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jarel-dot-thepoet · 5 years

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Excuse the typos Character Asks

Character Asks

Choose a character and a question

Characters:

Indy - sorrowful, wealthy writer

Sage - chipper, eccentric barista

Nova - mischievous, astute activist

Charleut - intelligent, sharp lawyer

Claud - sly, wise police officer

Neal - silent, spontaneous movie director

Lora - sassy, correctional actress

Gray - informational, caring talent agent

Gemini - quirky, strong pet store manager

Havin - easy going, comical interior designer

Gwen - shy, analytical banker

Patches - innocent, wild real estate agent

Doc - practical, blunt attorney

Harry - self-absorbed, glutton realtor

Loa - logical, stringent automotive engineer

Chief - philosophical, misunderstood politician

Jack - gentle, follower gardener

Deuce - mysterious, leader chemist

Roy - lying, nerdy bandmate

Olivia - serving, fiery housemaid

Consuela - altruistic firm casino co-owner

Constance - powerful, creepy casino co-owner

Joy - perky, pragmatic talent agent

Mrs. Feathersby - grandmotherly, assertive cafe owner

Dr. Whyte - optimistic, spiritual surgeon

Jensen - passive, generous nurse

Angeliica - feminist, tactical nurse

Stone - unexpected, remorseless police officer

Atticus - conversationalist, innocent bartender

Admiral - disciplined, sexually busy retired veteran

Mr. Peru - soundful, pacifist butler

Daz - impervious,

Fighting urges horned up searching for meaning feeling breathing living God please forgive these flesh feelings keep dealing me a strain in my pants my brain likes to dance I feel afraid sometimes without Lord I pray your Kingdom come evil need be delivered me from i feel bottom of ocean scum always comes with repercussions dumb didally down fiddling these emotions floating to my head crazed dazed in a hazed Hayes estate

Josiah - trustworthy, there landscaper

Doctor Profit - heartless, gassy teacher * Waiting is a new covenant, so wait patiently and you will see the return of Jesus Christ. * The killer of Casanova Hayes * the unexpected english teacher witha bold moustache piercing blue eyes takes brown skin elegant afro hair nice smile a kind voice whispering elegance peaceful harmonies bird talking chest as proud as the cockatoo merciful tattoos of kazoos and coconuts lustful legs that stood high enough to see the tempest shelf in southern creek high water soloist for sure team player and dauntful

Dawn Delaware fifth sister the child Karen Delaware was pregnant when she disappeared that hot day in Australia critic to town if Ostrasizer England smokes cigars piercing red eyes devilish tongue fierce brutality of the hands southpaws swearer of Osvits Germany ta I want to thank you for being my son my Lord my savior my grace mercy My Redeemer what treasure my everything my all amen

George Carl Bigsby - judgmental, prejudice grocery store owner

Z'riya Turner - affable, southern comfort Mexican store owner

Ashlee | Hectic - smarter than you, has to be right confidently beautiful curves radio talk show host producer

Lefwhich Greenfield - destined Turner of the turntables championship Dr. Profits twin cousin cornball hornball

Nessie - grits thrower, angsty photographer

What do you do for a living

Where's your money go most on

Least on

Where do kids come from 5 year old answer

Topic of the day

Wheres your worst kiss from

Best kiss

Who saw you running naked that one day down the street

Is the cat out if the bag secret bonus

Sandwich ir taco

Spaghetti or hamburger

Waffles or pancakes

Listen to music on low listen on high

Destined to live destined to die

Whi gets to watch what they want you or your spouse nobody who wins the argument

Do stacks stack best left to right or right to left

If I were atop a mountain and u wanted you to hold me would you cry ir ask why

If a donkey had a really bad smell but a really great smile would you hug it

Can you kiss an elephant and remember it

What causes reflections looking within or without

Do stalls needto he further apart or many more single bathrooms

West coast hemisphere easy coast hemisphere

If you could live anywhere and why

Rigamortus would you prefer the body seen or sunseen

Truth be told what's your worst secret

Truth be told who do you live the most

Marry me yes or no after three years

Do the stanky leg or the waltz

Fishing or bowling

Dog sitting or cat sitting

Miscues or misshapes

Music or reading

What do you di when you first wake up

Is there anything to wear in here jeams or slacks for gals dresses or pants

Austin texas or Atlanta georgia

Fila or fubu

Red wine or white wine

Questions or answers

Chess or checkers

Pig or cow

People watching or tv watching

Yes person or no person

Balanced or imbalanced

Perfect or flawed

Half full or half empty

Shark or lion

Chicken or egg

Basketball or football

Softball or baseball

Soccer or rugby

Do you stand tall or stand with a hunch

Breathe in breathe out ornbreathe out breathe in

Angry or happy

Sad or content

Joyful or hateful

Peace through war war through peace or peace through peace

Victory or fail

Thumbs up or thumbs down

Do you talk more or listen more

Effortless or thoughtful

Faithful or hardship

Constipation or diarrhea

Jokester or serious

Golf or nascar

Do you believe in ghosts

Do you believe in werewolves

Do you believe in God

Flying ir driving

Stay at family's house for the holidays or at a hotel

Do you walk in with confidence or doubt

Day person or night person

Early to bed early to rise ir stay up late and ahh *stretches* after 12 pm

Wake up with a hangover dude I cant believe we did that or dude I cant believe we did that!

Lefty or righty

Sauce mixed in with the meat or sauce mixed in with the noodles

Bacon cordon bleu or bacon and eggs

Fitzgerald Jones or Fitzgerald Hawkins

What day do you clean your house

Check mail now when you come from home or later

Dinosaurs did they exist

If we could meet a celebrity who would it be

Why them

Where would we go

If we could meet Jesus without dying what would you say to Him

Why

Beach or mountain

Fiasco or calm

Tupac or biggie

Elton John or Michael Bolton

Lois and Clark or lois and clark Kent

venice or Rome

How much would could a woodchuck chuck

If your brothers dad died and your brother was left alone what would you say

Earthquake or sandstorm

Hurricane or fire

Get shot or get stabbed

Art or home economics

Understanding or pigheaded

Left alone or social butterfly

Apples or bananas

#welcome to my world #oc asks #ocs #original character #original characters #character asks #character questions #main character #main characters #character devlopment #writer

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lavenderhyrdrangea · 6 years

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Game plan

Wally barely had his foot in the hero bizz, but he knew getting an official suit was the equivalent of getting a license or at least a permit. Like a license or permit, the suit would come after a test. With the way Uncle B trained him, he figured he’d might as well start thinking of a code name. After all, Speedy was already taken.

“Sorry about the early rising, Kid. Especially on the weekend but I rather you get used to it now—Heroing is an around the clock gig with no pay,” His uncle said, soft rays of sunlight slowly chasing away the shadows on the side of his face.

“Is that part of the test? The rest will be pretty easy then!”

Uncle B laughed, “You wish.” His hands on his lips, he surveyed the landscape.

It was the most cliche cityscape Wally had ever seen. Yeah, there were nice, long roads, windy roads, and bumpy ones(thanks to pot holes and the city taking its sweet time to get around to them.) There were side walks, street lamps, and apartment complexes and businesses that just seemed too close to one another. This definitely was a normal city until the hill street thing they were standing on came into play. The high standing street took a sharp dip within a few footsteps or an inch of car. It wasn’t European stair steep but whoever designed it had to be related to Evel Knievel somehow. The adrenaline junkie wasn’t done either. Once you rode the flat street surface, it would climb up again. It was mostly smooth sailing after that but God, everyone hated this little stretch of road. They even called it, DMV Street in spite of it being part of Pearson Avenue. You go in mildly ticked then it was just down hill from there.

Heh.

Downhill.

Wally supposed you be would rewarded with the sight of Central River once you made it to the bridge but with ferries offering cheap prices for a ride it didn’t seem worth it. Plus, the river was never as pristine as one would hope. Wait a while and you’d see and hear the trash skimmer boat going by.

“I brought you here to test out your coordination in a real life environment. Anybody can train in a lab or on a treadmill but out in the field? That’s the hard part.”

“Coordination?” Wally looked down at the street and couldn’t help but think of all it’s imminent frustrations.

“Yeah. I was thinking I could make it a little more fun by making it a race. With how early it is there’s shouldn’t be that many people up and out. But there’s just enough people for it to be challenge. Plus, we’re near Star Labs so if anything makes it to the news most people will suspect it’s them.”

“Race!?”

“A little nervous?”

“You wish.”

Uncle B tried to ruffle his hair but was met with the ugly black cowl of his training suit. “Gotta get use to that.”

“I hope not,” Wally whined.

“We’re running all the way to Grocer street. You make it there and you won’t ever have to wear that thing again.”

“Simple enough.” Wally gained resolve. “I’m so getting that suit.”

“Excitement. That’s what I like to see. I put a tracker in that suit. If you run into any problems—literally or otherwise—I’ve got Jay near by with a tracking device. He’ll zip right to you.”

“You might as well tell Jay to put his feet up. I’ll clear this test on the first try.”

They decided they would each have a part in counting down to the race. They chose the ready-set one. It sounded better off the tongue and got him pumped more.

As always, he and Uncle B started off slow which he hated, it felt like he was running through quick sand but as he picked up speed he glided. Obviously, he couldn't glide as fast as his Uncle. Wally at least thought he could stay neck and neck until the next hump but there he was staring at his blurry back, trying to will his feet to take him faster.

They zoomed through the next hump with ease(aka without Wally tripping due to him having to adjust his speed to the incline.) Uncle B was still ahead of him. How could he be a blur? He trained with him so why wasn’t he that fast?

Dang it, Uncle B. Run into something.

And of course as he thought that he narrowly missed running someone’s car door off of it’s hinges. He felt someone’s arm wrap around his shoulders then a subsequent yank and a rush, whooshing him backwards.

“You got to be a little more careful than that, Kid.” Jay said, smiling as they stood back at the very top of the first hump.

“I know. I know,” Was all he could offer.

He spent the next few weeks of the test bombing it. So much for it being easy. On his second run, Uncle B manged to get so far ahead that he’d gotten lost. The questions about that one were the worst. Explaining how he got lost even though he knew where the race was supposed to end was a whole new level of embarrassing. He just got so deep into the whole catching up thing, that he couldn't pull himself out of it long enough to really grasp his surroundings.

His third run was just dumb. Who delivered oranges that early in the morning? Er, well, aside from produce truck drivers. Alright, who would drop oranges so they could roll on the ground? Well, he would if he were a produce truck driver. It was probably Uncle B’s gush of wind that knocked the oranges over in the first place. Either way it didn’t help him at all. Maneuvering around the oranges was like trying to learn how to roller skate all over again. The very next week, he ran into this fruit frenzy yet again. This time around he bolted ahead to try to catch the fruit before it fell but maybe his grip was weak or he got a little ahead himself with all the excitement because he ended up tripping himself up. They were just in his arms and he fumbled them. He was also pretty sure the fruit produce man thought one of his orange crates vanished into thin air.

His fifth run was the closest he got to ever finishing the test. He’d made it all the way to the bridge with Central river flowing underneath. The problem this time around was the opposite of the problem he had during his second run. He stayed focused on his surroundings and his own footwork. Too focused. Now, he really didn’t know how it happened but Uncle B was gone. Again. Did he expect him to run on water? Cool as it was they hadn’t gone over that and it had been ages since he practiced his backstroke.

Later on in the evening, his mom made a dinner of chicken Alfredo with peanut butter cookies for dessert and invited Uncle B and Aunt Iris over. His father was eager to talk with Uncle B about the test. Wally’s speed had been just as much a bonding experience for these two as it had been for him, his uncle and his aunt. Before then they had little in common. It wasn’t on purpose, both tried, but ended up being awkward elephants. One thing that they did have in common was that they were both fairly hands on people in their respective fields.

“So,” his mom lifted a forkful of rolled up noodles to her mouth,” did things go better today, Wally?”

It was well meaning but he wished she didn’t ask right in the middle of dinner.

All eyes were on him.

He leaned back from his plate. “Uh, it was alright.”

“Alright?” She pressed.

“Okay, slight correction. The first half was alright. The second half...” He trailed off and thought of how he could talk about the whole thing without making his parents freak out on Uncle B. It didn’t matter that neither one of them were speedsters and thus couldn’t honestly give their two cents on the finer details of his training. They were going to do it anyway. And with their input Uncle B would be babying him in no time.

“With how you talk about your powers, I thought you’d take to this like a fish to water,” His father said.

Being the awesome hero that he was, Uncle B dashed in, “It took me a while to figure out coordination when I first started out. I was running on nerves and awkwardness.

“Awkwardness? You?”

Aunt Iris almost choked on her food, she laughed so hard. “Honey, I’m so sorry,” she said to Uncle B who was narrowing his eyes by then, “but you’ve told me stories about how odd you were before everything. I’d still love you but you weren’t always Mr. Hotshot.”

“I’d argue he’s still odd now,” His mom added.

“So you’re tag teaming me now?”

His father slid in “Well...”

“Et tu, Brute?” He looked at Wally. “Looks like it’s just me and you, Kid.”

Dinner ended on a lighter note, and with his mom insisting that Uncle B and Aunt Iris take a boat load of leftovers home. His mom got use to the appetite of two speedsters like it was nothing. It wouldn’t have surprise him if it turned she enjoyed it as some sort of hobby.

His dad told him to help them carry the trays to the car. Powers or not he still had to have manners.

He was putting the last tray in the trunk when Aunt Iris tried to drop some knowledge. “I think what your Uncle was trying to say earlier is that even with meta powers there’s still a trial and error phase when trying to get better at something. And don’t forget the main focus of a test shouldn’t just be the grade. Every X you see there is to help you. If they weren’t there you wouldn’t know what you need to work on.”

“Yeah, and what if I flunk the whole paper?”

“Still helpful,” She singsonged.

“Great. I’ll tell that to my English teacher the next time time I get an F on my essay.”

Aunt Iris glazed over his quip in exchange for one last word of advice. “And, remember don’t compare your work to others’ too much. It’s good when you want to better yourself but sometimes it’s bad for the esteem when done obsessively. I can’ tell you how many times I’ve beat myself up over the fact that another reporter released a story quicker than me only to realize my work was suffering because of my fixation with their work.”

Uncle B suggested a break from the test for just a little while. No doubt a result of Aunt Iris doing her news reporter read on him the last few seconds before they left. She probably made him look pathetic to Uncle B. Like he needed anymore of that.

His father didn’t really like all the extra time he had since he was soft benched, so he thought it was best he got his blood going. His dad suggested that they play baseball. He was little of iffy about that. His dad was really obsessive when it came to baseball. The thought of his past little league seasons made him cringe. But he suggested gathering up the neighborhood kids and playing football instead and Wally wasn’t doing to do that. So they settled on playing catch with the baseball.

“That’s a shame,” His fathered lamented. “Football’s a great game. I’m supposed to be teaching you everything I know. Taking you to games. Cheering you on from the bleachers. I feel like I’ve missed out you know?”

“It’s just that I don’t like to be tackled.” Or dealing his father’s weird sports lust.

“You’re going to get tackled chasing after the Flash aren’t you?”

Wally stayed quiet.

“I know people don’t think it’s something that requires a lot of brain work but anyone who says that never looked beyond the news articles they find on the internet talking about rowdy fans trashing their home towns after their team lost. It’s a game of wits. You need a game plan if you plan on winning, “Zeal overtook him. “What’s the quickest way to advance down the field? Which defensive player is the one you should keep an eye on? What tactic or strategy is better suited for all the players on your team? What plays into their strengths? It’s much more than tossing a ball back and forth. Take you for instance. You’re fast now, right? You’d make a mean running back—A tail back to be precise. You’d be able to rush the ball to the end zone no problem.”

“I can’t use my powers like that, dad. That’s cheating.”

“Oh, fine. Steal all my fun. Focus on the strategy, boy.”

“Alright, alright. You said that you start off with a plan. What if it seems like the plan isn’t working?”

“What you’re talking about is a quarterback. Possibly one of the most important members of the team. They reiterate all the coaches plays to the team in a way they all understand and they have to have quick thinking too. They can change a play at the scrimmage line if it looks like the play they’re going with won’t work out well.”

“And how do they know a play won’t work?”

“Something’s usually off with the defensive line. Look at it this way. Strategy or the game play is all about understanding yourself, your team and your opponents.”

“Mind games.”

“Yup.” His dad said proudly.

The cogs in Wally’s head whirred. “Do you think that that works on things outside of football?”

“I don’t see why not.”

He told his father to hold off on the catch and that he needed to study. The man was miserable. He probably planned to spend the whole day with him.

“Uh, dad?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. Remind me that I owe you a game one of these days.”

With that, Wally went to craft a game play of his own. Instead of begging Uncle B to start that test again, he asked Jay to take him to DMV Street and to watch him run. With every problem he ran into, he and Jay would take note of them and analyze why they thought he was having such a problem with it. Jay was much better at it than he was because he could go beyond just a practical understanding of his problems. He didn’t only focus on implementing more jumps to avoid danger but he zeroed in on why Wally was so hesitant when it came to jumping. They found out that it was, duh, because he was nervous. There was a layer underneath that as well that for once Jay couldn't get to since he claimed Wally wouldn’t budge. Whatever that meant. It was starting to seem like his problems had problems.

Eventually he felt ready enough for the test again. Like the last few times, Uncle B took them to DMV Street early in the morning.

“Sure you’re ready?” He asked.

“Born ready.”

“Alright. Why don’t you start off the countdown?”

“Ready,” Wally said.

“Set,” Uncle B supplied.

“Go!” They said in unison.

The test started the same way it had since the beginning—slow and steady then fast. He kept close to his Uncle’s heels for a few seconds. He even ribbed him.

“That suit is mine.”

After the second hump he ended up falling back. This freaked him out at first but he knew he had to stay on it. He had to think and be aware of everything yet not to the point of hyper focusing.

He could tell how long it had been since his Uncle passed by the way his surroundings reacted. A skirt that billowed too harshly was a good marker. A crate of oranges spilling over was an even better one. The oranges rolled all over the street and adrenaline made his heart pound as he vaulted over them. He weaved in and out of the way of the people and things that threw themselves onto his path: The blockheads who must’ve wanted to live the rest of their lives without a car door and the plastic bags and pamphlets that use to smack him in the face and temporarily blind him. Man! At times he had to deal with his own two feet.

He tried to suppress the overwhelming relief that resonated in all parts of his body when he made it to Central bridge.

Something in the back mind chanted, “thisisitthisisitthisisitthisisit!”

Again, Uncle B was just gone. He steeled himself. His uncle unlike, most teachers, wouldn’t test him on things they’ve never gone over before.

The horn of the trash skimmer boat blared.

Yes.

He waited until it made its way from under the bridge to the other side. Determined, he leaped over the railing and into the boat’s dustcart.

Uncle B was waiting there on top of a pile of trash with his arms behind his head and a grin.

“Wait til they dock then it’s back to hitting the pavement to Grocer street for us.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, a little dazed.

Uncle B ruffled his hair—or better yet the cowl of his ugly training suit—and said, “You’re pretty cool, Kid.”

He grew dizzy with joy.

A/n: I really liked working on this one! Writing Wally was actually a lot of fun. His parents were slightly difficult to grasp since I had to teeter between the lines of...good and bad I guess? In the comics, Wally’s parents are depicted as no good but they’re never depicted as out and out abusive. They loved their boy. It was just at times they ended up screwing other people over in process of loving him. His mother was always depicted as the lesser of the two “evils”.

#My writing #My writing.#DC comics #Wally West #Barry Allen #Storge #Philautia #Yeah I used a Sonic level to come up with DMV Street #What of it?

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bigyack-com · 5 years

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Bangkok street food stalls are trying to give up plastic bags, but can’t find alternatives - travel

Two things Thailand is famous for are its delicious street food and its wonderful beaches. Sadly, the first typically comes in plastic bags that often wash up on the second -- not good for a country that relies on tourism for a fifth of its revenue. Thailand’s love of plastic bags helped make it the sixth-worst maritime polluter. The country generates more than 5,000 metric tons of plastic trash a day, three-quarters of which ends up in landfills. So the Thai government decided to clamp down, promising to eliminate all single-use plastic bags by 2021, ban plastic straws by 2022 and recycle all its remaining plastic packaging by 2027. Big retailers like CP All Pcl’s 7-Eleven, signed up early to the plan, pledging to stop handing out plastic bags starting Jan. 1 this year, but for the ubiquitous street vendors, the change is not so simple. “There’s no alternative to plastic for hot soup,” Penjawan Pongkanmoon, a vendor of pot-stewed duck on Yaowarat Road in Bangkok, said on Jan. 10. “I’m not for using plastic but I can’t see another way.” About one-fifth of her clients order food to take away and she puts the hot stewed duck soup in a plastic bag and then puts it in another bag with handles. The rice she puts in a compostable container made from bagasse, a product of sugar cane, even though it costs more than plastic bags. Hundreds of other vendors that line the main street in Chinatown have plastic bags hung full of noodle soup, pad thai and a myriad of other dishes and desserts, ready to be doled out to customers.While the government told businesses to stop handing out plastic bags, it hasn’t yet enforced the move with policing or penalties. Officials are studying laws from countries such as Kenya, Mexico and the U.K., to review whether hefty penalties, added fees or other measures are most effective, said Varawut Silpa-archa, minister of natural resources and environment. A full ban could start next year. “There’s a new sentiment now of feeling ashamed for using plastic,” Varawut said in a telephone interview. “The goal is to reduce amount of trash in Thailand, not just plastic bags but also styrofoam and plastic straws and cups.”Concern about the effect of the waste was fuelled by the death in August of Mariam, a baby dugong who had washed up on the Thai coast and had become an internet sensation as vets tried to care for her. After she died, they found pieces of plastic waste blocking her intestines. Public concern increased with the discovery of microplastics in local mackerel. While the government’s timeline may be optimistic, the change in sentiment has prompted entrepreneurs and plastics producers to come up with solutions.“We’ve been working to promote this movement for several years, but only just started noticing a big change,” said Weerachat Kittirattanapaiboon, chief executive officer of Bangkok-based Biodegradable Packaging for Environment Co., which makes microwavable food containers from bagasse that decompose within 45 days. The company has grown in 10 years from making 10,000 pieces a day to 2 million, with clients in 31 other countries, including the U.S. and Japan. It plans to produce 10 million pieces daily within five years.Weerachat was a medical doctor when he came up with using the waste product from sugar cane. “Health and environmental issues are one and the same. Bad environment is bad for health,” he said. Sugar-cane waste isn’t the only agricultural by-product joining its food counterpart in restaurants. Navarat Phinyo is deputy chief executive officer and head of business development at Phinyowanich Co., a family business that makes plates from palm leaves.Fallen leaves in palm estates that are usually discarded are turned into about 70,000 plates per month. This year, the company plans to triple output to meet demand, with more products, such as straws, cups and food boxes. “Changing mindsets and habits will take some time, but people are becoming more aware now,” Navarat said. “‘They’re starting to accept higher product costs as the price for saving the environment.”With plastic straws the next target, Vatistam Pruangviriya is selling reusable straws made from a small-diameter bamboo stems. Customers so far mostly include tourist businesses such as a dive resort and an elephant foundation, with many giving or selling them as souvenirs. But as the ban increases, he plans to expand sales to local coffee shops.“These products are more than just utensils. They’re a statement showing that you care about the environment,” said Vatistam, director of Success Connection Co. “It’ll be a shock to the system for many people when the plastic ban is in force, but eventually everyone will get used to it.”(This story has been published from a wire agency feed without modifications to the text. Only the headline has been changed.)Follow more stories on Facebook and Twitter Read the full article

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matsinko · 7 years

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"wow, i didn't think you could make me smile this big" OR "you were a big piece of inspiration for this, honestly" with EITHER; iwaoi (obviously gotta have the Fave), tensemi (do you like this ship? i cant remember), bokuaka (🙏🏻), OR if you're up for a CHALLENGE!!!! S4!

5 times Iwaizumi can’t make Oikawa smile and one time he does.

(or alternatively: 5 times Iwaizumi doesn’t have his shit together and one time he does)

1. Oikawa’s smile is beautiful when it’s genuine. It’s more uncertain than his 24-karat of white teeth that he shows his countless of fangirls and the curious news reporters who started flocking around him since he made starter in the second half of his first year of high school. When it’s genuine, his eyes smile too, his cheeks dimple and he looks radiant; Iwaizumi always felt the need to look away. Look way before he falls in a hole so deep he can’t get back up.

Oikawa isn’t smiling at him right not, hasn’t smiled at him in that genuine pretty way in more weeks Iwaizumi can’t count.

Oikawa is frowning, his lips are pressed shut, pulled downwards, and there is a little crease between his eyebrows. He seems tense, every muscle on his body pulled tight like a spring. Iwaizumi stopped asking after the fifth or sixth Oikawa avoided answering.

Fukuhara clicks his tongue, “Earth to Iwaizumi!”

Iwaizumi’s attention snaps back to the girl in front of him. She’s leaning way into his personal space across his desk with curious eyes peeking from behind her bangs. “I lost you there for a second.” She smiles easily, prettily, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

Fukuhara sits at the desk right in front of Iwaizumi. She’s friendly and carefree and the moment they’ve discovered their mutual love of action movies and ancient seinen manga, they’ve fallen into an easy, breezy friendship.

And somehow, the more she smiled, the more Oikawa frowned.

✩

2. The locker room is buzzing with post-practice energy. It smells like sweat and deodorant, familiar and somehow not unpleasant. Too many years spent in locker rooms with guys, Iwaizumi figures.

Hanamaki slaps Matsukawa with a towel across his bottom, Yuda wolf-whistles, and Matsukawa makes a lewd comment, accompanied by his signature smirk. The way he makes his voice low and mock-flirtatious just to fuck with Hanamaki never fails to make him cringe.

He laughs despite himself at their silliness. Yet he feels oddly hollow as his laughter dies in his throat. Because he cannot hear the loudest of voices, the silliest of jabs, the brightest of laughs.

Oikawa is changing at the end of the room, away from the third years. He’s quiet, too quiet, almost invisible. He pulls his sweaty jersey over his head and Iwaizumi’s eyes follow the strong taunt of his back muscles as he works a clean shirt back on. He seems tense and Iwaizumi wants to kick his ass until he talks but he feels weirdly reserved about it.

He isn’t used to talk to Oikawa who doesn’t want to talk.

So he turns around and quietly finishes changing, trying to stuff the worry that nags at him deep down.

✩

3. They all squeeze into a tiny booth of their favourite shabu-shabu shop, a cheap old thing just 15 minutes away from their school. Iwaizumi is squeezed between Fukuhara and Matsukawa on a seat for two while Hanamaki and Yuda share the opposite one. Sawauchi drags a chair from god knows where while talking on the phone that he has squeezed between his ear and shoulder. Probably Shido, Iwaizumi thinks, the other second string 3rd year.

Shido often skips those outings because of his strict parents and the others never fail to give him shit about it.

Fukuhara keeps adding beef and vegetables to the hot pot, not bothering to cook the meat first, until it’s basically overflowing with ingredients. Matsukawa and Hanamaki seem to be having some kind of an under-the-table kicking contest, which Iwaizumi feels first hand when Hanamaki manages to kick him instead of Matsukawa.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi curses with a flinch and Matsukawa laughs at him, then mocks Hanamaki for being a douche to their vice-captain.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes with a snort. “He’s a resilient motherf—”

“Jesus, Makki, you have such a filthy mouth,” Fukuhara squawks loudly, cutting him in, and pushes forward to slap him across his head.

“Iwaizumi, put a leash on your girlfriend,” Hanamaki mumbles sullenly and holds his forehead where she slapped him with mock-hurt. Iwaizumi swears the guy’s gonna start crying if it makes his acting game stronger.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Iwaizumi says, “and you deserved it.”

Fukuhara raises both of her eyebrows in the perfect I told you so facial expression then she checks the meat, deems it a good colour for eating, grabs some with the longer table chopsticks and transfers it into her ponzu sauce.

Iwaizumi goes for the tofu first, gathering a bunch of pieces on his own dish.

“You need to let it cook and soak the juices from the meat,” Fukuhara scolds him before she puts the well-pinked slice of beef in her mouth and chews thoroughly.

Hanamaki snorts. “He always does that. Only Oikawa manages to—,” his voice trails off and he scans the table. “Where’s the fuck’s Cap’?”

All people on the table, including Fukuhara, turn to stare at Iwaizumi.

A couple of seconds of silence stretch uncomfortably between them before Hanamaki breaks them, “Call him, you dick!”

“Why me?”

Hanamaki’s eyes gives him a look that would have been are you fucking kidding me, if Yuda didn’t actually say it out loud.

“Today, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa says from his left.

He takes out his phone and dials Oikawa gingerly, a selfie Oikawa himself he took and set as his contact photo flashing briefly before Iwaizumi lifts the phone to his ear.

He waits.

And waits.

Oikawa doesn’t pick up.

“You guys fighting?” Yuda asks over a mouthful of meat. Iwaizumi is a pro with deciphering what Yuda is saying with his mouth full now. He had some years of experience down the line.

“No,” Iwaizumi answers but he isn’t really sure. Are they? Did he do something wrong? Because Oikawa is avoiding them and he can’t continue denying it.

Oikawa loves shabu-shabu. He loves adding extra noodles when the vegetables are cooked thoroughly and eating them along with a full, rich soup. He has always been patient like that, waiting until the very end to eat. It’s because I have a refined taste, Iwa-chan, something you wouldn’t understand, he’d say and wait.

Oikawa keeps Iwaizumi from eating all the tofu before it’s cooked and makes sure everyone else have a share of it too. He always sits next to Iwaizumi and his hair always gets in the way. Iwaizumi likes brushing his bangs back under a murmur of idiot, you’ll go blind that has no bite to it.

His fingers curl around his chopsticks until his knuckles go white. There’s this distinctive tightness of his chest again, a pang of pain, a feeling he’s growing to associate with missing Oikawa. It’s coils inside his body, strong and unpleasant.

And the thing is - no one even questions him, as if he’s some kind of an Oikawa expert. No one else calls. Yet Iwaizumi has the sinking feeling that if someone else does, Oikawa will pick up.

✩

4. Iwaizumi worries his lower lip between his teeth as he hits send.

hey, you ok? his text reads.

“You won’t manage any studying done if you keep worrying,” Fukuhara says from where she’s sitting cross-legged on his carpenter floor, hunched over the small wooden table. She’s working on their maths homework and Iwaizumi gets the fleeting thought of Oikawa copying his homework despite the fact he’s more than capable of doing it himself. Iwaizumi would always grumble of how undeserving Oikawa is to be in the more advanced class and Oikawa would always laugh.

Iwaizumi misses his laugh like how he’d miss sunlight if he’s in a room without windows. He never knew how much it uplifted him until it was gone. Making Oikawa laugh felt like a victory, it warmed him from the inside and never failed to make him smile.

But he’s afraid - he’s afraid to poke and dig because he isn’t sure he’s ready to acknowledge what he finds.

He startles when the door of his room is suddenly thrown open and his twin brothers barge inside with conviction.

“What did I say about knocking, you little—?!” Iwaizumi roars but they seem too busy looking at Fukuhara to be intimidated by their older brother.

“Huh?” Kenta says, perplexed.

“We thought Tooru’s here,” Kouji adds, or more like, whines in a very childish, very disappointed manner.

“Even Oikawa wouldn’t be able to save you from some good ol’ ass-kicking,” Iwaizumi says slowly and cracks his knuckles to prove a point.

Kouji is the first one to step back, moving to glare at Iwaizumi from behind his twin brother’s back. “Where’s he?” he asks with suspicion.

“How should I know? Do I look like a seer to you?” Iwaizumi says.

Kenta gives him the stink eye. “Good for nothing older brother,” he grouses with his chin held high like the little brat he is.

Iwaizumi swears that’s all Oikawa’s doing.

“What did you say?” he asks, voice every ounce of intimidating, which seems to finally startle the two 12-year-olds. All he needs to do next is just get up from where he’s sitting on the bed and both of them are squawking and running away, leaving the door of his room wide open.

“Kouji! Kenta! Shut up!” He can hear his mother yell from downstairs.

Iwaizumi shakes his head and chuckles. They’re running down the stairs and he can almost feel the echo of their steps. Two elephants in a glass shop, those two.

“Mom!” Kenta yells back, “We’re getting Tooru!”

“Careful when you cross the street,” their mother warns and next thing he hears is the front door being slammed shut.

His stomach drops. Will Oikawa actually come? He has always been weak to his brothers’ boyish charms. Oikawa loved those kids and never failed to indulge them.

“They seem to love him,” Fukuhara says good-naturedly as she twirls her pen between her fingers.

“They really do,” Iwaizumi replies simply.

He hears Oikawa’s voice carry from downstairs just a couple of minutes later and his pulse picks up instantly, like his heart is attuned to Oikawa’s presence.

He gets up without thinking and heads for downstairs.

“Kenta, Tooru isn’t a horse!” He can hear his mother’s fond but strict voice, “Stop trying to make him piggyback you!”

“It’s okay, Auntie, I promised the little devil I will if he finishes all his homework,” Oikawa replies over a laugh.

“And I did, mom! All of it!” Kenta says enthusiastically.

“I want too! When’s my turn,” Kouji whines loudly.

Iwaizumi walks into the living room and their eyes meet. Oikawa’s smile drops.

✩

5. Matsukawa and Hanamaki corner Iwaizumi after practice. They lock the changing room door behind their backs after making sure no one’s left but Iwaizumi.

“So, what’s the deal?” Hanamaki goes straight to business.

“Am I held hostage?” Iwaizumi asks instead, glancing at the locked door behind their backs. They look like some night club bouncers that take a law course part-time.

“Told you he’s gonna deflect,” Matsukawa tells Hanamaki matter-of-factly.

“I’m right here!” Iwaizumi says and crosses his arms protectively. Not that anything can protect him from Matsukawa and Hanamaki once they’re on a roll.

“Look we can do it the hard way or you can tell us what the fuck is happening with you and Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi sighs. It was only a matter of time until they notice. They’re their closest friends.

“Wait,” Iwaizumi tries to avert again, “what’s the hard way?”

“Yeah, ‘Hiro, what’s the hard way?” Matsukawa snickers.

Hanamaki kicks him, “Focus!” Then he turns to Iwaizumi. “The hard way is me kicking you damn ass, then becoming the ace in your place, you shit. Now spill. Why are you avoiding him?”

“He’s avoiding me!” Iwaizumi says, defensively.

“We all love Fukuhara-chan, but we’re also not blind. She fills up that Oikawa spot fine for you, huh?” Hanamaki shakes his head in this wise-men-in-movies way.

“We never took you for the guy that ditches their best friend when he gets a girlfriend,” Matsukawa adds. Devil’s advocate, this guy. Iwaizumi wonders if it’s the universe doing God’s work or whatever bringing those two together.

Iwaizumi feels annoyance settle under his skin, hot and thick. “She isn’t my girlfriend. And I haven’t ditched him!”

“You kinda stopped hanging with him for lunch,” Matsukawa points out.

“And you started doing your disgusting study groups only with Fukuhara-chan,” Hanamaki adds.

“She actually does work!”

“Uh-huh,” Hanamaki says with raised eyebrows. “And what’s your excuse of not sitting next to him on the team bus?”

Matsukawa pretends he’s wiping tears, “We thought the world was ending when you sat next to Kyoutani.”

“I wanted to talk to him about his off-speed spike!”

Hanamaki ignores him. “Is it because we take photos of you two cuddling?”

Iwaizumi’s blood rushes to his face. “We are not—”

“You’re avoiding him, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki cuts in, “You stopped leaving space for him where he always belonged. That’s why he stopped tagging along” His light-brown eyes study Iwaizumi for a second, searching, then he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You haven’t figured it out really, have you?” Hanamaki’s voice comes mellow, carrying a certain degree of careful tenderness he isn’t used to hearing from him.

Iwaizumi’s throat goes dry. Has he done all this? Was he so afraid of letting Oikawa in that he shut him out completely?

Iwaizumi feels like an overstuffed box, sealed with old, faded tape. And Oikawa is so good at picking up the edges, at peeling off the tape. He has been doing this for years — peeling — leaving just one stripe of yellowed, old tape. And Iwaizumi’s afraid, he’s so afraid that when the last piece comes off, everything is going to start overflowing; everything he has carefully stored away, out for everyone to see. For Oikawa to see.

His eyes burn, the pain of suppressing his emotions overwhelming him.

“Jesus Christ, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki says softly, carefully. He nods to Matsukawa who unlocks the door. They leave him alone with his thoughts.

This night he dreams of middle school Oikawa with his big heart and big dreams. They’re sitting in Oikawa’s backyard trying to count all the stars in the sky, as if that’s possible.

“I love the stars!” Oikawa says with his big, stupid grin and Iwaizumi hums back, warmth spreading down his chest.

No one talks for a while which makes Iwaizumi nervous, antsy. He shivers, telling himself it’s because of the chilly night not the unusual silence. He hates when Oikawa is being quiet.

“But you know what I love more, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice is a mere whisper, that carries with the night wind.

Iwaizumi thinks he can capture it in a little jar, like it’s a firefly. It’s a stupid thought.

“What?” He croaks. He doesn’t want to know—is afraid to know.

“You.”

Iwaizumi startles awake, shaking and drenched in sweat.

This isn’t just a dream, he thinks as he rubs his face with a groan. It’s a memory.

✩

+1. Iwaizumi’s palms are already sweaty when he knocks on Oikawa’s door.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, “can I come in?”

“No,” is the reply he gets before he presses on the handle, opens the door, and walks in.

Oikawa is half sitting, half laying on the bed, his hair pulled back with a headband, his glasses perched low on his pointy nose. He’s wearing an old, ratty t-shirt with a muddy-green alien stamped at the front and faded maroon shorts. He looks endearing, Iwaizumi thinks, so painfully endearing.

Iwaizumi’s stomach clenches and his heartbeat goes louder and annoying in his ears. He was so stupid, for so long, that everything he planned to tell Oikawa suddenly feels small and insignificant; like whatever comes out of his mouth isn’t going to be enough.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t speak. He closes the book he was reading and puts his aside, his eyes never leaving Iwaizumi as he does. He doesn’t look mad or upset, he looks guarded, which, Iwaizumi concludes, is worse, because he isn’t being trusted.

“I’m so stupid,” Iwaizumi says, deflating, “and I am so sorry.”

Oikawa’s still looking at him without speaking, eyes intense and calculating and Iwaizumi can’t look away. It’s been so long since Oikawa looked at him, properly looked at him, giving his undivided attention, that he feels weak under his gaze, his knees going soft and wobbly.

“Look,” Iwaizumi croaks and moves to sit at the edge of the bed, the closest he can manage without actually combusting, “I got scared.” He lets the words sit for a while before he continues. “You’ve always been so certain about what you want, so unapologetic in—wanting. God, Oikawa, when you want things, you just go for them and I—,” he waves his hands when his throat clamp up around his words.

His eyes sting. Jesus, he’s pathetic. He should have kept the box shut and here he is, standing by the person who peeled the tape bit by bit.

He presses on. “I thought if maybe I didn’t acknowledge your feelings, they’d not be true and I—I hurt you and—,” he takes a sharp breath. “Fuck—I want to play volleyball with you. I want to talk to you in the locker room after a game and I want to walk home with you. I want to laugh with you during lunch break and I want to study with you, even though you copy my math homework all the damn time.” Oikawa laughs at that—his beautiful, beautiful laughter—and Iwazumi takes the chance to inch closer and take Oikawa’s palm in his. “Who’s going to distribute all the tofu equally when you’re not there, you idiot?”

“Isn’t that good?” Oikawa murmurs, “You get all of it.”

“Fuck the tofu,” Iwaizumi says, “I—,” his voice cracks and he takes a deep, stuttering breath, “I want you.”

“You do?” It’s almost a whisper, small, uncertain and it makes Iwaizumi ache.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Oikawa—I want to count all the stars in the sky with you.”

Iwaizumi palm is sweaty above Oikawa’s and his heart is trying to beat right off his chest.

“Iwa-chan—,” Oikawa’s voice voice catches and he sniffs.

“Don’t cry,” Iwaizumi says and his own voice cracks and wobbles.

“Hypocrite,” Oikawa says back then smiles and all of Iwaizumi’s whole world narrows to this exact moment, to Oikawa’s beautiful, earnest smile, to his painfully endearing dimples, to the way his eyes shine and his heart fills with love to the brim, helplessly so.

And as he falls forward, taking Oikawa in his arms, it all fits together, it all makes sense. “I’ll let you peel off the last piece of tape,” he says.

“Huh?” Oikawa asks. “Tell me, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi just laughs

#iwaoi #matsuhana #haikyuu!!#oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #seijou #original female character #my writing #5+1 fic #mattsunflower #replies #the girl isn't a plot device she's cool and i love her

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