#SCREAMS IN IWAIZUMI

[nkogneatho]

"what—you shouldn't be here, y/n." There was a slight shock in his voice but it still remained firm.

"you don't tell me what to do. you don't get to decide for me. for us." you argued

"y/n. let go. please. this is not right." your brows furrow at his words. let go? that easily? didn't he promise you'll do everything together?? he was the man of his words so why was he swallowing them as if he never said that.

"no. you are not getting rid of me that easily."

"y/n. i love you but for fuck's sake please let go of my dick while i am peeing. it's nasty."

"but you promised you'll let me hold it f'you."

"yeah. while giving me head. not while i am pisisng. now get out."

[chaxiu]

object impermanence

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x female! reader

summary: a love letter to small towns, and all the other things we outgrow. inspired by "the dry season" by hannah gramson.

⎯⎯⎯

The thing is this: if there’s anything you’re sure of, it’s that Iwaizumi Hajime loves his hometown, small as it is.

He loves the quiet streets, the roads that he’s been walking since he was old enough to take those first steps on his own, face screwed up in extreme concentration in a way that his mother loves to mimic even today. He loves the grandmother around the corner that always tells him Goodness, Hajime-kun, you’re getting so tall, even though he hasn’t grown even a fraction of a centimeter since his second year of high school, much to his dismay and Oikawa’s delight. He loves the konbini next to the school that always keeps his favorite popsicles in stock (the ones that come with two sticks and are perfect for splitting,) even in the heat of summer when everyone and their mother is scrambling to buy anything that’ll keep them cool. He loves his school, his team, and his friends: he loves the foundations he’s built here, the foundation he’s become. He loves his family, and the agedashi tofu that his mother makes for him whenever she thinks he’s done a good job at something or he needs something to cheer him up or she just wants him to know that she loves him.

He loves you: you know this. Have known this, ever since he’d started offering to walk you home from school, ears red, hand scratching the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but at you. You’d grinned at him, then. “Are you gonna look at me at any point the entire way?”

The red had spread to his cheeks. Part of you wanted to reach up and poke them, see if they could get any redder. “Shut up,” he’d said, wrenching his gaze to yours with what looked like some difficulty. “Do you want me to walk you home or not?”

You did, although he didn’t need to know just yet quite how much. Instead, you had grinned at him, shuffling a little closer and letting that stand as your response. 

One day bled into two, then into a week, and before you knew it he was standing in front of you, hands clenched into fists as he yelled into your face: “I like you!”

“I know,” you’d said.

He’d stood there, mouth still half-open, until you decided to take pity on him, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back. He’d reacted almost immediately, grabbing your hands in his and pulling you to him, close enough that your foreheads almost knocked together.

You remember thinking a lot of things. How his eyes were greener than you’d ever noticed, that he smelled like salonpas and clean cotton. Mostly, you remember thinking about how rough his hands were: callused and sturdy, far bigger than your own.

They’d held you so tenderly. Fingers loose around your wrists, palm cupped underneath yours: soft, so soft.

Tonight it’s hard to remember a lot of things about Iwaizumi: the exact way his chin dimples when he grins, or how his voice rasps in the morning without the tinny sound of your phone’s speaker laid over it. You still remember his hands, though. You don’t think you could ever forget. 

A crackling yawn comes through the speakers. “Babe? You there?”

“I’m here,” you say, quiet. “I always am.”

Night for you means morning for him, and Iwaizumi wakes up diligently every week for your scheduled calls, even if it means you get the pleasure of hearing his earth-shattering yawns every five minutes for the entire duration of the call. It’s what both of you signed up for, you know: it’s part and parcel of being in a long-distance relationship. And California to Japan is about as long-distance as it gets: your friends in college, when you tell them about him, all cluck disbelievingly. “So far away,” they all say. “That must be so difficult.”

“I love him,” you always say back. There’s no point in talking about whether or not it’s difficult. What matters is whether or not you’re willing to do it. At least that’s what the two of you had decided, when you sat down and talked it out a month before he was set to leave for California.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he’d said, eyes holding yours steadily. “I want to make us work, do you?”

He’d said your name, cradled in between his tongue and the roof of his mouth like it was the most precious thing he’d ever held, and you knew then you would never forgive yourself if you hadn’t tried.

“Yeah,” you’d said. It had been worth the tightening in your stomach to see the way his face lit up like the sun. “Of course I do, Hajime.”

“Hajime!” comes from the other end of the call, heavily accented and distorted almost beyond repetition. You catch a glimpse of blonde hair on the screen: Iwaizumi’s roommate. All you’ve been able to discern about him is that he’s a beanstalk of a man – long and lanky, with no coordination whatsoever – and is from the south of the U.S., which Iwaizumi tells you is apparently famous only for cowboys and meat. He seems nice enough, from what you can tell; still, hearing Iwaizumi’s first name in his mouth leaves a sour taste in yours.

It’s not like he means anything by it, you know. It’s only a difference in culture: Iwaizumi has told you about how it still shocks him, sometimes, to hear near-strangers call him by his first name. It’s not the same, you want to tell him, but there’s no way to tell him how it makes you feel without sounding ridiculous. That it feels like letting go. That it feels like your hold on him is weakening, somehow.

Back home, it was only his parents and you that regularly called him Hajime. Mattsun and Makki called him Iwaizumi, or Iwa, if they were feeling particularly chummy; Oikawa, of course, stuck with the tried-and-true Iwa-chan. At school, you’d been the only one to call him Hajime, and everyone knew what that meant. Now, everyone does, and it pokes at something tender in you, something you hadn’t even realized could be hurt in the first place.

Iwaizumi swivels around in his chair, saying something in English. You tuck your chin into your forearms, resting on the desk, watching his expression as he barks out a laugh, loud and harsh and your favorite sound in the whole entire world.

The last time he’d come home was almost three months ago, sun-tanned and with even broader shoulders. Still, there was the same familiar press of his hand on your back as he’d gathered you up in a hug. “Missed you,” he’d said, and you’d known that he’d meant it.

“Missed you more,” you’d said, and you’d meant it, too.

The thing is this: you’re absolutely certain that Iwaizumi Hajime loves his small town.

You’re also sure that he’s outgrown that love.

Two months and two weeks ago, you’d bounded up the stairs to his bedroom, hand poised at the doorknob to let yourself in when you heard Iwaizumi’s voice, gruff and irritated as usual but with a thread of tension through it, brittle in a way you’d never heard it before. 

“-- I know it’s a good opportunity,” he’d said. “Utsui Takashi is a legend. I’ve wanted to work with him since forever –”

The person on the other end had cut him off with something you couldn’t hear. Iwaizumi had heaved an enormous sigh. 

“Yes, even though he’s Ushijima’s dad. You know, you’re the only person in the world who’s still holding on to that grudge, I bet. But it would mean that I’d be committed to live in the U.S. for the next five years after I graduate, at least. Maybe more, if they decided to give me a job there. It might mean staying there permanently. And… I’m pretty committed to coming back here.”

Another pause. 

“I know she’d understand, if I told her. But I don’t think I could do that to her. I don’t think I could make her wait for me like that. She deserves more than half a relationship, and I want to give that to her.”

A longer pause, this time, then an irritated growl. “I know I’m losing a good opportunity. I just – I can’t. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? Utsui-san said I could have time to think about it, anyway. I’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to let him down gently.”

Your hand was shaking, you’d realized with a start, pulling it back to your side. You’d turned and walked straight back out of his house, swiveling at the doorway to rap three times on the frame, letting the sound echo limply through the rooms.

Iwaizumi had come downstairs and grinned at you. “Hey,” he’d said, as if he wasn’t giving up his life for you.

“Hey,” you’d said back, as if you weren’t letting him.

You’d meant to talk to him about it, you really had. But he’d seemed so content in Miyagi, in the same little town you’d both grown up in, the one both of you had known since birth. And a part of you, a selfish part, a larger part than you’d like to admit, had been whispering the entire time: Would this be so bad? He could be happy here. You could make him happy here.

And then he’d left, and now you’re here, sitting at your desk in your childhood bedroom, watching him tip back in his chair dangerously far, laughing so hard you’d probably be able to see his molars if it weren’t for your shitty camera quality.

You’re happy he’s happy. You don’t think you could stop being happy for his happiness. 

There’s just this part of you that wishes he could find that here, still.

But you know contentment isn’t happiness, no matter how desperately the both of you have been trying to pretend it can be. He’s happy there, where he’s constantly challenged, constantly pushed to be better, better, better. Where he gets to chase his own dreams and not be constantly haunted by his what ifs. 

Here, you think you could give him everything you had and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

Iwaizumi would pretend it was, if it came down to it. If you let him. He loves you enough that he would. He’d press a kiss to your forehead before leaving for work in the morning and a longer one to your lips when he came home in the evening. There would be quiet dinners and bland weekends, a soft existence spilling out before you every day.

But there would still be a hunger in him. 

It would be so selfish of you to keep him. You don’t know how to stop wanting him to stay.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi says your name, soft, a fondness in the sound that even bleeds through the screen. His roommate is out of the screen again, accompanied by a bang you assume is the closing of their door. “Is everything all right? You’ve been kinda quiet these past few weeks.”

Your stomach hurts, because of course he noticed, it’s Iwaizumi. You force a smile to your lips, although the muscles in your cheeks tremor with the effort. “Yeah, Hajime. Everything’s okay.”

“You know you can always tell me anything, right?” he asks. You know that if he were here there would be a hand intertwined with yours, or a gentle kiss pressed at the crook of your neck, right where it meets your shoulder.

That’s the problem, though. He’s not here. He can’t be here. You can’t – won’t – make him be here.

“Hajime,” you say, because some days it’s the only thing you have left to say.

He waits, silent. You can just make out the rise and fall of his chest over the pixellated laptop screen.

Coming back here, Iwaizumi had said, back when you had overheard him all those weeks ago. He’d said here, not home. Not coming back home.

“Hajime,” you say again, because you can. “Hajime, I think we should break up.”

A thud, and then Iwaizumi disappears from your vision with a muffled curse. He must’ve tipped back too far in his chair in surprise – you’re always warning him about it, ever since he’d told you about the odd chair that they’d given him in his dorm room, the one that rocks back a little too far – and fallen over. Part of you wants to laugh. The other part of you aches, a little, that this is the last time Iwaizumi will do something stupid with you here to watch it, you here to gently chastise and tease him after.

“Be careful,” you say, almost on reflex, as his head appears back on screen, hair mussed up and face red. “You’re going to crack your skull open someday.”

“I’m not going to – why are we even talking about this right now? You just said you think we should break up.” He takes a seat back in the chair, although he doesn’t tip back this time, you note. 

“You should still be careful,” you say. He’s placed his hands on the desk, where they’re in view of you and the camera, and you can see the way they’re opening and closing hopelessly, as if he’s looking for something he can hold, or something he can hit.

“What the fuck?” he asks, disbelievingly. Then, “Is this a joke?”

“No,” you say. “It’s not a joke, Hajime.”

“Why are you saying my name like that,” Iwaizumi demands. His hands squeeze into fists and stay that way, white-knuckled on the desk. 

“Like what?”

He shakes his head, rough, like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. It’s a familiar gesture, one you’ve seen him do many times before. Some distant part of you wonders if it’s too late to take it all back.

“I don’t fucking know, like – like you’ve given up already. Like you’re letting it go.”

“I’m not giving up,” you lie. “I just think that this will be better for us. In the long run.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Iwaizumi asks.

“I heard you talking,” you rush out. “To Utsui-san. It’s a good offer. I think you should take it. If you don’t mind taking advice from an ex, that is.”

“Is that what this is about?” he asks, then says your name again, so full of something that makes your chest ache. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll turn him down, I’ll come back to Japan. It’s okay, baby. We can still be okay. I love you so much –”

“I love you too,” you say, even though something in your throat is making it so that it hurts to speak. “But – Hajime, I think you love me like you love Miyagi. Or the grandmother who gives us those sweet potatoes in the summer. Or that park that you always take me to, the one with the bugs you say you don’t want to catch but I can tell that you do. Hajime, do you understand me?”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth. Closes it again. “I love all of those things,” he says. “I love you the most. What’s wrong with that?”

“You love us,” you say. “We could make you content. But the offer, Hajime. It would make you so happy to be able to study with him. Really, truly happy.”

He doesn’t contest your words. You’d known he wouldn’t, had half-hoped he might. Instead: “I could still come back after,” he says. “If you were willing to wait for me.”

“You know that’s unfair to ask,” you say. There are tears at the edge of your vision, threatening to spill over. You don’t bother to wipe them away. “Unfair to me, and unfair to you. You have to keep looking forward, Hajime. I think this – all of this – belongs in your past.”

He says your name again, voice cracking, spilling over. 

Iwaizumi Hajime loves his small town. Iwaizumi Hajime loves you. 

Both of those love him enough to let him go.

“Can I change your mind?” he asks, and you shake your head. The action dislodges a few tears, and they run down your cheeks, plopping onto the fabric of your pants and no doubt leaving a stain.

“I love you,” you reply, like an apology, like a goodbye.

“I love you,” he says, like a prayer.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

“Don’t forget to keep taking your vitamins,” he says, voice brittle. “And go to bed early and don’t forget to give yourself breaks and make sure to go for walks, every once in a while, okay? Just to get some fresh air. You can’t forget any of those things just because – just because I won’t be there to remind you.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything back for a minute. “Don’t stress so much,” you say, forcing it out past the lump in your throat. You may never get a chance to tell him again. “I’m sure Utsui-san will recognize how hard you work. You’re going to be incredible, Hajime, do you understand?”

Iwaizumi nods, stiff. His shoulders are shaking.

“Bye, Hajime,” you choke out.

He says your name – just your name – and you nearly fold, nearly give in, nearly buy the next ticket to California just to press your face into the crook of his neck and reassure him that none of it meant anything at all. 

Instead you give a little half-wave, click the button to end the call, and shut the laptop woodenly. Your childhood bedroom has never felt so small, with the peeling posters and the small bed, tucked into a corner, with the knicknacks and stuffed animals cluttering up the shelves someone else must’ve come in and dusted, in your absence. 

Outside, your little town remains quiet. You allow yourself to mourn alongside it.

[maybe-a-dinosaur]

BABY IWA WITH ONE OF THESE

mud caked under fingernails four (4) bandaids on his person shorts on backwards he carries it around with him Everywhere won’t leave the house without it he’s like a little buisness man with a brief case but he swings his arms like a madman when he walks so if there’s anything alive in there it won’t be for long. he takes his job very seriously anytime he sees a Critter he bolts after it to catch it, contain it, and study it for science. he’s very adamantly a catch and release kinda guy, but sometimes the Critter is just Too cool and he carries around for a little while to show other people (his mom and oikawa).

tooru absolutely REFUSES to go within five feet of the Critter Cage after an unfortunate incident involving a loose door and a flying beetle and lots of screaming. if iwa is carrying it tooru has no choice but to walk an uncomfortable distance away no matter how much he’s cajoled and reassured that it is in fact empty. hajime chases him around with it and tooru YELLS “IWA-CHAAAANNN” it’s like magnets repelling each other they Can’t Get Close. oikawa finds it years later snooping around in iwaizumi’s house and trips over himself trying to get away he shrieks and hajime comes running and fucking loses it when he finds out he’s still scared of it.

anyway the Critter Catcher™️ is an extension of baby iwa’s arm for an entire year of his young life he covers it in stickers and mud and the paint is almost completely chipped off the wire is dented irreparably from the time he caught a squirrel and put it in there even when he goes to restaurants it sits on the table next to him.

[akascow]

thEIR SHOES

are inVERTS OF EACH OTHER

[zuiz41]

Secret Glances, and Inches Apart.

It'd be easy to just close the gap between us,

It'd be easy to just kiss you right here.

maybe the longing that had grown in my heart will fade.

for the weight will ease,

and replace with joy,

to get to hold you and love you without fear, finally.

but it's easier said than done.

for dreams to come true, it is impossible.

because having you in my arms is like stars in the sea.

though it looks as if I could touch it easily,

It's just a reflection of what I cannot reach.

So, I'll just settle for what I am used to right now.

To glance at you in secret,

and to imagine what it'll feel if I'm not only inches apart from you.

[theladyofsarcasm]

I was outlining a new fic idea over FaceTime with my best friend and the ao3 tag she comes up with to describe it was “iwaoi gain self actualization through helping kagehina” and god, what a line!! this is deeply incoherent but the complexities and nuance contained in kagehina and iwaoi as parallels and foils (as individual characters and relationships) really are the driving force of my brain rot.

we have the setter spiker connection, of course, and the two seijoh karasuno matches really drive it home. Oikawa and Tobio comment on the similarities themselves (when backed into a corner they’ll always set to their partner!! that’s why they can read each other so well! also iwaoi’s reaction to “as long as I’m here, you’re invincible is peak, ok) and then later we have the time skip with Oikawa and Hinata both going abroad to Argentina and Brazil to further develop their skills. we have Oikawa and Hinata being drawn together through their hunger for volleyball, the struggles of being alone in a foreign country, and their connection to Tobio as forces that challenge and better him (they are his two biggest influences after all!!). they forge their own independent relationship on that beach and it’s equal parts and hilarious.

Iwa’s role in this is so fascinating as well because there’s so much there that’s hinted at. I could write volumes on iwaoi but I love love love the little glimpses we see about his relationship with Tobio—aka I make fanon mountains out of canon molehills. He’s a good senpai!!! We all know about That Scene™️ and how he defends Tobio; Tobio, hilariously, seems to only remember Iwa’s declaration of “the best team of six wins” and not much before that. Tobio respects him so much and thinks he’s cool! Iwa shakes his hand, ever gracious in defeat when they play for the second time. They lovingly insult and throw their best friends across the room in the same way (am I saying that Iwaoi greatly informed how Tobio views volleyball and relationships? Yes. Come on now, they must have spent a lot of time in the kitagawa gym together before and after practice. He chases after them and there’s that one panel of iwaoi graduating from kitagawa that I’m pretty sure is included in tobio’s flashbacks/backstory in the blackadler match). Who else can relate to Tobio’s mixed feelings about Brazil arc but Iwa? There’s also the fun bonus of Iwa being solely in Tobio’s corner at this point; tobio and shoyou share most of the same friends which could lead to a potential conflict of interest (God help yacchan, tadashi, tsukki, and suga when these morons argue) but tobio can reliably confide in Iwa without it getting back to Shoyou. the possibilities of iwakage friendship/mentorship are endless and I’m here to scream about it, whether it on the Japan national team, middle school, or during the time skip. I also think the dynamic between Iwa, Tobio, and Oikawa is so interesting (jealousy, affection, respect, resentment, oh my) and when you throw Hinata in the mix it’s even more fun.

I have some more vague thoughts on Hinata and Iwa as parallels that go into more angsty territory, particularly about self-worth and how the seijoh karasuno matches mirror each other in the last point. my boys are sad!! they couldn’t make the last point count!! their volleyball careers are different yet similar as they take unconventional paths to fulfill this promises to their respective setter soulmate. in a way, we have kagehina achieving what iwaoi was unable to, which is part of the reason I think kagehina getting together first is an excellent catalyst for iwaoi self reflection time. we have kagehina getting to nationals together and standing on the world stage side by side at the Olympics. Iwaoi are on opposite ends of the court, separated but still connected nonetheless.

I’ll probably add more to this as I write more of my fic/reread the manga and rewatch the anime, but TLDR; kagehina and iwaoi are my favorite relationships in haikyuu and they’re constantly rattling around in my noggin in the worst game of pinball ever.

[strawberrykake]

hq boy driving quietly while playing i like you by post malone so you could get the hint

—KUROO, Semi, Kenma, Ushijima, KAGEYAMA, OSAMU, Kita, Daichi, Akaashi, Iwaizumi, KONOHA, Matsukawa, KINDAICHI, Futakuchi, Ukai, Shirabu, Kinoshita, SUNA

[the-worlds-saltiest-meatloaf]

To all fanartists that draw characters with fangs: I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I lov-

[chimielie]

HAPPY HAJIME DAY!!!!!!!! remember to leave out cookies, athleticwear, and bad special effect monster movie dvds for ur favorite character tonight <333 (and he IS your favorite character for the next 12 hours)

[gengarscursedbody]

🌿 home

[juicyjuicy05]

Me to my brain very late at night: okay I’ll be granting one wish tonight. Who’s will it be?

A majority of my brain: please sleep for the love of God please get some sleep

That one miniscule part of my brain: search for more iwaoi content

Me: YOU SIR YOU WIN

[sourstars]

so. literally no one cares atm BUT I CARE so i am here with a line i wrote like a week ago that i still can't stop thinking about.

Could love heal all mortal wounds--could it flush out the stomach, clear and clean the blood, slather lacquer and gold upon the cracks of an altered soul after the first brush of irreversible hurt? The second, the third? The longer answer: love has been coddled since first kindling and now knows not how to survive its own fire. It has been tossed into dough, sewn into clothes, made into heirlooms, but it is still a wild thing. There is no room for it in the city; the buildings are made of mirrors and the reflections are scratched blank--the people have replaced gentle touches, become ghosts. The air is filled with smoke and the streets are dirty. Could love heal all mortal wounds? The short answer: no, it can't.

STOP. SOMETHING ABOUT VIEWPOINT.

[pridewon]

@deepsets​ said:  "iwa - chaaaaaaaaaaaan, hey," here oikawa is, draping themselves all over iwaizumi to get an ounce of attention (spoiler: it's not working out so well). lips form into a pout, looking over his shoulder to look at his work, something that wad impossibly more important than them (another spoiler: iwaizumi's world doesn't revolve around his partner but they sure do think so. call it old high school habits that never broke off). this isn't working so instead, he places a kiss upon his cheek and hands running over his shoulder s and down his biceps for the goal of just a distraction. and slowly, their hands move to his chest to give his pecs a little squeeze to slide to his waistband... and stops. the kisses are now placed on his neck, lips brushing against him. they whine. "iwa - chan, don't make me go further. i will if you don't kiss me."    ONE KISS ASK OUT OF 3 LETS GO BAYBE

Iwaizumi wouldn’t call himself a workaholic. He loves his job, and he loves to do it well, but he frowns upon poor work-life balance habits, and usually makes it a point to leave work outside of the domestic sphere, outside of the already too rare time he gets to spend with his better half when they manage to find themselves in the same country. Unfortunately, there are times when things pile up. Unfortunately, there are times when Iwaizumi has to bite back a sigh and sit down at the dinner table with his laptop to address some last minute concerns, or type up an urgent report, or whatever. It’s not fun for him - and it certainly is not fun for Oikawa.

Problem is, Oikawa doesn’t shy away from making their discontent known. More specifically, from making their discontent known in ways that they know (pretty damn well) will get Iwaizumi to pay attention to them. It’s almost a bootcamp in mental fortitude. Sometimes, he wonders if this might also be a game, to Oikawa (they sure seem to have fun with it). For a moment, Iwaizumi accepts the challenge: green eyes focused on his report, ignoring the hands on his shoulders entirely except for an absorbed hum of acknowledgement - an unspoken yeah yeah, give me a second.

... ignoring Oikawa or their hands of course becomes a bit more of a challenge the more they roam. “Tooru, I’m busy.” He mumbles. It’s a rebuffal. It is also a victory for Oikawa: engagement and acknowledgement. It’s a crack in a pretense armour, and Iwaizumi almost grimaces, all too aware of the knowing, infuriating, charming smile they must be sporting as their little plan takes shape. Be strong, Hajime. But... well, there is only so much mental fortitude can do against relentless attacks that make his heart quicken in his chest and the tip of his ears flush bright red.

Oikawa’s hands reach his waistband and their complaint is ushered against the rising hair on his neck, and finally Iwaizumi relents; a little abruptly, he turns around, grabs their face between his hands, and silences them with a kiss long enough to, hopefully, run them out of breath. Maybe there is a little bit of pettiness in there too. Don’t make it sound like you’ve missed me more than I’ve missed you. “... gimme ten more minutes.” Hajime scowls once they part (both out of breath; a little hint of pride and challenge in his eyes). “Ten minutes and I put the laptop away for the rest of the weekend. Promise.” Sigh. There really is no winning against Oikawa, is there. “But keep your hands to yourself in the meantime, or I’m moving to a hotel to work and not leaving until my flight back.” ... or maybe there is. 

[akascow]

knightiwa verrrry slowly opening oikawas shirt standing over him with his sword cutting off the buttons one by one

[miuamor]

JUST ORDERED IWAOI JERSEYS AS MATCHING HALLOWEEN COSTUMES WITH A FRIEND

[avid-idiot]

While I hate arguing, the amount of pain i feel reading about them gives me life