#i can quote all those tiktoks its brain rot

[kiwikyuu]

➟ a list of my favorite haikyuu works

(across tumblr, in no specific order, with mini thoughts by me)

note:

- some works may include smut

— i am in awe of each and every writer and work on this list! the tumblr writing community is so cool and i just wanted to share a couple of my favorites for this fandom. happy reading

— if you are a writer mentioned on this list and would prefer for me to remove your work, please send me a message and i will immediately

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ KARASUNO

october — "warnings: cursing, mentions of hickeys, makeout session hehe"

this is a particularly great combination of suggestive (not smut!) and fluff. it's cute and it's realistic and absolutely adorable. it reminds me of what i wished my high school relationship was like.

this didn't happen | tsukishima kei — "WARNINGS: honestly i think this is cute, but theres some angst oops, pining, unedited, kissing, kinda sad if you can read between the lines, season three spoilers"

you don't understand. the writing. the set up. the execution. absolutely beautiful! sometimes you come across a work that just encases the characters perfectly and something about that is just so *chef's kiss*

karasuno first years out late w/ their s/o

this was such a soft headcanon with wholesome high school / coming of age vibes. for real transported me into each scenario

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ NEKOMA

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ AOBA JOHSAI

beautiful stranger — "tw: indirect and direct implications of suicide"

an 11/10 good read and probably my favorite oikawa work so far. if you're worried about the trigger warning, i would say it's not too heavy because the lighter parts balance it out

come on, let go — "contents: oikawa being your first love, tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, rebound?? he dates you to get over his ex, oikawa being an idiot 🙄👎 and happy ending!! ft. aoba johsai team."

i am a simp for oikawa and basically all the haikyuu boys but this one ohohoho this one was bittersweet but in the best way possible. it does end on a happy note tho :)

it was always there — "oikawa tooru x f!reader your friends always said that you’d never have to worry about seeing oikawa again. if only you knew how wrong they would be—and not just a minor wrong. the ‘I just got paired up with my ex-boyfriend for our class final project’ kind of wrong."

this was so cute. it's 12k words and was a great read. if you're a fan of ex lovers to lovers with a hint of hurt/comfort then i recommend this

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ FUKURODANI

broken — "warning - mentions of illness + death"

yes i cried. yes i couldn't stop. what about it :(

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ INARIZAKI

college student!miya atsumu hc dump — "pairing: gn!reader ; genre: so much fluff, headcanons/mini drabbles ; tag(s): fluff, slightly suggestive, just the underclassman years for now, based on the american college system ; wc: 1.2k"

simply this is the college experience i wanted. i absolutely despise relationships but this one right here made me doubt that for a moment there

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ SHIRATORIZAWA

the grey area ; tendou satori — "tag(s): college!au, stuco!au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut, tantalising witty banter, semi is a Good Bro™, reader is a fully developed character ; warning(s): profanity ; wc: 8.1k"

this,,,god this shit right here,,,this was sent down from so heavenly place because holy shit. this was so good. it was just it was SO good. i absolutely cannot form full sentences to even begin to describe how much i fucking loved this

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ GENERAL

the hq boys falling in love as love quotes found on the internet

gosh this hit different. it was so wholesome and ugh,,,,,,,brb sobbing. i loved it so much. i really am a sucker for soft haikyuu

haikyuu on a zoom call — "[18+] its back to school time for most of you, or if you’re like me you’re working from home, and thus our lives are dictated by a tiny little app called zoom. while skype mightve missed the mark, here’s what the world of hq does on zoom!"

y'all it's the way that this had me fucking LAUHING so much oh my,,,,like this was so good. completely accurate and made zoom seem a little less intimidating

random couple tiktok pranks you’d do to your haikyuu boyfriend

ngl tiktok is my most actively used app (spotify in background came at #1) according to my screen time report so this was just icing on the cake

hq boys office au

this is one of those hc's that just really make you wish the boys were real

gift giving || haikyuu — "warnings: suggestive, timeskip spoilers!!"

timeskip haikyuu make my brain go brr but this was so thoughtful and everything just made sense. i absolutely loved this and it was so soft!!

how you comfort them when they lose a game

my heart broke and was re made reading this

this list will continue to be updated!

[stanleywbaxton]

You Can't Just Tell Me the Company's Paying For Lunch, Sir

My current job's alright. I design marketing emails, and besides wanting to hold the developers of outlook responsible for several war crimes, have a decent time with it. It's not what I want to do in the least, however. I desperately want to write for a living.

If the multitude of essays on very niche topics hasn't clued you in.

But regardless, until someone offers their magnanimous hand down from the heavens and offers me a job it works, I suppose. I'm given an inside view into the wretched underbelly of capitalism, and eight hours of my day are dedicated to producing nothing of value, to a pseudoscience based on outdated psychology and smoke and mirrors, that my knowledge of the occult has given me a better understanding of its workings than any tangible art grounded in human decency, but it works. I suppose.

The thing is, what makes this job a standout is how it contrasted with my last. That one was,

unique,

to say the least.

It was also a marketing position. The only thing, the owners were idiots. They were the quintessential small business couple who wanted to own a business for the bragging rights of owning a business. Brains so rotted with capitalism that any human connection was seen as a networking opportunity. Thought quoting old white men notable for being nazi sympathisers made Line Go Up. Used their employees for marriage counselling. You know the kind.

They also thought none of their workers would notice that half the clients we worked with were their side businesses.

I can really drive the point home to anyone with an inkling of HTML knowledge. The company made a huge point on its email marketing expertise. For starters, no-one on the marketing team knew HTML. I comprised 100% of the collective knowledge, and took all of it back when I quit. There were web developers on a different team, but they were strictly confined to changing hex values in premade wordpress templates. Cross-team help was limited to asking where someone saved a PDF last, lest they caught the ire of management and something about 'noise levels in the office', while they shrieked at full-volume tiktoks one desk over. So, what did the marketing team do?

They designed a 600 by several thousands pixel image, exported it lossless, set this behemoth of a file as the whole email, and linked it up with an image map.

For those not in the know, this meant they were sending emails that:

Were inaccessible for people using screen readers

Were inaccessible for people with slow internet

Were inaccessible for anyone using outlook

Were unable to have any text copied if it, say, had a promotional code

Almost exclusively contained promotional codes

Were ugly (unrelated, they just were)

Broke the law since the unsubscribe button didn't work

When I saw this, and that the apprentices on the team were being taught to make graphics using powerpoint, I immediately knew I needed a new job. That was day two.

The good part was they were very much in agreement. This was a Kickstart position, and for those who haven't heard, Kickstart is a government scheme in the UK. A business applies to be part of it, offers entry-level positions they have open, and gets them advertised to job centres. The government subsidises the salaries for these positions at minimum wage for six months, and gives the business a lump sum for filling it and getting a graduate off Universal Credit.

If you see the obvious exploit here, that's what my then-employers did.

The job starts off great. Our bright-eyed employee finds themselves fitting in quite well. Their boss loves them. Their coworkers love them. Oh, Lord, this is a lot of work, but everyone loves them! Month after month of glowing reviews, certainly worth being worn to the bone, and the job centre gets nothing but happy smiles all around. Suddenly, in the last month their 'performance' takes a 'nosedive', and by their next review they 'need to book their ideas up'. So coincidentally as the subsidy ends they're booted off the payroll. 'Not the right fit for the company', or something. By the time they realise what's happened they're back on Universal Credit with their labour already exploited.

So to go from this—a job where legal lines were played with like double dutch, the owners' dogs pissed in the entrance (a real, actual thing that happened, as the owners had three dogs that they refused to train, and instead of paying money for a dog sitter they were given full run of the office and all its cables), half the team sneered at a trans woman on x-factor but so miraculously didn't notice the lack of a bulge in my jeans—to a job where I got a pack of haribos as a welcome gift, was quite the stark shock.

It had been two weeks by this point. Still settling in, still getting all my duties in order. They were introduced one-by-one, another stark difference, and I was working about half of what my full job would be. This was going well. I could do this.

The head of the social team sends a message to everyone in the office. "Because we have a bunch of new guys," she said, "we're going out for lunch!"

Ah, from my old place I'd learnt this was 'we want to go on a date but need to write it off as a business expense, and we'll use this as leverage to never give you a pay rise', but considering this company wasn't family-owned, and the meet was organised by someone whose job it was to do this, it seemed to start on a better foot. I check my wallet for—

"It's all paid by the office," she answers to someone else.

...They, them, are paying?

Surely not. I'd heard tales from my mother's workplace going on trips and lunches and all manner of events, but my old job stamped out any delusions that would happen to me. Not without a significant payment out of my own pocket.

But if they are...

It Was a Brewdog

If you've never been yourself, Brewdog is a pub chain. I know little of it beyond this one trip but the immediate vibe of this place was mid-range luxury that's still trying to be rustic, but not rustic enough where it starts looking poor. Unmarketable. You know, your typical millennial shite that would fit right at home on instagram.

But I walked into this place with a plan. I was going to eat. I was giving myself a king-sized banquet and not a penny of it was coming out of my pocket.

This was mistake one.

I must stress, I don't have a large appetite. I just like making corporations pay for things.

My plan starts off superbly. We're given a menu, and I see a wonderful range for me to pick at. Mostly burgers, which gets me excited. The only thing that would have gotten me more is pizza. Conversation between us runs through what everyone does and doesn't want.

"They've got deep fried oreos!" the guy sitting next to me says. "Man, I really want those."

This inspires me. I love desserts! Of course I need to have one. I'd never had deep fried oreos, and if I didn't like them? Not out of my pocket! Nothing lost.

This was mistake two.

My order is thus:

Loaded fries

A pretentiously-named double bacon cheeseburger

Deep fried oreos

Yes, this seems like a lot for lunch. But my reasoning was sound, and at this moment was a fantastic plan. I was going to swap what I was having for lunch and tea. I'd have something big now and once home just have a sandwich to round off my day.

This was mistake three.

The stage is set; orders are taken. We then get to drinks, which I say I'm happy with water.

The person organising the trip interjects. "You're just having water? Do you not want anything?"

"Nah," I say. "I don't drink."

I should note, this isn't out of some moral code or health reason. It's simply because I don't like beer, and most pubs don't have fruity drinks. In both meanings of the word.

"Not even coke?" she continues. "Are you sure?"

"I don't like fizzy drinks when I eat out. They fill me and I don't enjoy the food."

Which is completely true, if I'm eating a lot. I was giving myself a three course meal here. I knew I couldn't expend useless calories on a drink.

This was the only thing I did correctly.

We continue light chatter for a while. Inane shit. Some meals come out, and because of course it is the oreos are the first thing I receive. I put them to the side.

Funny enough, I end up talking about my last job to someone higher up than me. I gave him the basic rundown. You know, exploiting the labour of young workers and running off with thousands of tax-payer pounds, when the tories are so desperate to tell you the person too disabled to work is the one claiming away your money. 

I don't say that, instead saying I had a six month time limit to find a new job. I'm sure he got the subtext.

He shook his head in response. "I never understood why companies do that."

Because of capitalism. This is another thing I don't say, because I don't want upper management to know I'm a pinko.

By now the food started to arrive, several waiters coming to us as a party of 17. I look over to the other one of our tables being served first, wondering what the small commotion was. 

This is where my problems begin.

These things are not burgers. They are monuments of hubris demanding—being made only for this purpose—God to strike them down, that were called burgers just because they happen to be made with the building blocks of a burger. All of them have knives rammed through their cores. The bun touches the handle.

When the plates actually reach the people who ordered them, the conversation switches instantly to how they were supposed to be eaten. They were too big to pick up in your hand. They were too tall to cut into with a knife.

I then realise, no-one else has ordered a double.  Mine will be even taller.

Oh, I think.

I've fucked up.

But the true magnitude of my fuck-up doesn't become aparant at first, because the first thing I'm given in this batch was the loaded fries.

Alright, don't panic. This is doable. I've had bigger meals. Probably.

The fries are a small dish, so I think I've lucked out. A small thing before I tackle the Tower of Babel. I can do this. But, I distinctly remember these being pretty expensive. For some chips, anyway. Maybe it was the fact they were covered in enough sauce to drown a small village that did it.

I eat one, do that cursory thing where you mention how it's nice to someone nearby while they do the same with their own dish, and continue to drill the mantra in my head. I can do this. I can do this. They tasted really nice, and reminded me of the deep fried ones my grandad made. I can do this!

Then I spot something, under the gap made by the fry now sitting in my stomach. I was expecting more fries, as you do. The thing you would most expect in a bowl of fries under the first layer of fries would be more fries. 

This was not a bowl of fries. This was a Trojan Horse seeking the end to my gluttony named Troy.

There are three chicken strips hidden under the fries.

They were in the small print on the menu, I later found out. And the reason they were much pricier than you'd expect. My mind was so captivated on reading 'loaded' and thinking of all the wonderful things that could entail, I did not read further to see what that entailed. 

And of course, they're covered in sauces, garnishings, and probably a whole farmer's field worth of greenery as well. This was loaded, in every way possible.

Well,

There's no way through this, except my stomach.

There's a specific feeling you get, when you're enjoying something you know is manifesting your doom. I pecked my way through those chips, indulging myself on the sauces, knowing that each time I swallow was only making the inevitable future where I have to eat that burger even more difficult. Every chicken strip I put into my face inches me closer and closer to burning in a hell of my own design, despite its juiciness and crunchy skin.

Maybe it's what oil barons feel.

The burger comes to me when I'm nearly finished with the fries. It's taller than I could have possibly imagined. 

You see, I was expecting something bigger than everyone else's. I'm not an idiot. A double cheeseburger is bigger than a regular cheeseburger; clue's in the name. But I did approach it in a manner I thought was rational. A patty was, what? About a quarter of the full burger? A third, if it's a bit chunky? More meat, and meat is filling, sure, but it couldn't be that much bigger.

These patties could have competed with the bricks that built the wall behind me.

The vegetables were barely there. The vegetables might as well have taken the day off. These patties, dear god, felt like they were specially selected to make an example of me. Some people on my table notice the size, and start joking about how tall it is compared to theirs.

I try laughing along. Hah. Ha hah. Funny. Yeah, it is funny. It's funny. Look how big it is. Funny!

The laugh was not from my belly, as it wept for its future.

Okay. Strategy time. I'd finished a majority of the fries, and could spin some tale about how I was so excited for this burger that I jumped straight into it. Then, I got full and didn't go back for them. I can do this.

I'm then faced with the same question everyone else ran through moments ago. How the hell do you approach this? Grabbing and shoving it to my mouth was completely out of the question. The entire thing would fall apart.

So I opt for something entirely different. I yank the knife out, and take the top bun off with one of the patties, and now I have two open-faced... 

Is open-faced burger a thing?

Google says yes. Grand.

Which really shows just how much of a terrible idea this was. Now I have two burgers to take on. But regardless, with some kind of approach to eating my monument to hubris, I pick up one, and bite.

It's greasy.

This was not a normal greasy. I've had greasy burgers before. I've been to America. Texas. Whataburger. That thing I thought was the peak of grease.

I was wrong. Have you ever eaten something greasy enough that the grease actually feels like another ingredient? That your teeth pierce through it like a layer of cheese? Not even the bun, or pitiful state of the vegetables could help me now. Both were soaked through. The bun passes better as a kitchen sponge.

After one bite, one bite, I felt full.

I'd never experienced this in my life. I will stress, again, I do not have a large appetite, but when it comes to (and someone else is paying) I can eat. I could consider it a talent, almost.

But here's the problem when you're eating on someone else's dime. You know when you, yourself, make a bad decision? That's entirely your fault. If you go to a new spot that ends up being a bust, or make an impulse purchase you immediately regret, or order too much food at a restaurant, you get to wallow in your own self pity and kick yourself over what an idiot you've been. It's only your wallet that's affected.

This was not my wallet.

The thing is, I'd never been faced with this dilemma before. Before when I'd eaten a bunch when others were paying, I ate all of it. No exception. Sure, it was basic tat like McDonalds or Taco Bell and that one time we went for sushi, but I ate every crumb I got out of their coin. I was so caught up in the chance for another one that I hadn't even considered the moral dilemmas that could come with it.

What was I supposed to do? Not eat the food they'd just spent God-knows how much on? Get invited out, as one of the new guys inciting this whole gathering, and order a metric fuck-load just to say: "Actually, no thank you. I appreciate you spending all this money on me, but, honestly? I'm just not feeling up to it."

I couldn't. I'd only been here a few weeks. I couldn't destroy what little good reputation I'd built up.

So I chew.

And chew.

It's the little twinges of enjoyment, that get me. By every metric, yes, this is a good meal. It tastes good. I enjoy eating it. The flavours dance around on my tongue and I'm reminded how much I love burgers. Then my stomach cries out to me that this isn't right. I've never eaten this much before. We're reaching uncharted waters. Terrible, terrible, terrible things are going to happen if I keep going.

And I chew.

I drink gulps of water, as if it helps.

I chew.

I listen to the conversations around me to give my stomach a break, which does nothing.

I chew.

I'm only halfway through this thing. It doesn't matter what strategy I go for. Smaller bites for less volume. Larger bites to trick myself into thinking it's going down quicker. Every bite feels like a workout and layer and layer of grease packs onto my lips.

Oh, good God. Why did I do this to myself—

"Hello," someone says.

"What?" I respond.

"It's me. A voice in your head of dubious psychological origin, and another sign you need to hurry up on finding that therapist," it says.

"Oh, you? What's your purpose this time? Laughing at my misfortune?"

"Encouragement. Cheerleading, perhaps."

"For what? Eating a burger?"

"Of course!" it bellows. "You can't just tap out now. You have a reputation to upkeep! Your family is known for their appetites, are they not?"

"That's not something for us to be proud of. We have an unhealthy relationship to food through a combination of reasons I refuse to detail in an essay designed to be comical." 

"Too scared to bare your soul again?"

"We're also more well-known for the basketball," I add.

"Yes, perhaps, but does that mean you're about to give up?"

"I also think the basketball fuelled the appetite," I muse. "My brother could eat a full buffet after matches."

"Allow me to rephrase this, are you about to be a disappointment?"

"The asthma attack in PE did that already."

"Are you going to be more of a disappointment?"

No.

I wasn't.

"Good man," it says, and retreats back into my subconscious.

I remember I'm sat in a restaurant.

And I fucking chew.

I've noticed something I do. Or my brain does, I should be more accurate. I have a tendency to not remember moments I'm under extreme stress. I was there, and things happened, but in what order and how it happened? Fuck if I know.

This is one of those times. Some minutes pass and my hands are empty.

I look down, lips tingling, undoubtedly an artery clogging somewhere, to see one bun and half of a patty remaining.

You know what? Sure. Victory. I'm declaring victory over this half-eaten burger. This is enough. I'd already resigned that finishing everything was out of the question as soon as the chicken strips ambushed me.

I sit back in my chair. Jesus Christ. Instead of having a moment reminiscing over the nice meal I'd just had I'm swearing on my life how I can never ever do this again. I grab a napkin to wipe my face, which was sat a bit weird, I thought, almost like it was hiding—

The oreos.

Oh.

Fuck.

I couldn't have got something easy, could I? A single cookie? A mint? A cracker? Nothing?

You know, if I didn't pick that napkin up, I might have gotten away with it. I'd forgotten that I got dessert. Surely everyone else had. But no. Now there they were, on their sickly sweet display. Someone else already took notice.

I pick one up and inspect it. I'm not out of the woods yet.

See, I do love desserts. I'm the kind of person who always leaves space for dessert. I love chocolates. Biscuits. Ice cream. The whole lot. As a kid, especially, I always considered the end of the meal the best part.

This day almost killed my love of them.

Then, I remember something. A saviour is here. The guy to my right, the one who said he was interested in the oreos.

"Hey, you mentioned wanting to try these. Would you like one?" I say as a masked cry for help.

"Oh, no, you enjoy them," he says with a smile, completely unaware of what he's just done. "Thanks anyway."

"Ah," I say, my hand trembling. "If you change your mind, just shout."

He does not.

The worst part, those oreos were good! When I wasn't focusing on what they were doing to me. They tasted like rich cocoa and cream with the texture of freshly made cake. "This is delightful," my mouth said. "I love warm desserts! Brownies, chocolate chip anything straight out the oven, treats that melt as you chew into them. This is delightful!"

"I feel like I'm traipsing through hell while the devil pisses on my face," my stomach said.

Somehow, dunking the oreos in syrup makes it easier. It's this runny chocolate thing, and I don't care what it actually is, besides the fact it's helping right now. I fail to reason why. It's extra calories. It should be causing even more protests in my stomach.

Against all odds, I chew. And I chew.

I pop another one in my mouth, and I chew. Another one, and I chew. Another one...

There's one left.

Fuck it.

It's Done

If I get diagnosed with an intolerance to anything, this will be a day I think back to. I'm half expecting to keel over randomly in the street, wake up in a hospital, to find myself with half of that fucking burger stuck inside my liver and an incurable allergy to anything that was on that thing.

And you know what? I won't even complain. I'll take a good, honest look at my internal organs and say: "You know what, guys? Sure. I'll take this one. I might not have deserved the asthma, but I'll take this one."

The walk back to the office there's a grey tinge to my vision. It's an absolute miracle my heart didn't give out. When I get back, on the company message board someone mentions my 'impressive appetite'.

...Should I be embarrassed by that?

Oh! I'm not a woman anymore. I shouldn't!

It took several days before any sense of appetite returned. I went through meals, only getting through factions of it before tapping out. That feeling of having absolutely no sense of hunger is one of the most alien things I've experienced. When the moment came that I could eat a ham sandwich without wanting to immediately eject it out of my food pipe I celebrated.

Of course, I would not be so much of a fool to make the same mistake more than once. Especially with what it did to me. I may miscalculate my ventures, but I learn from my experiences. Even if our office—any office!—was paying, I will never, never overeat to such an extent again.

So at the Christmas party, we ordered Domino's—