cr4yolaas

[cr4yolaas]

domesticity with kageyama is when, before you’re married, before you’re even engaged, tobio will hold your hand under the dinner table, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your ring finger. it’s the way fans zoom in on his paparazzi photos, to catch a pixelated glimpse of his lockscreen; he’s a private person, but the lockscreen is definitely a selfie of the two of you. it’s the way he’s upset over court rules dictating he can’t have his wedding band on while he plays; he doesn’t like anything separating him from the feel of the ball, but his ring feels as if it’s always been a part of him. (it’s him looping the ring around the laces of his shoes, so he can always have you on the court with him). it’s having him be the designated Tall Guy; the person you look at and point to the top shelf of the cabinet or the highest shelf at the grocery store, and he’ll always be ready to grab the items for you. it’s you struggling to open the cap on a water bottle, and him always cracking open every water bottle before he leaves for an away game or big trip because he worries about you. it’s him always needing to have his toothbrush standing next to yours on the bathroom counter. it’s him being featured on a box of cereal, and you make a joke about how cute it would be to have a little kageyama enjoying breakfast promoted by his father; it’s the blush that creeps up on him as he can see it all perfectly in his head. it’s the way he can’t seem to sleep unless he’s holding you; even if you two don’t fall asleep cuddled up to each other, you can bet you’ll wake up in the middle of the night to find his arms wrapped around you, pressing your body against his.

#urghhsjsj so adorable i love this #i love kageyama my socially inept king

[cr4yolaas]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

#so cute … omg #i love the little details and how gentle this is #its so simple but so beautiful my heart is clenching so hard

[cr4yolaas]

⟢ pairing: kuroo x reader

⟢ genre: hurt/comfort

⟢ wc: < 1k

⟢ a/n: i’ve lost the ability to write anything new :)

When he walks through the front door, he’s not greeted by warmth and affection, like he’s used to. The air is thick with the echoes of the previous night, growing denser when he sees you in your bedroom. Evidently, you’ve heard him come in, and your curt nod and stiff greeting make him want to fidget.

“Kuroo.”

But he’s not one to give in quite so easily, so he mimics you and returns your nod, hiding under a mask of indifference.

“Kuroo.” It’s still your name too, and part of him needs to remind himself of that fact aloud. Another part of him hopes that your features will crack from amusement. However, you remain unfazed and continue to fold his shirts and place them into neat piles.

“Dinner should be done in half an hour,” you say offhandedly, as if last night didn’t leave a gaping hole between you. He’s been replaying the borderline screaming match over and over again, throughout the course of his day. He’s picked apart your argument and analysed every piece, trying to figure out what triggered it and how he could fix it.

There’s not a single trace of distress in your proud posture or your blank expression.

Yet you’re folding his clothes with as much care as usual, smoothing out any wrinkles and organising them just the way he likes. It eases the worry scratching at his chest just a little, and he can confirm at least one thing from this - you don’t hate him.

He can work with that.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ❀ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

“Pass the salt.”

There’s a dull thunk as glass hits wood, before silence settles once more. Tension hangs heavily over the table, a thick cloud that feels almost suffocating. You’re deafened by the sound of your own quiet chewing, every breath you take howling in your ears as you eat.

The scrape of a chair forces you to glance up from your meal, noting with disappointment that your companion is done.

“Thanks for the food.” That’s all he mumbles, before clearing away his plates and placing them in the sink. The rush of water from the tap is noisy, as is the clatter of porcelain. If you close your eyes and ignore the throb of your heart, you can almost pretend that this is like any other night.

And like any other night, Kuroo takes care of it, because you hate doing it. He’s as meticulous as you are, stacking them in the dish rack in order of size, just the way you like it.

So you take a chance, scooping up the last mouthful of rice before gathering the rest of your empty plates. Hesitantly, you place them by the sink, and linger for just a second.

He doesn’t huff, doesn’t sigh, doesn’t complain or make an unnecessary dig about it. Instead, wordlessly, he takes a bowl from your little stack and continues to scrub away and in doing so, loosens the knots that formed in your stomach last night by a hair - he doesn’t hate you.

You can work with that.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ❀ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Day bleeds into night, and you fall into bed. The curtains are drawn, the lights are off, and you lay under the duvet. Together, and not.

You both lay on your backs, staring up into the darkness. There’s nothing to see, but your eyes are wide open. Under the sheets, your hand creeps into the hole between you, palm upturned, driven by the tiny olive twig he extended to you earlier. At least, you think that’s what it was, if you know your husband at all.

And, of course, you do, you know him best, and you know what follows.

Kuroo’s fingers silently pat their way over the mattress, looking for something, feeling around blindly until they nudge something warm and hopeful. Just like that, your pinkies intertwine, and you release shaky sighs together. After that, your fingers find the gaps between his and fill them again, as they always have, as the universe intended.

He squeezes once and you squeeze back. You’re raising your white flags at the same time and it’s easier to breathe. You gravitate towards each other, shuffling closer and closer, until the aching hole between you is no more. You’re in his arms, and he’s in yours, and this is home, as it’s supposed to be. The thump of his heart leaps in his ribcage and greets yours where you’re pressed together, chest to chest, foreheads bumping clumsily as your gazes meet for the first time that day.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry too,” you say. At the same time, you squeeze each other tighter and no one has ever held you better than he can.

“Can we talk in the morning?” You nod in the darkness, tangling your legs together beneath the sheets.

“Yeah. Yeah we can.”

#ouch this is good

[cr4yolaas]

rip victor nikiforov, you would've loved the word "cunty" 😔

[cr4yolaas]

Not surprising, to be honest...but I do think MAPPA did NOT saw this comming

And it's still trending worldwide, even with a new Taylor Swift Album happening at the same time. This is...It's major.

[cr4yolaas]

So long story short it was greed and homophobia

#losing my mind ..

[cr4yolaas]

"Go to hell" is basic. "Hope your favourite anime movie sequel gets cancelled after seven years in production AND getting an animated teaser." is smart. It's possible. It's terrifying. It's happened.

[cr4yolaas]

pov: they overheard u talking about volleyball

#theyre so cute in this style lolol

[cr4yolaas]

straight up “jorking it” to the complexities of the human condition

[cr4yolaas]

snoopy (beagle scouts) by snoopy

[cr4yolaas]

skts - support you local farmer ! 🤠🌽

yes i played too much stardew valley 😓

[cr4yolaas]

hi!! sorry if this is weird but i really love your writing and when i saw that you reblogged my post i geniuenly gasped. idk i just wanted to lyk that it meant a lot to me

its not weird at all ^^ i loved ur tobio fic, it was super cute !! i’m excited to see more from u :)

[cr4yolaas]

you finally turn in your essay you breathe a sigh of relief. but that feeling is soon gone when you check the time and see that it's 11 pm.

you look at the windows nearby and see that it's pitch black, and you check your surroundings and there are very few people left. it's finals season and the library is no stranger for students to be pulling all-nighters trying to study or turn in their projects at the last minute.

you close your laptop and pack up your stuff and go to head out when you look outside the door and you see a weird man outside, smoking something that smelt absolutely disgusting. you felt a pit of anxiety grow in your stomach because this is the only way out and any of the other exits would sound the emergency alarm. you take deep breath and decide to walk out (dumbest decision ever) and you're hit with a "hey there pretty girl, what are you doing here?" from the creep and you immediately run back into the library.

you open your contacts and go to the one labeled tobio❤️ and click on it, calling him. you knew he was probably sleeping, but you didn't really want to sleep at the library.

he picks up "hello?" his voice is groggy and laced with sleep. you start to feel bad knowing you woke him up.

"tobio?" you start. "hey i'm sorry for waking you up but there's this creep outside the library and i just-"

"i'm on my way." he cuts you off. you hear some shuffling in the background. "give me like ten minutes and i'll be there". his house is a thirty minute walk from the university library. "just wait inside okay? don't worry."

"it's okay tobio you can take your time. i'll be waiting. i love you"

"i love you too." and he hangs up. you put your phone back into your pocket and you can't help the guilty feeling that begins to swirl in the pit of your stomach. you know he has a busy schedule with balancing volleyball and school and you soon begin to regret your decision. but there was no stopping him he was probably halfway to the library by now.

you're sitting on one of the armchairs with your phone in your hand, mindlessy scrolling on social media when you feel a hand on your head, you look up and see your dark hair boyfriend. he seems out of breath and his hair a mess. he's still in pajamas, you can tell because he's wearing a stained hoodie underneath his puffer.

"lets go" he says with a small smile.

you stand up and he follows next to you as you walk out the building. when you see the man coming to approach you again you feel his arm wrap around your shoulders and pull you into his chest. you can hear his heartbeat.

"oh? back again pretty girl-"

"hey man fuck off alright." kageyama scowls at him, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as he begins to walk faster. leaving the creep behind.

once you guys are a safe distance away he begins to loosen his grip on you but never moves his arm from your shoulder.

"i'm sorry if i woke you up." you start to say.

"why?"

"i don't know, i guess it's because you have such a busy schedule. and i know how much you care about your health and that stuff-"

"but i care about you more." he says bluntly, dark blue eyes staring into yours. "i mean i would much rather be tired at tommorows practice than have you be unsafe." he says with his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. yours do the same at his words.

you continue your walk back to his apartment. he says that after waking him up you owe this to him. of course you can't deny when he offers to give you his t shirt, and when you pull the covers up to your chest and feel his hand snake around your waist and pull you close to him, nose nuzzling into your neck you hear him whisper.

"don't ever worry about bothering me if something like this happens again." he presses a kiss to your neck and you turn around to cup his face and kiss his lips softly. you see the moonlight illuminate his features as you pull back, his eyes half lidded with a smile on his face.

"okay, tobio. goodnight" you say smiling. resting your head onto his chest as he pulls you closer.

#kageyama tobio they could never make me hate you

[cr4yolaas]

A papercraft commission of Zelda from Breath of the Wild/Age of Calamity, featured here with the Bow of Light! I had enormous fun cutting out both her swirling hair and the swirling shapes of the bow's decoration - extra-detailed shapes like that take a long time, but the end result is very satisfying. ^_^ And, of course, I'm always excited to make Legend of Zelda art!

[cr4yolaas]

eSims for Gaza is facing constant eSim shortages.

They get over a thousand requests for connection a day, but their email inbox is regularly sitting at 300-500 eSims. With the bombardment of Rafah and continual internet blackouts, the need for more eSims is particularly urgent.

Even if you have already sent an eSim or donated to an eSim donation drive, there is more you can do. The team is calling for people to campaign in their communities to help spread the word about eSims and encourage donations.

You can help by printing out posters and putting them up in local businesses, on telephone poles and notice boards, or wherever people are likely to see them.

[ID: Poster headed “eSIMs for Gaza” with an illustration of a red poppy, a QR code, and a link to tinyurl.com/gaza-esims; copy reads “Sending eSIMs is an immediate, concrete way to help Gazans on the ground. Scan below to learn how you can get involved.” End ID]

Download color poster (18 x 24")

Download color flyer (8.5 x 11")

Download black and white poster

(For a black and white flyer on A4 / 8.5 x 11" printer paper, just print out the black and white poster: the extra white margin space won't matter.)

Or make your own poster, pamphlet, or protest sign with one of these QR codes:

[cr4yolaas]

20191009 I LIKE HER | timeskip!tsukkishima as your boyfriend

♫ – currently playing… mac demarco

warnings – tsukishima is kind of mean, periods, food, mentions of drinking, throwing up/vomiting, jokes of being stabbed in the stomach, profanities

pairing – tsukishima x fem!reader ☆

a/n – hi guys… hope u enjoy !!

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

#tsukishima rhey could never make me ahte u

[cr4yolaas]

Mipha 🌊

#HELLOOO this is the coolest concept ever i’ve never seen this and i love it #HIJABI MIPHA IS SO CUTE