knowing he likes them, just so) before collapsing in a much more disorganized pose upon the edge of his bed.

"Tsukki," his tongue curls around the word with a familiarity that comes as easily as breathing, his expression already brightening, curling the corner of his lips and smoothing the tiny lines upon his forehead, to match the warmth in his tone.

His fingers tap with nervous energy, left over from the excitement of the battle, one two three, upon the wooden frame. "Have you been in here all day?" He asks, finally, when what he means is have you seen what’s going on out there? He hopes in a terrible, dreadful way, that rumors of Yamaguchi’s own involvement have not yet reached Tsukki’s ears.

And then he remembers the paint upon his chest and his cheeks blossom red beneath his freckles.

blockouts

It takes copious amounts of patience and an ill-advised music volume to put up with the chaotic events of the paintball war. More than a few students had dropped by to knock on the door and poke their heads in, all smiles and weak attempts at coercing Tsukishima into participating (all met with practiced scowls or complete silence).

However, the next person to enter his dorm room doesn't carry quite the same intentions, fortunately. Yamaguchi, winded and pink in the cheeks, comes barreling into his room all limbs and childlike eagerness (and from the paint splattered across his chest, Tsukishima can only guess why).

Calmly, and perhaps a bit irritably, he tugs his headphones down around his neck (not bothering to set aside the volleyball magazine in his hands, however) and places at least a decent portion of his attention on Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi says his name in a tone that's coated in saccharine and years of familiarity, and it helps to smooth the scowl away, at least. "Mostly. It would have been a bother to get involved."

Tsukishima pulls his gaze away from the magazine in his hands in favor of pointedly glancing at the paint across Yamaguchi's shirt, disdain creeping into his features. "Although, I don't think you feel the same."

#pinchserve #mini01: yamaguchi #lol.......... i still haven't gotten a grasp on his dialogue i'm working on it? i think

tabrizu-blog

tsukki tea time

#:self #food 9182

{ cynicism } | leo

Similar to various situations that had sprouted in an uncomfortably close proximity to him, Tsukishima regarded the disturbance of a paintball war with irritation more than anything else (scowl carved into the curve of his lips and headphones snug over his ears).

It takes more skill than should be required to maneuver his way through the school's grounds, avoiding rogue shots and sprinting students with lithe movements and teeth pressed firmly together, threatening to split his skull in two (which would be a welcome relief at this point, he thinks).

Upon arrival to his dorm room, Tsukishima drops his possessions onto his bed with little grace, simultaneously toeing off his shoes and tugging his headphones down to their resting spot around his neck— pausing only to regard his roommate with poorly concealed interest.