#tpdds

[politesper-rip]

@tpdds sent in: ❝ ah, um ... happy birthday, koizumi - kun ! ❞ what does she have for him ? why, it's a 1 of only 1500 copies made version of nietzsche's thus spake zarathustra, with glassine jacket in pristine condition and everything ! expertly wrapped, of course. what kind of fool would give someone a birthday gift that isn't wrapped up with a cute little bow.

                     ever polite, he takes the gift with a smile, giving the usual pleasantries. "oh, thank you!"s and "you shouldn't have!"s — he unwraps it carefully, peeling back the paper without so much a tearing it. upon seeing what's inside... the facade breaks for but a moment. eyes widened in genuine surprise — is that a flash of genuine excitement?

                     ‶  how did you get your hands on this?  ″ a new smile spreads across his face. a real one; such a rare sight these days. he examines the book carefully, looking it over with an expert eye.  ‶  this is incredible... thank you asahina-san — this is truly above and beyond.  ″

[politesper-rip]

@tpdds liked this post for a starter.

                     ‶  i can't help but wonder... do you act that way on purpose? ——— or is this truly just your character?  ″ alone in the clubroom together, the others having already left. mikuru had stayed behind to change, naturally, but while all the others headed home he lingered outside the door. he wished to speak one on one; a rare opportunity. put aside all pretenses and get a feel for just what it is she's doing here in the first place.

[maskednins]

now . . . kakashi has always been good when it came to faces. even if he only saw a person once in his life, so long ago that it felt like another lifetime, he'd be able to pinpoint the exact moment he saw them. describe their features in quite a lot of details too. facing her now though . . . there was no recognition. nothing. even if she was just your random civilians ... he would know ... right? ❛ i apologize ... i don't think i quite got your name. ❜ 

closed starter for @tpdds !!

[digitalworid]

@tpdds

"You're that girl!" A bright, childlike voice called out to the older girl, bubbling with excitement. "The mysterious senpai from before!"

Two weeks ago some important thingamajig Miyako had given him fell out of his pocket by happenstance, and almost instantly, this same doe-eyed upperclassman here had stopped him [by the orders of her older self] to give it back, knowingly telling him to be more careful with such important things.

And then she'd bowed and hurried off! So mysterious! He'd wanted to thank her, thinking about the incident off and on in the time since their last encounter.

Here she was again, like an apparition, just as she'd appeared before, and so he ran up happily the moment he spotted her, lest he miss this golden opportunity .

"Thank you senpai! You really helped me last time! Thank you!!"

[braveryhearted]

He was prepared to enter the clubroom with a scowl on his face, a permanent stay that followed him wherever he went but instead his features somewhat soften, finding the clubroom empty, saved for one person.

"Hey, you all by yourself today? No Haruhi?"

Kyon jokes, his guard a lot more down when talking to Mikuru. Just being without the chaos and having a quiet conversation with the other put his mind at ease for the moment.

@tpdds liked for a starter. ( requested Kyon )

[digitalworid]

@tpdds

If there was one thing fundamental to the girl known as Haruhi Suzumiya, it was depression. Melancholy. A particular inclination towards staring out the window with a miserable expression on her face that brought the world down with her.

Haruhi was more than emotionally driven. Her heart ruled her mind and actions. It owned her. The chemical disarray of her biology, which so often made the world look clearer, more colourful, just as frequently and erratically turned life into a monochrome nightmare, an unbearable weight, a slog.

On occasion her depression would weigh so heavily on her that her vice commander would go missing for more of the week than he was present, which hampered her ability to refocus onto the project that was the SOS Brigade, thus compelling her deeper into her misery, and so on, creating a death spiral from which her mood could not be drawn out of.

Thus was the state of the current Haruhi Suzumiya. The intensity of her depressive episode weighed heavily on the clubroom, a suffocating tension permeating from that glare into the sky which seemed to ask where her happiness had run off to.

[undermebius]

[ unreciprocated hug ] [ we know who isn't reciprocating LOL ]

[ types of hug ]

Yuki's eyes went to the girl hugging her immediately, but her head didn't twitch by even a millimetre. She stared almost curiously, at the contact. Most actions humans took were a mystery to her, but this one was especially so.

But the embrace wasn't unpleasant, even if it wasn't reciprocated. Mikuru Asahina was a particularly soft individual, especially from the front, and the other girl's bangs tickled her skin as she was held close. Her hair smelt nice. She wondered why humans were disinclined to say such things out loud, it was a compliment, wasn't it?

Human customs were strange and confusing, and nice. Like hugging.

About thirty seconds passed before Yuki reached up and ran her hand through Mikuru's hair. Not a hug back, but still a reciprocal gesture.

"...Soft."

[indentedheartner]

@tpdds

Ken opened the clubroom dorm without knocking. Though it was a necessity for the older boys of the club, Ken had enough of a commute to North High that it was irrelevant, rare enough as it was that he came to the actual clubroom and not solely weekend outings.

"Asahina. Nagato." The latter was too absorbed in her book to be relevant, and wouldn't receive another acknowledgement from the kid for the rest of his visit. A scant two months ago, neither of them would've gotten a greeting whatsoever. At best, he would've demanded the chief's whereabouts. He had progressed from a disrespectful, blunt little pest to a disrespectful, blunt, but relatively quiet little brat.

In short, he had mellowed out somewhat. Not enough to refer to his upperclassmen as such, but enough that he didn't hit anyone for accidentally touching him.

He kicked his legs under the table while he waited for the obligatory tea, then immediately started dumping far too much sugar into Mikuru's hard work, like the eleven year old he was.

As usual, he looked exhausted.