#yishuns

[aicidos]

❝ i've always had a soft spot for the confident ones…they always disappoint though. ❞ bonus (final) oikise. thankyou and have fun

baldur's gate 3.   ♡  * @yishuns.

there seems to be a consensus in regards to the impression ryōta kise makes, and it can only be reduced to a single truth: there are no middle grounds when it comes to him. the scale is always tipped towards utter likability or disdain, and if you ask him, he would go as far as to say he’d rather have it that way— he has never been one to do something half-assed either, anyway. that doesn’t mean he’s against shortcuts, though. hence why he’s here, or rather, has been here for many of tooru’s volleyball practices, and more importantly, has watched with intent. 

today, particularly, he has the suspicion he has seen enough.

“oikawacchi!! good job today,” kise congratulates as tooru, the last member to finish practice today, begins to place away the balls he has borrowed. “i like that move you make, your serve,” he declares, grabbing a volleyball from the storage cart. “you know, i think i could pull it off if i really set my mind on it.”

he expected, more or less, the direction tooru’s reply would go, because it’s the kind of thing he himself would say. and his grin shifts near imperceptibly. “didn’t i tell you i was at the volleyball club myself in junior high?” he fixes the sleeves of his shirt just under his elbow, “but i never got to play against anyone like you, so naturally, i got bored and quit eventually. had it been different though…” the ball spins twice in his hands as he paces his breathing, moving to the tempo of the images he had just seen prior and can picture clearly in his mind, only knowing he succeeded as his body lowered from the jump serve and his hand began to feel that familiar sting, followed by a quick, sharp slam of the ball at the other side of the court. 

kise hums, more so to himself, “not bad for someone who should’ve warmed up first, wouldn’t you say?”

[roscvcins]

@yishuns asked : How far do you go with divergencies when it comes to your canon muse? + How would you describe your favorite OC?

How far do you go with divergencies when it comes to your canon muse? F a r. I feel like especially RP is a very deconstructed space where I'm willing to push canon very far to Explore the Concepts I think are interesting for the character. But I always like to think that I stay roughly within the plausible realm of the narrative. Like, typically I don't go so far as to go down the "this is my OC now" route unless the role was minimal in the source material and I HAVE to do that much filling in or they did the character REALLY FUCKIN DIRTY. I tend to take the parts of the canon muse I find that I want to explore and themes I like and focus on fleshing those out (and maybe sometimes blow them out of proportion but shhh). I think a lot of the times what I find to be the Essence (tm) of the muse may not be what someone else thinks is the essence of the muse, even if all the parts of the muse kind of exist canonically in the muse at the same time - but I also think that difference in interpretation is what makes RP fun.

How would you describe your favorite OC? I think it's funny because before this year if you asked me "who is your favorite oc?" I think I?? Wouldn't be able to answer you. But like, this year it's kind of become Very Clear to me that like...as much as I love all of em, I do have a favorite child, and it's Tang Tang. How to describe her, on the other hand...difficult. When I created her, she was sort of born from the concepts of nostalgic old wuxia of my childhood. She's a little contradictory - maybe that what makes her human though. Like sometimes I want to say she's a quietly unhinged - eccentric and impish and carrying out her own logic that may not make sense to everyone else. She certainly has A Personality (tm). And other times I want to say she's deeply insightful and attuned to human nature and accepting (tm) of it - in a weird way I think she's the least likely to judge anyone out of all of my ocs. She looks at life with peaceful (tm) and perhaps smiling eyes and that's all she does - she just looks and accepts that it is part of the world that she's living in and finds amusement in it. And sometimes causes mischief because she feels inclined toward doing it and disturbs the peace but shhh. Still other times I want to say she's Just a Girl (tm) traveling along her road, doing what she thinks needs doing and doing her best to stay free and happy. Basically - I love her, she’s best girlie.

[paranormalite]

39.  CAPTIVE :  for [tooru] to hold [min-chul] against their will. // ok listen. im Picturing that minchul is sick and tooru's trying to get him to stay in bed. but anywhere you want to take this is ok i trust you fully

there’s something about this — one of those super common early summer bugs, where you sniffle and cough and have the justified excuse to stay at home two days in a row — that takes him back to those several years after he left home, the not-so-narrow slip of time separating life-changing event #2 and #3, respectively. 

it feels like he was perpetually sick back then, diligent about it — always in-between houses, in-between warm meals, in-between cash, barely sleeping — and in constant pain as its consequence. that’s probably the part he remembers best.

“stop… s-stop, i give…!”    he seems to deflate, from restless to limp in an instant, limbs dropping heavily at his sides. he’s felt off since he woke up this morning, lethargic and distantly light-headed, knowing the cause but stubbornly refusing to succumb to it. no wonder the peanut gallery’s been so quiet today — must’ve been waiting.    “chest hurts…”    hurts to move. hurts to breathe. hurts to even think about how much it hurts. 

he turns on his side, hunching in on himself. maybe if he makes himself smaller, tucks his limbs in so there’s less of him to go around, it won’t be as bad. 

it was never bad when he was small.

“you’re so mean to me.”    he looks up at tooru. doesn’t even have the energy to try for a merited pout. he mutters,    “you could at least come here and hold me...”

[iryonin-a]

she loves tooru when he’s diligent. (sort of has to, on account of the whole pro athlete aspect). mornings especially, ones where she pads out of the bathroom post-shower to find him in the kitchen holding up a bag with breakfast from her favorite bakery, cheeks still flushed from his run. she loves that tooru. but this tooru, before he’s totally dialed up (dialed in?), hair sleep-mussed and looking like a front feature on one of those cheesy early 2000s christmas calendars… this tooru, she really loves. 

she hums, considering. (yes, genuinely! that’s how bad it is, @yishuns!)

“i don’t know… now that you mention it, that doesn’t sound bad either. the all-exclusive tooru-in-blankets model…” she stays sprawled over him while she (super seriously) ponders the merits of hoisting him up into her arms, blankets and all,

“i could probably carry you on my back… fashion a makeshift bindle… hmm…”

[sanctissimx]

remember me + weilan... roleswap? hehe

meme.

Leave a “Remember Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to get yours to remember them [be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify.]

@yishuns

He liked the quiet afternoons sat with the begrudging professor, who took the time Zhao Yunlan had intended for them to get to know each other to instead grade papers in a terse silence. Shen Wei had refused to come over to his place, and had similarly refused to let him over, so outside venues were really the only choices they had. Unfortunately for Shen Wei, Zhao Yunlan was too much of a flirt not to literally talk his way into getting temporarily but embarassingly banned from the university library. But most fortunately for Zhao Yunlan, that just meant more proper dates to take the reticent professor on.

Shen Wei was determinendly avoiding Zhao Yunlan's gaze, fixating on the stack of papers while the tips of his ears burned a charming red at the attention hee refused to acknowledge. Zhao Yunlan watched as he tucked a too-short hair behind his ear. An almost reflexive gesture that struck Zhao Yunlan with a surge of nostalgia for the way the little ghost king used to do the same with his unruly hair so many eons ago. He wondered if Shen Wei remembered at least that. Even if he didn't remember him.

Shen Wei had only smiled when Zhao Yunlan had delivered the bouquet of bright fuschia Ice Soul roses. Even the little box of lollipops had been consumed without comment, and received with minimal acknowledgement. Today, he'd brought a beautifully decorated tin of snow chrysanthemum tea and set it between them silently.

Shen Wei lookeed up briefly from his papers. "For me?" he asked, almost a liittle exasperated.

Zhao Yunlan took no offense, knowing it was likely due to his work and not him or the present. "Mm. I thought you might like it. The flowers are yellow when dried, but the tea is a vibant red. I'm told it has notes of caramelize dark honey. Really, probably more my style than yours, but ... I thought you might appreciate it. It's quite rare."

Shen Wei reached for the tin, examining the paper label where an ink painting of a large mountain range lined the the background. "Is this Kunlun mountain?" he asked, curiously, turning it around fully before opening the tin to take in the scent. "Snow chrysanthemum. It must have been difficult to procure."

Zhao Yunlan's eyes brightened with that cursory recognition, though the realization that Shen Wei would of course know such a thing as a professor of classics was like being excited a mathmetician could count. But hearing his ancient names on those soft lips set his heart into a racing, wild gallop that he could only be dragged along with to oblivion.

Boldly, his hand reached out to rest upon Shen Wei's, expertly avoiding the red pen still lodged firmly in his fingers to slip his own within the creche of hiis grasp. The thought of Shen Wei drinking the flowers of his mountain, the soul of his ancient, primodial power within him could not have thrilled him any more completely. "Let's share a cup together one day?" he asked, his voice shamefully hopeful. But even after a hundred centuries and a hundred lives, his relic, archaic heart still knew nothing but hope.

[pathologized]

Mei Changsu's smile quirks again, in that usual way of his. His attention drifts away from the brazier, lingering on @yishuns' downturned face. General Lie isn't here on Jingyan's terms, which is a small comfort, but also the beginnings of a possible headache. What would Jingyan think? What would the general report back? A sudden bout of coughs tears through Mei Changsu, convulsive and agonizing. He covers his mouth with a hand, shrinking into himself as the coughs continue—unbidden, relentless.

Between the two men, the brazier crackles nonchalantly.

Mei Changsu inhales cautiously, as though resigned to the fragility of his body. The taste of his own blood, long-familiar to him, remains in the back of his throat. A white handkerchief appears. He dabs at his mouth, carefully bunching the stained fabric together as he lowers it—so the general won't see the red splotches. His hands fold together, disappearing beneath the simple fabric of his sleeves.

"Does His Highness still have doubts?" Or is it just you? An edge to his voice, demanded by the role that Mei Changsu fulfills. His gaze flits across General Lie's face, lingering briefly, before it moves on, past the general, to stare at nothing in particular. The refined bookshelf full of books. The flowers Fei Liu had plucked. The blank walls of the room.

He shivers. He feels cold.

His attention has returned to the brazier, the flames licking at the charred wood. He turns his hands over and over, slowly, feeling the warmth inch into heat. He recalls, sharply, how it had felt to reach his hand into the flames and let it burn him. He picks up the tongs from beside the brazier, pushing at the crumbling wood pieces.

"My illness has been getting worse."

It is not the kind that gets better, is left unspoken. Wei Zheng was my Lieutenant, is left unrevealed. After a time, Mei Changsu sets the tongs aside. He doesn't bother looking at Lie Zhanying again.

"Our Lord still has a difficult road ahead of him. He needs focus, not potential distractions. He needs people he knows he can rely on. Dependable people, such as you."

His voice sounds weaker, now. Almost brittle.

"Do you understand?"

continued from here.

[roscvcins]

@yishuns asked : 🥀 It's raining, and Muse A forgot their umbrella at home. Muse B offers to share theirs. can we write shinran in a normal capacity (pre-shinichi turning into conan timeline Or shinichi doesn't get drugged in this verse) challenge go

She's wandering slowly homeward with groceries in a bag when she catches him, familiar silhouette under an unfamiliar overhang as rain continues to pour from the sky.

It isn't very often Ran gets to see Shinichi "in the wild," and so instead of approaching immediately, she stays her step for a moment longer - round the corner and doubtlessly she'll be discovered at once. Her red umbrella is as familiar to him as she is, after all, and he has sharp eyes.

It must have been a call from the station that had drawn him from the comfort of a couch and his novels in this weather. The rain and the mist, the condensation in the air BLURS his familiar shape, lends it hazy, languid edges. She can't make out his face from where she stands in the street corner, half-illuminated by the light of his phone, but she can imagine the expression he might be wearing - softened, more relaxed for having solved a case? Or pensive and grim, as he sometimes is, turning the details over again?

"...You forgot your umbrella again, didn't you?" Either way, there's a particular fondness that seeps into her voice that she doesn't even notice when she eventually makes her way over, and her umbrella extends overhead as she leans over. A soft glimmer in her eye as she tilts her head. " - Whatever would you do without me, Shinichi?"

[roscvcins]

@yishuns asked : "I don't want to be alone tonight." shocking news. n.hs @ j.gy(: - send me “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” for my muse’s reaction to yours saying that to mine. (accepting)

The hour is late enough that he is no longer anticipating guests, dressed down and finishing the last few accounts before he blows out the candle. As such, when the door opens and warm yellow light slowly seeps out of the room to cast N.ie H.uaisang's shadow on the wall, he takes a moment to look up from his brush,

He tries to keep a running list when it comes to this kind of thing. After all, what trouble N.ie H.uaisang can get up to in an hour is comparable to what the town youngsters can dream of in months. And so - after very quickly crossing off multiple possibilities that drift to the front of his mind, he sits up a little straighter, and beckons H.uaisang in. "...Of course." Sets the work aside to be done for tomorrow, already smiling. "Is something troubling you, or did you simply read too many tales of folk horrors today?"