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Sniff - Blog Posts
I imagine Hannibal saying in Morgan Freeman’s voice “I can smell you” when he sniffs will 
people think that philza is the normal one in the relationship when hes been making up headcanons about his husband and been obsessing about missa being huge this entire week no hes not
happy dads!
then they lost the kids
When will AO3 be back from the war
holiday photo
spinning in circles thinking abt manga confession arc again because RITSU OVERPOWERED HIM. psychic powers are drawn from emotion and, for just a moment, ritsu's love for his brother was stronger than shigeo's LIFETIME of pent up emotions
I’ve Had very bad art block but It’s getting better I think I’m testing out some new brushes
" Hullo, mx snail! "
(Tap for better quality 💗)
Off to do some crimes
(Tap for better quality)
First anime moomin redesign and... Rewritten?
Why not? What if the first anime adaptation had a remake in the late 70s, a little closer to the original characters, but keeping the innovations that I like (and plus add a little of my own, but that's a small thing). Like, maybe I’ll make a fanfic for fun.Moomin is the same, but maybe a little braver than in Shin mumin.The Snork Maiden is the same age as Moomitroll. She is a smart, modest girl, but she can be cheeky sometimes. Plays the piano.Sniff. The youngest of the company. A cowardly, profit-loving and money-loving boy.Snufkin is three years older than Moomintroll. Perhaps a slightly more pronounced dislike for prohibitory signs, houses and park rangers (they were not present in the anime, even in the lost episodes). Tireless adventurer.Little My is several months older than Snufkin, so she is the oldest in the company. She is extremely malicious, sarcastic and cunning.Mymble the younger - The girl is serious and straightforward. Loves herself and her luxurious hair. Elegant, quite friendly and responsive. Very romantic. At the age of 16, she ran away to Moominvalley with My (by chance, with her, her sister was 8 years old.)The rest of the character may not change much. Now look at the publication date.
And bonus. (Sorry for such an April Fool's joke.)
I call bullshit. You can't model a national economy. Why else do we have BUSINESS EXPERTS who sacrifice the goat to John Smith and read the growth forecast from its liver and the inflation index from its heart? How do you explain that, pinko commie hippies?
Incredible. They're so close to getting it.
*sniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniff sniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniffsniff*
vibe check passed.
what do you mean with "it's weird", just let me sniff things i want to sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF
wouldn't it be nice? - suna rintarou/f!reader (haikyuu!): fluff but suggestive at times, established relationship, talk of babies/families/pregnancy, committing to the bit is all fun and games until the bit commits to you, tw: light miscommunication since some of u guys hate that, let the record show this was NOT written for his birthday, i didn't even KNOW it was today ok, i will not be taking questions at this time (or ever)
You know exactly what started it.
The problem.
It was some sappy commercial you saw on TV one lazy Sunday afternoon.
You rarely even watch television—not proper cable television anyway—preferring the simplicity of streaming services in this modern day and age. It's a complete fluke that you happen across it at all while you and Rintarou rest sprawled across his couch in the afternoon sun, your feet tucked underneath his thigh. You wouldn't even go on to remember what the commercial was for; all you remember is the perfect, cherubic little baby at the centre of it, and the way that it made your heart melt.
You let out a long, wistful sigh once the advertisement transitions into the next. "I want to hold a baby."
It piques his interest. That stupid, completely unremarkable comment that you'd come soon to regret.
Rintarou pulls himself a little more upright at his end of the sofa, shooting you a mischievous look. His expression might seem placid to most people, impassive even, but you know it, and him, and all his minute eccentricities too well to be fooled.
"I'll give you a baby," he muses, angling his body over yours on the sofa with his arms caging your waist. You draw your legs back instinctively—hips perpendicular to your thighs and heels to the bottom of your bum—at the first sign of trouble.
Your lip curls, and you lift your sock-clad feet so they press flat against his chest, pushing him back with all the strength you can. He hardly budges, but you expect as much.
"Ew, Rin," you snort, head lolling to the side to idly watch the next useless commercial on TV as it unfolds, “gross."
Suna pauses, a hand loosely circling your ankle, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. There's a look that you don't recognize that flitters across his face. His grip tightens a little, his thumb sweeping down over the round protrusion of your joint and back again.
"Gross?" he asks softly.
"Yeah, gross," you say, pulling your foot out of his hold. It takes a bit of effort, because he doesn’t seem to want to move, but you roll over onto your side and wiggle out from under him to rise up off the sofa. You shuffle into the kitchen for a snack, and you feel his eyes on you as you go.
But that was just the start.
You’re not sure if you just never noticed, or if the universe has a deeply perverse sense of cosmic humour, but after that Sunday afternoon, it seems like there are babies everywhere you go.
And if not actual living, breathing babies, then it's all matter of things that are decidedly baby-adjacent. Itty bitty onesies on display at the store you two are shopping at. Sweet souvenir plushies at the Aquarium that are meant for little ones to hold. Diapers, formula, and various other baby necessities are advertised in the posters mounted on bus stops, on train stations platforms, and on flashing digital billboards.
And every single time, without fail, you see them when you’re with Suna.
And every single time, without fail, he looks at you and waits for you to meet his gaze.
You’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding it, honestly. But then he’ll always make some comment. Point it out. Make it obvious.
“Look at that baby’s tiny hand. I bet our baby will have my hands.”
“Can you believe that babies are really this little? Do you think ours will be this small?”
“If you were buying these for our baby would you get the yellow or the—“
“Trick question,” you cut Suna off, snagging the yellow pair of training chopsticks (complete with a little ducky on top) out from his hands and shoving them back onto the display he’d just plucked them off of. You don’t allow yourself to linger for too long on how cute they really are. “Babies don’t use chopsticks, and also we’re not having a baby.”
You continue down the aisle of the market, a familiar pain throbbing just behind your eyes that Rintarou seems so uniquely skilled at eliciting. Your face is hot too, but that’s probably just from the frustration. After a moment you hear his feet shuffling along after you, and the two of you finish your grocery shopping in relative silence.
You’re used to putting up with all of your boyfriend’s other annoyances and oddities, so this is just another one to add to the ever-growing list. But this time, something feels a bit… different.
The two of you stop at a vending machine for coffee on your walk home since it’s cold out. Suna has the largest of your two reusable grocery bags looped over one of his arms, and somehow while you’re digging for change in your wallet he manages to weasel the other one off of your arm and onto his own, too.
“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner, why are you stopping here?” he asks, watching as you carefully make your selection from the humming machine in front of you. You press the button of your choice, and a can of cafe au lait clunks down into the waiting chute below.
“The metal can keeps my hands warmer,” you explain, sticking a few more yen into the machine and choosing Rintarou’s favourite, too. His choice makes the same descent yours had, and you crouch down to retrieve it for him, holding it out to him in offering as you stand.
He blinks at you.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says, shaking his head a little. “Hands are full, anyway.”
You balk at him soundlessly for a moment. “Give the other bag back, then!”
“Nope,” he replies, making a point to enunciate it clearly in a way that you know he knows drives you crazy. He takes a step in the direction of your apartment, and you have no choice but to stick the can of coffee he’d declined into your coat pocket and chase after him.
It does a great job of keeping your hand—tucked into your pocket and wrapped around it—warm as you walk, though.
Nearly back at your apartment, your can of coffee drained and properly disposed of, a little ball of fluff waddles past you on the sidewalk, heading towards the entrance of a nearby park. You and Rintarou both pause, equally confused by what you’ve just spotted.
Behind the amorphous little thing is a couple, maybe a few years older than you two are, trailing not even a metre away. You watch as they coo and fawn over it as is wobbles unsteadily towards the open stretch of grass ahead. They call it pet-names, and try to convince it to turn around for mom and dad so they can take a picture.
Oh.
A baby.
Probably a little older than a baby given the whole… walking thing. But it’s still so tiny, even in its big, puffy coat, so they can’t be very old. The hood is pulled up over the child’s head, and you realize upon closer inspection that it has—
“Teddy-bear ears,” Rintarou says, cupping his fingers over his mouth and blowing warm air into his hands. “That’s so cute.”
“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile, watching as the child toddles along in their fluffy little teddy jacket.
Suna must have put the grocery bags down at his feet at some point when the two of you stopped walking, and when he pulls his hands back from his face, you see how the tip of his nose has gone pink from the cold. He dips down in front of you, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you up-close.
“What?” you ask him nervously, a hand fluttering self consciously to your face.
His breath leaves his mouth in wispy clouds as he tilts his head to the side. He’s so close that the warmth brushes against your lips like an airy, indirect kiss. You wonder if he can taste the coffee that clings to yours.
“What?” you repeat yourself again, a little more insistently this time. You reach up and pinch either of his cheeks between your thumbs and forefingers—stretching the pliable flesh outwards in an attempt to get him to back off a bit. His rosy cheeks are cool under your warm touch.
“Do you think we’d make a cute baby?” Rintarou asks, though the question is a little garbled thanks to your grip, and your stomach clenches involuntarily. His hands, and his frigid fingertips, reach up and rest over your own where you’re still pinching his cheeks—though your vice has eased slightly.
“You can barely even make an omelet,” you huff out as heat rises in your cheeks, pulling your hands out from under his and looking away. “Like I’d ever trust you to make a baby.”
“People make them all the time by accident, you know,” he remarks, rubbing at his stinging cheeks where you’d been pinching him. “I’m sure I could do it on purpose if I really set my mind to it.”
You dip down and grab the grocery bag he’d taken off your hands earlier, hiking it up onto your shoulder.
“Why are you so obsessed with this stupid baby joke?” you ask him exasperatedly, following it with a long, aggrieved sigh that you can see as you breathe it out.
He looks at you for a moment, his brow pinching in the middle. His nose is still so pink, and it makes the green in his eyes stand out more.
You watch how Suna’s lips part, like he’s going to say something, but then they press together in a thin line again without uttering a word. He picks up his grocery bag with one hand and sets off in the direction of home, and this time you feel a little sheepish as you follow after him.
The apartment is quiet when you return home, and it stays that way as the two of you unpack the groceries in your kitchen side by side. You bought more than you usually would on a weekly grocery trip, all because Suna’s been staying over more than he usually does. But there’s a sudden frostiness that seems to have creeped in from outside, as if clinging to your coattails, and the chill has now settled between the two of you.
It makes a strange sort of anxiety prickle under the surface of your skin, tender like a bruise. It makes you wonder if half of these groceries are going to go to waste.
“I’ll shower first,” Rintarou mutters without turning towards you after he puts the last pantry item away and closes the cabinet.
Stress sits heavy in the pit of your stomach when he doesn’t look at you. It’s intentional, you know it is. Suna’s favourite hobby is staring at you—he’s told you that himself many, many times. But he doesn’t even spare you a glance before he shuffles off towards your bedroom.
You stand in silence in the kitchen, as though that weight in your gut keeps you anchored in place. You can hear the rustle of Rintarou’s clothes hitting the hamper. You hear the bathroom door close. You hear the spray of the shower turn on.
You hear your heartbeat. Loud and wet in your ears.
You’re being ridiculous. You know that. You’re all worked up over nothing.
This was all just some stupid joke that he was being annoying about in the first place. That he found every possible opportunity to bring up.
You aren’t even sure what’s upset him so much; uncertain as to why you being annoyed about one of his blatant attempts to annoy you seems to have caused him offence.
You curl up on your sofa as Rintarou showers, picking at the fraying cuff of your hoodie as you similarly pull apart every second of your memory from the walk home from the market in an attempt to identify what could possibly have gone wrong. You’re thinking about the can of coffee—left sitting, unopened and room-temperature now, on your kitchen counter—when you hear the shower turn off.
The seconds tick by agonizingly slowly as you wait for your sullen boyfriend to emerge, but when he does he still seems resolved to avoid you. You wait on the sofa, your fingers stilled in the motion of fiddling with your sleeve, anticipating that he’ll come ask you to blow-dry his hair, just like he always does.
He doesn’t.
The hairdryer clicks on in the other room, and the sound makes you feel sick.
“Rin!” your voice leaves you involuntarily, without an ounce of conscious effort. You sound panicked.
The hairdryer clicks off immediately, and Rintarou appears in the doorway to your bedroom—half-dressed and hair half-dried—in an instant. His eyes are alight with concern.
Your hand had flown to your mouth as soon as you called out for him, too late to actually muffle the sound. But it stays there as you look at him with shocked, notably-guilty eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asks you, eying you suspiciously.
“Nothing,” you murmur, your fingers still resting lightly over your lips, you avert your eyes. “It’s nothing, sorry.”
He hesitates in the doorway for a moment, and then turns to head back to the hairdryer.
“It’s just—“
He pauses when you speak again, one of his hands resting on the doorframe he’s lingering beneath—neither in nor fully out.
“—you’re mad at me.”
You watch his shoulder blades as your words hang in the air between the two of you. The chill in your apartment, unlike it had been outside, is only proverbial—but you half expect to see wisps of vapour slipping out on the edge of your breaths.
“I can’t figure out what I did wrong.”
Suna looks at you over his shoulder, his already vulpine eyes narrowing a little further. Not in irritation, but consideration. For all the strangeness between the two of you today, you can still recognize that much in his expression.
“I’m not mad at you,” he finally says, and you hate how relieved you feel at so few words. Hate even more how him turning back to face you makes the weight in your stomach lessen. That as he approaches you on the sofa you feel the air warm with every step.
Rintarou perches on the edge of your couch, a full cushion between the two of you as you sit there quietly. Both of his feet are on the ground, but yours are drawn up onto the sofa with you, facing him. Slowly your feet creep forward, slipping your toes under his sweat-pant clad thigh.
Suna’s head droops forward, and he lets out a breathy, wry laugh.
“What are your theories so far?” he asks quietly.
Your head tilts to the side in confusion.
He peeks over at you, peering up at you from the corner of his eye.
“What do you think you might have done wrong?”
You hum quietly, pursing your lips slightly.
“Well, I… I thought maybe I got you the wrong coffee. I didn’t ask, but you always choose that one, so I just thought…”
Suna clicks his tongue.
“Nope.”
You huff a bit, staring at your hands in your lap. “Well… there was that baby at the park.”
You feel Suna’s eyes on you, but you’re suddenly too wary to meet them. He doesn’t tell you you’re wrong though, so you continue.
“And I said you can’t make an omelet.”
He laughs a bit again, and you know that wasn’t it either.
“Are you upset because I said that I didn’t think you could make a baby?” you ask, peeking up at him. “Rin, I’m borderline militant about taking my birth control. I obviously don’t think you’re impo—“
Rintarou tips his head up a little further, meeting your gaze. Caught in his stare, it’s suddenly like your words die before you can get them off the tip of your tongue. Slowly, he reaches out towards you, taking one of your fidgeting hands and holding it in his. His touch is warm now, in contrast to what it had been at the park. He lifts your hand up to his mouth.
Delicately, he kisses your fingertips. His lips brush against the digits, over your knuckles and up to your palms. He presses your hand to his cheek and looks at you with the most pitiful gaze. It makes your chest ache.
“I don’t like it when you say that,” he says reticently. And for all Rintarou’s height and weight and sheer breadth, he sounds so impossibly small.
“Say what?” you ask him, and your voice is quiet too. Vulnerable.
He leans his flushing cheek into your hand, holding it to his face and closing his eyes as he nuzzles into your touch.
“That you wouldn’t have my baby,” he whispers, “that you don’t want it.”
You resist the urge to pull away. It’s an instinct you can’t explain: a desire to keep him at a distance, to always laugh things off, to make a joke out of very real feelings.
“Because I do.”
You blink.
Suna opens his eyes and looks at you, and for the first time you see the very real, very not joking pain in his eyes.
“I want that with you.”
Your mouth is dry and you’re frozen. You stare at him, completely still, stunned by his sincere confession.
“What?” you manage to squeak out.
Rintarou closes his eyes again, breathing out a little sigh. He pulls your hand from his cheek, folding your fingers down so they’re hooked in a loose fist around his thumb. He brings your hand to his lips, not quite a kiss but close enough to call it that anyway.
“Not right now,” he murmurs into your knuckles, lips brushing against you as he speaks the words. “But someday.”
You’re still so shocked that you don’t know how to respond. He peers at you, hand still held to his lips, his eyes more resolved than they are wounded now.
“And I want you to want that. But I don’t know how to make you want it too.”
Your heartbeat thumps in your chest, resonant and palpable. Heat has crawled all the way up your face now, and you’re fairly certain your hand has gone clammy, but Rintatou passes no comment even if it has.
“Do you think you could?” he asks you quietly. Sheepishly. Earnestly. “Could you want that? With me?”
You pitch yourself forward suddenly, and Rintarou lets out a little grunt of surprise as the two of you topple back into the sofa. You hide your burning face in the crook of his neck, that smells like your body wash and shampoo but somehow so much better, clutching onto him like your life depends on it. Suna seems shocked for a moment as he finds himself flat on his back with your weight on top of him, and his body is stiff as he processes it. After a few beats of your too-loud, too-telling heart pass, he finally eases. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tightly to him.
“You’re so stupid,” you grumble, your eyes squeezing shut tightly.
“Yeah,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. The genuine laughter that’s hiding just behind the words. He hugs you a little tighter. “Probably.”
You stay like that for a while, basking in the warmth of Rintarou’s body and the rhythm of his breath.
“You love me though,” he says quietly, “so that reflects pretty badly on you.”
You lift your head to meet his gaze, and find him barely holding in a laugh. You can’t help but laugh with him. Can’t help but enjoy your favourite sound.
Rintarou scoops you up in his arms again, tugging you into his lap. He presses featherlight kisses to the corner of your jaw, and you fiddle with his long, lithe fingers. He sighs, but this time the sound is at ease. His damp hair tickles your face as he rests his forehead against your temple, nosing at your cheek.
“Hey, Rin?” you murmur as you run your thumb over the space between his first and second knuckle on his ring finger. You think about the kid you saw at the park in the fluffy jacket, and the besotted parents trailing along behind it.
He answers you with a content, if not slightly curious, hum.
You turn your face towards him, and your noses brush. Rintarou’s lashes flutter as his gaze turns a little heavy-lidded. You can feel his breath on your lips, that’s how close he is. You inch forward until the space between you is almost completely gone.
And just before your lips meet, you smile.
“I do think we’ll make a cute baby.”
I made this Draw This In Your Style meme for Moomin if anyone would like to use it!
