#key moment

[theetwinkleboy]

shoto the MVP--he is the ONLY reason that any of them survived that battle

[egophiliac]

WAIT when did he get FANGS

[revasserium]

to win and to lose

kenma, tsukki, hinata, kageyama; 3,200 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", kissing, slightly!suggestive content, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, post!timeskip characters, pro-streamer!kenma, olympics athlete!hinata, pouty!tsukki, and needy!kageyama

summary: you win some, you lose some, right?

a/n: truly just a few drabbles that came to my mind when i was sitting in a bath the other day; so pls enjoy some hq-flavored domesticity

kenma

“— alright chat, that’s it for today — i’ve got uh —” kenma glances over at the top of his collection of monitors at where you’re standing, holding two beers, a sly grin twisting the corner of your mouth. even in the strange blue light of his monitors, you can see his cheeks darken.

“— some stuff to do. see ya!” he ends the stream just as you round the massive table to set a beer down in front of him. he chuckles and reaches out to pull you into his lap, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh.

“hey there, mr. ceo.” you smirk, twisting round to run your fingers through his hair, tugging out the loosening hair tie and cocking your head. kenma huffs, crinkling his nose, shaking his head as you continue to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“i hate it when you call me that.”

“mm, then… what would you prefer? mr… streamer boy? mr. stock trader? oh — i’ve got it! mr. simp-man.”

kenma scoffs, jerking forward so that you’re trapped against the hard edge of his gaming desk, his arms locking you to him. he’s grown since high school, but even so, his lithe build betrays the strength still hidden within his limbs from the endless hours of training, of playing.

“there’s no winning against you, is there?” he asks, his voice muffled by your skin, and you bite back a groan at the way he’s trailing his lips along the hard ridge of your collarbones. he peers up at you, a sharp, feline glint to his eyes, a hand reaching out to set your half-drunk beer on his table before hoisting you up with one arm. you squeak, the gesture taking you by surprise even as he carries you to the futon set up in strategically in the corner of the game room, put there for the nights when you’d lie there and watch him stream, when you’d close your eyes and let the rgb lights flicker across the backs of your eyelids like the northern lights, like so many midnight rainbows.

“well… seeing as you’re winning in so many other aspects in life,” you say, your voice nothing more than a sigh as he lays you down, fingers already tugging at the thin straps of your dress, “a little losing here and there might do you good, hm?”

“mm…” kenma hums, contemplative, even as he leans back and runs an appraising eye down the length of your body, “i mean… i did let kuroo talk me into joining the volleyball club back in highschool so… i guess you can say… in my own way… i’m sort of a sucker for punishment.”

tsukki.

“ah… that looked like a brutal practice,” you say, peering around the bathroom door. the sound of water splattering down skin echoes wetly through the enclosed space.

“aren’t they all?” tsukishima drawls, setting down the large wooden bath ladle to squint at you through the hazy mist. his glasses lie fogged and forgotten, set to the side.

you smile, slipping into the room with a fresh towel.

“i’ve got miso soup being warmed on the stove and an icepack in the freezer. take your time though — o-oh!”

a pair of arms reaches out to pull you down, and you barely catch yourself on the edge of the large wooden bath.

“t-tsukki! what —”

“it was a brutal practice.”

you barely hear the smirk in his voice as he sighs and props his chin on your thigh, the water from the bath staining you thin dress in seconds. you fight the urge the roll your eyes, reaching down to run your fingers through his damp hair, absently massaging at his scalp.

its rare to see him like this — rarer, even, to see him so openly vulnerable, even if there’s still the barest hint of a tease lurking beneath the tired rhythm of his voice, his breathing. like this, his long lashes are daggered into points by the steam, his normally pale skin made even more so by the bright bathroom lights.

through the water, you can see the new bruises blossoming along his thin legs, the old ones barely fading. thoughtlessly, you lean in and dip your hand in the water to trace a finger along one particularly large one at his right knee.

“what happened?” you ask, though you basically already know the answer — practice for a v2 league team happened. still, tsukishima glances down at the bruise with an oddly disembodied gaze and shrugs.

“dunno. dove to save a ball a few times.”

you laugh, tilting your head to one side as he leans back to press his cheek to your now damp thigh.

“wow, in practice? other team must’ve really pissed you off.”

at this, tsukishima crinkles his nose and scoffs. you hike an expectant eyebrow and wait.

“the jackals were over for a practice match.” his voice is clipped, but you feel your own laughter bubbling up in seconds. of course.

you bite back a giggle, “and… did you guys win?”

he glares up at you, eyes narrowed, “they’re a division one team. what do you think?”

“hm… but i thought hinata’s been off with a rolled ankle so…”

again, he scoffs, “that team’s plenty of other players who are just as annoying.”

you clamp down on your bottom lip, “wow. high praise.”

he whacks at the surface of the bath, splattering your dress even as you break into a bright peal of laughter. you reach down to flick him with a bit of water as well but he catches you wrist in his, fingers wrapping around your arm, the warm bath water slicking down your skin in thin rivulets, dripping off your elbow. you gasp, heart suddenly thrumming behind your eardrums.

the lopsided, slightly sadistic smile that slits his lips is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“tsukki… there’s miso soup —”

“mm. think i want something else for dinner instead.”

the low murmur of words is the only warning you get before you’re pulled bodily into the warm bath, the water soaking your dress, making the material cling to your skin in seconds. you squeak against his lips, rough and insistent and just a little pleading. you know it’s futile to struggle, so you let him kiss you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you groan, your fingers finally finding purchase along the slick skin of his shoulder.

“you — you’ve ruined my — my favorite dress…”

“hn.”

tsukishima doesn’t look at all bothered by your admonishment, shrugging, “it’ll dry.”

water sloshes over the side of the bathtub, now dangerously full with the both of you soaking in it’s steaming depths.

“was it really that bad?” you ask, affecting your voice into a soft coo, trailing wet fingers over the soft of his cheeks.

“if i say yes,” he asks, peering down at you as a lepidopterist might study a new specimen of rare, and newly captured butterfly, “would you try to make me feel better?”

you lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry, despite being literally submerged in water.

“depends,” you say, “on if you’ll let me go turn off the stove first — wouldn’t want the miso soup to burn.”

tsukishima rolls his eyes, fingers tightening around your wrists, pulling you closer. there’s a dangerous light flickering behind his eyes; a dull ache pulses at the base of your stomach, singeing up your spine as you tip forward for another long kiss.

“thought i said already… i don’t think i really want miso soup for dinner anymore.”

hinata.

there’s a certain magic in watching him play — the way he treats every win like his first, or his last. the way the world seems brighter right around his edges, as if his own shimmer and shine might infect the universe if it would only let him.

he is incandescent with joy after the olympic qualifier games — scoring a ticket is no mean feat, and it’s not every day that you see bokuto cry.

“congrats, shouyou!” you’re one of the first to greet him after the press stint (and a shower), but you can still see the brilliant, glazed look to his eyes that tells you he’s still riding his high. his smile is wide enough to split the sky as he spots you, jogging over to hoist you up into his arms, spinning you round with almost comical ease.

“haha — thanks!”

he leans up for a kiss, one that’s sweet as it is heady. when you pull apart, you are still weightless, and his smile shines like a smile on pause — it makes you want to unpause it, and watch it unfurl.

you trace the pads of your thumbs along the tiny freckles dotting his cheekbones — souvenirs from his time in brazil.

“so! are you gonna come watch us?” he asks, making to walk down the decidedly not deserted hallway with you still in his arms. you blush at the thought, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze.

“shouyou… you can put me down now — and of course i’ll come! it’s not everyday that your boyfriend makes it to the olympics.”

several people chuckle as they watch him parade passed, you still firmly held aloft, your elbows propped on his shoulders to give you some semblance of balance. your cheeks burn as hinata hums, waving at a fellow teammate, reaching out for a fist bump.

“shou…” you fight the urge to bury your face in his shoulder as he finally rounds a corner into a much more private hallway. he grins, completely unabashed, as he pushes through an unmarked door to a what seems to be an empty locker room. it’s sparse, but well-lit and quiet.

“hm?”

he sets you down on one of the benches and drops a quick kiss onto your shoulder.

“i could’ve walked…”

“didn’t feel like putting you down,” he says, his voice dropping in register and taking on that darker, baser veneer — you hear the frayed edges, the sandstone texture, a tell-tale sign of a deep-seated hunger. a very specific brand of shouyou-flavored want.

“n-ngh —” you make a soft noise as he dips down to nuzzle into the dip of your collarbone, a tiny groan festering up the back of his throat as he sighs.

“been thinking about this…” his fingers dance up your sides, light enough to tease, but solid enough to remind you of just how close you both are to a ruthless press and the oogling public.

“sh-shou let’s wait —”

hinata whines, shaking his head, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck, “don’t wanna.”

and you sigh, weighing the option of pushing back or giving in. each has dangers and merits, but you know better than most that when hinata gets like this, indulgence is usually the only answer that will satisfy.

“plus… i just won a ticket to the olympics! don’t you think that deserves some kind of —” he casts around for a good enough word, pulling back with a smile that, in the right kind of slanted, locker room light, might just look like a smirk, “reward?”

you cock your head and blink up at him, letting your fingers tangle in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “what? the olympics ticket wasn’t enough of a reward for you?”

at this, hinata pouts, pushing his bottom lip out far enough for you to lean forward and bite it. the movement makes him groan, his whole body tipping forward to cage you back against the row of cool, metal lockers.

“you shouldn’t do that if you don’t think you can finish the job,” he says, pulling back just far enough for the heat of his breath to fan across your spit-slick lips. you lave your tongue across them, shifting beneath him as he cocks his head to stare down at you, his eyes wide and dark and misty.

“and… what job might that be?” you ask, breathless even as he dips down again to catch your lips in his, reaching down to tug you bodily up the length of the lockers before pinning you in place. once upon a time, it was easy to forget how strong he is — but now, it’s even easier to spot the stretch and flex of muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin, feel the strength of them as he holds you still with a single hand, the other tugging down the neckline of your top.

“mm… the job —” he skims his teeth across your skin; you gasp, eliciting a small, satisfied chuckle from him, “of being an olympic athlete’s girlfriend, of course!”

kageyama.

it is never the losing, and always the aftermath, and by now, you know the shades and slivers of all his specific kinds of silences so intimately that you know without him having to say how the practice match had gone.

“hey.”

you greet him by the door with a soft, placatory kiss. he grunts, toeing off his shoes before dipping down to wrap both his arms around you and pull you close. you let out a breathy laugh as you feel his nose digging into the curve of your shoulder.

“want some dinner?” you ask, reaching up to stroke his sweat-soaked hair even though you already know the answer.

“later,” he says, making no sign of wanting to let you go. instead, when you try to pull away, he leans down and scoops you up to place you on top of the kitchen island, slotting himself between your knees, and re-burying his face in your shoulder.

“then…” you let your voice trail off, feeling the exhaustion pour off him in waves. you dig your fingers into the tense line of his shoulders and feel them tighten up before they fall slack again. for a few minutes, he contents himself with letting you massage the worst of the knots from his shoulders.

“hn.” he lifts his head only to lean forward and find your lips with his. the kiss is slow and just a bit tired — as sweet as it is thorough. in the beginning, you’d worried that dating someone like kageyama would end up being the kind of short-lived thing that all the tabloids and magazines had warned you about — that he might grow bored after a week, a month, maybe half a year. after all, someone like him, with that insatiable need for more wouldn’t be suited for the kind of so-called ‘domestic bliss’ as it’s prescribed of most long-term relationships. but he’d surprised you, in more ways than one. he’d not only not grown bored, but had seemingly become ever more… entranced.

the pair of you had grown into each other, each day steadily getting closer. until the space the two of you shared became so inextricably linked there’s no telling who’s breath was caught in each of your lungs, of who’s scent it was that lingered in the fine linen lining of all your pillows and sheets. it’s become your’s. in the most cliche way possible.

kageyama contents himself with kissing you, breaking for small breath, and then kissing you some more. one kiss falling into another, and another, and another. till you’re breathless in just way he likes, till he’s breathless, in the way that he gets sometimes during a particularly intense rally. he knows he’s sweat-sticky and probably stinks of the gym, but the way you smile up at him when he pulls away makes his whole body go soft.

“let’s take a shower before dinner,” you say, tracing a finger along the shell of his ear. he bites back a frown.

“not a bath?”

you laugh, shrugging, “we could — but the food’ll go cold.”

“we’ve got a microwave.”

you smile, a smile that inspires — no, demands — another kiss. and so he does. you make a tiny, exasperated noise but don’t make to pull away. kageyama reaches down to pick you up, settling your thighs on either side of his hips as he maneuvers the pair of you towards the bathroom.

“food’ll be there when we’re done,” he mutters, gently placing you down on the side of the bathtub and reaching over to turn on the hot water. the steam rises in thick sheets from the surface of the water, and already, kageyama can feel his limbs loosening at the thought of a nice, long soak. he catches you watching as he strips off his practice clothes.

“see something interesting?” his voice is so measured you’d never know he’s teasing, save for the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. you blush and look away, tugging off your own clothes in an attempt to distract yourself. the water sloshes around his ankles as he steps into the bath, and you join him a second later, curling up against his chest as he winds his arms around you, the pair of you settling against each other like nesting spoons, cut perfectly for each other’s every bend and curve. or perhaps like russian dolls, one encasing the other — wholly and completely.

“when’s practice tomorrow?” you ask, turning to watch him lean back, his eyes falling shut to the soft trickle of water over skin. you know the answer, and so does he. but he shifts and answers you anyway.

“not till noon.”

“good,” you say, turning back to rest your head on his shoulder, “we can have a proper breakfast.”

“we always have a proper breakfast.”

you laugh, absently walking your fingers up the length of his bent leg, drawing tiny circles on his exposed knee, poking out of the water like a pale island amidst the green-tinted water.

“i can grill mackerel tomorrow — i’ll have the time.”

outside, the moon is white and full with love, the sky bloated with countless shimmering stars. inside the gentle quiet of your home, kageyama leans forward to trail a kiss to the bend of your bare shoulder; you reach back to cup his cheek. when he turns your face for yet another kiss, it is sleepy and happy, long and lazy. full, weighted, soaked through with the kind of surrender only known to those who love and are in love.

“the food’ll really be cold —” you gasp, twisting away from kageyama’s growingly insistent lips, “if we keep going like this.”

he makes a slightly irked noise before caging you back against him with a deep frown, “you said so yourself — we’ve got time tomorrow. so —” he leans in to bump his nose against yours, waiting for permission. you chew on your lips for a second longer before conceding. and he’s right — isn’t that what microwaves are for?

[pa-pa-plasma]

love fics where Danny ends up in the DC universe & every alarm goes off at once & the magic users are like "yeah that's the most powerful being in the universe & also possibly super evil we are FUCKED fucked" & the Justice League is freaking tf out trying to find this thing that casually tore a hole in reality & it just cuts to Danny (Fenton) standing in the background blissfully unaware & like "man my life sucks but at least i have this candy bar—" *drops it in a puddle*

[gilly-moon]

No one requested haikyuu but I have been thinking about Them since seeing the movie in theaters last weekend

[junow-honours]

29.03.23

My artist statement for the March critique sessions

Thanks Matt for addressing those problematic statements, these will be reconsidered in my next statement

[canisalbus]

Would you be willing to draw Machete and Vasco's first kiss? I would love to see it.

Spoilers but it's going to be in the comic! The comic I've had in sketch stage since last autumn and have no clue when it'll get finished ´v`'

[mollysunder]

The real sign of the inevitable dissolution of Jayce and Viktor's partnership/friendship really was the Progress Day Speech. I've seen people say this scene highlighted the growing shift in priorities between Jayce and Viktor. That Jayce was getting swept up in the limelight while Viktor wanted to keep it humble and stick to the work, and that's wrong.

First thing's first, Viktor does in fact want to go on stage (he was excited to just demonstrate the hexclaw), and Jayce is sincere in that he wants to share the spotlight and credit for hextech with Viktor. The problem in that scene is that for practically 7 years, Jayce has failed to see what's actually going on.

Jayce can't see that his face and only his face is on the mugs, the blimps, and the very banners that decorate the hall he's supposed to give a speech in. Jayce can't see that the Councilors direct all their questions on hextech to him while Viktor sits right next to him. Jayce doesn't notice that Mel, the most perceptive Councilor, still thought of Viktor as Heimerdinger's assistant (she didn't know they were close??!?!). He doesn't realize that the discussion on weaponizing hextech is centered on him rather than between him and his partner. Viktor isn't the one being invited to Piltover's parties for a reason.

Between Jayce and Viktor, they're partners on equal grounds, but to EVERYONE else in Piltover Viktor is practically a non-entity. The only person who doesn't get this is Jayce. It's a testament to Jayce's earnest naivette to think Viktor, as a Zaunite and visibly disabled, would be easily welcomed on stage by Piltover's elite to represent what Piltover has to offer. You'll notice this is the same crowd of people that attend Mel's Gala, the same Gala Viktor wasn't invited to.

This dynamic is insane!?!?! It's unsustainable!!!!! Obviously, Viktor is a grown man and could have mentioned something to Jayce, but also it's at least 7 years, how does someone miss this?!?!

By their last scene of the finale, Jayce was able to give Viktor a voice on the Council by literally standing by his side and giving him a seat at the table, but like peace treaty, the gesture has come far too late, and things cannot return to as they were.

[turtleblogatlast]

Imo the most impressive thing Leo’s done is hold this pose for as long as he did while covered head to toe in gold paint:

[herewegobebe]

SHINee World Ⅵ ✦ Perfect Illumination : SHINee'S Back | Recap Video

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: No no no, Pac– Ok, listen… Have you ever heard of a game called City Skylines? It will change what it means to feel joy.

Pac: Wait wait wait wait– oh my god, you like City Skyline?

Tubbo: Holy sht, I love City Skylines! Have you played City Skylines?

Fit:

Tubbo reminds Pac you don't need drugs to be happy – all you need is City Skylines 2 (and a friend to nerd out with 😅)

[anti-the-glitch-bitch]

To be or not to be (a blackmailer) part 2

After the incident with Damian, word spread throughout the Wayne family, and now everyone was fighting over who would get to meet the newest member of the family (aside from Alfred, who was simply too dignified for something like that, and Bruce, who knew that Danny was coming over next weekend to visit the foster kittens.)

Jason was the next to interact with Danny, and contrary to what anyone says, it was purely by accident that he managed to bump into the kid.

Danny was chasing after a ghost who had stolen his newest invention for a Wayne Industries competition. He was hoping to use the invention to gain an internship in the engineering department and finally get out of the fast food industry. The ghost was a child and seemed to grab anything shiny or even remotely interesting.

He'd chased the kid all the way to a warehouse in Crime Alley where the kid lost steam and gave up the chase. Danny grabs the device, rips open a bright green portal, and shoves the kid through before quickly closing it again.

He's not in a hurry to head home, and he kinda needs to stop at the store anyway for a few ingredients before Tim comes by for dinner, so he transforms out of ghost form after making sure no one is around. He doesn't really come to Crime Alley often, so he wasn't expecting the mugging he was being subjected to by some creep with a pocketknife. He wasn't surprised (it's Crime Alley after all) but he'd been going over his grocery list in his head.

He was debating whether to completely ignore the guy or to punch the guy in the face when Red Hood came out of nowhere and smacked him around before turning to Danny and making sure he was ok.

Danny, of course, has to say something snarky while at the same time reassuring the hero that he was, in fact, just dandy.

Jason didn't rush all the way over here for nothing and racked his brain for any ideas that would let him hang with Danny. He didn't have to, though, because Danny stared at him with starry eyes and enthusiastically asked for an autograph AND a picture in one breathless sentence. Mentally punching the air he brings out his own phone and they both get pictures of the duo.

Jason only wanted the photo to rub it in everyone's face while Danny wanted a keepsake of his favorite Gotham hero. No matter what Tim said, Red Robin was Not the best and that was something they'd just have to agree to disagree on even if Tim did grumble about it every time it was brought up.

Red Hood drove Danny to the store and even waited for him to finish so he could drive him home. A few more pics in hand, and a dazed Danny was dropped off at his apartment.

The Wayne manor was in an uproar when the pics hit the Batfam group chat.

Part 1-To be or not to be (a blackmailer) – @anti-the-glitch-bitch on Tumblr

Part 3-https://www.tumblr.com/anti-the-glitch-bitch/746033028832362496/to-be-or-not-to-be-a-blackmailer-part-3

[leonardcohenofficial]

the more i rewatch twin peaks i am reminded more and more that albert rosenfield (and to a lesser extent bobby briggs, though he doesn’t quite articulate it as clearly as albert with the exception of him breaking down at laura’s funeral) is THE only character to recognize laura’s death for what it was—completely avoidable, unromantic, and caused by human evil that nobody recognized the signs of or did anything to stop

[nathanbellamy]

Giffing notable moments from the xmen scripts, pt 3

(*, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11)

[speakofcompersion]

240524 Shinee Perfect World Illumination: Shinee's Back~

[lightning-chicken]

“wolf clan jay becomes jordana’s mentor” yes i love that idea. but have you considered: wolf clan jay becomes a corrupted arin’s mentor.

arin finding jay on the opposite side of the battle.

arin seeing one of his heroes, fallen, and learning that if one of the ninja uses shatterspin then maybe there’s nothing stopping him from using it too. all he needs is a mask and the gong. a mask and a gong. it’s easy.

arin getting to know jay, and discovering a person just as conflicted as he is. a person who is still, underneath layers of doubt and skepticism and bitterness and sorrow, trying to do good. looking at himself in a mirror and finding it easier and easier to picture the wolf clan’s mantle draped over his shoulders.

arin thinking that with shatterspin, maybe he can finally grow powerful enough to have a chance to prove himself - because if shatterspin was really that bad, why would a ninja be using it? ninja fight for good. he can use shatterspin for good. it’s not dangerous. this is his chance. this is how he can finally be useful. this is how he can still be a hero.

arin considering that maybe it’s not so bad to fall.