#solitxram

[paradisal-parks-blog]

「 Hello mods, good job on recovering everything so far! Just here to say that Kageyama's url on the taken list no longer works so I'm sending the right url now 」

thank you so much! it's coming along! and alrighty, updated for you!  (・∀・)

☀ spooky mod

[tatatatakene]

「Hug!」

octopus hug

She did not ask for this. No, she specifically asked for an empty car (and normally, this whole thing would be too much of a bother, especially alone….but it beats going back to her hotel and dealing with her new roommate). But somehow, here she is sitting side by side with a tall (and I mean, tall) kid, his face probably just as scrunched up and grumpy as hers. Maybe it should make it easier to get along with him but more than anything, it just makes her pissed off.

Slips a little down in her seat, propping her head on a hand, making no move to break the silence. The boy doesn’t seem too concerned about it either so there they sat as the ferris wheel turns. Seconds tick and she breathes out with a little groan.

But then the car stops with a jolt, slamming her body right against the metal bar. "Oof"  She winces and looks around, wondering what the hell was going on….. Strangely enough….they happen to be the only ones on the ferris wheel. 

Ok………..weird.

She looks down and the conductor who’d helped them on (insisted that she share the car) and he’s no where to be found.

Wait what? Who’s even operating this thing???

But then the ride starts up again, but this time it’s faster than before….faster than it probably should be. Takane looks nervously over at the other kid and as she does the car jerks and her side drops a little. With an eep! she grabs the metal bars. Oh god, what is happening? The car jerks again and without much warning her side gives out completely and instinctively, she grabs the boy around his chest. Luckily enough for the both of them, he seems to have a (relatively) secure hold on what remained of the car, so with gritted teeth and wide eyes, she wraps her legs around him, holding him as tight as she could with shaky arms. Looks up at him after a few moments,   

 "Don’t you dare let go, got that?!”

[pioveta-blog]

「♎, ♋, ♍ 」

♎ someone you want to roleplay but haven’t gotten the chance to yet?

  answered here! i think there are a lot of characters i'd like to try my hand at, too many to name or honestly pay full attention to even if i did pick them up, but right now i think it'd be really fun to play older yamamoto, as he was glimpsed in the tyl arc (tragic!!!! but also: do we even know if he realizes he's in the mafia still) or as he might be just ten years down the line after all that's happened.

♋ what type of music helps you gain the most muse for this character and others?

  i really enjoy instrumental playlists! playlists with fluid sounds and rising and falling energy, some stuff a bit in the line of yamamoto's autoplay. i also have a few vongola playlists i'm fond of (one, two, three). lastly i do like to watch the anime intermittently to get in the mood, so to speak.

♍ what brought you to pp?

  it was advertised on my tl, and i've rped with and very much love and respect several of its mods. at the time, i was feeling pretty restless since i wasn't involved in any other groups, but pp has satisfied me marvelously. although it's not always easy finding time for it, since i'm a fulltime student, i definitely feel comfortable and excited by everyone here, and i hope i can help others feel the same.

[pioveta-blog]

▶ acronyms for bones.

  Temper - real, seething anger - has always had difficulty gaining a foothold in Yamamoto's life, a palpable contrast to some others he might know (and foil in far more ways). Rather than the coarseness of frustration, the futility of grievous anxiety, Yamamoto's features are writ daily with a kind of honed anticipation - a tension longing to come to a point and then cut, whether that strain falls on Yamamoto's body (for which he's prepared it heavily) or on whoever happens to stand in the way of objectives he's deemed important. Even now, as he scuffs Olympus Square tile, the release of that constantly sought tension is working wonders on the lines of the boy's tan cheeks, high forehead, loosely closed lips.

  Overhead the sky careens; cloud fails to darken the front of his loose shirt, a blue in itself that's difficult to avoid glancing at. The brightness of his posture, his simplistic attire, these combine as Yamamoto walks to generate a feeling of the friendly nondescript. The cafe behind him had been a suggested meeting place by some new friend, their meeting (and, before the coffee, sparring) now past and the friend now departed. It's a full kind of day, rounded out already, with the afternoon threatening to veil itself in just a few hours' fleeting span.

  Early fall, maybe even still a hint of late summer - whatever season the park decides - reminds him, slim chin tipped up briefly to observe its vibrant dome, that it is mortal.

  So far, Yamamoto has taken this as a sign to linger in the square, hands tucked leisurely into pockets. Beating a hasty retreat to the hotel would be a waste of the day, with his muscles loose and languid, gait indicating they've been well-used and singing with spent adrenaline. At the same time, there's little for him to do. A glance at a park clock chastises, reminding him one on one matches for the day are done at the coliseum - soon the library will be closing too. (That part doesn't matter so much. As it does every day, it never yields answers for why so many people have been deigned unhappy, forced diaspora.)

  It's with an almost careless rhythm that Yamamoto's limbs bear him toward the coliseum anyway. The possibility of some side event luring him as much as habit, Yamamoto pays little attention to the route. A sky this brilliant, an afternoon hour this guilelessly clear and airy, with the crispness of coming months coloring the edges? Deserves his attention more than the rising walls he's seen what feels like a thousand times since coming to the park just a handful of weeks prior. He rolls his shoulders, yawning - only to find a park staff member smiling at his side, and their nameless, almost faceless insistence at dragging him into the arena. ("Eh?!")

There, finally loosing himself from the attendant's grip, the boy jars against the frame of another with a cry, and find it necessary to beat a quick retreat. Surprise is swift, even winged, beating against his ribcage.

  "Hah - ah, sorry, um  - I thought fights were finished for the day? I - " But (and he'd barely noticed, entirely desensitized to the heated air of the 'playing field') this is the first time he's really looked around, since he allowed himself to be swept up into the blurred pattern of Olympus' grandeur. Others kick up sand as Yamamoto catches the eye of the other boy. Even now, he doesn't radiate 'poor-tempered.' Not even quite unnerved.

  He simply wants to know: "What's going on?"

solitxram

[crowsguardiandiety]

solitxram

"Well if it isn't Kageyama! So you're here too!"

He clapped his hand down on the taller boy's shoulder before those hands went to his hips. He grinned up at him, at this rate it wouldn't be long before the whole gang was together again.