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Cabbage

@skiyoomii / skiyoomii.tumblr.com

Hello! I am Cabbage (she/her/they/them) I am still figuring out how to use Tumblr, so please be patient with me. I write for Haikyuu, but only when I feel like it. I don't take requests unless I really like it and I am not motivated to write all the time. I am always free to talk if you need an ear. (Forgive me if you find any mistakes with my blog, idk wtf I am doing)
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quinncupine

Heck yeah! These are always so fun to make! Thanks for the tag @awilddreamerwrites 🥰

I'll tag @thecindy @miriobaby @peachsenpie @dragonsdreamoffire @nyanyabisjjj @bakugob4by if you wanna play, no pressure and have fun!!

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skiyoomii

Okay, this looked super pretty and I wanted to try 😩❤️

Enjoy this with me: @binniebby-x @sunny-sus and anyone else who would like to try!

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myelocin

Cradle | Sakusa Kiyoomi, Iwaizumi Hajime

Synopsis: First is love; in the forms over the years you come to know. Then second is grief and loss; and how the struggle that comes with it defines and reshapes you. And finally third is acceptance, where you realize that the awakening to love and life’s questions have always just been in the palm of your hand.

This story is for those who shielded themselves from love before it could even hit them. 

Characters/Pairings: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader x Iwaizumi Hajime | Seijoh 3rd years (friendship)

Genre/Tags/Warnings: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, Seijoh4!Friendship, Cellist!Sakusa, Musician!Reader, Hajime lmao, Mutual Pining, Love Triangle, Happy Ending!!, Character death, mentions of spiraling

WC: 17.5k

a/n: a month long wip! this one is all for you, mom. i broke my heart writing down these memories, but i hope you read this on the other side. + big thank you to @introvertedfangirlpower for the cello facts! really helped me :)

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For you, love began in the unknown.

You say unknown because you don’t remember much of your childhood other than the flashes of residual warmth that came with the memory of your mother. For as long as you can remember, she always felt like that: warm and familiar—like home.

Her presence like the warmth that stays on your coffee mug long after you’ve consumed your drink. Warmth like sitting in front of a fireplace as you watch the last bits of firewood extinguish in the flames.

And your fondest memory perhaps—warm like the hands that cup your face and kiss your forehead every morning before you left for school.

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