It’s the way you can tell most of the lesbian community are full of bi-hets just by how enraged they are by a lesbian saying she’s proud to have never kissed, dated or had sex with a man. Why are you offended by homosexuality? Shouldn’t you be happy for her? Hm..

Also I hate when the fauxbians who have never had sex with a man are like “I just never happened to have sex with a men because no man wanted me lolll I’m a gold star but ashamed to call myself one :((.” Like as very femme young woman who never has done anything even slightly romantic with a men but has had boys ask me to be their girlfriend and even male friends try to ask me for intimacy since a very young age, and has had to put her foot down and firmly say no ever single time, its so weird that they are deliberately erasing gold star’s life experiences to just being “ugly”. If you would have then you are a bisexual. Full stop.

I’d love your thoughts on BTS and their current image and music if you have them and aren’t afraid of the mindless internet hoards.

Personally, I liked a lot of their older stuff, but haven’t liked anything since I think the Fake Love promotions 3+ years ago. They’d started losing their personality and soul before that album cycle, but it feels like the sanitization of their image and artistry really kicked into hyperdrive after that. Now most of what they do seems like a sterile money grab driven by the Hybe hive mind which is a shame.

ok alrighty (cracks knuckles) let's get into it.

now that i've fully given myself a headache watching the majority of the bts videography, here are three points i'm going to cover:

performative character and the lack thereof

interesting aesthetics and the lack thereof, and

the inevitable cracking of perfection

ready, set, let's begin.

1.

idol music is very clearly definited by spectacle based aesthetics. and it's had that structure for its entire existence. so i gotta hand it to hybe for this one, because they managed to revolutionize being utterly fucking average. the triumph of bts is that they're just some guys and they look like just some guys. hybe found a niche in the system and then gamed that system to the tune of one of the largest musical acts in the world. they're not marketing bts as a romantic parasocial relationship, they're marketing them as your friends. and that is just as insidious to lonely kids as a run of the mill romantic fantasy. but that's not what i'm here to talk about today.

there's a pattern i find very interesting with bts mvs and that is that i don't remember anything about them. specifically, i don't remember the stuff that's happening IN the video; not the styling, not the setpieces, if i didn't know the members i doubt i would remember them either. what i DO remember, is how expensive the production is, and specific shots. i couldn't tell you what a single member was wearing, but i sure as hell remember that first upward angle shot of jungkook and the rusted park ride in spring day. or every single time they do that birdseye shot of jin in like every video. honestly as far as i'm aware jin has only ever worn a loose fitting beige longsleeve shirt.

it took bts a long time to establish any kind of consistent visual character. and the character they did establish.... i don't know if you can call a family-friendly-style clean aesthetic 'character'. they debuted as a hip hop group to little (comparative) success, and then made a switch to doing an early version of where they're currently at right now. if you've seen any of the mvs, you know that this is a pretty significant visual change. i don't think it is inherently a bad change, since the visual branding for hiphop based groups always tips over into iffy terrritory, but it is dramatic enough and early enough that it doesn't strike me as a natural evolution. concept switch ups are common, but they usually work because the members have established a bit of character for themselves, used their performance abilities and presence to fit into a niche in the group. the idol mould is perfect for showcasing the performers; that's its function. the groups that are the most fun to watch are the ones with stage presence, the ones who know how to perform, who can act all the parts they need to play. and bts? 4/7 actual performers on a good day. in my personal opinion it's 2/7.

i'm gonna expand on what i said about jimin here (this is technically the first part of this series), because it does apply to the rest of the group on the whole:

and i think here is where we see the main crux of the difference between taemin and jimin as performers: taemin has both an artistic and an idol persona. we know and understand him to do solo work that has a separate artistic meaning to just him being an idol. even though this performance was pre-move, i would still say this applies, because he's hot off press your number, where he's acting in a story based mv. jimin on the other hand just has his idol persona. he's not known for creating the same kind of storytelling that taemin is.

bts has been very insistent on the image of the group as a single unit. despite having the size of fanbase and the revenue that would make any official solo debut a massive success, none of them have done any substantial solo work. this isn't artistically a problem, and i think it's very admirable of them to be so dedicated to the image and the legacy of the group, when that can be an uncommon trait in the industry. i do however, think it starts to become an issue when we want to discuss what the artistic visions and images of groups are. shinee taemin and solo taemin have two distinct artistic representations, and taemin himself will attest to that. it's the same with all the shinee members that have solo careers, and the same with other groups. jackson, bambam, yugyeom, and jaebeom's solo work is all very different from got7. yixing's solo work is very different from exo's. even the subunits within exo all have their own character (cbx and sc). kpop groups all ostensibly are trained under the same system, so why the disparity with bts? mostly, it's their brand of "authenticity." it's impossible to perform authentically, by the nature of performance as a medium it is unnatural, and tragically, not everyone is naturally interesting, or suited to performing: that's why the performing arts even exist in the first place. it required painstaking training to be good at performing; it is a complex set of skills and those skills are not learnt by "being authentic." being an idol is not just the singing, dancing, rapping; that's only half the work. you need to be able to act to be a compelling performer. pulling your true self and emotions out on stage every night is a fast track to burnout and psychological issues, there's plenty of evidence. the only member of bts of whom i can say for some certainty has a persona and a stage presence is jhope/hoseok, a) because he's kept up a very specific brand in the solo work that he has done, and b) he has actual dance training, not just kpop dance training. the rest of them may have the kpop dance and the kpop vocal training, but what they do not have is the ability to market themselves as compelling performers on stage. taehyung is the only other member i would hesitantly give a semblance of persona and ability to, but i think he stumbled onto that mostly by accident. and if all the pieces don't each have a distinctive colour, how can the whole machine be visually interesting?

2.

bts may never have been able to establish an aesthetic brand, but what they did establish is an intellectual one. if you talk to a fan, the schtick they give is that "it's about the lyrics." as noble as having an intellectual or cerebral message is, what does that look like? how do you portray intellectual on stage, on film? what about intellectual is interesting to watch? cerebral, by it's literal nature as a descriptor, is very difficult to communicate in visual language because it is internal. to successfully communicate cerebrality and intellect in a short form medium like music videos requires a deft hand with metaphor that can elude even an experienced designer. and honestly? i don't know whether to applaud hybe's visual team for being the most successful subtle contemporary designers i've every seen, or to decry them as worst kpop designers i've ever seen. maybe both. regardless, i don't think they're able to cross the gap.

there are exactly four mvs where i actually remember the content of the mv and not the frame it sits in, and those are dna, idol, the singularity comeback trailer with taehyung, and war of hormone. and of an eight year career......that's not very many. these four mvs have at least an inkling of interesting spectacle and character, but even then, it's still a stretch. there is absolutely nothing to write home about in the styling for dna, other than it's well colour matched. I don't even know if I should include singularity because it involves none of the other members. idol is probably their most interesting mv because it actually has alternative styling and varies (at least a little bit) from the standard hybe boom crane shot-that-shows-off-how-we-can-afford-big-studio-spaces-and-locations. the company and the group would be loathe to admit it, but war of hormone is a well designed and interesting mv for the time it was made, with a well crafted gimmick and some actual showing of character from the members. it was the start of a potential that they squashed quite quickly because it wasn't picking up in the hiphop-group-saturated market of 2014. but the rest of their mvs? remarkably uninspired styling. like it's truly impressive how boring the styling is. and like i've said, that is the triumph in their aesthetics: they all look like normal dudes (if you had professional skin + makeup techs looking after them for the last 8 years).

all of this is a carefully crafted image that's tailored to hooking an audience, especially an international one. the mvs are boring in the relative scale of kpop, but they're just different enough from a western pop mv to catch attention. and once you do sink a hook, there's a direct clickfunnel of content that bills itself on these men being "authentic" and "self-producing," which is a huge draw to international fans, because people are racist and believe that the kpop industry is a factory that produces idols like clones, where none of them know how to do anything other than sing and dance and all the music is just handed to them by companies. and they have SO much content that there's no way a new fan can get to it all in a timely manner, so they'll never have to engage with any other kpop artists' work if they don't actively seek it out. but that's another essay for another time.

3.

that brings us to current day, in which at least the last five bts releases have been in the same aesthetic vein of positive, sanitized, and pristine. i said it in one of my txt responses and i will say it again here: money scrubs the humanity from the aesthetic of living. minimalism is for rich white people. hybe and bts may have pivoted their style and brand directly into the lane of mass appeal, but when you pair that with the amount of money funding them, there's a cognitive dissonance between the message and the aesthetics in which it's portrayed. some people do like the clean cut looks, and i won't say that they don't work, but as you've likely gleaned from this response, it isn't my style and if you've been around and reading my writing for longer you'll know that my tastes runs much closer to the messy and the weird, so very little about any of bts' visuals have appeal to me. i do find the contradiction of applying the appeal of radical relatability with the aesthetics of expansive (and expensive) minimalism interesting; it's an extremely fine line that hybe is walking and eventually they are going to tip over, the porcelain mask will not hold forever. maintaining the all ages aesthetic is going to be difficult now that all of them are grown ass men. with other groups of this member age and generation there's very obviously been a shift to a more adult tone, and not necessarily explicitly. got7, mx, nu'est, btob, shinee, 2pm, and groups that have older members like a.c.e and sf9 have all made slow shifts in tone that are undeniably aimed at a maturing audience: they know their core fanbases are aging with them and they (the fans) are not as interested in the 'boy' in boy group. and most of them have telltale visual styles, enough so that i can distinguish a specific group's mv. the last year and change of mx mvs have a very distinctive character; got7 too, since easily as far back as if you do. i can always tell an a.c.e mv by its impeccable fashion and formic styling, and although shinee has always had a more experimental aesthetic edge, their sound and voices are unmistakable.

honestly, i can't predict what bts is going to do in the future, but i personally don't believe they can keep up their clean aesthetic indefinitely without some fallout. part of the fun of following bands is watching them grow musically, and the last couple of years of bts haven't felt like growth. there are fans that have already started realizing it, and there's likely to be more soon.

---

the third part is here, which is a short followup about some of bts' industry influence.

Aphrodite’s Laws of (Live Action) BL*

*Some exceptions apply. Applies to BL in its native habitat only (meaning mostly Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, Thailand, and a small dose of Vietnam, NOT Western LGBTQ+ shows)

#1 Playing Gay Chicken always catches feelings.

#2 The second you want to date a girl is 100,000,000 seconds too late for you to be dating girls.

#3 Cats are for queers. Write that down.

#4 No, he cannot, in fact, stop pissing you off for 5 minutes until you at least angry kiss.

#5 If he doesn’t take advantage of your drunken state to kiss you on the forehead, he doesn’t love you.

#6 “Why do I feel like-” That’s love, you bent straw, now go get horny about it.

#7 The second your best friend wonders if you’re gay is when the “I Thought I was Straight” curse upon you is broken.

#8 If you go on vacation together with your amore, your brief, but sufficiently angsty divorce arc, will start directly after.

#9 Older sisters are for encouraging your new discovery, and for social commentary on how the country is still failing the LGBTQ+ community. Once you are properly encouraged and/or ready to fight the powers that be, she will leave to work abroad.

#10 Little sisters are there to be fujoshi, and in the case of an enemies-to-lovers story, ship you openly with the guy you hate to get that rainbow ball rolling.

#11 You are going to catch a cold for no reason. Your lover is going to tenderly care for you all night long and keep that cold washcloth on your forehead.

#12 No one can sulk like a 1. Stop trying.

#13 Yes, you are going to break up; you got together in episode 6. No, it’s not going to stick.

#14 Rich people are always the literal worst, except for the gay eldest son set to inherit the crooked family business and fall in love with a poor, but super hot, guy.

#15 Be careful what you tell your BFF because he will spill All the Tea to your boyfriend for a single free meal bribe.

#16 Your mother lives in New York. There are apparently no American citizens living in New York except the guy who married your mom and took her to New York. Where all the BL moms live, and no one else. Little brother or sister living over there with them is optional, but encouraged.

#17 There is no such thing as an ex who isn’t still completely obsessed with the 1. Good luck with that.

#18 You say you’re gonna keep your relationship a secret, but on Day One of having lunch together, you are feeding each other and sharing your plate. Now everyone knows, congrats, you empty can of silly string.

#19 Turning off the lights when going to bed is a sin. No one likes a sinner.

#20 Your room is stylishly decorated and immaculately clean, even though you are a man under the age of 30. That’s the most unrealistic part of every unrealistic story.

Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

A/N: Part Fourteen is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time, usually. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: Roughly 3,000

“You look tired,” Dean was still too chipper. It was throwing you off in the worst way. Doesn't he feel it?

“And you actually look chipper,” You grumbled back, trying to hold up the grudge. It was nearly impossible with the toothy grin you received. “Let me chug this coffee and I'll be good to go.”

You'd gone hunting in the dark for two separate places to dispose of the candles before you'd been able to take a shower and crawl into your own bed. You'd only gotten a hunter's night of sleep in the end. Leaving you further baffled by the boys' stamina.

“You're okay...right?” Suddenly serious, Dean brushed his finger against the healed skin. Drawing forth a small shiver as he inspected you. “I should have asked last night. But, you were out grounding yourself, or whatever, when I tried to find you. Kid said it was to help calm you down or something. Real important, anyway.” So, that's what Jack came up with. You mentally made note to thank him.

“I don't want to lie to you, Dean.” Your eyes closed as you forced yourself to resist leaning into his touch. Body still craving his. Demanding that he reaffirm the bond you were trying to dissolve. A step back was managed, losing the contact in the process. “Don't make me, okay?”

“How bad was it?” His lips pushed out as he demanded that you give it to him straight. No more bullshit.

The worst pain you'd ever felt had been at his hands. You'd be damned if you threw that in his face. Not when he was on the up.

“It doesn't matter.” You forced the words out. It really didn't. Able to resist him in the moment. The mark was still there. Though you told yourself it looked and felt lighter. That spells took time when they involved something that complex. The thought soothed you. “It's over.”

The finality in your tone made something inside of his chest clench. As if he knew that you weren't just talking about what you'd gone through. Dean rubbed his hand over his own mark, then. Watching as you retreated behind a smile filled with secrets. Guilt eating away at his insides once the high of finding Cas had worn down.

“I didn't think,” He spoke up as you turned to walk away. Every piece of him demanded that he explain. “Not until I was in there. Then, I told myself that you didn't have time to feel it.”

“Most people wouldn't have,” You allowed, hoping that would be the end of it as you hunted down the sugar. It wasn't.

“Most people wouldn't have felt their mate's leg injury across state lines, Y/N,” Dean pointed out, desperately. Remembering the way you'd clung to him afterward. Why isn't she doing that now? “Nothing's ever been ordinary in my life. So, why would this be any different? I should have known better.” You didn't even turn to look at him. Didn't say a word. The lack of action more telling than anything you could have said. “I'm sorry.” His voice cracked a bit, then. He'd ignored it until he'd rested alone in his bed. His mind trailing over every detail of the day. Right to the stained gauze across your throat. “I'm so fucking sorry, 'mega.”

“You did what you had to, Dean.” The words were like acid in your throat. “You freed all of those souls.” You turned then, letting him look in your eyes. His pain was palpable. “We all do what we have to do in the end.” There was an aloofness in as you spoke. Enough to make his skin crawl. “When the bond's gone, it won't matter.” A sad smile crossed your lips, then. His blood chilled at that. You'd known. He'd never mentioned it to you. Not once after you'd brought it up. Yet there you were. Talking about the end as if it was a forgone conclusion. “We won't hurt each other, anymore.”

“You mean I won't hurt you,” His face tightened. Looking every bit the pain ridden warrior as he turned his head away. Wondering just how long you'd known he'd planned on breaking away from you. “Sam tell you, or Jody?”

“Let's be honest, Dean... You'll feel a little safer not being attached to a witch.” His jaw worked, then. You wouldn't give away your source. “That way, if I need put down? You can safely pull the trigger.” His breath stopped at the acidic words. “I didn't need anyone to tell me. It's been there since the night you found out what I was.”

“You really think that I could kill you?” There was that rare vulnerability there in his eyes. Shining bright as he wondered just how evil the world had begun to see him. How awful he had to be to inspire something so dark to fester in his own mate's mind.

“I think you'd do whatever you needed to save the world, Dean.” Even with the straight forward words, you couldn't stand the hurt that he was feeling. You reached up, rubbing his cheek with your hand. His skin was smooth from the fresh shave as he leaned in. Offering the only comfort you safely could. “Being with someone- something- that you can't completely trust? Makes it damn hard to do that.” You pressed a kiss to his other cheek before stepping back. Just as he turned to meet your touch with his own lips. “Chin up. You have your win, Winchester. It's going to get better. Mate or none.”

“I'm going to make it right, Y/N.” His words rang hollow. There were too many pieces inside of him that despised the idea. You'd recognized it before, but it was crystal clear in that moment. He was fighting his inner beast. And losing. “I'll snap the bond without all that fancy doctor crap. Make sure you get your second chance, down the road.”

“Don't worry about it, Dean.” The way you said the words sent an ominous shiver through him. “It'll be taken care of. For now? We have some zombies to hunt.” With that, you left the kitchen to go load up your bag. Making him wonder just what was going through that head of yours when he realized that he couldn't get a grip on what you were feeling.

–

“All right,” Dean led the charge down the hallway, carrying his suit in hand. The drive was over and he was done thinking for the day about anything other than what was surrounding him. “This is supposed to be the best room in the joint.”

“That doesn't say much,” You muttered, looking around. Jack smiled a bit beside you. The angel didn't seem too amused, though. Sending you another unreadable look over his shoulder.

“Oh, ho!” Your mate was a little too excited at the scene before you as the light switched on. “The Wild Bill suite.”

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Your eyes peered into the room. Nose curling in disgust.

Horns decorated the wall, but that wasn't all. Not even close. A cardboard cowboy stood tall, near a set of saloon doors. Staking claim to the room. He could have it as far as you were concerned.

The walls were covered with wanted posters and just about everything else that could be considered “cowboy”. Including an assortment of dead animals. You didn't need a closer inspection to know that they were real. Dean was chuckling in glee as he looked around; happier than a kid at Christmas.

“Wow,” Sam seemed to mirror your thoughts. Unimpressed with the décor.

“Pretty cool, right?” Instantly, the older Winchester found all the old images. Inspecting them with a sense of joy that you couldn't quite bring yourself to find. “Dude! Check it out.” The last phrase repeated another two times. You were quickly discovering that your mate was an old western dweeb. “Clay Allison.” He turned your way, beaming all the while, “Gun fighter extraordinary, right?” Then he was right back to those pictures, “And, uh.” His fingers pointed out another man with a hooked mustache and a small, square goatee, “Curly Bill Brocius.” He looked nothing like the cowboys you'd expected to see. “Which,” The enthusiasm was contagious, “now, now, now,” the pointed finger waved dramatically. “Little fun fact, here- was killed by Wyatt Earp, himself.” All eyes watched Dean. A mixture of confusion, disbelief, and mild entertainment filled the room. “Not kidding.” Another laugh left him as he walked. “Johnny Ringo, Billy The Kid...Oh, look!”

“He really likes cowboys,” Jack finally spoke. Watching the man he'd idolized act like a fool. He wasn't quite sure how to take the sudden switch in Dean. That much was obvious. You'd be lying if you said that you did, either.

“Hey, big guy,” Dean spoke to an image as if it could talk back. “How you doin'? That's...” His voice lowered as he kept talking to himself. Going a mile a minute. “What's going on Calamity Jane?”

“Yes.” Castiel answered his adopted child. “Yes, he does.” His voice was so dead panned that it almost sounded pained.

Another laugh emitted, making it a record in your presence, “Doc Holliday!” He whipped around, that damned grin on his face growing even bigger. You bit back a laugh, trying to look fascinated. “Hey-o!” A snort made its way out of your nose, but he didn't hear it.

“He's worse than me in a metaphysical shop,” You muttered, earning a twitch of the lips from Sam. Castiel didn't seem to find that amusing, either.

“This is awesome.” Dean spun in a little circle, taking in the room once again. “All right,” He got down to business. Kind of. “I say quick shower, steak dinner, and then tomorrow we hit up the cemetery.” His footsteps were brisk as he moved past the group of loved ones, all of which were still staring at him. No one moving a muscle right away.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam managed as his brother hit the saloon doors. He sent a little grin your way, happy at his brother's glee, before turning to follow. Jack and Castiel simply turned to each other. Before they could speak, it continued.

“Oh, yes!” Dean grunted out loudly. “Stirrup hangers!” You winced at the thought. Didn't need to see it to imagine what he was excited about.

“You can have the couch,” Jack stated, monotone compared to the older Winchester. His comments were slightly lower, but still present. “I don't sleep very much.”

“I don't sleep at all.” Castiel turned to Jack, then. Both men then began looking around the room, again. Awkwardness hanging in the air.

“Okay...well, I'll just take the couch if no one else is willing.” You slid over to the red, offending furniture. “Split it with anyone who needs a catnap, or whatever. We can make this work.”

“Aren't you going to sleep with Dean?” The angel's voice sounded almost accusing. He didn't like you. Or, at the least, didn't trust you. Being a witch and all of that.

“Look,” Your hand found your hip. “Unless you want this already inconvenient trip to get even more disturbing? Having to listen to Dean get off- repeatedly- in the middle of the night? I think it's best that I sleep out here.” Your eyes fluttered innocently.

The worst part was that you weren't lying. You didn't trust either of your bodies after his temporary fatality. You had little doubt that someone would roll over. Then next thing you know 'P' meets 'V' in front of the entire family. No way in hell you were chancing that one.

“Yeah, no....” Jack trailed off, shaking his head. Shuddering at the very idea.

“You bring up a fair point,” Castiel allowed, cringing a bit at the thought as your mate and Sam discussed having a hat in the back room.

“I thought so,” With that, your bag was dropped on it before your body followed. Castiel's eyes landed on your mark as you bent down to make work of your shoes so that you could nab the shower first. Anything to chase away the bit of car sickness you'd felt. “If you wanna know something, feel free to ask.”

Jack turned to his father figure, then, “Cas?”

“Nothing. I just was lost in my thoughts.” You didn't buy it for a second. However, you weren't about to start a disagreement with Dean's win- the very thing he was discussing in the next room, over. Not then, anyway.

Later that night- or rather, early morning, you were wrapped up on the couch. Shrouded in the darkness. In a sleep light enough that you could still hear Jack asking all the questions he'd missed out on with Castiel gone over Dean's deep snoring in the back. Too much whiskey with dinner had led to the resounding noise.

When they got to Kelly, you told yourself not to listen. To give Jack his privacy. However, it never worked quite like that. Your heart was tugged at the way the angel described the woman. The same woman who's shoes you'd stumbled into. Then, there was a beep on the computer.

“Oh, wow!” Jack's voice pulled you the rest of the way out of your sleep. You blinked awake as he got to his feet. “I'll go tell them!”

“Jack!” Castiel hissed, following after him. You didn't get a chance to fully motivate before you joined the crowd. Opening the saloon doors as Jack poked the sleeping bear- literally- while whispering his name. “Jack, I wouldn't do that!”

The sound of a gun cocking and a deep cry filled the air as the weapon was aimed at the boy, “No!” Jack's hands were instantly in the air. Sam jerked awake in the next bed to see what the hell was going on. “No, no, Dean! It's me! It's me.”

“Dean!” You hissed out, your hand over your heart. The angel didn't look too worried, though. In fact, he looked downright done with life.

Your mate seemed to freeze, then. One eye was open, while the other was still squeezed tight. His mouth agape as he processed what was happening. His head turned to you and Castiel after a moment.

“Ah,” The gun was lowered, “hey.” Sleepy green eyes closed as the weapon made its way to the bedside table. “Who's making me coffee?”

He snuggled back into the bed. Looking more peaceful than any man had the right to be. Much less one that could've killed someone in a single second. Jack was breathing awfully hard when he turned back to you and Castiel, wide eyed. His short life had, no doubt, flashed before his eyes.

Jack was still watching Dean with a wary, shell shocked gaze when the coffee was ready. As if the sniffling, bleary eyed man was still a threat. You weren't much better, yourself. All eyes followed him as he sat onto your “bed” with a groan; rubbing his eyes.

“I told you,” Castiel leaned forward to Jack. “He's an angry sleeper.” You didn't argue that point, sipping at your own coffee. “Like a bear.” He'd let that last bit out as you inhaled, leaving you coughing and snorting up coffee in the process. The sound earning a sleepy glare from your mate before you gathered yourself back together. Clearing your throat with a muffled apology. You'd thought the same thing, yourself.

“Okay,” Sam got back to business, looking at the laptop screen. “So, code three means an officer down.” Your eyes kept drifting over to the man in the background, sipping at his black drink as if it was the only thing that mattered. You tuned out the case, letting your eyes trail over the way his t-shirt pulled over the swells of his bicep. Fucking hormones.

“Like, from a zombie.” The phrase pulled your attention back to Jack and away from your body's craving.

“Or anything else that has teeth.” There was the cranky Dean that had started slipping under your skin. Your lips twisted at the familiarity of it.

“Drink your coffee,” You waved him away, shooting Jack a little wink that made him smile.

“Alright,” Sam pulled attention back to where it belonged. “Change of plans. Jack, Y/N, and I will hit the grave yard. You and Cas hit up the crime scene.” The laptop was shut with more force than you cared to dwell on as Sam got to his feet.

“Works for me.” Dean managed as everyone got to their feet.

As soon as the party broke up? Dean raised his index finger at Cas, halting the angel in his steps. He pointed at his coffee before raising his palm. Cueing the supernatural being to sit until the coffee was gone. To your amazement, it worked. Castiel sat back with a small sigh, while Dean slurped away.

“No man should have all that power,” You muttered with a small laugh. With that, you received a silent middle finger. You only shook your head as you moved to grab your clothes from the bag beside his feet. When you looked back over your shoulder, you found Cas tsking away with a disapproving frown. Initially, you'd thought it to be at you. Then, you followed the gaze properly. Dean's eyes had landed on your ass; coffee still resting against his lips, but going nowhere. “Pervert,” You grumbled, pushing his cheek away. Trying not to focus too strongly on the feeling of his five o'clock shadow before you walked away.

“Dean-” Castiel's scolding as he moved back to his feet only earned a glare, and another point at the coffee. Zero remorse residing in the sleepy alpha. With another drawn out sigh, the angel sat. Waiting for the beast to be tamed by the caffeine...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff  @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe

what the world will look like when it’s over

Can’t Get You Out of My Head is the first Adam Curtis documentary I’ve seen. I gather it’s not the most successful demonstration of his method; it sounds like Hypernormalization or The Century of the Self are tighter in their construction, less effortful (count how many times Curtis says something like “But then it started to run out of control” in this one), and perhaps less frustrating in their narration. In the early episodes of this documentary in particular, it feels like Curtis is constantly presenting what’s being covered as the turn, the decisive shift in his narrative—the emergence of the American counterculture, the revolution of the “unit of One” led by Mao Zedong’s wife Jiang Qing to help her break the stalemate with the other revolutionaries in China into which Zedong had fallen in the 1960s, George Boole’s development of Boolean logic to describe human thought. And the whole thing feels longer and baggier than it needs to be. The early episodes devote much time to interesting individual narratives, like that of the Trinidadian British activist or sorts named Michael Freitas (or Michael X) or a trans woman named Julie in 1960s Britain; they also sprawl in a way that makes the overall argument a bit hard to divine. It’s not until the fourth episode that the shape of Curtis’s narrative becomes clear—that our age is the product of a struggle between a new, broadly liberal-democratic and capitalist image of individualism, a dying era of collectivist struggle, and older, more vicious systems of power, derived from the control of capital and expressed through the middle classes’ suspicion and viciousness toward the subaltern and toward each other, even as they remain subject to the power of oligarchs and billionaires.

Curtis also seems to play fast and loose with the facts sometimes. When he presents Médecins Sans Frontières’s founder Bernard Kouchner as an avatar of a theory of the “one world” of liberal democracy—the idea that we’re basically one world of individuals, enjoying certain human rights regardless of political orientations or ideologies, and that Western nations are duty-bound by virtue of their prosperity to intervene when other nations violate people’s rights—it seems a distortion of what Kouchner actually says in the footage Curtis includes: “We don’t care on leftist or rightist countries [sic]; there is no leftist and rightist suffering, and there is no possibility to split the world in[to] ‘good’ people or ‘bad’ people, ‘good’ dead and ‘bad’ dead.” Which isn’t to say Kouchner didn’t believe in liberal-democratic ideas—he may well have—but what he’s shown as saying has to do with the consideration of suffering as suffering regardless of a person’s identity or allegiance, which is a different matter.

This is just one of several moments when I stopped to wonder how secure I actually was in Curtis’s hands. But ultimately, I find the emotional history he lays out resonant. The age we’re living through now, in the 2020s, is indeed the product of certain fantasies of individualism and of a post-end-of-history, neoliberal “one world”—with no ideologies but capitalism and putative democracy—meeting age-old systems of power, acquisition, and control, and age-old features of the human mind and heart: resentment, prejudice, betrayal, jealousy, the need to be prosperous, the need to be free.

And Curtis’s work appeals to me for the same reason the writer Pankaj Mishra’s work does. He historicizes our underhistoricized time. What’s more, he does so in a way that’s especially rare to see in any mainstream media venue. Usually, when you want to understand the connections between, say, colonial-era empires and post-war welfare states, or if you want to understand what happened to turn Western societies as they were post-war to Western societies as they are post-financialization, you have to seek the information out on your own. It’s valuable to have someone in a place like the BBC willing to put the pieces of these narratives together. And willing to remind us of the events that are so incredibly easy to forget even in one’s own lifetime. Abu Ghraib, for instance, which pops up in part 6 of the documentary. That shit happened while I was alive. How often do I remember it? How many American sins get drowned out in the new ones that emerge every day of every month of every year? Or in the stasis that sets in when what was once novel, like the War on Terror or the invasion into our privacy represented by the Patriot Act, fades into regular life?

I was jotting down copious notes while watching the doc, as is my wont. The questions and thoughts that came up, in no particular order:

How do the elites of a given era impose their preferred ideologies? How are the structures of power we grow up with constructed, and how do those go on to shape our behavior?

Control, as it’s practiced by societies in the 21st century, often comes down to the recognition of patterns in human behavior—and their manipulation.

The loss of power, like that which was suffered after the collapse of Britain’s empire or in the slow hollowing-out of America’s manufacturing industry in the 20th century, leads to anger and melancholy that people can’t be expected to abandon. Does doing what you’re supposed to do bring you the happiness you were promised—or anything even resembling that happiness? When we’re living in a historical moment in which the answer is no, as is often the case today, we’ll need to watch out. It’s a sign people are being manipulated and abused.

Over time, the tech industry has come to understand that you can manage people en masse by collecting their data and manipulating the messages they receive in social media activity feeds and advertising—and you can make them feel like sovereign individuals at the same time through the very same means. In light of all this, will there ever be a revolution that actually changes the structure of power we’re currently stuck in? Is there a chance to alter this extreme individualism. on the part of people who are surrounded by political systems so enervated, by the supra-governmental system that is global finance capital—which politicians can’t control, and must appease and palliate—that they can’t respond to phenomena like climate change or meaningfully punish atrocities like wars prosecuted on false pretenses? Or are we stuck where we are, in a world that’s corrupt and exhausted? In nations whose governments depend on technologies of surveillance and myths of consumerist abundance or nationalist glory to maintain power, in the absence of any real vision for the future?

It all leads to some interesting takeaways. For one, the way culture reacts to politics and vice versa. As I was watching Can’t Get You Out of My Head, I was reminded of a conversation folks on the Discord server for the Relentless Picnic podcast had had recently about the strange things Richard Dawkins posts on his Twitter account. And it led me to think: when religious “caring conservatism” was in the White House, Richard Dawkins and his New Atheism, this brash repudiation of religion and its pieties, grew as a counterweight. When Obama and his technocratic regime were in power, with social media bringing on a wave of progressivism in popular culture and algorithms presenting us a fantasy of endless choice—much of which was a thin veneer over the same old shit: banks getting bailed out, forever wars going on, productivity rising while wages stagnated—we also got Jordan Peterson-types who claimed to speak to a human need for narrative, even in this point of stability we had seemed to reach, this recovery of sanity after the chaos that was the Iraq War and the financial crisis; who claimed we needed ideas and myths to animate and drive our lives, because they sensed there was something hollow and mendacious driving all this consumer choice, for all it seemed a symbol of our freedom and progress.

Of course, both Peterson and Dawkins are provocateurs, not intellectuals; I don’t mean to dignify the movements they led much, since in both the appearance of intellectual rigor or moral clarity often covered the indulgence of the worst instincts: immaturity, obstinacy, provocation for provocation’s sake, contempt for women and trans people. The New Atheists had a point, and could be absolute assholes about it; they ultimately could be as fundamentalist and dogmatic as any religious people. As for Jordan Peterson, his actual work, in the way of so many grand theorists, uses the appearance of profundity to cover something ultimately pretty banal. And he’s most known for grandstanding in the public sphere—refusing to use people’s pronouns, the usual conservative shit. But these movements do seem to reflect a countercultural response no less than 1960s counterculture reflects a reaction to the staid culture of 1950s America and the sins it covered up.

Which leads me to the question: what was the culture’s response to Trump’s administration? Maybe QAnon and Russiagate, as conspiracies—that is, actual narratives people inhabit to explain the world’s evils, and not just a vague need for them that they satisfied with Jordan Peterson’s light form of Stoicism or his theories of Light and Dark or whatever the fuck. And in that way, perhaps, once a countercultural movement—namely nationalism and Trumpian populism—actually seemed to have overthrown a regime, of Obama-era liberal technocratic management, culture and politics came to mirror each other, rather than standing in opposition to each other. Both became equally conspiratorial and unhinged; in fact, they merged. All the ruling myths and conspiracies mutate in kind these days: Trump’s garbage about draining the swamp, a cover for Trump and his family enriching themselves and Stephen Miller’s like getting to fashion the state they wanted, becomes QAnon’s garbage about rings of child trafficking and pedophilia and Trump, of all people, being their savior—all while actual trafficking and abuse perpetuated by Jeffrey Epstein and his ilk goes unpunished, Epstein’s death swallowed up by the state without a sound—becomes the liberal pundit class’s screaming about Russia: connections between Trump and Putin that were always conjectural to me, because no one who pled them seemed to feel much need to substantiate them.

Here again I feel like what were once centrifugal forces in our culture—between mainstream and the independent media, for example; between people in power and their critics, either in the media or at society’s margins—have collapsed into a single morass. We’re all in hell and there’s no way out.

In all this, what does Biden’s administration represent? Little more than an interregnum, to my mind. How disappointing to see not even a gesture toward forgiving student debt or raising the minimum wage in these first 100 days of his presidency. There’s been some progress in climate legislation, and progress in putting Stephen Miller’s deportation machine to a halt (though they’re also reopening several emergency shelters to accommodate more minors already being held past the mandated limits for keeping them in the custody of the Department of Health and Human Services’s Office of Refugee Resettlement). But there’s also been such triangulation on policy by the administration and its supporters and such complacency on the part of the media covering the administration, refusing to call them out on or even cover this. And how can the average voter respond but with resignation?

Ever since I read Thomas Mann’s Doctor Faustus near the start of lockdown, absorbing the picture of the world pre-World War II that’s presented in that book, I’ve thought we’re in the same sort of moment that Mann’s protagonist Zeitblom was in. There’s a crisis that’s passing over this whole planet like a wave or a seismic event, and no human intervention can interrupt it. We can only wait for it to pass—holding on to whatever’s to hand, waiting to see what the world will look like when it’s over.

Sporting vs Herding

i.

I wanna talk about two blogposts, Seph's "War Over Being Nice” and Alastair's "Of Triggering & the Triggered." Each lays out the same erisological idea: that there are two distinct modes or cultures of running discourse these days, and understanding the difference is crucial to understanding the content of conversation as much as its form. Let's go.

One style, Alastair writes, is indebted to the Greco-Roman rhetorical and 19th C British sporting traditions. A debate takes place in a "heterotopic" arena which is governed by an ethos of adversarial collaboration and sportsmanship. It is waged in a detached and impersonal manner, e.g. in American debate club, which inherits from these older traditions, you are assigned a side to argue; your position is not some "authentic" expression of self. Alastair:

This form of discourse typically involves a degree of ‘heterotopy’, occurring in a ‘space’ distinct from that of personal interactions.

This heterotopic space is characterized by a sort of playfulness, ritual combativeness, and histrionics. This ‘space’ is akin to that of the playing field, upon which opposing teams give their rivals no quarter, but which is held distinct to some degree from relations between the parties that exist off the field. The handshake between competitors as they leave the field is a typical sign of this demarcation.

All in all, it is a mark against one in these debates to take an argument personally, to allow arguments that happen "in the arena" to leave the arena. This mode of discourse I see exemplified in LessWrong culture, and is, I think, one of the primary attractors to the site.In the second mode of discourse, inoffensiveness, agreement, and inclusivity are emphasized, and positions are seen as closely associated with their proponents.  Alastair speculates it originates in an educational setting which values cooperation, empathy, equality, non-competitiveness, affirmation, and subordination; this may be true, but I feel less confident in it than I am the larger claim about discursive modes. Provocatively, the two modes are dubbed "sporting" and "herding," with all the implications of, on the one hand, individual agents engaged in ritualized, healthy simulations of combat, and on the other, of quasi-non-agents shepherded in a coordinated, bounded, highly constrained and circumscribed epistemic landscape. Recall, if you are tempted to blame this all on the postmodernists, that this is exactly the opposite of their emphasis toward the "adult" realities of relativism, nebulosity, flux. Queer Theory has long advocated for the dissolution of gendered and racial identity, not the reification of identitarian handles we see now, which is QT's bastardization. We might believe these positions were taken too far, but they are ultimately about complicating the world and removing the structuralist comforts of certainty and dichotomy. (Structureless worlds are inherently hostile to rear children in, and also for most human life; see also the Kegan stages for a similar idea.)  

In the erisological vein, Alastair provides a portrait of the collision between the sporting and herding modes. Arguments that fly in one discursive style (taking offence, emotional injury, legitimation-by-feeling) absolutely do not fly in the other:

When these two forms of discourse collide they are frequently unable to understand each other and tend to bring out the worst in each other. The first [new, sensitive] form of discourse seems lacking in rationality and ideological challenge to the second; the second [old, sporting] can appear cruel and devoid of sensitivity to the first. To those accustomed to the second mode of discourse, the cries of protest at supposedly offensive statements may appear to be little more than a dirty and underhand ploy intentionally adopted to derail the discussion by those whose ideological position can’t sustain critical challenge.

ii.

Seph stumbles upon a similar division, though it is less about discursive and argumentative modes, and more about social norms for emotional regulation and responsibility. He calls them Culture A and Culture B, mirroring sporting and herding styles, respectively.

In culture A, everyone is responsible for their own feelings. People say mean stuff all the time—teasing and jostling each other for fun and to get a rise. Occasionally someone gets upset. When that happens, there's usually no repercussions for the perpetrator. If someone gets consistently upset when the same topic is brought up, they will either eventually stop getting upset or the people around them will learn to avoid that topic. Verbally expressing anger at someone is tolerated. It is better to be honest than polite.

In such a culture, respect and status typically comes from performance; Seph quotes the maxim "If you can't sell shit, you are shit." We can see a commonality with sporting in that there is some shared goal which is attained specifically through adversarial play, such that some degree of interpersonal hostility is tolerated or even sought. Conflict is settled openly and explicitly.

In culture B, everyone is responsible for the feelings of others. At social gatherings everyone should feel safe and comfortable. After all, part of the point of having a community is to collectively care for the emotional wellbeing of the community's members. For this reason its seen as an act of violence against the community for your actions or speech to result in someone becoming upset, or if you make people feel uncomfortable or anxious. This comes with strong repercussions—the perpetrator is expected to make things right. An apology isn't necessarily good enough here—to heal the wound, the perpetrator needs to make group participants once again feel nurtured and safe in the group. If they don't do that, they are a toxic element to the group's cohesion and may no longer be welcome in the group. It is better to be polite than honest. As the saying goes, if you can't say something nice, it is better to say nothing at all.

In such a culture, status and respect come from your contribution to group cohesion and safety; Seph cites the maxim "Be someone your coworkers enjoy working with." But Seph's argument pushes back, fruitfully, on descriptions of Culture B as collaborative (which involve high self-assertion); rather, he writes, they are accommodating in the Thomas-Kilmann modes of conflict sense:

iii.

Seph and Alastair both gesture toward the way these modes feel gendered, with Culture A more "masculinized" and Culture B more "feminized."[1] While this seems important to note, given that a massive, historically unprecedented labor shift toward coed co-working has recently occured in the Western world, I don't see much point in hashing out a nature vs. nurture, gender essentialism debate here, so you can pick your side and project it. This is also perhaps interesting from the frame of American feminist history: early waves of feminism were very much about escaping the domestic sphere and entering the public sphere; there is an argument to be made that contemporary feminisms, now that they have successfully entered it, are dedicated to domesticating the public sphere into a more comfortable zone. Culture B, for instance, might well be wholly appropriate to the social setting of a living room, among acquaintances who don't know each other well; indeed, it feels much like the kind of aristocratic parlor culture of the same 19th C Britain that the sporting mode also thrived in, side-by-side. And to some extent, Culture A is often what gets called toxic masculinity; see Mad Men for a depiction.

(On the topic of domestication of the workplace: We've seen an increased blurring of the work-life separation; the mantra "lean-in" has been outcompeted by "decrease office hostility"; business attire has slid into informality, etiquette has been subsumed into ethics, dogs are allowed in the workplace. Obviously these changes are not driven by women's entrance into the workplace alone; the tech sector has had an enormous role in killing both business attire and the home-office divide, despite being almost entirely male in composition. And equally obvious, there is an enormous amount of inter- and intra-business competition in tech, which is both consistently cited by exiting employees as a hostile work environment, and has also managed to drive an outsized portion of global innovation the past few decades—thus cultural domestication is not at all perfectly correlated with a switch from Culture A to B. Draw from these speculations what you will.)

There are other origins for the kind of distinctions Seph and Alastair draw; one worthwhile comparison might be Nietzsche's master and slave moralities. The former mode emphasizes power and achievement, the other empathy, cooperation, and compassion. (Capitalism and communitarianism fall under some of the same, higher-level ideological patterns.) There are differences of course: the master moralist is "beyond" good and evil, or suffering and flourishing, whereas Culture A and B might both see themselves as dealing with questions of suffering but in very different ways. But the "slave revolt in morality" overwrote an aristocratic detachment or "aboveness" that we today might see as deeply immoral or inhuman; it is neither surprising nor damning that a revolting proletariat—the class which suffered most of the evils of the world—would speak from a place of one-to-one, attached self-advocacy. One can switch "sides" or "baskets" of the arena each half or quarter because they are impersonal targets in a public commons; one cannot so easily hold the same attitude toward defending one's home. This alone may indicate we should be more sympathetic to the communitarian mode than we might be inclined to be; certainly, those who advocate and embody this mode make plausible claims to being a similar, embattled and embittered class. A friend who I discussed these texts with argued that one failure mode of the rationalist community is an "unmooring" from the real concerns of human beings, slipping into an idealized, logical world modeled on self-similarity (i.e. highly Culture A, thinking over feeling in the Big 5 vocabulary), in a way that is blind to the realities of the larger population.

But there are also grave problems for such a discursive mode, especially when it becomes dominant. Because while on the surface, discursive battles in the sporting mode can appear to be battles between people, they are in reality battles between ideas.

iv.

As Mill argued in On Liberty, free discourse is crucial because it acts as a social steering mechanism: should we make a mistake in our course, freedom of discourse is the instrument for correcting it. But the mistake of losing free discourse is very hard to come back from; it must be fought for again, before other ideals can be pursued. 

Moreover, freedom of discourse is the means of rigorizing ideas before they are implemented, such as to avoid catastrophe. Anyone familiar with James Scott's Seeing Like A State, or Hayek's arguments for decentralized market intelligence, or a million other arguments against overhaulism, knows how difficult it is to engineer a social intervention that works as intended: the unforeseen, second-order effects; our inability to model complex systems and human psychology. Good intent is not remotely enough, and the herding approach cannot help but lower the standard of thinking and discourse emerging from such communities, which become more demographically powerful even as their ideas become worse (the two are tied up inextricably).

The fear of conflict and the inability to deal with disagreement lies at the heart of sensitivity-driven discourses. However, ideological conflict is the crucible of the sharpest thought. Ideological conflict forces our arguments to undergo a rigorous and ruthless process through which bad arguments are broken down, good arguments are honed and developed, and the relative strengths and weaknesses of different positions emerge. The best thinking emerges from contexts where interlocutors mercilessly probe and attack our arguments’ weaknesses and our own weaknesses as their defenders. They expose the blindspots in our vision, the cracks in our theories, the inconsistencies in our logic, the inaptness of our framing, the problems in our rhetoric. We are constantly forced to return to the drawing board, to produce better arguments.

And on the strength of sporting approaches in rigorizing discourse:

The truth is not located in the single voice, but emerges from the conversation as a whole. Within this form of heterotopic discourse, one can play devil’s advocate, have one’s tongue in one’s cheek, purposefully overstate one’s case, or attack positions that one agrees with. The point of the discourse is to expose the strengths and weaknesses of various positions through rigorous challenge, not to provide a balanced position in a single monologue

Thus those who wish us to accept their conceptual carvings or political advocacies without question or challenge are avoiding short-term emotional discomfort at the price of their own long-term flourishing, at the cost of finding working and stable social solutions to problems. Standpoint epistemology correctly holds that individuals possess privileged knowledge as to what it's like (in the Nagel sense) to hold their social identities. But it is often wrongly extended, in the popular game of informational corruption called "Telephone" or "Chinese Whispers," as arguing that such individuals also possess unassailable and unchallengeable insight into the proper societal solutions to their grievances. We can imagine a patient walking into the doctor's office; the doctor cannot plausibly tell him there is no pain in his leg, if he claims there is, but the same doctor can recommend treatment, or provide evidence as to whether the pain is physical or psychosomatic.A lack of discursive rigour would not be a problem, Alastair writes, "were it not for the fact that these groups frequently expect us to fly in a society formed according to their ideas, ideas that never received any rigorous stress testing."

v.

As for myself, it was not too long ago I graduated from a university in which a conflict between these modes is ongoing. We had a required course called

Contemporary Civilization

, founded in the wake of World War I, which focused on the last 2,000 years of philosophy, seminar-style: a little bit of introductory lecture, but most of the 2 x 2-hour sessions each week were filled by students arguing with one other. In other words, its founding ethos was of sporting and adversarial collaboration.We also had a number of breakdowns where several students simply could not handle this mode: they would begin crying, or say they couldn't deal with the [insert atmosphere adjective] in the room, and would either transfer out or speak to the professor. While they were not largely representative, they required catering to, and no one wished to upset these students. I have heard we were a fortunate class insofar as we had a small handful of students willing to engage sporting-style, or skeptical a priori of the dominant political ideology at the school. When, in one session, a socialist son of a Saudi billionaire, wearing a $10,000 watch and a camel-hair cashmere sweater, pontificated about "burning the money, reverting to a barter system, and killing the bosses," folks in class would mention that true barter systems were virtually unprecedented in post-agricultural societies, and basically unworkable at scale. In other classes, though, when arguments like these were made—which, taken literally, are logically irrational, but instead justify themselves through sentiment, a legitimation of driving emotion rather than explicit content, in the Culture B sense—other students apparently nodded sagely from the back of the room, "yes, and-ing" one another til their noses ran. Well, I wanted to lay out the styles with some neutrality, but I suppose it's clear now where my sympathies stand.

[1] It should go without saying, but to cover my bases, these modes feeling "feminized" or "masculinized" does not imply that all women, or women inherently, engage in one mode while all men inherently engage in another. Seph cites Camille Paglia as an archetypal example of a Culture A woman, and while she may fall to the extreme side of the Culture A mode, I'd argue most female intellectuals of the 20th C (at least those operated outside the sphere of feminist discourse) were strongly sporting-types: Sontag, for instance, was vociferous and unrelenting. 

LAST EPISODE WAS LIT!! Intial Thots of the Series and Rambling(not me sounding like a boomer)

Episode 12, My reactions to major events

Adam gets a suit: SCREW YOU ADAM >:( >:( >:(

race time!: KICK HIS A** LANGA!

the zone: GET OFF HIM ADAM! FOCUS LANGA, REMEMBER WHY YOU'RE OUT HERE GOING OFF!

Langa almost f*cking dies: LANGA NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Renga moment turns into flashback sequence: BECAUSE REKI IS THE MAN!

Langa being reminded of boarding with his dad and the JP VA's speak Engrish: Awww that's so wholesome. Hey at least these VA's can fully pronounce English words

Slight Adam redemption and acceptance: ...why?

Adam loses:YEAH SUCK it BOIII!!!

Langa jumps on Reki: BIG GAY MOMENT, not the one we wanted or needed, but that's to be expected *shrug*

Shadow's girl gets took: WHACK *adventure time lemon meme style U N A C C E P T A B L E

Reki teaching his sisters to sk8: this is SO cute, aw damn she sk8in boys

Langa telling his dad about his sk8 board and Reki: more wholesomy goodness uwu Langa and Reki racing: LOOK AT EM GOOOOO!

overall thots on episode: A decent finale, it did everything it needed to do. I'm still annoyed that Adam got off scott free for his actions, i'm there's some symbolism shiz going on but still, ehhhhhhh... Overall though, just a feel good episode with an epic battle, some gay moments, and sweet sweet wholesomy goodness. 7.5/10 a vibe.

Thots on series: A very feel good series. It caught me off gaurd because I'was just falling off shounen when I started watching this series and I generally don't watch a lot of anime anyways. Even so it kind of has this warm nostalgic feeling. It understood everything cool about shounen and why I liked it in the first place. This close bonds formed between two characters fighting for the same goal, a fun soundtrack, the happy go lucky characters, AND THE DOPE FIGHT (in this case skateboarding) SCENES. It also managed to keep itself interesting mainly off premise alone. There isn't much anime out there purely about something like skateboarding, surfing, rollerblading, or any of a sort, which makes since since it's more of a western sport. I'm not too sure how well it captured skating culture, but the skating aesthetic is captured extremely well with the amazing directing and animation. *chef's kiss* superb. The actual story, while nothing special, was very heartwarming and just kinda...Chill. It's just this half Japanese dude from Canada moving to Japan with his mom, feeling depressed, and meeting this cool dude who loves to sk8. Which then makes him love to sk8. Simple, to the point, digestible. And really, does it have to be anything else? The side characters are all great, my favorites being our favorite couple in an open relationship, Joe and Cherry. Their dynamic is just so much fun. The two are old friends who knew each other in highschool and would compete together in skateboarding competitions. They're always fighting and insulting each other, and if i'm being honest, it's hilarious. Miya is good too. He's an acceptional kid with a knack for boarding. Unfortunately, he got too good and so the homies peaced out on him. Fake friends... He has a bit of a cocky, sly personality. He's cute, I wish we got more of him in later episode. Shadow is just a big soft dude who wants to be a badass so bad. He just wants to get the girl but he couldn't. D*cks out for Shadow guys. For real though, he's enjoyable to watch, he just isn't as intersting as the other characters I just mentioned. One thing I gotta say about a certian character though...This...ADAM guy...I don't like him. He's creepy, had implications that project an evil stereotype, a legitmate danger to other racers, possible cultural appropriator, just an all around whack person. The worst part is that it rubs off on another character named Tadashi, who I dislike for continuing to follow this creepazoid. I will say I like the backstory between these two, but looking back on it, it made me just kinda feel bad for Tadashi because he thinks he can't give up on a dude that's clearly sick mentally. Adam needs to stay away from teenagers, then get jail time, then therapy. He's a danger and he either need to be taken away from the things he has, punished, and then reformed. //THE MEAT//

So the foundation for the entire series is the relationship between Reki and (almost called him ash) Langa. Honestly, it's a really good dynamic. Just a pure, healthy relationship between two boys, one of which introduced the other to a sport that would become his new meaning in life. Throughout the series, the two would go onto to inspire each other to keep improving and become each other's main motivation for wanting to skate in the first place. However this becomes too much for Reki and he sees how everyone Langa has surpassed him in ability. Reki then tries to catch up to him but fails, realizing he may never be as good as Langa. This causes him to stop skating for a while, as he's feeling too out done by everyone else around him. Though this arc is short lived, it causes for what I think is the best episodes in all of the series because it showed the possible weak point between Langa and Reki's relationship and showed a flaw in Reki's character being his inferiority complex. It also might have shown a bit of a flaw in Langa's character too, since it seems as though he is codependant on Reki and skating to be truely happy, as he just loses all motivation for skating without him their and his "heart doesn't beat as fast". Even though they didn't spend as long of a time as other anime would on this arc, it was still super satisfying to see them reunite and find their resolve together. The relationship between these two is simply very sweet.

All of this culminates into one easy message: Have fun bru. That's it. Just go, and have a good time. Anything that you love doing will be meaningless if you don't. Having fun is what relieves stress, what brings you and your friends close together, and what creates good memories. A dumb sounding message, but a good one to hear. It's suprising how much you forget this when you get older. You get so focused on being "productive", all you ever want to do afterwards is relax. It becomes this endless cycle of bordem that you can't escape from because it's devoid of any real joy. You're not doing the things that make you happy, you're just sitting in mental limbo. So it's nice to be reminded that it's okay, and even good to just, try to have fun doing something you love sometimes, and not have to take it seriously.

Have fun man. Sk8 is love. Sk8 is life.

Easily one of my favorites, low-key ranked as like my 10th favorite right behind revolutionary girl utena the series. A good time. 8/10

Over the course of the last decade, the far-right’s engagement with “the woman question” has taken an even darker turn. Well-known commentator on the manosphere David Futrelle, elaborates:

"…like many traditionalists, Hitler and his fellow Nazis tempered their misogyny – or at least tried to make it seem more palatable – with praise for the supposed purity and womanly honor of Aryan women who fit themselves neatly into their restricted roles. Today’s neo- Nazis, or at least those who’ve come to Nazism through 4chan and the meme wars of the alt-right, have a much darker view of women, one influenced more by bitter misogyny of ‘Red Pill’ pickup artists and Men Going Their Own Way than by sentimental fantasies of ‘Kinder, Küche, Kirche’."

Going beyond traditional claims about the sanctity of the family and natural gender roles, many contemporary groups influenced by the Alt-Right promote an intensely misogynistic ideology that straight-up hates women. They have largely abandoned the idea that “women have important, dignified roles to play as mothers and homemakers” to promote the message “that women as a group are contemptible, pathetic creatures not worthy of respect”. For instance, men’s rights activist and white nationalist F. Roger Devlin refers to women as the new “white man’s burden”, arguing that traditional visions of marriage and the family “did not oppress women enough” and should be replaced with “a vision of absolute servility”. This is the realm of misogynistic fascism – women are not only inferior, but useless, and they have little to no role to play in the white nationalist movement. Examples of this orientation are terrifyingly ample.

Renown white supremacist website The Daily Stormer has banned women from contributing to site, virulently argues against their inclusion in anything, and has come into conflict with women associated with the older white supremacist website Stormfront. At several rallies in the last year, crowds of white nationalists could be found chanting “white sharia now”. Promoted by some on the far-right, the idea of “white sharia” proposes that in a future white ethnostate “the sexuality, reproduction, daily life, and right to consent of White women should be controlled by White men”. In a video promoting the idea, one proponent asserts: “Under ‘white sharia’ our women will no longer be permitted to live their lives as sluts…And you won’t have any career women invading your workplace either. Nope. Under ‘white sharia’ our women won’t even be able to leave the home without being escorted by a male family member”. Many defenders of the concept also advocate making abortions forbidden for white women, and mandatory for women of colour. Equally vile, members of the militant Atomwaffen Division encourage the rape of white women as a tool to force the birth of more white babies, and promote the rape of non-white women as a tool to terrorise by forcing “them to carry around the spawn of their master and enemy”. Beyond such obvious suspects, this particular orientation to women in far-right politics takes some less expected turns.

Under the umbrella of misogynist fascism, there exists a strain specifically defined by a queer misogyny. This subsection, referred to by Kirchick as “homofascism” is comprised of aggressively sexist and generally hypermasculine gay men who literally have no use for women. As mentioned earlier, the far-right’s position on sexuality is somewhat complicated. On the one hand, LGBTQ rights are seen as a sign of social degeneration, Jewish influence, and an attack on white society. In response, it is not uncommon to see “open calls for the expulsion or violent eradication of LGBT+ people”. On the other hand, when speaking specifically of the “homosexual question” things are much less clear cut. Nazi Germany rounded up and slaughtered homosexuals by the tens of thousands, yet, it is also common knowledge that there were gay Nazis. The most famous being Ernst Röhm, a high-ranking official and head of the Nazi Party’s paramilitary force (the SA). Along with Hitler, Röhm was a “founding father of Nazism” and his particular brand fascism “was identical to the Nazi’s Party’s ideology in almost all respects, save on questions of male-male eroticism”. Under Röhm, homosexuality was highly regarded in the SA where “they promoted an aggressive, hypermasculine form of homosexuality, condemning ‘hysterical women of both sexes’ in reference to feminine gay men”. They celebrated ancient warrior cults and frequently referenced the Greek tradition of sending gay soldiers, who were believed to be the most fierce fighters into battle. In the 1980s, an explicitly gay neo-nazi skinhead movement emerged in the UK. In the late 1990s, the American Resistance Corps (ARC) was founded in North America with the goal of uniting gay and straight skinheads to create “a new era of tolerance and compassion between racist heterosexuals and homosexuals in their war against non-whites”.

Looking to our current period, some on the far-right simply do not care about male sexuality one way or another. For instance, editor-in-chief of the influential Counter Currents Publishing Greg Johnson argues: “White Nationalism is for the interests of whites and against the interests of our racial enemies. Period. Anything else is beside the point”. Similarly, the infamous alt-right figurehead Richard Spencer insists that homosexuality is a non-issue – something that has been part of European societies for millennia and isn’t “something to get worked up about”. Against this backdrop, several openly gay figures and the ideas they promote have gained some traction on the far-right. A featured writer on several alt-right websites and author of a number of books, James J. O’Meara is best known for his book The Homo and The Negro. In the book, O’Meara makes the argument “that gay white men represent the best of what Western culture has to offer because of their ‘intelligence’ and ‘beauty’, and that ‘Negroes’ represent the worst, being incapable of achievement”. He insists that homosexuality is quintessential to Western Civilization and promotes gay participation in fascist movements. O’Meara and others like him, advocate a future in line with the classic Aryan fantasy of the Männerbund. Associated with male warrior tribes and homoeroticism, the concept celebrates the unique bonds between men and speaks to a social order where elite bands of men rule. Male dominance is central and the fundamental building block of society isn’t the church or family, but close-knit groups of organized men.

Arguably the most infamous of this camp, self-described “anarcho-fascist” Jack Donovan promotes a blend of white nationalism, gang masculinity, and androphilia (love or sex between masculine men). He calls for the establishment of a tribal order called “The Brotherhood” – an order that is comprised of men who swear an oath to each other and is based on “the way of the gang” understood as a life centered “on fighting, hierarchy, and drawing the perimeter against outsiders”. Utilizing violence, gangs of white men are to create decentralized “homelands/autonomous zones” marked by racially defined borders and the exclusion of (white)women from public life. Donovan is a prominent member of the neo-fascist cadre organization The Wolves of Vinland. Inspired by the theories of the late Italian philosopher Julius Evola, the group promotes a particularly anti-populist and anti-woman take on fascism. They prioritize physical fitness and fight training, and argue that the solution to western decline is “a return of heroic masculine warrior-kings”. All of these groups and figures advocate a politics defined by extreme hyper-masculinity based in an almost pathological veneration of “manliness” and a distain for femininity. They reject gay culture for its association with decadence and hate effeminate men as much as they hate women.

What We Do In The Shadows

Werewolves and vampires: two species that are mortal enemies. But in a small town in Upstate New York, they seemed to find a way to co-exist by staying out of each other's way and minding one's business. However, the dynamics of the local pack of werewolves and coven of vampires would change when a certain pair got too close for comfort. Alfred is an over seventy-year old werewolf posing as local law enforcement, while Ivan is a centuries old vampire working at a blood bank. Both try to get through the struggles of being immortal creatures, who find themselves in a cultural and family struggle when they fall for each other. Between an anti-vampire pack leader, suspicious in-laws, and a death that could nearly tear two families apart, the pair questions if a relationship is a reality, or if they are too much baggage they carry. 

Chapter 1: How To Get Blood Stains Out

Ivan checked the time, it always moved expediently quick, so fast that a whole hour slipped between his undying fingers. It was inevitable, the changes in wardrobe, the action of scenery. Recently, he and his sisters had moved off and out of the country. With the endless amount of time in their collective hands, moving was simply vacation. They've spent twenty short years bundled up in the upstate part of New York together. As the only living company they own, it was only befitting that they clung to each other but only separated by a few blocks. Close but not too close to disturb or hover over each other. The middle of the three, Ivan, lived in a sizable apartment by himself. It was refreshing for him to try out new and different parts of the world every once and awhile. They were a quiet and reclusive species and he had plenty of words to say about the compact population density that came with the city. It was almost worth it to him to catch others of his kind when he's out on a walk, but the pure odor of his neighbor could give him a headache on the warmer days. Werewolves, he's never been that fond of the creatures, but he's grown accustomed to this certain neighbor's charms. He pondered on the idea that if their landlord implemented a no pets policy, what would come of Alfred and his fur-coated clothes. As for Ivan, he was sure his turtleneck sweaters wouldn't be a cause for alarm; though they may be wildly out of style for the time and a few drenched in the blood may catch someone off guard. Even if it was considered primitive to him, he still went out on the town scouring out fresh blood now and then, but that's only when his job didn't pay off and that was rare. He landed himself a plentiful gig working at a blood bank and for untrained customers, he would sneak out an extra pint just for himself. The blood packs were like caprisuns that he'd suck down to stay as youthful as he was.

There were alternatives that his family would cook up, but it didn't stand a chance to the rich milky serum of type B-negative or the popular O-positive. Getting ready to head out, he plucked up one of the various plastics packs he held in his fridge to quench his salivating mouth. His pointed teeth slipped out from their sleeves and punctured the bag in one fell swoop before guzzling it down. Crumpling up the remains, he wiped his lips and tossed it out. He perked up instantly, scooping up his laundry basket and walking out the door, locking it behind him. On most of his free days, he would invite Alfred to come down to the laundromat with him. The company was always nice, someone to talk to as he waited for his clothes to dry. Knocking on Alfred's door, he adjusted the sweater collar shielding his neck. It isn't much of a secret to other vampires or werewolves about what he is, the DNA imprinted in his scent, his natural code. Yet, when talking to Alfred, he didn't do much to state the fact or pry on the canine's own identity. He's seen too many of his kind staked through the heart to risk talking to someone so casually about being a vampire.

Alfred had started his day late, a habit of the man. Being a night owl, from either running around in the woods with his fellow pack members or being forced to change forms due to the shift in the moons. Working the third shift became needed for him, desperate for a job that would allow him to sleep in on mornings. In the countryside town, there aren't too many cops interested in working nights, so he easily found a job there. Members of his pack always knew how to work the system, being the immortal creatures that they were. Move every few decades, don’t make yourself super popular, don’t keep in touch with friends when you move. Alfred being the youngest member of the pack and was still getting used to not aging. Quite a weird reality, but one he’d have to accept. The constant moving never bothered him, but he did hate always lying about himself and his background. One of the older members of the pack said next time they move, he needs to change his name. He kept Alfred for his move, but his elders found it risky, however, let it slide since it was such a woodsy, small area. There was slight loneliness to being a supernatural creature, but Alfred found comfort in knowing that there are more of him out there. He isn’t truly alone, they were just hiding plain sight. 

Ivan was one of those, his neighbor obvious being non-human to him. Alfred could smell Ivan when he was down the street, let alone when he was at home. Vampires had that smell- extremely strong depending on each vampire. It was always weirdly sweet, but not in a good way. More like burnt, overdone sugar. Werewolves never cared for it, and he guessed vampires probably thought the same. On the other hand, living next to Ivan got him used to the smell, and he’d come to not find it horrible. It was just a tad bit too sweet, instead of sickly. His attraction to Ivan probably helped, his scent ability closed up when he saw Ivan. Perhaps it was his body doing him a favor when he saw the beautiful vampire. Members of his pack had warned him about them: Vampires, they are beautiful but dangerous. Don’t be charmed. Nevertheless, Alfred found himself charmed and enjoying his time alone with Ivan. He wouldn’t dare tell any of his packmates that, even if some would question why Alfred sometimes smelled like he had helped a vampire fold laundry. Whatever, it’s his life and his life alone. If he wanted to befriend one vampire, it couldn’t hurt. Their status of immortality and not spreading it is an unspoken rule, even among themselves. They both knew who each other were, but no one would speak on it. Alfred never asked Ivan what was his favorite blood to drink, and Ivan would never ask why he had stuff covered in fur in his house at times. A fair exchange. Ivan’s presence would gift Alfred when he knocked on the man’s door. Picking his head from the pillow, he got up from his sofa that he rested on. Attempting to catch up a season's worth of not watching, Game of Thrones played in the background. Already smelling Ivan coming up the stairs, he knew it was him. Stretching out his arms, he yawned and walked to the door. Opening it, he showed a toothy grin when he saw the tall vampire. “And I was just thinking of you. What’s up?”

The aroma hit his nose like a sack of bricks when the door cracked open. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant smell, but it could be strong and reek of wet dog in the worst cases. If he ever wanted to sniff out Alfred's blood type, there was a mask of different smells that blocked him. It would frustrate him. Ignoring the clear indicator, he adjusted the basket to his hip and patiently admired the smile. Cheerful and lively just like a mutt- he wasn't jealous of how werewolves morphed. He could barely handle his fangs let alone a full bone-cracking experience. He wasn't well versed in the world of the age-old rival species because he didn't grow up near very many of them. Vampires plagued eastern Europe in his old home, they fended off other creatures from their territory so spotting any other supernatural being was unlikely in those parts. Werewolves were a more western-based species, thus, he wasn't surprised to find one living so close to him. Nevertheless, he heard tales of their sharp teeth and their bright eyes that seemed to shine even during the day. He found it precious, the encased youth. "I was about to head down to wash my clothes. Do you want to gather up your own load and go down with me?" Asking felt more as he was inviting Alfred on a walk, the scent was just that hard to press through. Mentally shaking off the speciesism, he suppressed the sense just to have a normal conversation with his friend. "Unless, of course, you're preoccupied." He could only pick up on the faint mumblings of the television, his head wouldn't be able to dip in any further than the doorway.

Nine hundred years and he still hasn't managed to stumble into someone else's home without being invited in. It was especially frustrating when family-owned businesses didn't have a sign to welcome him in. Restaurants were a nightmare for him, but he was happy to see himself in reflections other than a camera or glimpses of the water. Once they took silver out of mirrors, he was ecstatic, but completely terrified the first time he caught himself in one. Come to find out that the curse was still wrapped around his frame like an infected vine. He didn't wish for immortality, but he found himself lucky to have family still with him. Most vampires didn't have the luxury of having someone by their side. It made him curious to find out Alfred's situation. Yet, it would be too rude for him to simply ask. "You probably want to rest up some more, don't you?"

The werewolf could only grin at the invitation. He found it humorous to always be invited by the vampire for outings because he couldn’t go into homes without being invited. Ivan would never cross even his feet past the doorway, as if a magical force was around Alfred’s door, keeping the vampire at bay. His pack had warned him to never have a doormat or sign that said ‘Welcome In!’ As it would give a vampire the clear ability to come inside. Even if being the friendly type, Alfred still followed the advice of his pack. Looking back on his sofa, he knew he had no plans later in the day. It was his day off, as he had work tomorrow. He planned on spending the day bumming around, so why not do some cleaning. “I’ll go with you. I got nothing better to do, honestly.” He teased, stepping back. “Give me a second.” Leaving Ivan’s side and going into his apartment without inviting him in, he forced the vampire at his doorway. It was sort of ‘fun’ to make the man wait at the door for him. Alfred was a playful man, nothing was ever too serious with him. Going to his room, he had a tall basket filled with dirty clothes. Ivan had come during a perfect time.

Picking up the laundry basket, he carried it to his front door. He slipped some sneakers on that were sitting next to the front door, excusing himself past Ivan. He didn’t bother locking the door behind him since he was only going downstairs. “I guess you came during a perfect time, huh. You are always like that you know. Always at the right moment.” He joked, walking to the elevator with him. “I wonder how you always know when I have a pile of dirty clothes. Must have superpowers.” Alfred’s tone was even more sarcastic, acting as if he didn’t already know Ivan was a vampire. Or that Ivan didn’t know that he was a werewolf. He wondered if they ever acknowledge their supernatural status, or if their friendship will always be based on mutual respect for their secret and the privacy of it. There were some lonely nights when he wanted to throw that out of the roof. Perhaps he’d be drunk or smoked too much weed, and inner emotions and wish would overcome logic. He’d wish to invite Ivan over and talk, but, wasn’t their thing to act as if they were just, normal? It was a difficult thing to balance. His fancy for Ivan, but not wanting to risk the interesting friendship the man brought him. He’d spent too many nights heart-broken over losing friends due to his werewolf immoral status, why do it again for lust? The tall, pale vampire would stay a foreign beauty, but a good friend for now.

There was plenty of love that went into making friends, but Ivan never had the knack for it. His longtime friends, and a few still living exes, scattered across the world. He had trouble keeping up with them because he traveled so much, but he couldn't say anything different for them. It didn't help that he never stayed long to talk. With a few of his past mortal companions, he could have taken a slumber and wake to find them dead. It was a while until he learned to not sleep for so long, but that was just his earlier days when he was first adapting to vampire life and society. Since then, he's become an expert in retracting his teeth and calming his cravings. Languages, landmarks, he's been around to study them all. He's been through ten different lifetimes in the same recurring body. It was hard for him to refrain from being downright miserable with the process. Each day was repetitive, every love faded and grew old. It brought him the slightest amount of joy to see someone else like Alfred still living life normally. Something deep inside of him hurt to think about how he could be wrong about the werewolf being a werewolf. It was selfish of him in many ways, he wanted someone else to suffer in the endless immortal cycle with him. He wasn't deeply in love with Alfred, but the man was pleasant enough to keep a smile lifting upon his face. Nothing made him happier than to hear that his offer was accepted by his new curiosity. Yet, he was only left to let the grin drop once Alfred walked off. He'd follow the man in if he only could.

Once the small adventure started, he narrowed his eyes to the observations. Picking up on the satire, he laughed. "Yes, I have a power called sensing Alfred's dirty laundry- never did I think it would come in handy... and it still has yet to help me." He smashed the down button for the elevator, the technology still intriguing him to this day, but somehow just as dangerous as when they were first introduced. The machinery in an elevator has stopped on him at least four times, he's grown to hate them. It was hard to explain why he survived the numerous crashes and why the remaining passengers had mysterious wounds. He couldn't deny free snacks like that; they were already dead or bleeding out, he had to put them out of their pain somehow. There was no pleasure in it, he did what he had to not suffer. If that were to happen with Alfred riding with him, he wasn't entirely sure what he would do. His bat form wouldn't be adequate to support a grown beast. "I suppose it does serve some purpose... I mean, if I don't remind you to take after yourself then who will? I know you certainly won't." The words bounced off the elevator walls as playful as they could be. After stepping off and into the foyer, he repositioned the basket back between his hands. "It's not as if you'll live forever, after all. People need maintenance."

Alfred walked down along with Ivan, enjoying the playful banter they had. Who knew that he’d get along with a vampire out of all people? Let alone have a small crush on the man. It was entertaining at the least, getting to laugh over his friendship with the man. They were both creatures of the night, perhaps it’s why they were able to bond. Even if they were different creatures, they still were ones of powers. Some would say they were works of the devil, that satan had inspired evil into their souls. But Alfred didn’t have a mean bone in his body, even in werewolf form the man would act as more of a puppy. The transformation to another creature didn’t have a huge effect on his personality like most. There were changes, of course, but he wasn’t a new person. He was still Alfred, just a tad bit more aggressive. Ivan had an interesting way of calming the wolf, he’d rather roll on his back and yawn in front of Ivan then growl and show off his toothy grin. “It’s nice being reminded that someone cares about if I have clean clothes or not.” His smirk grew at the word forever. Being an immortal being, it was his reality. Ironic to hear Ivan saying that he wouldn’t live forever- he wondered how old Ivan was. His dressings weren’t modern, far from it. He dressed like an old man, even if he was rather young-looking. And the way he spoke, it was as if he learned English in a different period. There was something uncanny about Ivan, and Alfred wanted to figure it out. Throwing his clothes into the washer, he poured the soap on top, closing the lid afterward. “Yeah, forever. You’re right.” He lied, still grinning as he turned on the water. He hopped on top of the washer, taking a seat on it as he watched Ivan finish his clothes. “Anyway, how’s work been? Does the blood bank have any drama going on? Or is it the same old same old.”

A few machines down, Ivan stowed his garments into a washer with a glimpse of a smile to his face. He always fell peacefully in the environment of laundromats; everyone kept to themselves and the air carried the alluring smell of softeners. There was a time that he helped his sisters tend to their dirty laundry. He didn't miss washboards or clotheslines; they ended up leaving his clothes cold. Nowadays, he couldn't survive without some clean warm fabrics wrapped around him when he finished folding. His body had been naturally frozen to the touch during the winter months as if he had become cold-blooded. It was one of the many things he missed about being human, the ability to keep warm or stay cool. The sun would burn and pierce his skin like knives if he stayed out too long as if chemicals were melting him down to the bone. While the chill stung and sent him shivering easier than before. He was curious to find out what Alfred's limitations were if werewolves had that kind of disadvantage, but the neighbor seemed to be even more distant than himself and that was anything but noteworthy. "I wish you would talk about your job more. You should know by now that nothing interesting happens at blood banks except for donors fainting and twisted veins." The real concerning bits he would leave out were his scandal starting to be investigated by the rest of the staff. None of them were nearing his trail, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Telling that part of his week would require acknowledgment of what he was and he wasn't fully able to trust Alfred like that. For all he knew, his cute little neighbor could be a vampire hunter hiding out as an untouchable breed of the werewolf. The idea was too outlandish for him to believe, but he couldn't be too safe when he had two of his family members hiding out with him. "You work in the middle of the day, don't you?" He moved back over to Alfred, watching how his legs dangle and bounce off the machine.

Transforming from human to werewolf had the opposite effect on Alfred. His body temperature was a few degrees hotter, making himself warmer overall. The cold didn’t have the same impact as it did in his human years. Being shirtless when it was snowing wouldn’t make him shiver. He went from loving tropical, warm climates, to preferring chillier places. He could still handle the sun and heat, his body just needed more time to adjust to it. With modern-day air conditioning, he was fine visiting hot places. It was now just a preference to live in an area with a cooler climate. Like a dog, he did enjoy laying out in the sun when it was warm, soaking up the heat. That habit was something he wouldn’t give up soon. The comment about his job kept the grin, as he knew more than Ivan might give him credit for. “I work the third shift. So, seven PM to seven AM. Three times a week, and I get the rest of the week off. Really, dreams come true. A mix of weird shit and serious stuff happens during those times, but this is such a quiet town, that a lot of calls I get are domestic or random crackheads acting up in public. Buttttt-'' He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling of the laundry room. “I do know all about the weird cases. Some shit we don’t want the public to know... Like this one- A couple of months ago, we found a body. Some middle-aged man, near the forest. We think he was homeless since no one came to claim his body and no one was looking for him. Anyway, his whole body was drained. No blood at all.” He looked at Ivan, still smirking.

His eyes didn’t go wide telling the story, he only just raised a brow as a cocky smirk stayed on his face. His expression read, ’I know you know’. “We didn’t let the media know about it since we don’t want anyone to think some crazy conspiracy up like as if there are vampires in this town or something. Sucks to say, thankfully the man was loved by no one, so no one’s looked into it.“ Alfred raises his hand, pointing his finger up in the air as he brought it to his lips, the classic ’It’s a secret’ sign. “But, don’t tell anyone I said that. Just keep it between you and me, okay?” Alfred adored the teasing, letting Ivan know that he knew. Alfred would bet his life and his pack that Ivan or one of the other vampires associated with him had to do with the murder. Alfred could smell another vampire like a scent on Ivan from time to time, and their scents were even stronger when they came inside the apartment. There were more of them, Alfred knew. His inner cop wanted to snoop and find out who these little vampires were. He knew one of them, but were the others? He guessed two, but there could be three. If he sniffed around more to look. “There’s a lot of weird shit that goes around in this town, for real. Someone once came to our station, a hiker, swearing that they saw a group of humans transform into wolves. They were high off of shrooms, though, so I don’t know how good their... uh references are.”

 "What a luxury, I wish I was that free to roam." There was no permanence to Ivan's footsteps, he was a nomad. Any obstacle that stood before him was merely an inconvenience unless it involved a sharpened piece of wood aimed at his chest. The only place he wouldn't dare step foot in again was Italy. He was perfumed in the nastiest garlic and swathed in the constant heat of the sun while mirrors were targets he dodged to avoid suspicion daily. The northern half of the states wasn't as unpleasant, he could feel the cold more often, but the climate gave him the excuse to cover and shield his neck from wandering eyes. Two puncture marks rest on the nape of his neck like scarred up craters. He wasn't entirely sure as to how werewolves get their roots, but he assumed it was something similar. A bite was sure to do it like an infectious disease passed from vessel to victim. His attention peaked with the mention of a corpse being discovered on the outskirts. He nearly cracked a smile remembering tackling the crude drunken man to the ground. Mercy wasn't something he divvied out very often, but it was especially not reserved for those who were asking for trouble. He did his best to not be cruel to strangers who didn't wrong him when he had to decide to starve or kill. The case revealed by Alfred, in particular, was one of revenge and bloodlust. He had to stand his ground when a man like that approached his family with a predatory look. It almost made him giddy to hear that the incident went by nearly unnoticed. He glanced back over to Alfred's face to assess the room. It didn't startle him to find a smug accent to the man's face, he learned early on how to stay inconspicuous in the presence of conjecture. Even seemingly friendly inquiries were something he had to manage with a steady tongue. 

Still not entirely proud of his way of life, he simply listened and checked the time left on his wash. Keeping a straight face didn't last long when he heard the idea of vampires lurking around town. He laughed and drummed his fingers across the metal behind him. The warm welcoming feel crept upon him. He found the unlikely relationship to be beneficial to the blindspot he had when unleashing mayhem in the streets at night. It was clear to him now, Alfred was aware of his identity. He gave a nod, winking Alfred's way as if to seal his secrecy on the subject. The talk of supernatural events was taken a lot more seriously back in his day, he's relieved to see that people have faded away from the topic. Not many vampires are being produced anymore, all the originals who could pass on the serum to transform humans into vampires have gone into hiding. Genetically, vampires can still be birthed into the world and he's met plenty of bonded vampires who have children, but he's not sure if the process is even worth it to curse your own children. "People turning into wolves? I can't believe that either... You seem to encounter plenty of drugged out people, but that's just the gift of the night shift." Hearing a beep and the mechanisms in his washer coming to a halt, he stepped back over and swapped his clothes into the drier. "I'm lucky enough to catch you walking around during the day." Rolling his eyes, he fed the machine some leftover damp socks lingering behind. "I guess I should take advantage of the moment and ask you if you believe in vampires and werewolves... like some deranged person, do you believe?" Smiling away, he lightly slapped at Alfred's calf. "Are you scared of vampires? Do they really frighten you?"

 There was something bold about Ivan. Here he was, instead of showing fear that Alfred knew about his status as a vampire, was smiling and joking with him. Perhaps it was Ivan’s way to save face, and he was hiding all of his anxiety about the situation. But Alfred’s inner wolf could smell fear. Even if a person was trying to hide it, their scent would be real of it. He couldn’t smell it on Ivan, the man was truly brave. Not many vampires could show a type of nonchalant attitude about people knowing who they are. It’s how they get a stake in the chest and burnt. Alfred kept away from the silver bullet by keeping low and not making trouble, but there was something that pulled Alfred closer to the vampire. His guts and playful nature was alluring, even if he’s been warned about it. Vampires were known for their beauty and charm, about to seduce someone into their death of two fangs in their neck. Alfred had been warned about it, but that warning was kept in the back of his mind, as the rest was pulling towards the vampires who were beautiful and playful. Alfred wouldn’t fall, victim, he wasn’t silly, but a part of him let himself go closer and give trust to a man he should have killed a long time ago.

Once his calf was slapped, he gave a toothy grin. “No, I’m not scared of anything. They should be scared of me.” He licked his teeth, going over his sharp canines. Showing off his white, strong teeth was a bit of a symbol to Ivan that he shouldn’t think he’s a harmless, playful puppy. If Ivan ever stepped out of line and was being a danger to his pack or this town, he knew how to rip a vampire into half, burn the body, and make sure that the creature stays dead. But he didn’t like having to do it, he wasn’t a violent man. The transformation did put some aggression on him though, made it easier to get mad and push someone around. Alfred would not be pushed around when it came to Ivan. The vampire would need to know it’s place. Sure, he was cute and charming, but Alfred would never let him endanger the pack of his town. He’d keep up his flirting and fun times with the man as long as he never crossed that line. But the vampire was undoubtedly sexy, he’d have to admit he did a few things to see him in his bed. So he’d play nice, keep his aggression at a low point. Part of him was trying to charm Ivan too, play his game back. It was a game to him, how sweet and kind and flirtatious did he have to be, to get a vampire into his bed. He just had to wait and see.

 Ivan forced back a flinch from twitching through his eyes, still gazes and anxious taps of his fingers sounding off. There have been times where he had to throw everything on the line and rip one of his own to shreds. Beasts, creatures, werewolves, vampires- he's had to claw and bite his way through a few fights even with people he used to call friends. The situation between him and Alfred wasn't to that point, but it still worried him. He didn't trust cops in general; his experiences with guards weren't pleasant, but Alfred was more friend than authority. There was nothing that scared him about the man, he liked him too much. He didn't want to see Alfred hurt, but if it came to it. There was nothing that he couldn't block off in his mind to keep his kin safe. If he had to lose some he wished to be closer to then so be it. He wouldn't show any sign that he was intimidated. The flash of pearly whites only made him roll his eyes. There was a reminder echoing in his head telling him not to do the same for it would be too revealing. "Oh? Is that really so?" He was entertained by the watered-down threat, a smile standing strong into his cheeks. "Well, I'll be sure to ring you up the first time I see a vampire and see how you end up handling it." A lie that he didn't even bother hiding, it was as clear as day while his sight on Alfred faltered.

"Well, I won't lie to you... I would be scared of vampires if I was you. I heard that they like hunting down cute, oblivious, and lively fellows." It wasn't a guarantee or something to put Alfred on his toes, he intended to be just as playfully. He didn't have to be threatening or territorial, he enjoyed the talks with his little neighbor. It still piqued his curiosity to see what kind of blood type the werewolf was even if he wasn't entirely too interested in killing the man off. Alfred, in Ivan's eyes, was a gourmet meal with legs he couldn't touch. Succulent and youthful individuals were a delicacy for him because he found it hardly fair to kill someone so youth. He restrained himself around people who still had time, older folks and jerks were nearly all of his meals. "Speaking of that, maybe you should come by the blood bank some time and donate? I'm sure you have plenty to spare." It was a complete win for him. He'd get to see Alfred and talk to him, figure out his blood type and get a chance to sneak a bag home. If it ended up being O positive, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his teeth sheathed around Alfred. "I'm sure you're too busy to come to visit your neighbor at his job though. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to show your face in a place like that- I hardly find it worth my time." Pretending that he was heartbroken already, he took his eyes to his nails as his fingers twiddled around each other.

“Call me. I’ll handle it really well,” he said, still smirking but somewhat threatening. He was also giving Ivan the approval to call him if he needed to handle a vampire that was bugging Ivan. He’d do that in a heartbeat, kill off someone who was bugging the cute man. It was a win-win situation, he’d get to hunt down and kill a vampire, and get brownie points with his crush. The transformation gave Alfred a new love for the hunt. When he was younger, he remembered being scared of hunting, and even throwing fish back into the water once he caught them. He was more delicate, rather not seeing the process of killing his meal. But the transformation had killed that part of him. Now, he lived for the kill. When he was in wolf form, his favorite thing to do was tear apart an unaware deer to pieces. An easy, fun meal for him. He was thankful that his urge to hunt and kill was for only animals and not humans. He did not need to tear down a human, there were plenty of animals and wildlife around here. His bloodthirst spared humans, and he was grateful for it. He couldn’t live with himself if he killed humans for fun. It’s why he’s thankful for being a werewolf instead of a vampire. He couldn’t imagine a life that depended on taking someone else’s. That was Ivan’s sin to bear, not Alfred’s, and he thanked God for it.

Alfred rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Huh. Maybe I will one day. When I have free time. I’m busy napping and going to the gym, you know?” Alfred wouldn’t in a million years go to Ivan’s blood bank. Let that vampire taste part of his blood?! He wasn’t sure if Ivan was simply humoring him, or he had plans to see what he tasted like. If his blood was good, would he kill him afterward? He wouldn’t take the chance. ‘I’ll keep my blood, no thanks sucker.’ He thought, unsure if he should trust the vampire. Sure, he was cute, thick in the right places, and had clear skin, but who knew what happened behind closed doors. But his inner animal wanted to see what things he could get anyway with the vampire on a personal level. “Maybe I’ll visit you and bring someone else who wants to donate. I’m not a fan of needles.” Alfred lied, not being terrified at all, just wanting an excuse to hint to Ivan ’not in a million years’. The only time Ivan might get blood from him if they got intimate. Maybe he’d let Ivan take a bite, but no, not for free. Ivan would have to try harder to taste his blood type. Which was a delicious O-positive. 

 Ivan wasn't the biggest fan of actual threats, especially from someone opposed to his own species. There wasn't much room for judgment when it came to bloodlust, but having it directed at him raised his defensiveness by tenfold. His feet even pointed and aimlessly propped his body away from Alfred. The werewolf was charming, but not precious enough to let him ignore such words. He stopped smiling beyond that point, his once pacing hand tucked away into his elbow. It wasn't in him to keep the lightheartedness going after something like that, but he tried not to let it get him down even though his crush just openly admitted to some form of eagerness in killing him. He was undoubtedly disturbed and discouraged by it. "Oh. Okay. I'll definitely keep that in mind every time I talk to you." He remained calm, his eyebrows lifting with criticism. The negative responses only continued when his advances were waved off. He respected it, his convincing skills weren't ever to be enough to anyone knowledgeable on the truth. His hypocrisy was recognized by himself as his own invitation to donate could have come off as threatening. For a moment, he pouted and studied the floor tiles before standing up straight to look over at Alfred. "It's fine, I'm only asking because I'm encouraged to at work... I don't know what it is, but I can never seem to get anyone to agree." He caved and slipped back into a playful mood, he didn't have the endurance to stop smiling around Alfred. "I guess everyone is just a big baby like you... scared of a little needle." His lids hooded his eyes as he teased the other with a smirk. If guilt didn't reel Alfred in, he would try challenging him. "Which is okay, of course, I hate dealing with squeamish people when I have to line them up anyway."

Alfred could tell that Ivan was somewhat offended by the comment, but he needed it to be. Alfred wasn’t stupid and needed to let the vampire know that. That he wasn’t going to become an easy meal for the man. While Ivan's intentions could be pure, and he truly wanted him to donate, Alfred saw past that. The man wanted his blood, and if just for a snack, or see if he’s worth a whole meal, that was unknown. And he wasn’t going to figure it out. Ivan charm and good looks wouldn’t fool Alfred, he wouldn’t be his next dinner. Even if he was cute. It was sick to say, but he enjoyed seeing his body language change from comfortable to unsettled. Yes, he had a crush on the man, but they were not close enough for Alfred to truly feel safe around him. He still needed to test the waters, if he wanted to make it further. His inner wolf could smell his emotional change, and he did feel slightly guilty for it. He could tell he might have hurt the feelings of the vampire, but he wasn’t eager to kill him. As long as he wasn’t threatening the town or his pack, he had no lust for tearing him into shreds. Violence would only come if Ivan brought issues into his loved ones, then he would be eager to tear him into pieces. But for now, Ivan was a non-threatening vampire who was quite cute, and he rather kept it that way. He enjoyed having a vampire who instead hated him, sought out his company. “Yeah, keep in mind. If any vampires are trying to hurt or bother you, I’ll handle it. No need to fear, cutie.” His tongue rubbed over his sharp canine, still smirking as he watched Ivan smirk himself “Anyway, these clothes are gonna take probably an hour to wash. I’m rewatching Game Of Thrones because of the series finale. Wanna watch it with me?” He offered, smiling as if he waited to see if Ivan would take the bait.

If Alfred was to deny his invitation then he would decline his too. He planned on having lunch with his sisters anyway so he didn't have the time to watch a whole series. "No, thank you... Maybe some other time." As if he was about to walk into a wolf den and sit down amongst the clinging smell of a werewolf. His sisters would be scolding him about it for the rest of his undying days. If he were to be mauled in the own apartment complex he lived in, it would be embarrassing. Even the investigation unit was something he didn't put his faith in. Corruption in American police forces was something he was warned about before he traveled to the new world, but he didn't expect appealing werewolves to be a part of the problem. "I have company coming over soon, I really should be cleaning up my place." He remained general as he didn't want to give any details and out any other vampires that could fall prey. "I hope that you enjoy yourself though." Still a little shaken up, he eyed Alfred down before taking a seat on one of the working machines himself. 

Being rejected, Alfred simply smiled. Even though Ivan sat down, he took the chance to get off of the washer. “Oh, I see. You got plans, that’s alright. Well, I don’t want to steal your attention if you’re busy and are gonna have company over. Go worry about that, I’ll just be upstairs..” And with that, he left the basket and started to walk off. “But if your plans cancel, you know where to find me. My sofa is very soft, and I always have snacks~~~” He sang, leaving Ivan alone in the laundry room. Usually, Alfred was the type to chase. Go after someone if he liked them. But he couldn’t be his usual self with Ivan. He couldn’t chase after the vampire so soon, he had to let the man come to him. He had too much on the line to make the vampire think that he had the upper hand. Not in a million years, if the little bloodsucker wanted some cozy up time with Alfred, he’d have to make the first step. Yes, once Ivan made some moves, he’d let himself chase the pretty boy, but Ivan wasn’t just any type of cutie. There was a danger to even being his friend, and with his pack, he couldn’t go after one so eager. Play it cool, let him come to you. It was the opposite of what he usually did. But Ivan was like a challenge to him. Landing a vampire would be an ego booster at that. Let his prey come to him, that was Alfred’s plan.

Ivan nearly gagged at the display, the show of continued insinuation wasn't needed. Being patronized by a werewolf wasn't on his list of things to get done today. Just to bite that ego out of Alfred for the moment would be a load off him. He wanted to keep the banter going and nudge at his neighbor when he made a joke, but he didn't allow himself that. The man had put him on edge and he wasn't ready to risk putting his trust in someone who flashes their teeth at him. If he could just get Alfred alone and defenseless then his problems would go away, but he'd hate to do that. He wants to keep getting along with the werewolf. If the threats became more severe he'd have to do something about it. The man made him uncomfortable at the worst of it. He couldn't help but wonder if his sisters were right- maintaining a relationship like that was more trouble than it was worth, but he enjoyed a good chase, just not one that involved malicious intent even from himself. It was a game he was willing to play, one that he needed to win for his own pride. Tame a feisty little wolf into a domesticated dog. If not in a million years, then he decided that he'd just have to wait a million and one years. He had the time and patience, but not the will to stay hooked on a simple werewolf. The time he had wasn't scary, but knowing that he was safe gave him some peace. He's been through the motion of loving someone a thousand times over and it has worn him out. There wasn't any urge for him to play tug-of-war with some flea-bitten flirt, but he found the slow process to be almost fun. For now, he would just have to wait and hold his ground until he could halfway trust Alfred without worrying if he'd end up like the deadweight he tossed into the woods.

He'd just have to stand by his convictions and watch the near pain of a charmer's head back up the elevator. "Don't wait up." Was the last thing he called out before the steel doors shut. His demeanor instantly changed when he was left to his own devices. He let the nervous lip biting tear off his skin as he watched quietly while his fingers picked at each other. The only thing plaguing his mind was the fresh blood on his hands from a couple of months ago. His tracks weren't covered properly, he was under the influence by the time he finally led his victim out that night. It was troublesome because Alfred most definitely knew and he wasn't sure if that was something he could keep hiding so meticulously under the constant nose of a cop acting as his own K-9 unit. If the man ended up prying even further, he might just have to end him. He didn't want to worry his sisters too much with it, he didn't plan on telling them until he deemed the situation dangerous. Even now, it was nearing that point. He didn't trust Alfred despite how much he enjoyed him and that was a problem. The neighbor was certainly up his alley. A grinning, handsome, little canine. Groaning, he hopped down from his ledge and walked off to the elevator himself. He refused to sit there letting his dick think for him. Once on his floor, he paced off to his door and scrambled in. It wasn't long before he went to cleaning as the frustrating image of Alfred remained in his mind. He liked the werewolf, but he wasn't going to give in to temptation so easily.

[ Link to my Ao3- leaving comments and hits will light up my day. 

 Thank you for reading, chapter 2 comes out in a few days since I have 416 pages :’) have a nice day.

P.S. This is based off an RP me and my friend have been doing about a year, if anyone has confusion on the formatting that is why. She prefers to stay anonymous but I just would like to make that clear <3 ]

I’m Here (pt.2): Are You There?

But the correct post because I left out the whole first half of the fic last time because I am a ~dumbass~

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The airbenders had a secret, beautiful-sounding, wordless-word language, and Aang was a lonely lil bird after he became the last airbender. 

But then the Gaang improvised. And, now, Aang could sing the secrets of the winds with his family again...

...but Azula always lies.

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A/N: A lil Gaang-love hurt/comfort/angst/fluff sortof-continuation (that reads a bit different) to “I’m Here”, because Aang needs yet another hug and the Gaang will break kneecaps while Appa breaks femurs in order to give him one. (Part 1/2)

Rating: T (B for Backhand Azula with the might of Zues please)

Words: 3,531

ArchiveOfOurOwn

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When Aang was a child in the Western Air Temple, he talked to his best friend in whistle-speak all the time.

He asked him how his day was. He asked him if he liked the temple. He asked him if his siblings were as nice as the older boys who Aang had to share his room with.

Appa never heard him. Skybison didn’t understand whistle-speak. Appa just licked him sometimes and hugged him with two or four of his legs if he liked the tune his sky-rider was singing.

And while he wasn’t alone when he was with his buddy, Aang had never felt more lonely.

/Are you there? You’re right there. I’m here. I’m right here./

His buddy’s silence made Aang’s chest ring hollow and ache in the worst ways. His shoulders curled to his ears. His songs bounced off Appa like he had a shield.

After his first un-returned /I love you/, Aang crawled onto Appa’s head and refused to let go. He clung to his tiny horns and buried his tears in Appa’s fur. He only moved to a different spot when Appa whined and wanted to lick him. He even stayed on when he stole Appa extra treats—Gyatso said he was very skilled and that he might even earn his master’s marks in a few years—by hugging his neck with his legs and bending the whole bushel of apples to him.

Appa would lick him happily, but his happiness felt superficial and just out of reach.

/I love you, Still./

Appa still didn’t hear him.

Aang didn’t understand it. Appa was a baby, but even the other children in the nursery talked in whistle-speak before normal speech. They could understand it even sooner. Whistle-speak was their winds. It was instinct. Every airbender was born with it. Every airbender was born into it. And it was their most precious part of themselves.

Whistle-speak was an emotion. A fleeting moment. A part of a person trapped in time and turbulence to deliver feelings so deeply that it could hug around someone’s soul and warm them from head to toe.

But Aang couldn’t give Appa his words without words. It made Aang sadder than he liked to think about. He couldn’t let his buddy feel how much he loved him.

Aang promised to find a way. He could give him his words without words without whistle-speak. He was sure that he could. He just had to try not to cry as much in the meantime. Appa didn’t like it when he cried. Appa trotted him to Gyatso before his first sob broke, and his master patted his back and calmed him before Aang’s heart could start to really hurt.

Gyatso couldn’t convince him to come off, though. Nor could the nuns who watched him as a baby. Even the newly-blued masters couldn’t tug or airbend them apart.

Aang softly hiccuped when the meaner boys taunted him for it. He clung tighter, trembling a little, and wished he could hide in Appa’s fur. Their words hit hard, but their whistle-speak hit him even harder. Their winds couldn’t be ignored or told to go away. The wind never listened. It only spoke.

Appa smacked his tail at them, and his wind couldn’t be ignored, either.

Aang stuck his tongue out at every single one of them and the dust clouds they left behind. He even stuck his tongue out at Appa’s mama when she growled at Aang to get off. Appa bared his teeth and tried to growl, too, but he was too small. They both held their heads high, though, as he trotted away.

Aang smiled and rubbed his wet cheeks. Appa was his best friend.

His best friend.

His.

Aang’s.

Nobody else’s.

He was never letting him go.

He just wished that he could tell him. He just wished that Appa would break his silence.

/Are you there?/

He wished that Appa could hear him.

He held Appa’s fur tighter. Appa licked him and walked him to food and brought him to water before Aang even realized that he was hungry or thirsty.

Gyatso tried to explain that the skybison couldn’t know whistle-speak because they didn’t need it. 

Aang asked Gyatso why, and Gyatso just smiled and gave him a gift. Aang believed him, nonetheless, but he was still a bit scared.

Appa licked him again. Aang crawled off his buddy and tucked his new bison-whistle in the hidden pocket in his robes. He trusted his mentor. He trusted him as much as his winds. Gyatso held his hand, and they walked away.

Aang looked back for his buddy, but Appa was already trotting at his side. His best friend rubbed his furry head against his cheek before Aang could think to pet him. Aang giggled and held a handful of his fur. He would never let him go.

...But then the sandbenders happened. And then the end of the war. And now Appa was taking care of a family that had been waiting a hundred years for him.

Aang still whistle-speaks to his best friend, even though Appa never answers.

He asks him how his day was. He asks him if he likes the palace. He asks him if his new family is as sweet and kind as his.

/I love you, Still./

Appa didn’t respond like always.

Aang wishes that he hadn't left the bison-whistle his master had made for him in his room when he ran away. He had his other from his travels tucked into the secret pocket of his robes, but its weight never felt quite right. The whistle didn’t feel quite right at all, but it seemed to be the only way to speak to his buddy.

The whistle was silent. Aang didn’t like silence. His skin crawled whenever he played it. It’s air felt numb and lifeless even though it came from his own lungs. It turned his winds into spoken silence that made the world feel crooked. Like he was lost and no one was looking for him.

Like he was being left behind.

He was calling for his best friend with a void for a voice, and it felt so inherently wrong.

The silence from the bison-whistle reminded him of home in the worst ways. The voices of the faces from a lifetime ago were growing quieter and quieter in his memory. The soft words of his mentor that were almost fatherly, the prideful boasts of the newly-blued masters who showed him off to their friendly rivals once he became the youngest newly-blued of them all, the nostalgic song of the old nun who cared for him as a child...

Aang’s throat tightened. Something tugged his gut and made him curl up until he was as small as he felt.

He could hardly remember their voices. Barely even their names. Even the warmth of their whistle-speak was washed away in dull-grey in the attic of his mind.

One of his hands fisted Appa’s fur without Aang knowing. The coarse hairs were familiar and comforting like nothing else was anymore. They cradled his earliest memories and reminded him that those good times actually happened.

Something heavy sat on Aang’s shoulders and weighed him into the dirt, but Appa licked him before he could cry. A giant paw pulled him close and nearly crushed him against his face.

/Are you there, Soft?/

Aang smiled as the familiar winds of his family curled around him.

/I’m here./

And that’s how his family found him after Zuko came out of his meeting.

/What took you all so long?/

Toph and Sokka laughed, Katara awwed, and Zuko shook his head with a smile.

Appa didn’t want to share at first, but they all dogpiled onto Aang and laid in the sun like they did during the war.

Appa grumbled and still didn’t want to let him go, but Aang’s family weren’t going to let him go, either.

...But, one day, Aang did go. He went by himself into the woods to greet the first sunny days of spring.

He was halfway back to the palace when an echo broke his peace.

/Are you there?/

Aang spun around so quickly that he nearly fell flat.

The whistle-speak rang distant and high-pitched. A cry from far beyond the mountain. Its lyrics were icy fingers numb and black from frostbite—the ghostly touch of nails gliding up his back.

The song in his ears curled its winds around him like a hand reaching out of the dark. It was small, unsure—

/Are you there?/

—like when he was a boy in the Southern Air Temple and in the woods without a partner.

Aang’s shoulders curled to his ears.

One of his family was alone.

/I’m here./

He rushed his wordless words in warm gales to hug his wayward loved one. He rushed his sprint even faster as he commanded the air to aid his haste.

If only he had his glider.

/Are you there?/

If only Zuko had told him sooner.

/I’m here./

Aang is out of breath and tired as he gets closer to his family.

His heart aches some more.

He thinks they are alone.

/I’m here./

Azula always lies.

And Aang doesn’t see the danger until she smirks.

He tries to step back, further into the cave, but there are four more laughs behind him.

Azula braids whistle-speak with something that isn’t an ocarina, and her winds curl around him like a lasso.

/Oh, there you are./

Aang’s blood would have run cold if Azula’s winds weren’t so warm. They’re smooth and oddly soft like the scales of a batviper winding up his leg. His stitched-up heart welcomes them all the same, and his panic grows damp and fuzzy under the weight of her melody’s calm.

Her lyrics dig under his skin. His shoulders curl to his ears.

The inky blackness smells his blood in the water, and it dances around his heels like a pet eager to play with its master.

/Are you there?/

He freezes again, and even the breath from his closing airway is cold. Her lyrics are concerned and filled with sorrow like they were fighting back tears. They remind him of Katara. Instinct pulls his attention in every direction to look for her, and it blooms fresh adrenaline when he can’t find her.

/I’m—

Azula hits him where one of his arrows curl around his arm. Her sisters hit him more. Cold like ink dripped into a pool of water branches frozen webs under the medals of his mastery. She rips his elements away from him, and his past lives blur behind dirty glass.

She lets him still move, though. Not that it helps him. His insides are more slush than bone.

/Are you there?/

Her song is playful and satisfied to the brim; his mind thinks the day is hot and his friends are too lazy to play.

Aang’s lip trembles. His throat tightens. Grey memories are ripped out of the sacred chest in his mind and brought into visceral clarity.

They make him feel everything until he feels nothing, and that’s when it really starts to hurt.

/Are you there?/

She always asks him when he closes his eyes. She doesn’t want him to pass out. She wants to hold him at arm’s-length and dangle his winds in front of his face. She wants to taunt him with his whistle-speak from her crude metal flute.

The thing looks industrial. It reminds Aang of the war and the things he tries to forget about it. She could play it like a professional, but she and her sisters force their blows just to watch him squirm.

They steal the voices of his family.

They make his people scream.

Pins and needles fill Aang’s chest, and liquid heat sears his eyes. He feels their horror as his own. He feels their every dying breath in his gasps. He screams so loud that he deafens himself, but the scrape of his brow on the cave floor makes more of a sound than him.

Aang didn’t understand. The wind wasn’t hers. Its songs weren’t something that could be captured and tamed and used.

But Azula had put his winds on a leash. She had made them lie.

Her lyrics tack him down like a needle through a butterfly all while making his arms itch for a hug.

/Are you there?/

Aang’s cheek kisses cold earth while his arms debate whether or not to pick him up off of the ground. Wordless words pile into wordless sobs that choke the base of his throat. A whimper slips through the cracks.

Azula laughs.

And she gets four more in response.

They dance around him to the tune of his people’s screams. The voices of faces from a lifetime ago claw his chest bloody, and they rip off the patch his family had stitched for him.

The pit is starved and bigger than ever.

He hears his friends who snuck around with him and never let each other get caught. He hears the newly-blued masters who lifted him onto their shoulders when he got his tattoos. He hears the elderly nun who nursed him as a child in the Western Air Temple and gave him his whistle-speak name...

We need you, Aang. Are you there? We need you. Are you there?

/Are you there?/

His throat runs dry. His cheeks run wet.

Azula’s next winds are slow, almost tender. She lazily sinks her fangs into where she had peeled him raw, and she lances him with just as much venom as she did in Ba Sing Se.

She sounds almost like Gyatso.

/I love you, Soft./

Aang’s shoulders shake. His soul bleeds.

/Are you there?/

His first sob breaks him into a kneel. His second brings him to his knees. And he is surrounded by cold laughter and something heavy, an iron net, just as he forgets how to breathe.

His shattered heart weeps.

/Are you there?/

They tie him down and take special care to bind his chest so tightly that he can only breathe spoonfuls of air. Aang writhes like a newborn badgermole grabbed by its scruff and held high off the earth it had been born to command.

Everything is dark. Everything hurts. His voice abandons him after the second bolt of lightning.

Azula takes her time. She bites away at him until they no longer have to hold him down.

They drag him outside by his robes and shove him to the ground. Azula’s satisfaction is nearly palpable when his chest meets the dirt with a pained sound. Aang shivers and heaves for breath, and every inhale grates his ears with the scratchy sound of sandpaper on stone.

Azula’s foot finds its home between his shoulders and squeezes the last fragments of air out of his empty lungs. She presses harder, hoping for a wheeze. He feels her disappointment when all he gives her is something that sounds like a cough.

She spits his title and talks some more. She threatens his family—his brothers, his sisters, and Katara.

Aang grinds his teeth. His blood runs hot. He pushes against her, even though he can barely push his chest up to steal a glancing breath, just so she can see his snarl.

She digs her knee into his back until he can’t breathe entirely. Aang gasps on nothing, desperate and writhing as he is cut from his element, and the wind flurries around him like it shares his panic. She holds it there and relishes his empty gulps for air like his pain was to her as food and water were to every living thing.

The seconds tick by in small centuries. The faces of his family tick through his mind’s eye in so much time lost.

His body begs for air. He opens his mouth in a silent cry.

And Aang gets four responses.

/Looking for you./

/Are you okay?/

/Love you, Soft./

/I’m here./

Aang smiles so hard that it hurts his bruising cheek. He would have laughed if he could.

His family was here. They were looking for him. Their winds were honest. Their winds were warm. And they curled around him just like they always had.

He goes to respond—

Azula laughs.

Aang’s lip trembles some more, and even the blood in his lungs runs cold.

He can’t make a sound. She doesn’t give him any air. His voice is as dead as his people.

His family is further away now. Their songs disappear beyond the mountain—taking their winds with them and singing, without him.

I’m here.

Azula holds his face and presses his cheek into the dirt. Chilly panic writhes in his belly like an animal in a too-small cage that was quickly filling with water. Aang struggles for all he is worth, but he can’t move. He can’t breathe . Tears run over his lip and mix salt with copper in his mouth.

I-I’m here.

His family’s silence hums cold and mocking in his ears. Aang tries to swallow. He almost chokes. More like a hiccup. Their silence presses a boot on his throat just as Azula presses his face harder into the dirt.

His stomach lifted like he was falling. His skin raced over with the same feeling.

He was falling away and falling apart.

He was being left behind.

I’m here...

Azula laughs just as coldly as the ground beneath him feels. Her knee digs in so hard that his ribs feel like they’re bowing.

/Are you there?/

They taunt him with his people’s voices as his vision fades. Stolen winds hug him with hope and rip off of him in screams so much that his head spins and his heart forgets how to beat. They dunk him in and out of icy water, and he prays they would just keep him under.

They had ripped away his winds. They had ripped away his family.

Like when the Avatar took Gyatso.

Like when the Fire Nation took his home.

He opens his mouth to cry out. Silence filled his lungs, and silence is all that comes out of him. His chest tightens like he’s drowning.

Azula presses her knee harder to tear out his silence in muted songs just like she tore out his people’s screams from her metal flute.

Aang was peeled raw and torn bloody, and the pit was swallowing him whole.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here—

Azula’s laugh bleeds into the air like ink onto something sacred. She pats his wet cheek.

“Are you there, little bird?”

I’m here…’m right…’m right here...

Aang’s head is filled with cotton and his vision is black with spots when the ground shakes. The silence is blown away so furiously that it makes his ears ring.

It’s Appa who finds him first.

More earth churns, and Azula is vaulted off his back.

It’s Toph who finds him next.

Murder is in Katara’s shout. The promise for pain is in Zuko’s curse. The guarantee of slaughter is in Sokka’s battlecry.

The four of them chase after the devils who hurt their family, but Appa stays huddled around Aang’s limp form. He groans and rumbles and paws the ground in his desperation to get his sky-rider to move.

Toph, being able to feel Aang’s condition, is the one to call off the attack. They sprint to his side, even though they were no more than a few yards away, and Appa only growls for a second before allowing them closer.

Their bloodlust turns to panic as soon as Aang remembers how to breathe. The ropes are gone, his wrists are red, and the whole of him makes them contemplate murder again.

They hug him tight and hold him close like their arms might somehow be bandages, and they speak softly their small assurances and loving coos.

Aang clutches their clothes like his life depends on it. He trembles so hard that he shakes them all. He weeps, but he is quiet. Not even his wet hiccups make a sound. They hold him tighter. Appa licks his shoulder.

Azula and her sisters escape, but they could care less at the moment. Sokka and Zuko tear their shirts for bandages, Katara stems Aang’s bleeding where it’s worst, and Toph braces herself as he squeezes her hand numb.

Aang stares at everything and nothing as he holds his other hand out, but Appa’s nose is there before the trembling limb can fall.

They all have a million questions.

They all agree not to ask them.

On the way back to the palace, Aang sits on the cradle of Appa’s neck and hugs him like he otherwise might fall into something worse than death.

He still hasn’t said a word. That’s when his family knew something was worse than wrong.

He doesn’t respond to words, so they try whistling instead.

/Are you there, Soft?/

Are you there?

His eyes are wide and vacant. He trembles harder. His tears flow faster. They get their answer.

Aang fists handfuls of Appa’s fur—his knuckles white and bandaged and shaking—and he refuses to let go.

The sounds of his family’s hearts breaking are the only noises to break his silence.

***************************************

I cannot write hurt-angst-stuff for the life of me so I’m sorry but I tried--and also present-tense can slob the fattest knob I should never have done that why would I use that in the original one-shot I am such a fOOL--

(IM SORRY AANG BB)

Part I: I’m Here

Survey #364

“you wanna know what zeus said to narcissus?  /  ‘you’d better watch yourself’“

Do you change your type of music regularly? Nah. I've ben all about metal and rock since middle school. Would you want to visit Tokyo, Japan, someday? It's not actually on my bucket list or anything, but I'd do it. Do you curse like a sailor? Sailors are better than I am, aha... Do you hear trains pass by where you live? No. Ever been in a race? Haha, no. Last time you’ve eaten a taco? I hate tacos. Do you like horses? Sure do! Do you like Starburst? omg YES. What is your favourite wild animal? MEERKATS!!!!!! :') Do you like hamsters? They're very cute, but I've never met a nice one. Do you eat bananas? Yeah, I like bananas, but I'm VERY picky with how ripe it is. There's like, barely a two-day span where I'm willing to eat them. What is your favourite bookstore? I don't have one. What is your favorite fast food joint? Sonic. Do you sweat easily? Ugh, you haven't the slightest idea. As a side effect of one (or two?) of my prescriptions, I have I N S A N E hyperhidrosis. I can stand outside for a millisecond in like 70 degree weather and I'm already sweating. If you could move (and SERIOUSLY think about this) where would you move? All factors considered, being entirely realistic, the mountain-y region of western NC. Why would you go there? I want to stay in NC to at least not be a massive ways away from my family, and I loooove mountains. Plus, there's a lot of cool places on the other end of the state. Do you want to travel? Yes. I want to see so much more than this boring 'ole state. What was the last vaccination you got? For Covid. Have there ever been any forest or grass fires in your area? There have been wildfires towards the beach, I believe? Any time it happened we would always get the smoke all the way where we live. Are you Italian? Not to my knowledge. Do you own an acoustic guitar? No. What is something you have given a lot of thought to lately? My physical health. When did you last swallow your beliefs to avoid an argument or confrontation? Recently. Can you roll your own cigarettes? I've never smoked, so. Are you mentally strong? I think so. I hope so. Are you physically strong? I am like, comically weak. Are you heartbroken right now? No. Do you ever get complimented on your eyes? What color are they? It's happened, but it's definitely not a regular thing or whatever. They're grayish blue. What facial feature do you like the best on a person? I'd say I'm most attracted to pretty eyes. What is the weirdest animal you’ve ever held? I helped hold a massive snake as a kid (I don't remember what it was), and I've also held a rose hair tarantula. I can't think of any truly strange animals by my opinion, really. Do you get extremely hyper when under the influence of sugar? No. Sugar seems to have zero effect on me, probably because I'm over-exposed to it thanks to soda... What about caffeine? Not at all, likely for the aforementioned reason. Have you ever tried any drugs? If so, did you regret it? Besides alcohol, no. I don't regret having drank as it was never a lot. Do you have any pregnant friends? A high school acquaintance is pregnant. I THINK she's the only one now? I swear I see a new pregnancy announcement on Facebook like every two days, and mind you I don't even have all that many "friends." That being said, I may definitely be forgetting someone. When ordering food, what do you usually get as a drink? Depending on whether they have Pepsi or Coke products, either Mountain Dew or Coke. When drawing something, do you try to be super precise or do you not care? I am so, so, SO obsessive over getting everything right, but things never come out as good as I want them to/imagine them. Have you actually read Twilight? I haven't. What about Harry Potter? Never read any of those, either. I started one in elementary school, but didn't get very far at all. Out of the two, which is better? I have like no interest in either, so. How often do you read books? It various. I go through like reading episodes, and then I don't read for months. Are you the jealous type? I'm not like, an insanely jealous person, but it's still the worst it's ever been at this point in my life. I hate it. Are you the type of person who gets jealous of people’s pasts? Nah, no reason to. Do you know anyone who faints at the sight of blood? Not blood, I think, but needles and drawing blood, yes. I know my dad's fainted at least once at the doctor, and Jason fainted when I was getting blood drawn at the ER. What colors are the eyes of your family members? Just about everyone has brown eyes but me, I think my maternal grandpa, and my brother. Are you related to anyone with red hair? Not to my knowledge. Were you a chubby baby? No, I was pretty average. What’s something that makes you incredibly nervous? Social situations with strangers especially. Asking for things. Public speaking/presenting. What’s the latest you’ve ever stayed up to finish homework/a project? God, I remember there was this one night in particular where I stayed up SO late, but I don't remember the exact time. I think I actually cried because I was so stressed and tired. How many vegetarians do you know? In my personal life, I don't believe I know any, but I could be wrong. Have you ever had problems falling asleep in class? I never did, even though I was always tired. Have you ever been on the barrier or front row at a concert? No. Favorite episode of Spongebob? The pizza one, probably. Or the Hash Slinging Slasher episode. What bug frightens you most? Wasps, probably. Are your parents supportive of you? Yes. <3 How often do you take the train to go places? I've never been on a train. Have you ever participated in a mock trial, or a real trial? No. Do you own a pocketknife, or any other kind of multi-tool? No. What was the last thing you took a video of? Hm... I honestly don't remember. What’s something that used to really stress you out, but doesn’t anymore? Thunderstorms. Have you ever had famous neighbors? No. Pick your three favourite vegetables. Broccoli, green beans, and uh... I'm blanking... Habitually I wanna say "corn," but I know it's not technically a veggie, but starch. Have you ever broken a movie or game disc? I think I have? What is your favourite type of cookie? Chocolate chip. Can you rap freestyle? Or at least sing raps from songs? Ha, no. Have you ever shared a house with a significant other? Yeah. Do you scream at scary parts in a horror flick? No. I might jump a bit, but not always. What do you spend most of your time doing? Watching YouTube. Do you really care what’s going on in celebrities' lives? More like the YouTubers I watch. Have you ever broken a plate/bowl? Accidentally by dropping them. When was the last time you felt like you didn’t have a care in the world? I couldn't begin to guess. Has anyone ever drunk called/texted you? No. Can you do a backwards london bridges? God no, I'd bust my back. What smiley do you use the most on the computer? (: maybe. Or :') Are any of your pets “overweight”? No, but why is "overweight" in quotations as if overweight pets aren't a real and serious issue? Has anyone ever bought you a ring? Yeah. On a scale 1-10, how funny are you? I honestly don't think I'm funny at all, so I'd put myself at a 1. Pretty recently though it was very surprising and flattering to have my dad and older sister point out that I'm "hilarious" with my wry sense of humor. I don't see it, but I mean, it was surely appreciated. What’s a song that is overplayed but you still like it anyway? I barely ever listen to the radio, yet I still know "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen is played a lot, but I could never get tired of it. Are you excited for Christmas? Christmastime is my favorite time of year nowadays, mainly because of how excited my niece and nephew always are, and we spend most of Christmas Day and usually Christmas Eve with them. I love the weather, the focus on togetherness, all that. What are you thankful for? Man, a lot. I try my best to never overlook all the truly amazing things I do have, like a loving and supportive family, a home, food and safe water, Internet haha, access to medical care (regardless of the complaints I have about American healthcare)... I've got a lot of bad going on in my life, but I've also got a great amount of good things, too. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up on? Internet. What’s your favorite color combination? Maaan, don't do this. I really don't know. Probably two pastels, idk. Do you have any internet friends? I have more Internet friends than I do "real life" ones. What was the last song you listened to? "Deep Six" by Marilyn Manson earlier. How are you feeling right now? My arm is really sore from my second Covid shot, and I'm also having trouble breathing thanks to the dog (apparently, I'm allergic to whatever she is). I know it sounds bad, but I cannot wait 'til she's gone (from this house, no we're of course not euthanizing her). What color is the shirt you’re wearing? Burgundy. Do you play video games? Yeah, just not as much as I used to. Have you ever been to a club and had someone slip something into your drink? I've never been to a club period, and I don't plan on it. Do you know anyone who’s done ecstasy? Not to my knowledge, anyway. Are you on birth control? Yes, but only to regulate and soothe my menstrual cycle. My cramps were insufferable prior. Does your sibling have a significant other? All but my younger sister. Like she's in contact with who she calls "contenders," haha, but she isn't officially dating anyone. She's MEGA picky with who she dates. Have you ever cried at a real wedding? Yes, because it was very triggering to my PTSD. Any idea what you want for your next birthday? That's quiiite a whiles away, so I have plenty of time to think about that. I don't know if I'll be employed by then and thus able to buy some things myself, but I'll just say I won't be (because I'm I think rationally fearful that's where I'll still be). For Christmas I plan on just asking for a new terrarium for Venus plus better materials for it (like a proper temp gauge and hygrometer, etc.), and with that taken care of, then I might be interested in asking for a hognose for my bday, but idk. I'd want to ensure (s)he starts out with a perfect terrarium, and seeing as I want a hoggie morph, that's a lot of money in one go that idk if I'd be comfortable asking. So I'unno, maybe I'll go for a tattoo again. Wow, this was a lot of rambling for something so far off, pardon me haha. Are there any gadgets of yours that need charging right now? My Nintendo DS Lite, actually. I can't find the darn charger for it, and I really need to so I can bring it to Ashley's again for the kids to play the Pokemon game I have that they love. Aubree especially is really into it, and she adores Pikachu and Eevee. :') Which awards show would you wanna go to the most (e.g Oscars, Grammys etc.)? I don't even know what most award shows are for, if I'm being honest. I'm not really interested. What colour is your keyboard? Black, but each key glows red. Have you ever been called a skank/slut because of the way you dress? No. Are you a fan of acrylic nails? Not for myself; I think they'd drive me insane. I do, however, think they look nice on others.

Hoshiai no Sora Production Notes #03

Akane Kazuki answers questions asked by the fans!

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Q.: Between traditional Japanese, Western and Chinese cuisine, what’s Maki-kun’s specialty? Also, I would like to know if there’s any cuisine that he’s good at in particular.

A.: He can generally cook anything without having a particular specialty. The reason why he often made Chinese food in the cooking scenes of the series is that Chinese food can be made in a short span. For dishes that take up time, he makes and stores them on Saturdays, then uses them for his lunch boxes.

Q.: I want to know the hobbies of all the club members!

A.: Maki has an interest in astronomy, so astronomical observation. Touma likes dinosaurs and fossils. Rintarou collects cat goods. As for Nao, fishing. In Itsuki's case, I guess it would be horror-type shooting games or the like. I feel that his older sister, Namie, likes them indiscriminately and would join him. Taiyou plays with his father using his miniature cars, which are also his hobby. Tsubasa might not have a hobby that actually seems like a hobby. Shingo watches anime with his little sister.

Q.: I want to know the reason for everyone except Maki to have joined the soft tennis club!

A.: I guess the only one who joined it because he wanted to play soft tennis was Touma. Middle schoolers in general must join some club, and many of them join clubs that they pick due to having no other option. I think that the club members of Shijou Minami also ended up gathering there because each of them had no other place to go, but as they all carry wounds that do not show on the surface and have formed a relationship where they understand one another without saying anything, it has turned into their own little place to belong.

Q.: The production of not just the soft tennis scenes, but also daily life scenes where Maki cooks and everyone eats with relish in their own way, is rather sensible, to a surprising extent. With what kind of policy did you proceed on that?

A.: What is interesting in animation is not just showy action; there is also warmth, reality and sense of presence in simple dramas, so this time, I wanted to make an anime where these things would become its charm by being portrayed sensibly. The detailed play of the cooking and daily life scenes were interesting even for me when I watched them, so I think they turned out as something that the viewers can enjoy too. This is of a higher difficulty level than flashy action, but even worldwide, I believe it is something that can only be done with Japanese animation.

Q.: At the beginning of episode 2, when Touma helped Yuuta, he was described as someone to be feared, but what was the reason for that?

A.: Because he snaps easily. He must be famous for it.

Q.: What were the words that Nakao-kun threw at Itsuki-kun on episode 3?

A.: He chose cruel words and spoke them out. Sakurai also says it during the series, but his words were meant to show that they can hurt someone. However, that terminology unfortunately seems to be forbidden from being said on TV, so during the post-recording, we decided to mute it.

Q.: Who made the lemon honey pickles that were placed on those two benches at lunch in episode 11?

A.: It was Yuuta. Yuuta was also making drinks for everyone during practice, so I think he was providing modest support while nestling close to the feelings of the club members.

Q.: I want to know what the recordings are like!

A.: The number of people was so big they could not fit inside the booth, but I could feel an unanimous enthusiasm towards series from all of them. There were also many cast members who came to me with questions even about things that were not depicted in the animation in an attempt to understand the characters’ personalities. On the other hand, when the New Year’s issue was announced, we gathered in front of the TV and made merry, and we got along well.

Q.: I want to see the floor plan of everyone’s houses!!

A.: I believe this will be included in the setting reference book, although it is just a part of it, so please look forward to that. When making the rooms, we created them after deciding on the floor plans, having in mind the daily life style of each family. I had even the parts that were not animated be made in detail, so I think I gave the settings designer a hard time. *laughs*

Q.: Were there any references to actual players or games for the soft tennis parts, such as forms and play styles?

A.: We actually went to collect data at middle school competitions in Tokyo, and used references from the practice skills of middle schooler clubs such as the ones from Seimei Academy, as well as the Lucent Cup and other such tournaments that involve influential national athletes, including their different levels of prowess.

Q.: Do all the club members know that Touma-kun likes dinosaurs and Nao-kun likes fish?

A.: They do, somehow or other. I think boys their age have their hands full with their own matters, so they do not mind other people’s tastes that much.

Q.: What kind of practice do the soft tennis club members of Shijou Minami do on rainy days?

A.: We have depicted a little bit of this in the drama CD of the second volume, so please look forward to it.

Q.: About the incident that happened in the soft tennis club five years earlier, which Sakurai-sensei knows of. Does it have anything to do with Ryouma, who was the ace back then, and his pair, as well as little Touma and Maki? I am also concerned about the clover protection charm.

A.: The story of their past is one of the things I want to write about in the future. There are also hints in each of their lines, so please try to watch the main story again.

Q.: What was the intention behind not giving a title to each episode?

A.: “Hoshiai no Sora” was written through taking cuts of those children’s lives, so we did not make any conveniences for the developments of the stories from each episode. Therefore, our intention was that the first episode was the first story and the last episode was the last story, thus we did not give them titles.

Q.: I want to know in detail the reason why the Itsuse brothers started playing soft tennis, their family structure and their school lives! (Sorry if this has already been made public...)

A.: This is part of what I want to depict in episode 13 onwards.

Q.: Why did Itsuki only give pet names to Maki and Kanako? Is there any sort of specific criteria for Itsuki’s usage of pet names?

A.: Itsuki has actually given everyone a pet name in his mind. They are peculiar nicknames fitting of a cynic person like Itsuki. He merely does not voice them because he thinks the other person will get angry if he says it to their face.

Q.: Why does Tsubasa-kun wear a T-shirt that says “15”?

A.: It is 15 as in “fifteen years old”. He looks up to that age, or rather, he might just want to ride off on a stolen bike. *laughs* Tsubasa is still thirteen, though. Thirteen-year-olds think of fifteen-year-olds as grown-ups.

Q.: Everyone’s individualities show through in that scene from episode 2 where they are all running and I quite like it, but how did you decide on and animate the particularities in the way each of them runs?

A.: I drew a rough sketch of the characteristics in each of their running styles, then had them clean-copied by the animation director, Irie-san.

Q.: Who has the best grades amongst the characters? Also, who has the worst ones?

A.: Rintarou has the best grades regardless of subject. Since he is a hard worker, his grades are top-class in his school year. On the other hand, the biggest dummy is Shigo. I am thinking of including the anecdotes related to this in episode 13 onwards.

Q.: I have the impression that you write about “things that might not be commonplace, but are a part of commonplace daily life”, without making the issues that each character bears into something excessively tragic. If there was any point in the shooting where you planned this out, I would like you to tell us.

A.: I believe animation already has a special filter for the shooting just from the fact that it is hand-drawn. That’s why I thought that dropping the ostentatious performance and making pure animation art would suffice this time. Since we were handling sensitive contents, we did not do an unnecessarily exaggerated staging. This might not be as interesting if shot in the same way as live actions, but the portrayal as animation is in itself enough for the shooting. Shots where they are walking, for example, are already an incredibly special picture, so isn’t this the greatness of animation?

Q.: Are Yuuta-kun’s feelings for Touma romantic love? Or is he sitting on the fence between love and friendship? Maybe it is admiration?

A.: I think there’s a part of him deep inside that has not yet figured it out. Surprisingly enough, Maki is the one who seems to understand it accurately.

Q.: How did you choose the rackets of each club member? Please tell us about the rackets of Arashi, Joy, the Itsuse brothers and Ryouma as well.

A.: For the rackets that have models, I picked them after deciding on my images of the position and skills of each one. Rackets have their own levels and popularity in real life, so for that part, I referenced the information I received from each maker. For example, I selected a racket that is, just as Touma said, easy for beginners to use as Maki’s first racket.

Q.: Jizue-san’s music was impressive as there is a sense of transparency to it, but the environment sounds were rather effective in that scene right before getting to the EV at the end of episode 5, so it felt like an extention of daily life and the sense of tension came alive. What kind of points were you particular about when making it?

A.: Music and sound effects can convey what the dialogues and acting do not. Even if a character is laughing, they aren’t always truly smiling on the inside. On the other hand, it’s not like we are going to play dreary music just because they’re scared. We did not put music in that scene precisely in order to enhance the unease. If we put music in it, we end up restricting its image. What we wanted people to feel was not fear, but the anxiety of wondering if something was about to happen.

Q.: How did you do the paste-up of the rackets’ gut strings?

A.: We had it pasted during the shooting. There were so many materials to be pasted other than this, such as books and cloth bibs, that the photography staff screamed. There were also many parts that we ended up omitting in the main story. Speaking of gut strings, there were special scenes where we did them as animation instead of paste-ups. The scene where Maki’s racket was destroyed was also entirely hand-drawn.

Q.: What was the reason for the OP and ED being cut off in the last episode?

A.: To emphasize that episode 12 is not the end of the story. The story of those boys that exists inside me is not yet complete, and I have only depicted half of it. I wanted the viewers to feel that the story would continue after this, so I directed it that way.

Ok so it's been almost 2 days for me I have been reading what others have said on twitter and tumblr stans, I've had the time to process my thoughts and now here is my thoughts I get...

So some people hold their favs on a pedestal which is why those people are the ones SUPER hurt by what happened. We shouldn't have our favs on a pedestal or we will be let down everytime they make a mistake. They are humans just like us and aren't above others we have all made mistakes heck I've made more mistakes then I can count. We love our favs and need to hold them accountable when they do something they shouldn't but like I said their humans and they aren't perfect. A lot of celebs haven't really been following guidelines bc their so out of touch with reality and have quite a lot of privilege [especially if their white] and that is a problem that should definitely be talked about.

It is very sad and disappointing what happened the last few days both of the breaking covid restrictions with everything happening here in California and how this will negatively [ actually already has negatively] effected both Olivia and Harry. A lot are just so confused and hard and just over all tired of all this. Everything we have had to deal with as of late and now this it's just idk gut wrenching knowing all the things families [including my own] have gone through bc of the pandemic and they do THIS.

I 100% agree with people [mostly mean this next part with the twitter stans] calling Harry out for what happened it should be talked about but my issue is with some OT5s not treating each member who didn't follow covid guidelines the same. Some OT5s say they have a lane but there is a difference between having a lane and having said lane on a pedestal while having another member half out the door on supporting them. Example of what I mean their was an OT5 I saw who has a Niall lane and when we got pics of him at a large dinner party with no one wearing masks they defended him to the tooth and nail but with the Harry thing they were so upset and wanted to leave. Another example was an OT5 with a Liam lane fought tooth and nail when we got pics of Liam and Maya surrounded by a ton of people during one of the protests with neither wearing a mask but with the Harry thing they were very upset with him.

You must hold ALL who haven't fullly followed guidelines accountable bc if your giving "your lane" a slap on the wrist and then seeing flames with another member does something then it doesn't seem like you actually care about the problem at hand and you CLEARLY love and support one over another in a negative way. TBH Zayn is the only member who has FULLY followed covid guidelines throughout this entire pandemic and for that I respect him a lot more.

If your a newer stan this PR pap walk is a nightmare to you it's ok it will be ok bc if you talk to an older stan then they will tell you this is sadly not the worst we've been through. 2015 we had to deal with louis close to tears announcing he was going to be a dad when he wasn't and then had the nightmare of 2016 BG stunting every week and Dani pap tuesdays all to hide the fact that Louis is gay. So this is not the worst and to me it's welp another stunt I hope will pass soon.

Thanks to this shitty stunt they pulled Harry has yet another label on to the list of horrible labels GP or media have on him bc of Harry's management. He was already seen as a queerbaiting womanizer and an arrogant ahole who doesn't care much for his fans but now he looks like a homewrecker who sleeps with people to get movie roles. Neither Olivia or Harry will be taken seriously after this when it comes to movies. So I don't know whose idea it was thinking this would help with movie promo bc this helps no one and makes everyone involved look like a piece of shit.

I know the biggest thing that rubed people the wrong way [besides the wedding happening at all] was Harry looking happy and officiating the wedding so now some think Harry is possibly friends and actually likes jeff. But look at it this way we have pics of Harry with the CEO of Sony who EVERYONE knows is basically the devil in disguise who you don't want to mess with. Jeff's dad has ALOT of power in the western music business and when winning an award they said he was like the devil but we all love him WHAT?! MJ and Prince made it clear how BAD the music business is and many dont speak up like they do bc those who speak out it doesn't go well.

Harry has been in and dealing with the music business for almost a decade joining when he was only 16 he must have learned by now how things work and how he has to act and play apart where it seems like he likes these people bc Hollywood is all about pretending, with fake smiles and fake lives. To think it's not possible he was acting when he has 10 years of expereince of faking being happy in the business is not a stretch. When he was only 16/17 you saw him cry and be insecure now he has learned how to fake being happy and except what is going on.

A lot think it is a stretch that the wedding was all a pre planned thing to help push a narrative but look at BG. At the beginning of BG it seemed crazy to think they faked a story and changed louis whole image to make it seem like he got some girl pregnant and had him fake having a kid to hide his sexuality but it became clear that's what happened. I get called crazy and delusional on other apps daily for thinking that kid is not louis saying they wouldn't do that to him louis wouldn't allow this to happen BUT IT DID bc he isn't free and has NO say it what happens So this wedding being fake just to push a PR stunt relationship and the H is good friends with Jeff narrative is not a stretch.

There are articles that prove Jeff was already married to his wife since at least February 2020, we have more pics and articles about Harry and Olivia then of the married couple, why were there paps or drowns at a small intimate wedding of someone who isn't well known when big wedding of big celebs have no pap pics and if it was a guest list of only around 20 then why was Harry allowed a plus one date and heck why was Harry himself who is just a coworker allowed at this small wedding? If you were the couple you would JUST have immediate family and maybe your closes friend not a coworker and their 3 week gf. I think this was all an massive stunt to push a couple narratives.

One think I never get is the fans who when anything happenes stunt wise with louis they say this is all a stunt, it's fake, he has no control over anything and he's no where near free but when this happened with harry they go he's fully free, start thinking maybe Jeff and him are friends, and saying they wouldn't go to this extreme to push a narrative. NEITHER Louis or Harry are anywhere near free! I'd say the Azoffs have as much if not more power then Cowbell ever did.

My thoughts [more directed towards twitter stans here] hypothetically speaking if this was some kind of wedding ceremony for Cowbell and Louis was there everyone on twitter would say the ceremony is a stunt to make them look like their still friends after Syco parting. Just bc Harry gets promo or more response from GP, and people knowing his name then Louis doesn't mean he is anymore free then Louis. Realistically no one in the industry under Sony is free every aspect of their life is monitored and controlled.

All of what I have seen and read shows this stunt worked well even better then BG did bc I do see some fans who now think H might actually be friends with Jeff, the GP thinks he sleeps with people to get roles, the media are making jokes about this "new relationship", some henries are making jokes about him being a homewrecker. In ZERO WAY was this a good idea at all and helps NO ONE! The people running what happens to harry need to be careful bc if they keep going as they do soon EVERYONE [except henries who think he's hot] will hate him and not want to hear about him ever again. That is if this mess didn't do that already bc this stunt rubbed so many people the wrong way I wouldn't be surprised if people said I'm done I'm leaving I can't with this anymore.

I will say for myself I have been around almost 10 years supporting them hoping one day we will see them be free and happy. They are trying hard, harder then ever to get rid of us. They WANT us gone but I won't leave, I can't go anywhere not when I've been apart of this for so long already. I'm here, I'm staying, I WILL stay until they are out and free even if that takes another 5 to 10 years.

Candied Larkspur

Sooner or later, everyone comes to make a bargain.

The pre-law students are the hardest sell. They've read the fine print; they know the questions to ask, the verbal pitfalls to leap. They're her favorite ones to trick.

The English majors either come to her wary, or with stars in their eyes. The wary ones know there'll be a price to pay, one greater than her candied words promise. The starry-eyed ones would have been the first to eat from her table in the old stories.

Easiest of all are the scientists and mathematicians. They don't believe in her anyway.

She sits for one hour – no more, no less – at the table by the window, so the afternoon sunlight can fall on her pale topaz hair. She reads romance novels, or technical manuals, or outdated botanical guidebooks. The only other items on the table are a yellow legal pad, a blue pen, and a coffee cup filled with more cream than coffee.

These are the rules: You must bring a gift. When you have reached an agreement, you must sign your name on the legal pad. Then you must leave and never speak of your bargain again.

The first one today is a girl with curly hair pinned back by a thick butterfly clip. She has wet eyes and a sincere smile. There's a bottle of cheap moscato in one nail-bitten hand and a pack of Zebra cakes in the other. She loses her nerve halfway to the table and instead makes a beeline for me.

“Can I help you find something?” I ask, offering her my gentlest smile.

She clears her throat. “No, it's stupid.” She glances over at the table by the window, brow puckering. “She isn't...real, right? Like, she's not really---”

“That depends on you.” I can feel the heated brush of her gaze. Whatever I do, I mustn't look over. “How much you believe. How desperate you are.”

“So you know?” the girl asks.

I almost laugh. “Too much, and too late. If you're going to go through with it, tread carefully. Negotiate. Ask questions.” I lean in closer. “And above all else, remember: She is not your friend.”

The girl swallows and clutches her offerings closer. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Satisfaction stirs within me, a lazy cat stretching out in the sun. “That's very wise of you.”

“But I still need help.”

“And you can have it,” I say, nodding in her direction. “But there's a cost, and it's not always worth it.”

The girl half-turns away before glancing back at me. “You must've seen a lot of people get suckered.”

“Honestly? I've lost count.”

“But she doesn't hurt you? Even when you warn people?”

“We have an understanding.” I shrug. “And people rarely listen to me anyway.”

The next one is a boy a little older, with tall hair and a golden smile. He does not even look at me; like the rest of his kind, he goes straight for what he wants. He drops a dark, understated bottle on the table in front of her and crosses his arms.

“I need to pass my English final next week.” His voice grates even from across the library.

She does not turn her head. Slim fingers play with the pressed larkspur pendant around her neck. In the right light and to the right eyes, her nails are clearly talons. “And what will you give me?”

I silently beg him not to say the words, but of course he does. “Anything you want.” To him, this promise is meaningless. Or rather, it has a very specific meaning: Whatever his money can buy her. But of course, that's not the way this is going to go.

“I want an hour of your day,” she says.

He shifts in place. Something has changed, although he won't listen when his instincts tell him so. “What does that mean?”

“My price is an hour of wakefulness, to be taken at my liking.”

“Deal,” he says, and I close my eyes. He will be one of the bad ones.

Paper rips. She has taken a sheet from her yellow legal pad and written out the terms. Only now, as he signs his name with three flourishes, does she look him in the eye. Will he notice the odd purple-blue shade of hers? Doubtful. “It is done.”

“Whatever, weirdo,” he says, tossing the pen down. He swaggers out of the library, confident in every step of the easy road ahead. The paper has already disappeared from her hands.

The third and final one comes as the sun is reaching its golden hour. She has a bottle of Bailey's and a small notebook that she clutches to her chest like a shield. “May I sit?” the girl asks. “Or is that rude?”

“You may do as you like,” she says, again without turning her head.

The girl sets the bottle down gently in the middle of the table and sits. The dying light catches on her earrings, silver woven in the shape of trees.

She turns her head now, attention caught. “Those are beautiful.”

“These?” The girl touches the earrings and smiles. “Thank---I mean, I'm glad you like them.”

She tilts her head. “How can I help you?”

“My mom's cancer came back last month. She just beat it in March, and her doctor doesn't think her chances are good.” Tears well up in the girl's eyes. “She can't do it again. I'd like you to heal her and make sure the cancer never comes back, in any way.”

“A classic request,” she says. “The price is a kiss.”

The girl draws back, her face considering. “Not that it wouldn't be the highest honor, but do I have to kiss you?”

“You may, although you are right to be wary of such a thing,” she replies. “The kiss may be with whomever you like, although it would satisfy me all the more if it were with a stranger.”

“Is there a time limit?”

“Before the new year.”

“Which new year?”

The edge of a pleased smile appears on her perfect face. “The Western New Year will do. But the sooner you fulfill your part, the sooner I will fulfill mine.”

The girl checks her notebook. “Are there any other requirements or limitations like location or duration?”

At this, she laughs. It is the soft summer breeze and the baying of midnight hounds. “There are not.”

“Will anything bad happen to me or my mother as a result?”

“That, I cannot say. Life is full of bad things. But none of them will happen to you as a consequence of this day.” That smile reappears, and she toys with her pendant. “In fact, I am hoping for something rather good. The world needs more bold acts.”

Nodding firmly, the girl says, “Then we have a deal.”

She writes out the terms, including everything they have discussed. I cheer silently for the girl; this is the best bargain I have seen in a long time.

If only we could all be saved by our wits and a little silver jewelry.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is the final day before winter break, and therefore the final day for making bargains. There is always a line to reach her table this time of year, as desperation rises and whispers abound. She is the university's worst-kept secret.

The girl with the butterfly clip has come by every day. She stops by my desk to talk before settling in to study. She talks about her break-up, how sometimes the lovesick ache in her heart feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and all she wants is to be able to breathe freely. I never mention the way her backpack pulls to one side with the weight of a wine bottle, or how the seat she chooses always manages to face the windows.

I hate to admit I'm becoming fond of her.

The peace of the library is shattered by a slamming door. The boy who made the poor bargain last week storms in, his hair in disarray and his swagger gone. He slams his bag on the table across from her, causing another student to jump back.

“Bitch,” he screeches. “You made me sleep through my business final!”

She has not moved a muscle. “The price was an hour of your life. You signed the contract.”

“I needed that class to graduate!” he rages, sweeping his backpack off the table.

“Then you should have been more careful with your promises.”

The students' whispers are growing louder. A security guard arrives, though none was called. He is just in time to hear the boy threaten to kill her for this. The boy is dragged out, purple-faced and still screaming.

I calm the students as best I can. It's finals week, and someone always goes a little crazy. Eventually they laugh it off. But they don't know what I know: The boy will follow her tonight, looking for his revenge, and he will see things he was not meant to see. It will be all the reason she needs. They will find his body in the first spring thaw.

The girl with the butterfly clip stops by my desk to say goodbye. She has a family to see, and a bottle of wine to drink. She thanks me for my advice. I thank her for listening.

Finally, the library is empty but for the two of us. “A bountiful season,” she remarks, standing. The table in front of her is empty.

“It was, my lady.” I turn off my computer and gather my meager things.

“There was one who never quite plucked up the courage,” she says. “She will taste all the sweeter when I snare her next year.”

I pause with my hand on the library door.

“They are only humans, Delphine,” she says. One hand curls over mine from behind, the talons brushing gently over my unchanging skin. “But if you would like to make a new bargain...”

Ice seizes my heart. “No.”

“No?” she croons. “But you have spent so many long centuries watching. Surely I could not trick you a second time.”

“No thank you, my lady,” I say again, opening the door with a harsh clang. I hold it for her, eyes downcast as she glides by only inches away. She smells of sugar and shade trees, like always.

In the old days I thought often of killing her, with cold iron or rowan staff or thorny bush. But my courage failed me every time, until I looked up one day and a decade had passed. And then another. And then another. In truth, I had barely noticed. There had been nothing and no one there to make me take notice. Not until a girl with a butterfly clip in her curly hair had reminded me that life was more than a slow march of days.

I stop the library door just before it can close. “My lady?”

She does not respond, but I feel the heat of her gaze. I hold the door open for her, and she walks back into the library. She takes her seat and picks up the yellow legal pad from where it is waiting. I take the second seat. The last embers of the day land on her face, painting her eyes crimson.

“Why this one?” she asks.

I know the answer without thinking. “Because she makes me feel brave. And she deserves to have a heart free from hurt.”

Her eyes glitter. There can be no greater thrill than tricking one who knows all your tricks. “Now then. What will you give me?”

She was right before; they are only humans. And there will always be someone else willing to make a bargain. But if I have learned any lesson in all these years, it is this: Some things are worth the cost.

Unapologetically | C. Makar Part 5

Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Chapter word count: 4,076 words

A/N: I know it’s been a bit since I last posted, but I made up for it with a long chapter. Next chapter will officially be the start of the playoffs and it will be very much worth the wait. As always, please like and reblog if you enjoy. Any and all feedback is always greatly appreciated

Shoutouts: @pizzasloot​ @grenawitka​ @hockey-and-wine​ as usual for being amazing and always cheering me on in the gc!

Warnings: swearing

-

Taty wakes up the next day and sees that Cale isn’t beside her. She checks the time and sees that it’s 11:40am, meaning he’s at practice. She goes to the bathroom to start her morning routine. She then goes to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. She sees a note on the island table.

“Babe, I left for practice. I should be home around 2,” read the note.

She makes herself some coffee and another reboltido. She cleans up the kitchen and then heads to the bathroom to shower. She showers and changes into a New York Mets shirt and joggers. She also brushes her hair and leaves it out. She goes to the living room and starts planning out what she’s gonna talk about for her next podcast episode, which she’ll be recording later on that night. Before she knows it, Cale comes home with his gear bag in tow. He goes straight to the balcony to air out his gear before making his way over to Taty.

“Hey baby, how was practice?” she asks, kissing him.

“Hard and really long,” he replies, causing her to snort.

“That’s what she said,” she giggles, causing him to roll his eyes.

“You’re such a child,” he chuckles, heading to the kitchen.

“Don’t forget I’m older than you, bud!” she retorts.

“By two years only!” he bites back, grabbing a Gatorade bottle from the fridge.

“Anyway, did you have lunch?” she asks him.

“Yeah, I ate at the rink,” he informs her.

“Good. I’m gonna record the podcast. Is it okay if I record out here?” she asks.

“Of course. I’ll just be in the room. Might even take a nap,” he replies.

“Alright, I should be done after an hour,” she informs him.

“Take all the time you need, babe,” he assures her.

He heads off to the room and she sets up her laptop and her mic on the kitchen island. She starts recording and her focus for the episode is previewing the playoff matchups in the Western Conference, since the episode prior focused on the Eastern Conference. She breaks down every matchup talking about each team’s depth at forward, defense, and goaltender.

“The next matchup I’m gonna break down is the Colorado Avalanche versus the Winnipeg Jets. I personally think Colorado easily wins this series and this has nothing to do with my bias. Colorado is just the better team overall. In offense, Colorado has the slight edge, although Winnipeg has some great scorers like Scheifele, Laine, Connor, Ehlers, and Wheeler. In defense, Colorado has the edge and it’s not even close. Colorado has one of the best defensive corps in the league, with Makar, Girard, Graves, Johnson, and Cole. In goal, however, Winnipeg has the edge and it’s not even close. Hellebuyck will be a top 3 Vezina finalist again this season, after winning it last season. However, if Hellebuyck gets hurt, then the edge goes to Colorado.”

She does the rest of the Western Conference matchups in the 1st round, while also talking about key injury news in the league. After almost an hour, she finishes recording. She removes her setup and goes back into the room, to see Cale scrolling through his phone while laying in bed.

“I just finished recording. I’ll probably edit it later tonight to post it tomorrow,” she informs him.

“Speaking of tonight, do you mind if I take you out on a date?” he asks, sitting up.

“Of course not, where do you have in mind?” she asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he smiles, causing her to whine.

“Just a little hint please!” she cries out.

“You’re gonna love it and have fun. I promise,” he assures her.

“What time are we going? I need to get ready,” she explains.

“I was thinking 6, but we can go whatever time you want. The place we’re going to is open pretty late,” he informs her.

“Alright. I’m gonna start getting ready,” she informs him.

She grabs her flat iron and her make up bag and takes them to the bathroom. She turns on the flat iron and re-touches her hair while she listens to music on her phone. After her hair is re-touched, she starts working on her makeup. She puts on minimal makeup, since she’s not a big make-up person. She then goes to the room and sees Cale is dressed in a super casual outfit.

“Should I dress comfortably then?” she asks.

“Yes, dress comfortably because we’re gonna be doing something a little athletic,” he informs her.

“Are we going roller skating?” she asks, knowing how she can’t skate to save her life..

“I’m not telling you,” he smirks.

“You’re the worst!” she whines.

“You’re gonna love it, trust me,” he assures her.

“I do trust you. I just don’t like the fact that I don’t know where you’re taking me,” she informs him.

“I know, which is why I’m not telling you. It makes it more fun,” he smiles.

She sticks her tongue out at him in response.

“Go change, babe,” he replies, ignoring how she stuck her tongue out at him.

She changes into her Nolan Arenado Colorado Rockies shirt, black leather jacket, jeans and ankle boots.

“You look great,” he smiles, kissing her forehead.

“Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself,” she teases, grabbing her small purse.

They walk out to the kitchen and he grabs his keys from the counter. They leave the apartment and make their way to the parking garage. They walk over to the car and Taty connects her phone to the car, as always. She puts her music on and they head out of the parking garage and onto the streets of Denver. After a couple minutes they head onto the highway, going south and away from the city.

“How long is the drive gonna be?” she asks him.

“Like 25 minutes. The place we’re going to is right by our practice facility,” he informs her.

“Well I’ll go to your next practice so I can see it,” she informs him.

“Maybe I can take you out on the ice for a skating lesson,” he teases, knowing how you can’t skate.

“Honestly, please do. Teach me how to skate because I can’t do it to save my life,” she sighs, thinking about how many times she ends up falling while trying to skate.

After 25 minutes, they arrive at their destination, which is TopGolf.

“Babe, you remembered!” she smiles, kissing his cheek.

She had told him before they even started dating that she always wanted to go to TopGolf since they don’t have any locations near her yet. She’s shocked he even remembered that.

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he replies, kissing her forehead.

He parks into an empty parking spot and they both get out of the car. They walk into the building and get their temperatures checked right away. They’re cleared to stay and go up to the front desk. Cale rents out a bay for the both of them. They’re escorted to their bay and given their equipment.

“You wanna go first?” he asks.

She goes to the tee with her club and puts a ball on the tee. She goes into her stance and lines her club up with the ball.

“You want me to help you with your swing?” he asks.

“Are you trying to say my stance is bad?” she scoffs, shooting him a glare.

“No babe!” he immediately responds, backtracking.

“That’s what I thought,” she adds, watching how he stays silent.

She lines her club up with the ball again before taking a big swing. She watches as the ball goes super far. 

“Great swing babe! It went 295ft,” he informs her, as she makes her way to sit down.

“Let’s make it a competition to see who can hit it the farthest. Winner gets to control the music in the car and gets to pick the movie we watch tonight,” she suggests.

“Deal,” he nods.

He gets up and goes to the tee with his club and puts a ball on the tee. He goes into his stance and lines the club up with the ball.

“Babe, you want me to help you with your swing?” she asks teasingly, making fun of what he said earlier.

“Fuck off,” he groans, shaking his head.

She just laughs in response as he takes his swing, hitting the ball.

“Fuck, you threw me off! That was a terrible swing,” he groans, walking away from the tee.

“It wasn’t terrible, babe! It went 242ft,” she assures him.

“That’s fucking terrible, babe,” he replies, shaking his head in disappointment.

The two go back and forth and after an hour, Taty is crowned the winner.

“In your face, eat shit!” she yells in his ear.

“How are you so competitive?” he asks in disbelief.

“I grew up with 3 sisters. I’ll always be competitive,” she informs him.

The food that they ordered arrives and they eat it, while discussing Cale’s day off tomorrow before Game 1 on Wednesday. They finish eating and return everything back to the front desk, before leaving. They go back to the car and Taty connects her phone to the car.

“I had a great time by the way. Hopefully with practice, I’ll be able to go to a real golf course and dominate someday,” she replies.

“I can totally help with that,” he replies, backing out of the parking spot.

“If my dad heard me talking about going to a golf course, he would be so disappointed,” she giggles.

“Why?” he asks, driving out of the parking lot.

“He hates golf, like absolutely hates it. He thinks it’s the most boring thing ever and doesn’t even think it should be called a sport,” she explains.

“He just needs to try it once and then maybe he might change his mind,” he suggests.

Taty starts singing along to the music playing through the speakers, while Cale gets back on the highway to head back to the city. 

“Babe, I found this restaurant that I think you’ll really enjoy. It’s a bit of a drive since it’s pretty north of the city, but I want to take you there anyway tomorrow night. Do you want me to take you there tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Of course! I expect you to take me out all day tomorrow,” she informs him.

“Oh I will. I haven’t taken you really anywhere around the city and I already know the places you’d enjoy,” he assures her.

“10/10 would boyfriend again,” she smiles, lacing her fingers with his over the center console.

After half an hour, they arrive at the apartment complex and park in the garage. They make their way up the elevator and to the apartment. They make their way inside the apartment Taty goes to the room to pick out her pajamas. She grabs her pajamas and heads to the bathroom. She washes her face, ties up her hair, brushes her teeth, and changes into her pajamas. She leaves the bathroom and goes to the room where she sees Cale already laying in bed, under the covers. She follows suit and joins him under the covers. She grabs the remote and cuddles into his side, as she chooses a movie for them to watch. She settles on Miracle and he chuckles.

“Miracle really?” he asks, shaking his head.

“This is my favorite movie of all time. I can literally quote this movie and besides, I got to pick the movie tonight, so deal with it,” she replies, bumping his shoulder.

“I’m only messing with you babe! I like this movie, I just didn’t think you would pick it. I thought you would pick something different,” he replies.

“Tonight I’m in the mood for this movie, so we’re watching it,” she explains, a finality in her voice.

“Aye aye, captain,” he teases.

She squeezes his nipple, causing him to yelp.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?!?” he yells in pain, rubbing his nipple to help relieve the pain.

“For being a smartass,” she smirks, pressing play on the movie.

They watch the movie together and Taty really does quote like the majority of the movie, which generates laughter out of Cale. Before they know it, the movie is over and Taty is taking it off from Disney+.

“You weren’t lying when you said you could quote most of the movie,” he says.

“I used to watch this movie like multiple times a week. Of course I could quote the movie,” she replies incredulously.

“It’s like every day you do something that amazes me,” he responds truthfully.

“I am pretty amazing,” she smiles.

“Alright, that’s enough ego for you,” he teases.

“Oh look who’s talking about ego, Mr. I’m the Avs’ best d-man,” she teases, shooting him a look.

“Alright, you got a point there,” he replies, not even bothering to argue that.

“I always got points, babe,” she adds, yawning.

“Alright, I think that’s a sign we should call it a night. We got a long day tomorrow,” he informs her.

“You’re gonna show me around the city, right?” she asks, turning over to her side.

“Yes, babe,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her as the big spoon.

“Goodnight,” she yawns, her eyes closing.

“Goodnight princess,” he smiles, kissing her hair.

The next morning, Taty wakes up and sees the bed is empty beside her. She gets up and heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She then goes to the kitchen and finds Cale in the kitchen, making them breakfast once again.

“Good morning, babe. Do you ever sleep?” she asks, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

“Good morning princess. I do sleep. Remember, I always take naps during the day,” he replies, turning around to kiss her.

“Yeah I know, I’m just messing with you,” she replies, hip checking him lightly.

She gets mugs out for the coffee and plates out for the food. After a minute, he’s done making breakfast and puts the food on their plates. They sit down on the island to eat it.

“So what places are you taking me today?” she asks.

“Bold of you to assume I would give you that information,” he smirks, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why are you like this? Can’t you just tell me anything?” she whines.

“Nope, you better get used to this, because I won’t be telling you places that I’ll be taking you out to,” he replies, taking a bite out of his food.

“You’re lucky you’re hot dude,” she replies, taking a bite out of her food.

His cheeks turn even more rosy with the compliment and she holds back a giggle. They finish eating their breakfast and she cleans up the kitchen, while Cale takes a shower and gets dressed. She then follows suit and takes a shower before re-straightening her hair. She then does her makeup before changing into jeans, a black pull-over sweater, and black suede ankle boots. She grabs her small purse and goes out to the living room, where she sees Cale dressed casually, scrolling on his phone.

“You’re ready to go?” he asks her, pocketing his phone.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she replies, walking towards the door.

He grabs his keys from the counter and they leave the apartment. They make their way down to the garage and head over to his car. They get into the car and she connects her phone to the car right away. They drive off towards their first destination of the day. After 15 minutes, they arrive at their first destination, which is the Downtown Aquarium. They get into the parking lot and he finds an empty spot to park in.

“Aww babe, you really do remember everything I tell you,” she smiles, kissing him.

“So take that as your only hint then. I’m gonna be taking you to places that have to do with things you’ve told me about before,” he informs her.

“Wow so helpful,” she teases.

“Well sucks because it’s all you’re gonna get,” he teases back, shutting off the car.

They get out of the car and make their way inside the aquarium, hand-in-hand. They get screened and allowed to go in and they go up to the front desk. They buy their tickets and go inside the aquarium. They go through each exhibit and Taty loves petting the stingrays and dolphins. She’s in awe by all the different species of fish, sharks, and other sea creatures. After almost two hours, they finish going through the entire aquarium. They leave the aquarium and head towards their next destination. They arrive at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception and park in the parking lot. They walk out of the car and walk towards the steps of the Basilica.

“I know you mentioned how much you loved visiting the Basilica in Montreal and how beautiful it was, so I figured you’d want to see the Basilica here. It’s really beautiful,” he informs her.

“A man who understands my love for the beauty of Roman Catholic churches!” she sighs dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.

“I told you I pay attention to everything you tell me,” he replies, taking her hand in his.

They finally make it up the steps and go inside the Basilica to tour it. Taty takes a million pictures and videos to send to her family, since they share her same love for Roman Catholic architecture. After 20 minutes, they finish the tour and head down the steps.

“We’re gonna walk to our next stop,” he informs her. 

They walk a few blocks to the Colorado State Capitol and take pictures, enjoying the view of the mountains from the rotunda. They head walk down towards the Colorado Veterans Monument located in the park in front of the Capitol building. They walk the few blocks back to the car and get inside.

“Babe, are we gonna have lunch soon?” she asks, looking at the time.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go to a nice little spot around here that I think you’ll really enjoy,” he informs her.

They drive back towards downtown and head over to a spot called Brooklyn’s Finest Pizza.

“Babe, I hope you know that I’m gonna be critical of this place. I’m originally from New York so I’m gonna be critical if it doesn’t taste like authentic Brooklyn-style pizza,” she informs him.

“I expect nothing less,” he replies, as they get out of the car.

They walk towards the pizzeria and go inside, excited to see that it isn’t packed. They order their pizza and sit down at a table to wait for their pizza to come out.

“Do you come here often?” she asks him.

“Not really. I usually would just come here on off days, but not every off day. Can’t really eat too much of this stuff during the season,” he informs her.

“All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t kill you guys to not be so strict with your diet plans once in a while,” she replies, sending her family all the videos and pictures she’s taken so far.

Their food comes out and they pick it up before heading back to the table. They dig in right away and Cale waits for her reaction.

“It’s really good for not being in New York. These people know what they’re doing. I’m impressed,” she smiles, enjoying the Brooklyn-style pizza.

They eat while talking about what the following day entails, since it’s Game 1 of the 1st round of the playoffs. After a while, they finish eating and clean up. They leave the pizzeria and head back to the car.

“We’re gonna go to one more spot before heading back home and then going somewhere you’re gonna really like for dinner,” he informs her.

“Now you got me excited,” she replies, looking forward to dinner.

They make their way towards the next destination, which is City Park.

“This is the biggest park in the city. It’s kind of like our own version of Central Park but way smaller,” he informs her.

They drive inside the park and make their way towards the Zoo. They park in the parking lot and make their way to the Zoo entrance. They buy tickets and make their way inside the Zoo. They go through each exhibit and Taty enjoys seeing the aquatic animals the most, like the penguins. After almost two hours, they finish going through the Zoo. They then walk back to their car and drive through the rest of the park, enjoying the view of it. They then drive back to the apartment to relax before leaving for dinner.

They arrive at the apartment and Cale goes straight to the room to nap. Taty goes to the living room and decides to get some work done, while he takes his nap. After an hour, Cale wakes up from his nap.

“Ready to go?” he asks her, coming out of the room.

“Yeah just give me a minute to put my stuff away,” she informs him, turning off her laptop.

She puts her stuff away and grabs her small purse. He grabs his keys from the counter and they make their way out of the apartment. They make their way to the car and drive off towards the restaurant.

“Just so you know, this is gonna be a pretty long drive,” he informs her.

“How long?” she asks.

“An hour,” he informs her.

“How far out is this place?” she asks.

“Over 50 miles from here, but it’ll be worth it. I promise,” he assures her, as they make their way towards the highway.

They listen to music the entire ride, as Taty takes in the view of the mountains, the further they get away from the city. After what feels like forever, but really it was only an hour, they arrive at their destination.

“Babe, why are we at a mall?” she asks, getting out of the car.

“Because the restaurant is located inside the mall,” he informs her.

They make their way inside the mall and walk over towards the restaurant entitled MY Tastee’s Cajun & Dominican Food.

“I can’t believe you brought me to a Domincian restaurant!” she smiles, not believing how thoughtful he is.

“I figured you probably miss the food right now,” he replies, as they walk inside the restaurant.

They get seated and Taty immediately opens the menu, getting excited to see what native food they have on the menu.

“Babe, they have everything here! Sancocho, Mangu con los tres golpes, Mofongo, Bistec Dominicano!” she gushes, not believing that he actually found a Dominican restaurant for her.

“Your challenge is to find me the healthiest Dominican food on the menu for me,” he smiles.

“Well everything on here is not part of your diet plan but I guess I can try my best,” she winces, knowing how unhealthy Domincan food can be.

“I’m joking. It doesn’t have to be healthy,” he assures her.

The waiter comes and they order drinks before Taty orders Sancocho (dominican soup) for Cale, since it’s like the healthiest Domincan item on the menu. She then orders rice, beans, bistec, and tostones for herself.

“I still can’t believe you found this place! They’re even playing Dominican music in here!” she gushes, taking notice of the merengue song playing in the background.

“It wasn’t easy, trust me,” he replies.

They make small talk, with Taty explaining dominican food to him. After a short while, their food arrives and they dig in right away.

“Wow this soup is really good. What type of potatoes are these?” he asks.

“Those aren’t potatoes babe. They’re roots or as we call them biberes. It’s yucca, yautia, and batata,” she informs him.

“Oh well, they’re really good,” he smiles.

She loves how flavorful her bistec is and the tostones are so crisp.

“Wow, this is good authentic Dominican food. I’m impressed,” she smiles, the food making her think of home.

“I told you it would be worth it,” he smiles.

They finish eating and pay before leaving. They head back to the car to make the trip back to the car. It’s on the ride back that she starts thinking about how she’s falling in love with Cale and it finally hits her that this is what being in love feels like and she never wants it to end.

haikyuu & cafes (1/?)

bigass creds to @luvoikawa with this post that inspired me to write too much nonsense about nonsense

all my writing got deleted edition 🐸 also jesus christ sorry this is super long i just really like cafes and drinkys and coffys...

karasuno

ukai

for a guy who gets up early every morning coffee is a must. canned coffee is his drink of choice for getting up and it’s one of his morning routines before starting work. he actually dislikes cafes because they have an atmosphere he isn’t too fond of and likes bars (enjoys shit beers = enjoys shit coffee) more- but he could go to a cafe when asked by his friends or if he’s going on a date, just don’t ask him about what type of coffee he’d like specifically because all he wants is it to be hot and black, no milk no sugar. when he was younger he actually disliked coffee, but with age he learned to 1. not be fussy about it 2. just tolerate it to pick him up. it’s not like he dislikes the tastes of it but i don’t see him as picking up oh many tannin inteiciasies cause he’s not developed a pallete, also gets the cheapest no fuss shit. prefers hot over cold even in the summer

for food, he doesn’t enjoy completely western menus. likes meat and doesn’t order any sweets like pastries and whatever the fuck, not only is it too expensive but also he’d just rather have the coffee unless he’s particularly hungry. like i said he isnt a cafe guy but life takes you to a lot of places so ☕️

takeda

actually can taste tanins like some sort of a legend. still though on a teachers salary you’re not going to have an espresso machine at home so he settles for his drip brew. actually doesn’t like espresso too much either if hes working at least. but since he is a teacher and a club supervisor he drinks 2 (two) of those shits a day, one in the morning from home one in the afternoon from the teachers lounge- needs it to deal with the energy at practice. takes just milk in his coffee and prefers it steamed, but has that shitty milk foamer thing that takes so much time to get results out of he just ends up drinking drip w cold milk; the workingmans choice.

with cafes and food he still enjoys drip brew (this time fancier) coffee with milk. could ask to taste test the plain bean coffee if he enjoyed his first cup so much. LOVES a pastry with his drink, if he goes there to do work will get a coffee and a pastry of any kind, i think he likes cream so expect him to get a cream puff esp if on a date cause then he gets to share it and be cute 🥴 loves a cafe hangout with friends or an s/o

kiyoko

pre time skip she did not need coffee at all. like her face at first says either only black coffee or shes so well adjusted she needs nothing and i’d say it’s the latter though i could debate. though she was an enjoyer of canned coffee milk later in life before having to consume coffee for life energy in her adulthood. nothing too fancy either though, small coffee machine that only she uses (tanakas a pussy!) for making coffee, pours milk and adds a teaspoon of sugar into it- doesn’t really like flavors cause to her they taste artificial. busy lady! so she can pick up some starbucks or sit down for a brief second and get coffee wherever she is, thinks it energizes her and also is an enjoyer of the novelty of steamed milk. it actually doesn’t buzz her ever even when she first starts drinking it so rather than having to drink more coffee as the tolerance builds up she just has a plateau of coffee give me caffeine boost

for cafes she just gets whatever looks good to her. also not the biggest fan of sweets rather than a good bread, enjoyer of plain croissants and good bread if she gets a sandwitch. who doesn’t love carbs

yachi

the sweet sugary drink enjoyer has arrived. didn’t even touch coffee until her 3rd year at college, tried a sip of black coffee from her friend in junior high and became instantly afraid of it- managed to skirt by college with a good schedule until the junior terror seeped into her veins and now her early classes she has to drink coffee for. but like she still gets good grades so it’s only the morning she’s required to partake in bean water for- doesn’t even do anything on weekends if she doesn’t have anywhere to be. at home she has 2 syrups 5 milks and overloads her drink so much she’s barely drinking any coffee at all, still the sugar and the hot stuff in the morning has an effect (placebo lol)

loves a starbucks for its accessibility, but gets refreshers and iced drinks more often than any of their caffeine. not only does she think it’s not worth it if she can make coffee at home, but she has a tiny cafe she goes to to cram that serves a mean lavender rose vanilla latte (fucking ew?) that shes in love with. but it costs a lot and she’s a rare visitor, gets sweets and small sandwitches if she goes. w friends she doesn’t know that well she’ll get a flavored coffee to seem mature&cute, but with old friends she’d rather drink a milk tea or a seasonal drink rather than bother w a latte (since she uses it to get energy if it’s 5pm and her day is nearly done whyd she need it then?) no 7-11 coffee or vending machine coffee (junior high trauma) rather sweets and candy if she’s buying from one

daichi

courtesy to @sugardaddykenma, i think daichi oinking his way to the top ended after he had a midlife crisis- so he stops drinking coffee the way he would at the pig pen. sorry ok enough puns but yeah i think he was drinking way too much coffee in both college and at his “job” so coffee now messes with his stomach so much he thinks he might have a heart attack if he drinks more than one cup a week. i don’t know if that directly makes sense but too much coffee can literally kill you and since now he doesn’t fear the revolution here’s another thing for his mind. no coffee, maybe like once if hes at a cafe with his friends but really really prefers plain tea more- especially as he gets older. likes green white and black teas rather than herbal cause caffeine, and doesn’t put sugar in either cause hes #real and genuinely enjoys the flavors more that way

doesn’t go to cafes except for reunions or hanging out with the boys, always more of a “what do they have to eat” rather a “what’s new and exiting to drink” boy. i actually think the only reason he does drink coffee occasionally is because sugawara teases him and also sometimes it’s easier to order something to not be embarassing and to live up to the expectation of a dilf on the prowl rather than well like. dilf drinking tiny mug of jasmine tea. surprisingly an atmosphere enjoyer, people talking all around him is comforting- though if he were to go there frequently he’d grown annoyed

sugawara

king of looking fuckable at a cafe. literally can’t drink coffee black and hates it but still uses it for that energy boost in the morning. has a cheap espresso machine (like 2nd hand and super busted) with a milk frother cause he can’t even drink coffee with just milk it’s so repulsuve to him, he’s gotta fancy it up with syrups & steamed liquids to get anything out of it. but like i said hes king of looking fuckable at a cafe and that’s cause he goes to them all the fucking time. to study to hang for dates like part of it is the ambience is unparalleled but also i mean 1. he likes looking hot 2. he can study 3. man idk hes just a little bitch that wants to look smarter than he actually is. literally in love with the concept of a meet cute so hes in there like “wow... i look so pretty and i’m reading such a big book won’t someone come talk to me”enjoys smiling at other hot patrons and the nines. i think he’d start banter only if you spilled a drink though or something happened hes not that confident to go up to someone full force, and well while he is there sometimes for the hell of it he does actually study there too cause it forces him to do something rather than fuck around on the computer at home. win win system

frequent cafe flyer and frequent cafe snack enjoyer. he’d much rather go for the small snacks like chips and nuts rather than big meal shit cause since his stuff is there he doesn’t wanna get anything on it, and would rather lounge back at home while eating anyways. frequent buys you a sweet on a date type of move, asks if you wanna give him a small bite but doesn’t actually enjoy most sweets that much. ICE LATTE ENJOYER but only when hes on the go or it’s summer, they make a mess when condensation happens.

asahi

hate to tell you folks, but you won’t find this guy in any cafes ever. if he needs to study in a public place he’d rather go to a library and if he can’t go there he’s just seriously gonna sit on the street if it’s the worst of it. can not only not handle cafes if it’s at full capacity, sugawara once shared his cafe strategies with him and now he overthinks whenever he steps foot into one. if he does enter a cafe it’s for a to go order of a cafe au lait (with soy milk, he got in the habit from ordering the wrong thing and never asking them to fix it) because espresso beverages give him anxiety, and add anxiety with a lot of people there it’s just no good and he becomes nervous. he does relax when his friends are there though, and a la p5 enjoys a quiet cafe at night the best. he like herbal teas without sugar (maybe some honey) and aromatic tea blends, but not refresher like beverages at starbucks

since he doesn’t sit down and eat at cafes hes not getting anything substantial, but has a pertulance for sweet stuff! nothing too big but if he gets something sweet with his coffee (and he does get coffee out a lot actually i feel i should clarify. it’s the devil wears prada influence and if you’re a fashion designer chance is you need to go somewhere fast so he needs the energy to power walk and actually ends up picking up coffee for his crew sometimes)

nishinoya

oh christ dude if he got coffee while in high school he’d go fucking insane. way too much current energy + caffeine is such a bad combination- but i think he’d never step into a cafe until his world traveling days. in which case i mean like first of all if you are traveling you’re going to have to keep a tight schedule unless you’re like rich as fuck and can afford to leisure around, and i think he does have some savings but at the same time if he’s himself he’s very likely running around- in summary, cafe visits very dépendant on the culture. cafe dates and cafe stops to get a pick up i think would be the most common stuff here, and coffee would be only used as a wake up i need more energy tool

with food i mean going to a great underground cafe is a right of passage if you’re traveling so i’m sure hes tried all sorts of shit and also hes a big eater, so i can see him getting whatever looks the craziest. big coffee ice cream enjoyer but like i said that’s just to wake up & i think there’s better places to get better juice (& international soda) than a hole in the wall coffee place. did someone say italian sodas or do i have to get my hearing checked

tanaka

man this guys a pussy. thinks starbucks is the fancy coffee place even though it’s a chain and can’t enjoy a non sweetened coffee- even sweetened coffees are a bust. honestly also is too concerned about caffeine being able to “hinder” him, it’s not going to kill you or make you crazy but probably saw someone go balls off the walls with it and is too pussy to try it himself because he thinks he’s so energetic already it’ll make him turn super saiyan. very big enjoyer of a juice, a smoothie, or a refresher again if we’re going from starbucks’ menu. actually yeah it the place offers smoothies he definitely gets that 100% no questions asked, cause it’s the one sweet he can permit himself because he actually thinks it’s healthy when the only reason it “is” is because it’s fruit. does not enjoy the vibes whatsoever and is kinda spooked by everyone drinking coffee in coffee drinking establishments. his wife is more of a man than him in that regard but he can take it

cafe foods aplenty though! likes to walk in and run to get smth and leave, cause it’s less effort than making something and more effort than going to a convenience store. actually has this thing where he picks wifey dearest up snacks he thinks she’ll like. before that he used to scoff at them but now seeing as shes a frequent patron and he is married to her he’s all like look at this treat i bought for you at (blank). it’s kinda sweet! plus he prolly gets a takeout drink for himself too so win win

ennoshita

physical therapy is a lot of work! sorry for the lack of substance for this guy but like a normal adult i think he is normal with his coffee consumption. aka- drinks it to get up, and when hes tired. i think he has a particular interest in trying new things though and will get whatever is interesting to him or something that is weird on the menu like a pumpkin chocolate latte or some shit like that that is unusual but still tasty. adventurous and also you can’t tell at all that hes had coffee, acts completely the same and people even tell him he should drink some coffee cause of the low energy. hes had two cups already and that’s enough!

kinoshita

i think this guy just doesn’t like coffee for whatever reason. he seems like the type of dude to just not drink it and instead go for something energizing in the form of tea or an energy drink but not bean juice, just a vibe! enjoys a cafe every once in a while but goes rarely, i mean hes just chilling! there is a place that hes gone to that he is now an irregular regular of that has a tea infusion of different berries and ingredients that’s meant to clear up your sinuses and calm you. they don’t sell it in packets and hes disappointed about that but the very reason it exists at all is because it’s made out of fresh chopped shit and spices, also it’s a gimmick. they serve them in tea pitchers and he stays there and reads until he finishes. it’s the little things!

kazuhito

writing got erased again but like literally just think of a guy. a guy that works at a company who has to go to work everyday so yeah he drinks coffee and the chances of it being instant are very high. actually doesn’t know that starbucks is a chain and just has the regular drip coffee machine at home, probably takes it with milk and sugar and whatever is there at the time. relaxed guy and relaxed preferences

kageyama

dude doesn’t even know what coffee is to be completely honest. well no that’s a lie he definitely tried some but it made him jittery and he can’t be jittery or else he’s not doing perfect tosses, so no can do. like i know the milk joke is old but i don’t think the habit stops at high school i genuinely think unless one of his teammates or someone with him is like no getting milk or they don’t just serve raw milk because who the fuck would he maybe gets a milk tea at most. honestly not a fan of sugary drinks such as juice or refreshers and whatnot nor iced drinks because well hes just a weirdo. if you take him to a sbucks or somewhere else either order him a london fog or water or a cup of milk if you want your cashier to have something funny to tell. he likes matcha lattes but since they’re high caf he only gets them on off days and like when does he have those? never. genuine weirdo

okay for food it’s anything goes but i think thr funnier thing to talk about would be the amount of time it takes him to read a menu. literally can’t decide on anything especially if a place is out of stock well hes gonna be out of comission for a few minutes as he reconsiders. asks what this has and what’s in this if it’s not listed so it’s really best to just pick smth for him, plain simple and he won’t have any complaints and just sit down w you.

hinata

actually got fond of espresso in brazil but still prefers juices and shit to actual caffeinated beverages. they don’t make them like they used to there 😔 but he does get lattes. LOVES coconut milk and nut milks cause they have an “oomph” (what?) but honestly anything goes kind of guy in where he can get coffee out of a machine at a convenience store starbucks a cafe anything anywhere no problem. thing is though he can only consume it in a short amount of time aka just the morning or else he’s unable to sleep at night, a thing that is most definitely a placebo but like he believes on it so insistently that he just doesn’t mess with it. is a fan of anything new and anything that catches his interest in coffee places, likes to pick stuff up rather than sit down cause he’s a fan of walking and talking and drinking

pastry guy :) or just anything breaded. again likes to pick whatever catches his interest cause he became more adventurous with food for sure, enjoys a sandwitch or some shit i mean you get the point i think. he’s just a funny little guy

tsukishima

honestly? cant fucking drink black coffee. i think it’d be so funny and well also fitting that if he does drink anything he does drink super sugary sweet stuff, like i mean we know he enjoys sweets anyways so why not push it further and say this motherfucker can’t handle tanins at all? and like by all i mean he has to have tea with milk and sugar no matter what it is (well not herbal tea 🍵 that’s an emoji of a green tea but herbal tea never should be enjoyed with milk) his go to is a hot matcha latte and a cold iced vanilla latte. cause both are sweet and make him look a little less pussy when ordering them. straight up will chug purely black coffee out of spite and suppress gags to seem cool, it’s okay tbough hes so far only worried about this happening in front of friends and it hasn’t yet. he has practiced at home though and he can so far not gag but still squint, which he’s thinking if he has to explain will explain by “well uh it tastes like shit so”

i don’t think he needs coffee to get up but instead does need something sweet. since cake doesn’t last a while i’d see him trying to buy some for himself discreetly like i know this dude isn’t a pussy but also imagine being so hard and then being made fun of for eating a cake alone by yourself in a cafe. doesn’t order sweets therefore unless hes in a private room or with a trusted friend. yamaguchi won’t tell on you bro in fact he’ll order the cake and let you have it. doesn’t like any savory thing on the menu for some reason, no matter the place he goes

yamaguchi

actually enjoys tanins but chugs cheap shitty coffee for energy no matter the time of day. he just got used to the lack of taste and definitely grabbed a caffeine addiction to add to his problems to worry about but it’s okay cause hey while he’d never say it he thinks it’s better to be able to taste them and enjoy a normal cup of good beans than to be like his unnamed friend. enjoyer of the whole menu, entirely dependent on the mood. focusing, straight espresso shots, reading, matcha or peppermint tea, vibing, lemonade or lemonade mixture idk you name it. very into cafe energy and feels good whenever he enters one, but doesn’t do it out of neccesity cause once he did actually have someone slightly hit on him at a cafe and he stopped going to it because he interacted with them very awkwardly. is sure the baristas heard and just can’t do it anymore. has pulled all nighters and 24-hr study sessions in internet cafes chugging coffees like a motherfucker. hasn’t yet poured a redbull into coffee yet but i mean it could be coming we never know (nah hes afraid of it)

not a fan of ordering stuff in cafes at all cause hes not there to eat. can be persuaded for a bite if friends are there but if not then hes avoidant of foods. you can’t blame him! it’s kind of awkward to order food at a coffee place anyways so he just steers clear