[yagaymi]

@diffusingconscious

TO: fucker FROM: ronan

░░░░░░ ☾ ok

[diffusingconscious-blog]

@yagaymi

TO: not jack FROM: kent

░░░░░░  🌟 ???? bro what the fuck lol

░░░░░░ 🌟   u respond to all pics like this. not rly feeling it

░░░░░░ 🌟   unless this isnt

░░░░░░ 🌟   oh. 

[diffusingconscious-blog]

✧

Miyuki’s eyes drag down the sheets of paper lazily stapled together, flipping back and forth through the presented pages as if by chance he’d misread it, or missed a large gaping amount of text that would make the entire package infinitely more bearable. He had not. Dragging a free hand through the stray locks that tickled his forehead the catcher read on, tired, and admittedly a bit shocked. His face morphs now into a nervous half-grin, eyebrows raised with a hint of disbelief. Miyuki, once finished, sets the piece of paper down on the table of the booth both him and his teammate shared, leaning back in his seat while ignoring the others expectant look of excitement.

He looks at the resume first, then at Eijun, then back at the resume. He makes a grab for the straw in his glass of water, playing with the ice as it melted in his cup. Finally, he pushes up his glasses and looks directly into those familiar sparkling eyes.

“Well,” he starts and watches the other jolt after the period of silence, “this is definitely the worst resume I’ve ever read! You’re seriously amazing, Sawamura.” Miyuki exaggerates his shocked expression with his jaw drop, but his words aren’t false. Before the other can react the bespectacled teen picks up the sheets of paper, displaying it back at its owner.

“You don’t have a cover letter,” he starts, “I can tell you didn’t spell check any of this,” Miyuki points at the various misspellings including words like determnined, intilligent, anddedicatid. “and you put Coach as a possible reference but didn’t even put contact information. How are employers going to know who ‘Boss’ is?”

Miyuki sets the papers down once more and takes a long sip of the water he set off, taking his lips off the straw only to finish with: “Well, maybe they’ll accept this at Clown school? There are none in town, though, so you’ll hae to look elsewhere. Good luck, Sawamura-kuuun.”

rforevengetta

[diffusingconscious-blog]

Rin's hands fumble with the handle of the picnic basket, clammy as they twitch with every beat of his heart as he watches the dark haired boy walk towards him. He flashes his large, toothy grin reserved almost just for Haru these days -- swaying back and forth with a bottled excitement mixed with drops of butterflies he couldn't manage to breath out. The basket hits the back of his knees another couple of times before he drops it alongside him. It had been trouble since late into last night, the redhead still unsure if bringing it had been a good idea in the first place. It was the beach and the weather was good, so a Picnic wouldn't be a bad idea, right? But there was wind and what if sand got into the sandwiches (mackerel, of course) Rin had made specially for them both -- he quits his rambling before it’s too late.

In the end, he had brought it. Because he wanted today to be perfect. Or as perfect as it could be with sandy mackerel sandwiches.

After all, Rin was going to confess today.

Just the simple thought of the declaration itself sent a tingle from his heart right down his legs, small toes wiggling free in his sandals. It had taken a lot of courage, so much just to even send a simple text message to the boy in question. But he was determined. He'd decided this for himself and braced his heart for whatever outcome the fellow swimmer might bring his way. The ache of questioning what might be had lingered too long on his conscious now, and with another inhale, Rin was ready to let go.

Haru was only a few steps away from him now (he always liked how personal they were, though that might have been due to the younger Rin's initial boldness). Despite of his somewhat heavy crush if you could consider it one, Rin isn't always so reactive to Haru -- he wasn't a schoolgirl, anyways, he could handle himself.

But it's those eyes that look directly into him that warms his skin more than the full sun ever could, blue eyes that match the waves and crash into him, that twinkled like starlight reflected in a never ending ocean he wishes he could swim in for eternity.

Rin speaks only when he's sure he's found his voice, pulling a stray red lock behind his ear.

"Yo, Haru."

[yojinbukai]

At first, Youichi had come to the bar to forget. Yeah yeah, he knew drinking to forget was never the answer, but hey, he was allowed to say screw the rules on occasion and drink until he blacked out, right? Definitely, totally, 100% allowed to, especially after the day-slash-week he’s had going on. The bartender had been nice enough - nice being used loosely, seeing as he had encouraged Youichi to drink and drink more more more, drink until he couldn’t see straight, until he passed out at most. But hey, he was laughing along with Youichi for a good portion of the time. He was entirely aware he had been seemingly reserved for the first drink, though gradually loosening up the more he drank, his kyahaha ringing out through the bar with each shot he took, and despite the haze of intoxication, Youichi knew he was only getting louder, but had seemingly lost the ability to control his volume. Apparently, he was loud enough to cause the bartender to come over and cut him off, lest he get louder.

“Wait, wait,” Youichi was at least proud to know he could speak mostly fine, words not slurred too badly. “I don’t think I’ve had enough just yet, kyaha - I haven’t really forgotten why I came here.”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

A bell dings in the cave of Miyuki's minds when he hears those ever so familiar words come out of the customer's mouth. He makes a small circular shape with his mouth, sitting back in his seat as if understanding everything now -- his polite but annoyed expression now replaced with the typical understanding and comforting (but annoyed) mask he puts on for those special types of customers, those who come seeking an ignorant false comfort in the sparkling alcohol and ciders his bar had to offer.

It was amusing, in it's own sick kind of way, seeing what kind of problems itched and surfaced into random strangers minds. The problems were usual though, nothing new in content. Breakups, layoffs, the most exciting midlife crisis of his older attendees. It was interesting, how the weak would suddenly find a sick sort of comfort in Miyuki's words that truly meant nothing more than the phrases off of any typical hallmark card.

So he slips into a smile that reads: I'm here to help (if he's doing it right, it was rather late and the sleepiness was threatening to spill) as he fakes a voice of interest. "Girl trouble?" The brunette starts, attempting to slide the others glass away as sneakily as possible. Miyuki finally gets a good look at the poor guy, his build was small but overpowering, arms defined with muscle with a tan glow of skin. His eyes don't show redness but look like they haven't rested in years, a tiredness that pushes Miyuki's to the waters. "Or maybe boy trouble?" He snags up an eyebrow. 

"Drinking isn't going to help your case in that situation, you know? You'll just remember it tenfold, plus a nasty hangover."  

[diffusingconscious-blog]

☆

[feverbright-blog-deactivated202]

Arakita wants out.

It’d be easy to scoop up the cat now, while it’s distracted by Toudou making a fool of himself on the ground, and pretend that he had never seen Toudou, that he had no idea who the hell Toudou was. He could go inside, finish up this headache of a job he didn’t even want in the first place, and, maybe, if Toudou hadn’t stumbled out of the backyard in the next couple of hours, he could call the police or pest control or something to deal with Toudou because he sure as hell isn’t.

He’s not going to deal with Toudou. He’s going to do it now. He’s going to pick up the cat and walk away.

He picks up the cat.

It’s easy. Just walk away.

Why doesn’t he just do it, goddammit?

Instead, he stays still, cat meowing in his arms, staring down at the boy on the ground as Toudou starts spewing nonsense about Kita-chan and magicians and holy shit, Toudou really has a fucking deathwish doesn’t he! “Kita-chan,” Arakita spits out. The cat complains loudly. He ignores it. “Kita. Chan.” The cat squirms in his arms. He adjusts its position without taking his eyes away from Toudou. “KITA. CHAN,” he finally half-shouts, voice choking slightly on the last syllable as he remembers that it’s the middle of the fucking night and it’s the middle of the fucking night and it’s the middle. Of the. Fucking. Night.

He’s about to leave right then and there, fuck Toudou, but Toudou is still! Wailing! And babbling completely nonsense! And now has his arms wrapped around Arakita’s legs, leaving him unable to move without kicking Toudou in the face, and dear God, he would never hear the end of it if he gave Toudou a black eye or worse.

“Let GO of me!” he hisses, crouching down and trying to pry away Toudou’s arms with one hand. The cat meows loudly. Arakita turns to it. “You’re not being any goddamn help either, you monster.” The cat stares at him. “Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too.”

Arakita manages to wrangle a leg out of Toudou’s grasp before letting out a strangled, frustrated noise. He grabs Toudou’s face with one hand and squeezes his cheeks together.

“Fucking snap out of it, Toudou! Get UP!”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

Toudou lets out a string of alarmed and disgusted squawks as thin arms thrash in response to Arakita's movements. Toudou is by no means particularly weak, but with his small build and low alcohol tolerance, fending off the increasingly irritated Arakita at his worst (it was the middle of the night) proved to be incredibly difficult. The fit of thrown limbs and almost indistinguishable screams last for about a minute before the cyclist finally admits his defeat, falling back on his arms and sitting defeated in the grass.  

Despite his reddened face in the tight grasp of the others hand, Toudou doesn't stop his endless muttering here. In fact, it probably just gets worse. He gasps -- as well as one can when his teammates fingernails claw into his cheeks. "Awakita?!" He half shrieks. "Who are you calling a monster?!" He lifts grass stained hands to Arakita's, slapping it with urgency before locking on. It's more out of shock than desire of relinquish though, as Toudou's eyes widen at the uncommon profanity sliding out the others mouth. Large eyes squint in the same second they opened, an almost mirror of a more sober self, though the voice ruins the image completely. "Don't curse him out wike that, Kita-chan! He's doing his best!" Toudou pouts, lips finally coming to their first puckered close after what seemed like centuries, eyebrows drawn dramatically downwards.

After a (surprising) period of aggressive silence, the climber blinks once, a second time at the crouched Arakita before speaking as normal as he's been the entire night. "Oh..Kita-chan." The tone itself is wavering, uncertain with flicks of nervousness. Eyes fall back into a squint and a bead of sweat runs down his pale face, his hand suddenly frailer loosens its grasp of the others. "Kita-chaaaan....I don't feel so -- " Hic. The burning in his throat was new and unfriendly "I don't feel so good anymore." A dizziness overcomes him like an ocean wave except it's not as freeing as the previous-- the tipsiness that floated him along is replaced with sinking, as if he could melt into the ground at any moment. The cat looks at him, pitifully.

"Oh god, I'm going to be--"

[reacted]

“I think Miyagi has more to be afraid of than you do, Kuroo-san.”

“… The trains will be crowded and that’s hassling.”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

“Oh, right, of course. Isn’t that uncalled for?

He wonders if Tsukishima can see the glow in his eyes. “Hm, hm. How characteristically kind of you to think of me, Tsukki.”

[reacted]

…?!

“You can most certainly leave me alone. I’d prefer that actually.”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

“Where am I supposed to go, Tsukki? You’d truly leave me stranded? Alone? To fend for myself, in the Miyagi Prefecture? How cruel.”

“Of course, I’ll let you be if you really want me to.”

[reacted]

“… Please don’t flatter yourself, Kuroo-san. You invited yourself over.”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

“Well I couldn’t leae you all alone, could I? In your big house.....with your Jurassic Park collection that you definitely purchased.”

[reacted]

“It was a Christmas present. Why?”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

“Really? You didn't just buy this for an occasion? Say, me coming over for example.”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

“Tsukki, do you really own the entire Jurassic park collection?”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

There’s a small jump in his step as Toudou dances, vacuum in hand, bouncing in small shorts and a fluorescent tank that almost swallows him whole. His energy set off the second his alarm did, and being an early riser Toudou had probably cleaned the apartment at least three times over. But how could he stay still, when his future roommate could ring at any moment! It’s not that he wasn’t accustomed to living alone, nor did he dislike it--he'd been on his own for months without problem, relying on company from friends passing out and through. But even with the occasional party or gathering, as people filtered out, the pang of loneliness hit right on cue. 

The vacuum returns to it’s home in the small corner next to the (absolutely gorgeous, really) teal couch that the male falls atop of. Toudou lets himself sink, for a moment, shaking his head and kicking his feet. A squeal may have been released, but that’s no ones business. 

Popping off the couch, Toudou finds himself at the bathroom mirror. It absolutely isn't the first time this morning (nor would it be the last) but he can’t help but itch to see his reflection, if the “casual but still hot” look he tries to achieve in workout clothes is as effective as it needs to be. 

His heart leaps to his throat when the buzzer goes off and after one, quick lookover, the biker is at his door, smiling with just enough teeth. 

“Welcome home! I’ll help with your bags.”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

Miyuki exhales an exhausted breath as he leans into his hand, elbow on the bar, watching the newest drunkard down another shot of clear elixir, throwing their head back with an obnoxious laugh resembling a hyena. The bespectacled bartender sat from his stool and watched, curious how long this hideous drinking would go on for. It had been hours--how a scrubby looking guy could spend that much money on alcohol  was beyond him. 

At first, it was most definitely encouraged. Who'd be angry at an idiot blowing 200 dollars at your bar in the first hour? In all honesty, Miyuki had egged him on. Drink,  drink, drink till you're dead! The more money sent his way, the less he cared if this guy died of alcohol poisoning. 

However, the whiskey seemed to amplify that wild laugh of his, which sirened throughout the entire establishment. While definitely terrifying other patrons, it was grating on the last nerve Miyuki had left. Having no intention of running a zoo, he decided it was most definitely time to put an end to this.

He got up from his seat, letting both elbows fall on the platform and leaned against the bar. 

“Hey, hey!” Miyuki speaks through a plastic smile. 

“You've probably had enough, right? Sorry, but I'm going to have to cut you off here. Thanks for coming.” 

[090696s-blog-blog]

   Kitagawa rolls onto his side, propping his elbow up on the bed in order to rest his chin in the palm of his hand. His eyes narrow slightly at the accusation of wanting the human race to fail, but he can’t actually say that it’s false, either. 

   “It’s just,” he begins with an exaggerated sigh, “…if it’s going to happen anyway, then I might as well look forward to it instead of being surprised, right? Not that I really am, but– hey! ‘Semi-competent’ is the reason it’s going to crash.” 

   He smiles then, taking on the same cheeky expression he always does when he’s up to something, no matter how little. With the drop of his hand and a little push for momentum, he rolls over until he’s holding himself up over Masaru. 

   “You like me even if I’m a downer, so what’s it matter?”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

The roll of his eyes at the others far too dramatic sigh is practically instantaneous, a compulsory, almost involuntary reaction to most of Kita’s actions. That much hasn't changed since they started whatever they called this. His behavior wasn’t shocking, not at this point, but it wasn’t any less exhausting. Whether it was his charm or worst trait was arguable. 

“Hah? Might as well? Of course you look forward to the eventual doom of our nation, you goon.” Brown eyes fall close in time with a small exhale.

One crinkles open at the sudden dip of the bed and Masaru catches his breath. 

He’s close. This shouldn't take him by surprise either. In theory, he should be used to Kitagawa’s breath melding with his, eyes locking with his--they aren’t unfamiliar, and yet, it’s moments of simplicity that renders him somewhat breathless. 

The word like slips off his tongue so quick it makes him uneasy.“Uh--”

In the end, Masaru can’t resist turning his head. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

[ripandie]

i lvoe y

[diffusingconscious-blog]

butkireiaka:. 

Furuya thinks his nerves have frozen his face, but at the same time it’s as if he can’t keep still. His toes are wiggling in his shoes, he’s trying his hardest not to squeeze his senior to death with a vice grip, and he’s itching to do something other than just stand here. But he can’t move. He will see this through to the end… no matter what awaits.

Which Senpai seems to want to put off.

Furuya nods emphatically at the (probably) rhetorical question, but he doesn’t want to be misunderstood even on the slimmest chance. A frown mars his thus far stiff expression however, as he doesn’t receive a clear answer.

“Miyuki-senpai… I’m very serious,” he begins. “Please don’t avoid me.” He averts his eyes a moment though. What if the brunet had been seriously asking…? Is he curious? The pitcher feels just a little happy that Miyuki might want to know something about him, stupidly so. Thus he’s back to apprehensive brown eyes once more.

“…but I’ve never asked out any girls before.” Just in case.

That sliver of movement doesn't go past Miyuki and he barks out a laugh (genuine, this time) at the younger boys immediate honest answer. The pitcher was so embarrassingly obvious despite that bored looking expression, reading into his mannerisms was on par with analyzing a childrens picture book. It doesn't make spending time with him any less amusing though, if he were to be honest--it was an endearing trait. Or--interesting, actually, perhaps it was just interesting. 

The laugh dies down and Miyuki is about to chuckle, crack a smirk and say I can believe it, but words previous ring back and, for a second, he’s a little winded. He was serious, Miyuki knew from the beginning--there was no way he couldn’t what with the others voice so stern and eyes heated with determination. Maybe that’s what made him nervous. 

A relationship was never the catchers priority, in any case. Sure, he’d fooled around with some guys and girls in his lifetime, but any pretense of seriousness had him gone in seconds. It was better for both parties, truly, the teen himself far too selfish, with a more romantic sense for baseball than another human being. Which would make turning down Furuya logical. The nice, fair thing to do.

It’s unfortunate Miyuki isn't a man of fairness. 

It only takes a few moments for the brunette to calm down and find a game plan. With a game coming up, a dejected Furuya is the last thing the team needed--and they were in no position to just wait it out. 

He figured, if he just accepted, the pitchers performance would not only sky rocket, but if Miyuki got tired of playing boyfriend--Furuya could end things. Miyuki’s not popular for his personality, anyway. 

Relaxed and more in control than before, the catcher touches Furuya’s hands with his own, taking them off his shoulders with a grin. The older teen lowers them but doesn’t release his hold, rather rubbing his thumb along perfect fingers. Miyuki hums.

“How could I avoid you now, with those eyes?”

“Yeah. I’ll go out with you,” He looks directly into those powerful blues, his voice dropping short of a whisper. “Furuya.”

[ripandie]

i lvoe y

[ripandie]

If Furuya had noticed Miyuki’s hesitation, his wariness, he refuses to acknowledge it. His mind is focused solely on his task at hand, which is, working out three small words. Dropping his mitt to the ground and striding up a little too close to his senpai (by accident) Furuya stares, determined, at the other’s face. This is mostly just so he doesn’t lose his nerves though, and anything else, like how uncomfortable it might be for the brunet, doesn’t quite register.

“I like you.” There it is. Short, sweet, and simple. Now he only has four more words to go, and before even looking for his senpai’s response Furuya powers on through grasping Miyuki’s shoulders for, again, more his own benefit than anything. “Please go out with me.” And now he searches his catcher’s face for any hint of his answer.

[diffusingconscious-blog]

It comes as no shock that any body language or aura Miyuki (quite desperately) tries to exert goes unnoticed. The fact that the ace pitcher was a bit of an airhead came as no shock either, if he were to be honest. The awkward smile Miyuki wears falters with each step Furuya takes in his direction, Miyuki catching himself retracting as the other grew closer, as if he were being looked down upon by a declawed bear.

He knows he only has seconds until the big explosion, twenty if he’s right. He’s at fifteenth when Furuya is his closest, eyes boring into his own without hesitation. Ten seconds left and Miyuki is too enraptured with those eyes to be panicked, the power they held almost as strong--no, stronger than the intensity just before a fastball.

The trance breaks with three seconds on the clock but it’s too late--for those three words he tried so hard to avoid slap him right in the face. Before Miyuki can even sputter, large (noticeably well kept) hands grasp his shoulders and deliver the finishing blow. 

“......Uh-huh.”

He’s left speechless for a while, standing stiffly as blues stare right into him, arms squeezed with anticipation. Gathering his thoughts, he tries to muster a response.  

“G-..Go out with you, huh?” Cue a nervous laughter. ”That’s pretty bold of you, Monster-kun! Get a lot of girls that way?” It’s a pathetic segway, but it’d work for the time being. 

[090696s-blog-blog]

   And so he falls back onto his bed, pulling Masaru with him. 

   “….Hey. What do you think is going to happen when the economy inevitably crashes and we’re left to rot in the ruins of a doomed capitalist society with nothing and no one but ourselves to rely on?”

[diffusingconscious-blog]

He doesn't have time to utter a sound when Kita grabs him down into the bed, (mercilessly might he add, with no clear concern of potential injury) leaving Masaru an awkward tanglement of limbs alongside his heartless boyfriend--friend, whatever they were. It was hard to tell with him, but those were thoughts he'd prefer to avoid. 

Uncoiling from his uncomfortable position to his back, Masaru looks at the other briefly before huffing in response, not particularly annoyed, but not without some irritation. 

“Really. This stuff again?” Masaru’s hand crawls towards Kitagawa’s, fingers tense and hesitant before retracting. “We have semi-competent leaders for a reason.”

“You talk as if you want the human race to fall. Must you always be such a downer, Kita?”

[ripandie]

i lvoe y

He’d realized there’d been something wrong with him awhile back. The sound of his ball hitting a mitt had resounded so loudly in his ears, Furuya doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. But the thudding of his heart won’t let him forget, with the way it starts up whenever he sees Miyuki-senpai. Which… is often.

Make no mistake though, Furuya hadn’t let this affect his baseball. In fact he’d mistaken it for feeling excited about his pitches being caught until quite recently. The thump thump thump in his chest began starting up even when their baseball uniforms were off, and he only saw senpai walking in the halls. A little longer and it became clear he’s probably got feelings for the catcher.

Another week and he confirms that yes, that is the most likely conclusion. So the next step would be to confess. It sounds so simple, like asking his senpai to pitch for him except instead of “pitch for me” it’d be “go out with me”, but his recent attempts have proven that no, it’s not quite the same.

It has now been another week. He’s going to try this for real this time.

“Miyuki-senpai… can I talk to you?” 

[diffusingconscious-blog]

It’s been an awkward week, that’s for sure.

It had started off fine, like most. In fact it was rather easy--no games had been scheduled which left more time to practice, which left more time with Furuya. Which left him to his problem at hand.

If one were to describe Miyuki, one of the more common traits would be: self-centered, blunt, perhaps even twisted. But the descriptor you’d never hear, even at the anger of his rivals, is Stupid. He’s anything but. Picking up on most things whether educational or in the faces of his peers is a gift he manipulates without hesitation, and he relishes in the advantages it brings without guilt. It’s these days that nothing much can get past him. 

So when the catcher catches Furuya’s eyes lingering on his person, the twinge of blush that’d skate on pale skin when Miyuki compliments that monstrous pitch of his, it’s not hard for him to sense the emotions Furuya might be putting out. 

.Miyuki wouldn’t let it affect their work--that was out of the question. But, really, how was he supposed to deal with this? It wasn’t the first time he knew someone had feelings for him (he was called pretty boy catcher for a reason) it was the first time it had been someone on his team. A first year, at that. Of course his only real safety net was the assumption that the pitcher was either: a) too stupid to notice, or b) let it die out on it’s own. 

Of course, that kid had to cut it to pieces. Shit.

Furuya, quiet yet bold, approached him once again, with the question he least wanted to hear. Exhausted, Miyuki engages him. 

“Uh--Sure, Furuya. What’s up?”