#not here to really judge people with this

[ddejavvu]

i keep thinking about ur casual dominance hiccup hcs theyre so good

i walk fast and i keep thinking about him just like. gently grabbing my ponytail and tugging me back to his side (hc he walks slow cus his prosthetic) and not even missing a beat in whatever we were talking about likkeee

Hiccup won't judge you too harshly for walking twice his speed, because the baby dragons you're raving about really are incredible, but when he can barely hear you anymore as he lags behind, he takes an extra long step and reaches for your hair that's swinging back and forth in its ponytail.

"And the littlest one is the fattest." You're laughing, demonstrating its size with your hands, "He's short but he's chubby because he eats the most- ah- hey!"

"Too fast." He murmurs, the thunk of his prosthetic leg hitting the bedrock beneath you a reminder that he can't exactly go for a sprint around the island anymore, "Keep going- what about the fat little baby?"

"He eats all of the rocks," You laugh breathily, feeling Hiccup's hand drift to the small of your back instead of hanging onto your hair, "I'll walk slower, sorry."

"I'm missing a leg, just in case you forgot." He sends you a cheeky, knowing grin, "The prosthetic chafes really bad if I rush too fast."

"Well we don't have to rush." You resolve, slowing yourself down to a snail's pace as you trek through the woodlands of Berk, "We can spend all day here. It'll give me a chance to get some fresh air, and it'll give you a chance to avoid your dad!"

"Hey! I'm not avoiding him," Hiccup gripes, but he gives in almost immediately, "I'm just- trying not to walk by him so that he doesn't suck me into a four-hour-long lecture about providing for our people when what he's really talking about is tending to Mildew's cabbage farm because he's too lazy to do it himself!"

"Well then," You snicker, bumping your shoulder into his and nearly sending him to the ground, "It'll give you a chance to not walk by your dad so that he doesn't suck you into a-"

"Alright- Walk faster again," Hiccup cuts you off, using the hand on your back to propel you forwards an extra step as you yelp with laughter, "If you're gonna make fun of me I don't want to hear it."

[bucketbueckers]

RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER THREE

content: language, colette roman (affectionate), chris koclanes (derogatory), nai is #noticing, mental health issues, i could really make the girls miscommunicate here but im not gonna do that bc i hate that trope so everyone say thank you, "im your friend" she says as she does very non-friend shit, poorly written hoops/hoops talk, did i mention chris koclanes, god awful proofreading

wc: 8.0k

notes: this lowkey took a while to write but i was feeling like. super resentful and dead inside so i had to reacclimatize with nature (minecraft) and realize the love in my heart is far greater than the hate. aristotle once said we ball so ball is what i will do. i go back to class on the 30th so i have no idea what updates are gonna look like from here on out so just bear with me 😩 but as always i hope y'all enjoy this one and lmk what you think 🫶

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo

Cam is a half mile into her morning jog when her music cuts off, her ringtone echoing through her headphones. She barely resists a groan only because she was listening to GIMME A HUG by Drake and she was nearing the beat drop. Whoever is calling better have a good reason to – especially because it’s a quarter ‘til 7 am and she was on do not disturb. She would have to have a serious conversation with her allowed contacts.

She glances down at her watch, softening when she sees that it’s Coley, and she presses the Accept button as she slows herself to a walk. When the call clicks through, Coley’s greeting is instant.

“Livya Camille,” her older sister says, tone a weird mix between teasing and that sisterly Your ass is in trouble. The use of Cam’s full name – like full name – almost makes her trip over her own two feet but she manages to find her footing.

“Colette Leighton,” she grumbles in response. She peers down at her watch again, eyes snagging on the time. “The sun’s barely up, Coley. What did I do to deserve the government name already?”

Coley laughs on the other end of the line, but then she pauses when Cam doesn’t join in, like she was part of an inside joke that she thought Cam was privy to. It makes the younger of the two Roman sisters sweat, and it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s jogging in the early morning Dallas humidity. “Shit,” Coley says, which doesn’t make Cam feel better at all. “You’re serious?”

“Coley,” Cam whines. Dread fills her veins like ice. Coley wasn’t one to call before 9am, knowing that Cam had a pretty rigorous morning routine that she liked to stick to and that she’d have time before practice. Coley was the same way. Considering that she was in Florida, it was nearing 8am for her, which meant that Coley was supposed to be three sets deep into leg day. “On a scale of ‘just another Tuesday on stan Twitter’ to ‘call your manager immediately and enroll in witness protection,’ how bad is whatever you’re about to tell me?”

Coley hesitates. Cam sighs, running her fingers through the curls on her head. “Remember when Diana Taurasi kissed Seimone Augustus during a game?” she offers tentatively.

“Yes,” Cam croaks, not liking where this is going.

“That’s what’s happening here,” Coley states. “Cam Roman just kissed Seimone Augustus, but instead of, you know, Seimone Augustus, it was Paige Bueckers.”

Cam is silent for an agonizingly long moment, feeling as though she’s been caught red-handed. She didn’t tell anyone. As far as she knew, she and Paige were the only two people who knew that there was a her and Paige, even if it was just for a night. She gets the idea that she was too quiet for too long judging by the sharp intake of breath on Coley’s end of the line, but she doesn’t give her sister the time to speak. “Colette,” she hisses, trying to ignore how her voice shakes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She can almost imagine the furrow in Coley’s brow. “Okay, first of all, pull that stick out of your ass. Second of all, we’re definitely revisiting how weirdly silent you got when I said you kissed Paige Bueckers–”

“Don’t dig for a story where there isn’t one, Colette–”

“Shhhh!” Coley hushes her. Cam winces at the volume, but purses her lips so as to not run her mouth, feeling something like anxiety and regret bubble in her belly. “Now I know something happened. You only ever call me ‘Colette’ when you’re trying to act grown and if something didn’t happen, you would be tweaking out over me telling you to remove that stick from your ass right now.”

“Coley,” Cam interrupts, silently cursing her sister for how well she knows her. “Please get to the point.”

“Have you been online?” Coley asks. “Like, at all?”

“You know I haven’t. I don’t think I’ve even opened Twitter since my rookie year.”

Coley sighs. “Okay. I think you protected your peace a little too well on this one.”

“If you don’t stop being cryptic and tell me what’s wrong, I’m actually gonna freak the fuck out,” Cam snaps, but her tone is exhausted.

“There’s a few clips circulating of you at Paige’s draft afterparty,” Coley says finally. Cam exhales sharply. She’s not surprised. Not really, but knowing that it’s taken almost two weeks for something to finally surface makes her feel a little better. “It’s nothing insane. But people are obviously speculating because you were there in the first place, since, you know, vets don’t really get invited to afterparties.” Cam doesn’t dignify that with a response. Coley continues, “There’s like, a few blurry shots of the two of you laughing at the bar, the DJ booth, and dancing with a few other people.”

Cam relaxes a little. “Okay, what’s the issue?”

“There wasn’t really one,” Coley confesses. “I mean, there’s a faceless account on Twitter that was created recently. Like recent recent. Like I’ve once chewed on a piece of gum for longer than this account has been active.”

“Gross–”

“Point being,” Coley says, “a faceless account is claiming that the two of you left the party together, which,” she laughs, “sure, I guess. What a weird thing to say.”

“So weird,” Cam agrees robotically, her cheeks heating up.

“And I thought the whole situation was funny,” Coley says. “I mean, if the videos get back to dad, he’s probably going to lay into you for drinking. Something something public image. Family reputation. But, like, I only called because some of these comments are insane.” She clears her throat, as if preparing for a dramatic reading, and Cam presses the heels of her hands to her eyes as she listens. “slut4uconnwbb says, ‘Paige got drafted first overall and she has her fine ass teammate on her arm at the after party. God has favorites.’” Admittedly, that makes Cam snort.

“‘sashawatchesbasketball’ says, ‘am I the only one who finds this so sweet? Cam really does love her rookies. Her and Paige’s on court connection is gonna hit like crack in the 80’s.” Coley giggles before she reads a final one. “According to ballwatcher696969, ‘my friend’s sister’s girlfriend’s brother was at Paige’s afterparty and he said Cam requested pushing P at the DJ booth and Paige didn’t stop blushing for fifteen minutes.’”

Cam doesn’t say anything for a few brief moments before she admits, “I did request pushing P, for the record.”

“And the blushing part?”

Cam’s face feels like it’s on fire. She’s suddenly thankful that she and Coley aren’t on FaceTime. “It was a pretty dark room,” she states weakly.

Coley scoffs. “What aren’t you telling me, Cam? So what, you went to your rookie’s after party. You had a drink or like, five, apparently. You’re acting like you just welcomed her into the league by welcoming her into your pants.”

Cam’s stunned silence speaks for itself. She wracks her brain for something to say – for anything to say, but she comes up blank. Coley’s silence scares her more than she’d like to admit.

“Livya. Camille. Roman,” her older sister says slowly. The use of her full fucking government name makes her want to crawl into a hole and die, but the most she can muster is a whimpered Jesus Christ as she considers how screwed she is. She would never be able to show her face at family dinner ever again. “You slept with your rookie? You fucked Paige Bueckers?”

Cam has half a mind to confess that it was a mutual fucking, but she’s pretty sure that wouldn’t help her case any. What she does settle on is, “Well…you started with the DT comparison. She also slept with her teammate.”

“Oh, my God,” Coley breathes out. “I’m trying to be supportive here and not freak out, but all I can imagine right now is eight year old Cam gagging whenever she watched people kiss on TV. I can’t believe you–”

“–had sex with Paige Bueckers,” Cam finishes dryly. Coley laughs on the other line. “Yes, we established that. Trust me, it’s handled. I freaked out for a week. Considered trading myself to somewhere like the Fever to punish myself. Me and Paige talked about it. We’re cool. It’s not gonna happen again.”

“You talked about it,” Coley echoes. Cam can almost see the shit eating grin on her face. “I’m so sure. And what happens when it does happen again?”

“It won’t,” Cam states. Coley hums, and now Cam wishes they were on FaceTime so she could see her eye roll.

“Having a gay little sister comes with so many perks,” Coley sighs wistfully. “She builds shelves for me. We don’t fight over guys. Every day of her life is reality TV and I don’t have to pay exorbitant prices for streaming services just to be entertained.”

“God,” Cam mutters, shaking her head, feeling nothing short of entirely fucking embarassed. “Don’t you have a workout to do?”

“Yes,” Coley agrees. “Poor, unfortunate, Colette Roman must get her gains in the old fashioned way. It’s such a shame I can’t lay in bed with my teammates like other people do.”

“Goodbye, Coley!”

Before Cam hangs up, Coley shouts into the receiver, “Tell Arike that the next time I’m in Dallas, her drinks are on me! She deserves financial compensation for all the third wheeling she’s about to–”

Cam all but smashes the end call button, and her music cuts back in.

This girl face so pretty, I can only think of fuckin’ missionary

Cam skips the song without hesitation.

The Dallas Wings practice facility is already in full gear for the first day of training camp. The sound hits Cam before anything else does – balls bouncing to different rhythms, the echo of the rubber against polished wood, laughter and friendly trash talk being shared amongst people who have been in the same space for years, and the energetic bass of whatever rap song is playing through someone’s aux. For all of the chaos in the gym, it feels like home.

Almost everyone’s in attendance and ready to go. From the first glance, the rookies seem to be fitting in extremely well – Paige is mid-conversation with DiJonai and NaLyssa, all three of them wearing bright grins, although DiJonai’s is laced with a fond exasperation as Paige makes a joke that makes NaLyssa double over with laughter. Aziaha and JJ are working some defensive drills, and Cam has to admit that JJ’s hustle is impressive. Aaronette and Madison are stretching with Maddy and Ty.

Everyone else is in usual order. Arike is warming up her three point shot with help from Nola Henry, one of their assistant coaches. Cam has yet to forgive her for treason – Nola coached the Rose in Unrivaled, who knocked Cam’s club, the Lunar Owls, out of the playoffs. She supposes she was willing to put their rivalry aside for the sake of the season.

Cam drops her bag off by the bench, tying her hair up as she makes her way across the court to Paige, NaLyssa, and DiJonai. Paige’s eyes drift away and find her first. Her face brightens, the apples of her cheeks popping out as her smile softens, and, less than subtly, DiJonai nudges NaLyssa with her elbow. For the sake of her peace, Cam pretends like she doesn’t notice.

“You guys are hazing the rook and I wasn’t invited?” Cam asks with an exaggerated pout. Paige rolls her eyes. “Not cool, guys. Really feeling the love.”

“Pretty sure you had some one-on-one hazing time of your own,” Nai retorts. NaLyssa snorts.

Cam falters immediately, blinking owlishly at the couple, then turning her attention to Paige, who seems just as caught and shocked as Cam does. “What do you mean?” Cam is surprised by the evenness of her tone.

NaLyssa raises a brow, something mischievous in her gaze as Cam bounces on her heels. “Ain’t y’all play HORSE before her press conference? P said she beat you and couldn’t stop cheesin’.”

Paige and Cam relax at the same time, and a smirk tugs at the corner of Cam’s lips. “Beat is a strong word–” Paige scoffs, but Cam doesn’t stop, shooting her an amused look. “It’s like when a little kid shows you their cartwheel. You have to pretend to be impressed so they feel better about themselves. I just pretended to lose. It was a business decision.”

“That ain’t how I remember it,” Paige states. “Like, at all.” She turns her attention to NaLyssa and DiJonai, and they wear matching expressions that look a lot like the ‘seriously? Right in front of my salad?’ meme. Cam can’t help her flush. “Somebody bricked a full court shot and wanted to talk about some ‘arm strength.’”

DiJonai nods slowly, her nose wrinkling up. “I see what this is about,” she says, glancing back and forth between Cam and Paige.

“Nai–” Cam begins, but DiJonai cuts her off with a wave of her hand. She has a knowing smile on her face, but she wouldn’t say anything out loud. She’s not messy like that – she and Cam had spent enough time at Stanford together to know that. Cam just knows that she and DiJonai are going to have a really long conversation about this later.

“I have to go tape my ankle,” DiJonai says, even though there’s nothing wrong with her ankle at all. Cam narrows her eyes, but DiJonai just bats her lashes innocently. “Come help me, Lyss.”

NaLyssa doesn’t even argue – she falls into step with DiJonai, almost as though there was some sort of silent exchange between them. Cam huffs, shaking her head, but she’s grateful that DiJonai didn’t really say anything, even though everyone knew what she was about to say.

Paige hums, propping the ball up on her hip. She meets Cam’s gaze. “She knows, doesn’t she?”

Cam sighs, nodding. “Fucking Stanford psychology degree,” she mutters. “You can’t even think about lying to her. I swear to God she can smell it.”

Paige smiles reassuringly, still looking incredibly calm about the fact that their teammate just found out there was something going on between them. She nudges Cam gently, checking the ball to her, and Cam dribbles it around her legs half-heartedly. “On the bright side,” Paige starts, looking every bit the menace that Cam has come to know her as, “she can’t really say shit, right? She’s datin’ her teammate and sleeping with her. That’s so much worse.”

Cam scoffs, but the sound is more amused than anything else. She steps closer to the free throw line in front of her. Her shot is automatic, and Paige rebounds for her when it goes through the net. “Maybe we need to be…less obvious,” she suggests, her voice a little tentative.

She shoots again, and the ball is back in her hands immediately. She looks up to find Paige’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Less obvious?” she echoes. Another swish. “How can we be less obvious?”

“I don’t know,” Cam says honestly. She shoots the ball again but it clangs harmlessly off the rim. She groans, accepting the rebound from Paige, and checking it back to her after they swap spots. Paige’s first shot is effortless. “I’ve been clocked twice today and it’s not even 10am. First by Coley, now Nai–”

“Hold on,” Paige interrupts, throwing up the timeout sign with her hands. “Your sister knows?”

“I panicked!” Cam shouts in a whisper, waving her arms. “She called me this morning. There were a few clips of us at your party posted online and some fake Twitter account was saying that we left together. Then she was asking why I was being all weird about it and she goes, ‘you’re acting like you just welcomed her into the league by welcoming her into your pants.’ What was I supposed to say to that?”

Despite herself, Paige can’t help but laugh. It sounds a little strained, though, like she’s trying to force it for the sake of reassurance, and she grins in a way that reminds Cam of someone who’s trying to keep it together. Nai might have been the psychology major of the two, but Cam minored in it, thank you very much, so she likes to think that she reads Paige better than she thinks she does.

Cam strips the ball from Paige with little preamble, holding it against her side as she makes eye contact with the younger rookie. “What’s wrong?” Cam asks, genuinely trying for a soothing tone, but Paige’s sudden anxiety is making her anxious. “You just got all tense.”

Paige shakes her head, attempting a smile that Cam sees right through. “I’m good,” she lies. “Trust. Training camp jitters.”

Cam scoffs, taking a step closer to the blonde and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Paige, you could brick every single shot you take this week. You could break your foot trying to dunk on Teaira. You could literally fist fight me in the parking lot and you’d still be a starter. Everyone here loves you. You and I both know whatever just made you sweat wasn’t ‘training camp jitters.’”

Paige stares at her, some unrecognizable emotion swimming in her blue eyes, before her features, soften, relenting. She rubs the back of her neck with a caught expression on her face. “You and Nai are so fuckin’ scary,” she mutters, trying for humor, but Cam doesn’t bite. She just raises a brow, and Paige glances at the rest of the team imperceptibly.

Cam sighs. “Let’s go wrap your knee,” she says. Paige doesn’t even argue. She follows her wordlessly to the trainer’s office, which is miraculously empty. Cam flicks on the light, already rummaging through the drawer for tape, and Paige hoists herself onto the padded table. She’s silent as Cam tears off enough tape to wrap around her knee, but all it takes is one raised brow from Cam to make Paige fold.

“People know,” Paige states obviously. Cam has half a mind to interrupt and tell Paige that’s the only thing she’s been able to think about for a week, but she clamps her mouth shut. Her fingers drum against her thigh while she searches for the right thing to say. “It’s not just Nai. Or your sister. But the media and everyone on Twitter? That makes me feel so out of control. I was tryna be cool about it, but it just…” Paige sighs. “I should be used to it, you know? Not having privacy, I mean. People looking for a story. They’re gonna ask questions, speculate things that I ain’t even figured out yet.” She swallows thickly. “Sometimes, it makes me feel like a stranger in my own skin.”

Her words settle in Cam’s bones like a leaden anchor. She gets it, she really does. She understands it more than she thinks Paige thinks she understands. Cam has never been good with the media attention nor has she ever been able to fully accept the fact that her job intersects more with the entertainment industry than it does sports. She lives and breathes the game in its rawest form – any hard loss is always accompanied by honeyed words to placate vulturous reporters and demanding spectators who just want more, more, more.

She hates that this is what’s happened to the game that she loves. She hates what it’s done to her. She hates what it’s doing to Paige, who appears so calm and cool on the outside, but a mask like that only comes from years of learning how to box up the most intimate parts of yourself and hide them away from anyone with hands too dirty to touch. The harsh truth is that it’s just part of the game they’ve all chosen to play, even if it feels like there’s an aching chasm in between your skin and your bones because your body can’t quite determine what it’s supposed to be and what it wants to be.

Cam finishes wrapping Paige’s knee, but she doesn’t realize how her hands linger on Paige’s skin, her fingers pressing into the muscle in a way that makes Paige’s shoulders sag. They’re both silent for a moment, letting the weight of Paige’s confession sink in. Finally, Cam’s hands still, and Paige glances up. “You never really get used to it,” she says. “Being the center of attention yet somehow feeling like you’re on the outside looking in. You just learn how to protect what’s important to you and sometimes that means giving less of yourself away to people who don’t deserve to see you.” Paige swallows thickly. “Are you ashamed of what we did?”

Paige scoffs, actually sounding indignant, and her eyes flash with something Cam can’t quite place. Hurt, maybe. Surprise. “No,” she responds. Cam can tell she means it. “But you’re the one saying ‘we can’t let this happen again’ and ‘maybe we should be less obvious.’ That sounds like shame to me.”

Cam breathes evenly through her nose, feeling the sting of the accusation and her own guilt land like blows. “I’m trying to protect us,” Cam says heatedly, watching Paige blink in shock. “I’m not ashamed of what we did. I’m not ashamed of you. I was trying to see where your head was at. You think I don’t get it, Paige, but God, I do. I have fought for years just to be able to say that I’m still me, that there’s a piece of me that’s for me only that the media hasn’t touched.” Paige’s features soften with understanding. Cam sighs, trying to find the words. “I’m not trying to make a decision for both of us,” she says honestly. “You have a voice. If something isn’t working for you, tell me. I told you that you didn’t have to prove anything to me.”

Cam pauses, glancing down at Paige, who peers up at her with residual guilt yet blinding trust. Cam feels something warm in her chest, but she thinks nothing of it, trying to keep her voice steady. “Right now,” she murmurs, not breaking eye contact, “you are my priority, so we’re going to keep this clean. Not because we’re ashamed or because we regret it or because it was a mistake – but because this is ours, and we need to be careful. You’re important to me.” Cam hesitates, wetting her lips, and she adds, “You’re important to this team. I could never forgive myself if I hurt you and put everything – put you – at risk. Okay?”

Paige nods, which makes Cam frown, her brows tenting. “I need to hear you say it,” Cam says softly. “Please just say something – literally anything. Even if it’s just something really annoying about me fucking up your tape.”

That manages to draw a laugh from Paige, whose shoulders relax slightly. Cam feels like she can relax, too, her anxiety dissipating. “Okay,” Paige agrees. Her word elicits a smile from Cam. “Sorry for accusing you of being ashamed. I shouldn’t have said that. I was just…overthinking.”

“Don’t apologize for being honest with me,” Cam states. “Least of all for getting in your head. I just want you to know you can talk to me. But since we’re apologizing…I’m sorry for making decisions without you. I should have asked if you were really okay with them or if you wanted to add something.” Paige’s gaze shines a little when they make eye contact. “I’m your vet, not your authority. I’m your friend. You’re allowed to disagree with me or tell me when I’m fucking up. I’d really appreciate it if you did, actually.”

“Well,” Paige whispers, her smile soft and mischievous, “my tape is a little tight.”

Cam scoffs, rolling her eyes, but she can’t stop smiling as she gingerly peels the tape off and reapplies it until Paige gives her a thumbs up. Cam isn’t really thinking – ironic how that’s become a pattern as of late – when she bends down and presses the barest hint of a kiss to Paige’s knee. Paige’s cheeks are a little red when she leans back up, and suddenly feeling nauseous with emotion, Cam’s voice is gruff when she says, “Try not to fuck up your knee during camp. My splint skills are a lot worse than my tape skills.”

“Got it,” Paige says, her voice cracking a little. “I know who’s not gonna be my emergency contact.”

Cam offers a slight smile, but the both of them can hear the bleating sound of a whistle through the office doors. While it makes them flinch, they know it’s their cue, so Paige slides off the table and follows Cam back to the court. The rest of the team is already circled up around Chris and the two of them squeeze in next to Arike, DiJonai, and NaLyssa. Cam pretends to not notice DiJonai’s questioning look, but Paige nonchalantly points to her taped up knee, and DiJonai seems to accept it.

Chris Koclanes is dressed in a pair of shorts and a Wings sweatshirt, and he’s clutching a rolled up stack of paper in his hand. Cam hadn’t gotten to spend a lot of time with him one on one, only knowing from their brief conversation during her re-signing that he was a defensive minded coach. Given that Cam’s bread and butter was defense, she had high hopes.

“Hello, everyone,” Chris starts, trying for a smile. “Welcome to the first day of training camp. I’m excited to get to work and I hope you are too. First, I’d like to introduce this season’s coaching staff.” He starts with himself, then introduces assistant coaches Nola Henry, Camille Smith, and Belle Koclanes. Then, he introduces the strength and conditioning coach, the trainers, and the physicians. “Our rookies – let’s get a hand for Paige, Aziaha, Madison, Aaronette, and JJ.”

The team breaks into raucous applause for the rookies, with NaLyssa shaking Paige by the shoulders excitedly, who seems to be in better spirits following their conversion. Even Chris is smiling as he raises a hand, trying to quiet the team. “You should all be proud of yourselves,” he continues. “But today, we work. We’re a young team. We have an identity to establish. We’re going to play together this season and do it with grit and passion. Today, we’re going to start with a group warm-up and run through a few scrimmages.”

Nola is already reaching for the resistance bands but pauses in confusion when Chris says, “I want everyone to take a seat.”

Clearly, everyone else is just as confused, too, as it takes a few seconds for the Wings to spread out and take a seat on the court. Paige’s knee brushes Cam as they lower themselves to the ground. Chris rests his palms over his knees, looking like someone out of a scammy wellness video on YouTube, and Cam’s jaw all but drops as he says, “Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

Cam locks eyes with Arike, who’s biting back a snicker, then to Nola, who looks nothing short of perplexed. Reluctantly, she closes her eyes as Chris speaks. “Basketball is a sport. A physical one. It’s a battle of runs. But most importantly, it’s a mental game. I want us to be one on the court – connected with not only ourselves, but our teammates, too. We’re like an ocean. Calm on the surface, but beneath it, we are a tidal wave of power, ready to crash over whoever doubts us. We play as one unit, one team, for one purpose.

“Everyone on the team has a voice,” Chris states. “I want you all to lead from where you are. Whether it’s rookie, vet, or somewhere in between, you are all leaders. This will be a player run team and through this, we will succeed.”

Chris keeps on talking, but Cam blinks one eye open, scanning the court. Myisha is nodding like she’s feeling Chris’s words in her bones. Arike has tears streaming down her face, face turning red from the effort of not bursting into laughter completely. Paige’s jaw is slack, like she can’t fully process the fact that she just went from Geno “You Wear 5 And Nika Wears 10 Because You’re Half The Defender She Is” Auriemma to Chris “Be One With The Ball” Koclanes.

And Cam? She just hopes that Lisa Leslie is smiling on a beach somewhere.

After a few moments of team breathing that Cam only half heartedly commits to, they run through the actual warm ups with interval sprints, the resistance bands, and a few drills. Then, Chris assigns teams for the first scrimmage against the practice players. Paige, Arike, Cam, NaLyssa, and Teaira are the first squad in.

At first, it’s kind of a mess. Chris’s “every player has a voice” mentality seems to roughly translate to “the coach’s play calling is based on vibes and tarot.” He’s standing on the sidelines with his arms crossed as he watches the game play out, not really calling any offensive plays or offering much of anything. Paige dribbles near half court, directing traffic despite the lack of instruction – Arike’s on the far right wing and after shaking her defender, she cuts around the perimeter, accepting the hand off from Paige, and Cam plants her feet firmly in between her own defender and Arike’s incoming one. It gives her enough space to shoot the three, which is money.

Defensively, they’re a little more cohesive. They’re in a zone set and Cam clamps up her assignment every time he gets his hands on the ball. After Paige calls for a switch, Cam even gets her hand up in time to deflect the shot and she’s lobbing the ball up court to Paige, who lays it in with ease.

The connection isn’t instant. Cam fumbles through a few passes to Paige and fucks up a screen or two just because she’s not quite sure on how Paige is positioning herself. Paige, similarly, misses Cam on a few open cuts and surprises her with a slick behind the back pass that she wasn’t ready for.

But for now, they know enough. Cam knows that Paige is a pass first guard. If she’s not setting a screen, then she’s always moving, trusting that Paige will find her. She knows she likes her middies, so she’s doing her best to get active and cause enough congestion that she gets Paige the open look. 

Every play helps them read each other a little bit better – helps them read the team a little bit better. NaLyssa starts getting a few more touches and Teaira’s height is dominant in the paint. They run a few more possessions before they’re subbed out for a different rotation, and Cam can feel her shirt sticking to her back as they walk to the sidelines for water.

Cam pats Paige’s hip when she passes by, breathing heavily, her neck flushed. “Good job on finding everyone, rook,” she says, dropping down into the bench less than gracefully. Paige follows suit.

She shrugs, although there’s a tentative, bashful smile on her face. “Wasn’t expecting you to pop on that last possession,” she admits. “I thought you’d curl.”

“I happen to be a deceptive three point shooter,” Cam says, flicking her wrist dramatically. Paige laughs. “I know I’m super tall and should be a paint warrior–” Paige rolls her eyes at this, as if she’s not shorter than Cam, “–but I’m solid from the line. Sarah Strong junior, if you will.” Cam pauses. “Or senior, I guess.”

Paige blinks. “That’s actually…kinda helpful.”

Cam grins. “First day. What are you noticing?”

“I haven’t been yelled at this entire time,” Paige says. “It’s kinda making me uncomfortable. If Coach–” Paige pauses, frowning, “–if Geno saw me miss you on that pop he would have asked me if I left my brain in Minnesota.”

Cam snorts. “I meant about the team,” she clarifies. “How everyone’s moving. But if you want I can work on my Geno Auriemma impression. I feel like it’s a lot like Sue Sylvester’s.” Cam’s expression turns deadpan as she imitates, “You think this is hard? Try being waterboarded. That’s hard.”

Paige laughs, the apples of her cheeks popping out as she leans back on her chair. “Feels like I’m home already,” she jokes, her smile softening. “I noticed that you’re everywhere on the court.” Cam honestly wasn’t expecting that one, but she listens as Paige elaborates. “You’re constantly moving. Screening and cutting. You’re trying to make yourself as open as possible. Your off-ball movement is really good.”

“My high school coach used to say ‘if you’re not movin,’ you’re losin,’” Cam says, smiling at the memory. “The offense gets stagnant if everyone’s just standing in the corner waiting for something to happen. Or you run into the issue where everyone’s rotating around the perimeter, handing the ball off to each other and dribbling the entire shot clock out. You could probably get away with that in college, but in the league? You’re gonna get doubled on every possession and have no one to kick it out to because nobody’s moving. What else?”

Paige nods, a focused look in her eyes. “Transition defense,” she says. “We collapsed a few times. We need to be more vocal.”

“It’ll come,” Cam says, assured. “It’s the first day of camp. Brand new roster.” She tries to keep her voice neutral when she says, “New coach.” Paige hears it, because of course she does, but she smiles knowingly anyway. “Just keep trusting your gut and keep hustling. We’re gonna figure it out.”

Paige nods again, her smile softening as she takes a sip from her water. As the rest of the scrimmage plays on, Cam’s next to her and narrating the play, asking Paige what she could do differently or if she’d make a different read. Paige’s court vision is a lot better than hers, but by the time Coach subs them back in to practice with JJ, Maddy, and Myisha, Cam can tell that Paige is a lot more confident. She finds her more often at the line or when she’s cutting. Cam has a better feel for Paige’s court presence, so her screens are tighter, more effective.

They’re both soaked through their jerseys by the time the first day of camp ends. As rough as the first day was, Cam can’t help but feel a little accomplished. She and Paige were clicking. Paige was making connections with NaLyssa, DiJonai, and learning to read Arike, too. They would polish up the rest and it would come with time. The coaching staff needs time to adjust, too, she reasons. Maybe Chris just wanted to see how they operated when the PG had full control. Maybe they’d run through actual plays tomorrow.

Either way, Cam is hopeful. The chemistry would come the more they played together and the more they interacted with one another. She wasn’t going to make assumptions about the way the season would go just from one training camp practice. Between her, Paige, Arike, and the rest of the roster, she genuinely feels like they could go a long way if they were able to polish things up.

The rest of the week passes similarly. There are a few cuts made during camp, but Cam just tries to stay focused on her game and building relationships with all of the new players on the team. They’re all improving, as a team and as individuals, and things become so much more clearer when they start running actual plays.

Paige is growing into her role immediately, a fact that Cam can’t help but to be proud of, especially because she knows that she’s positively influencing Paige’s transition to the league. While Paige would always be a better point guard than she is, she has a lot of league experience playing around and with the position, so she’s able to offer some guidance on how Paige can improve her game. They dissect plays during timeouts, break down points in their own mistakes, and work on reading each other’s body languages. Cam is confident that if you just give the both of them another week or two, they’d be one of the scariest guard-forward duos in the league.

The end of training camp has always been capped off with a team dinner. It’s a Wings tradition, one that started before Cam and one that she’s definitely upholding this season. Cam and Arike were splitting the bill, a fact that she’s sure someone will undoubtedly be upset by.

Cam dresses in comfort – a sleeveless, ruffled white crop top and baggy light wash blue jeans, and catches a ride with Maddy since their apartments are close by. The restaurant they were going to was (unsurprisingly) a tex mex place, purely because everyone thought the reporters’ obsession with it was hilarious.

When she and Maddy arrive, the hostess leads them to their reserved table in the back, where a few of their teammates await. There’s an empty seat next to Paige that Maddy looks like she’s about to sit in, but DiJonai waves her over with a startling swiftness and a wink sent in Cam’s direction. Cam rolls her eyes, but dutifully takes the seat next to Paige, who’s poring over the menu with furrowed brows.

“They don’t have this in Storrs?” Cam asks teasingly, and Paige huffs out a laugh. She’s wearing a pair of purple framed glasses and an all grey sweatsuit, which honestly shocks Cam because – hello? The weather?

“Nah,” she says, lips twitching with a smile. “We got farmland and shit. And the best women’s basketball team in the country.”

“Weird,” Cam hums. “I thought Stanford was in California.”

Paige taps her chin thoughtfully. “That’s not what the national championship trophy says. You know, the one UConn won?”

Cam sniffs, opening her own menu and breaking eye contact. “A girl wins one chip and she thinks she’s indestructible,” she sighs.

From across the table, DiJonai clears her throat. Loudly. Cam and Paige look up in tandem, their gazes settling on DiJonai’s amused expression. “Yes, we’re here too,” she says dryly. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

“Should I get the mac and cheese or the greens?” Paige asks, fighting to keep her face neutral as DiJonai rolls her eyes.

There’s mixed answers from the table. Paige raises a brow, clearly not expecting that, and she glances over at Cam, who shrugs. “I’d get the greens,” she says. “They top their mac with breadcrumbs and I don’t fuck with that.”

Paige wrinkles her nose, but closes her menu with finality. The team is swept up in conversation as they wait for everyone else to show up. Arike is animatedly retelling a story about something Chris said in practice, much to the howling laughter of everyone else, and Cam feels something like peace settle in her chest.

She meant it when she said she’d love to win with these girls. She and Arike have been the cornerstones of this team ever since the both of them got drafted. They’ve been through a lot over the years between offseason adjustments and coaching staff changes, but now, with DiJonai and NaLyssa and Paige and Maddy and Aziaha, along with everyone else on their roster, Cam truly feels like something might be shifting into place.

They’re young. Preseason hasn’t even started yet. She knows nothing is set in stone – injuries are always a fear and she knows a few of her teammates have obligations to Euro Bucket and national teams. But Cam also knows that she hasn’t felt a feeling of confidence this strong ever since they made it to the playoffs in 2023. She’s sure that feeling stems from the blonde guard sitting in the chair next to her more than she’d like to admit.

Their food arrives and the laughter continues. Everyone gradually relaxes, sharing more jokes and random stories from college, and this feeling right here? If Cam could bottle it up and hold onto it forever, she’s sure that she would. She didn’t know what the Wings would have in store for her if she re-signed with them, but she’s really glad that she did.

Eventually, dinner wraps up, and their waitress returns with the two checks for Cam and Arike. Paige is already reaching for it – bless her heart – but Cam swats her hand with a swiftness that shocks the both of them. She slides her card in before Paige can protest any further and hands it back to the waitress. Paige just grins, and despite herself, Cam does too.

Spirits are still high as everyone embraces each other, getting ready to say goodbye, but when Cam turns to Paige, the blonde has one hand in her pocket and her keys dangling from the other one. “Need a ride?” she asks, barely concealed hope in her expression.

Cam turns to Maddy, who’s locked in conversation with DiJonai. DiJonai catches her gaze and whispers something into Maddy’s ear – Cam’s not worried, she’s confident that Nai wouldn’t be messy, and Maddy waves her off with her hand and a smile. Cam turns back to her rookie, a soft smile on her face. “I’d like that,” she confirms. Paige’s smile is a little too tender, and Cam tries her hardest not to think too much about it.

That attempt at being normal fails the moment Paige opens the passenger side door for her. Cam’s sure there’s a flush on her cheeks that’s as bright as the city lights, but she remembers their conversation from earlier in the week. They’d keep it clean. They weren’t going to complicate their friendship anymore than it already was.

Paige slides into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition on. “Aux?” she asks Cam, holding up the cord, and Cam allows herself a coy smile.

“Do you really want me on aux?” she asks, her tone knowing.

Paige glances at her, narrowing her eyes. Wordlessly, she plugs her own phone in and starts scrolling through a few of her playlists until she settles on one. The soft sounds of SZA’s Normal Girl fills Paige’s Jeep as she easily backs out of her spot, merging onto the road. For a moment, neither of them speak – Paige hums along to the song, and Cam is content to just be. It’s times like this when the world slows down and night falls that she feels a little more like herself and less like who she has to be to survive.

Cam glances over at the blonde, whose eyes are focused on the road ahead. The street lights reflect off her glasses, the angular slope of her jaw, and despite how the world has forced her to toughen up, she looks soft. Not in the I can’t handle this kind of way – in the I’m letting my guard down because I know I can trust you kind of way. That thought makes Cam feel a lot more grateful.

Breaking the silence of the moment is harder than she’d like to admit, but her voice is hardly above a whisper when she says, “You did really well this week.”

Paige meets her eyes briefly, a sheepish smile on her face, like she wasn’t expecting Cam to speak let alone say that. “Yeah?” she asks quietly.

“Don’t fish for compliments.”

Paige laughs gently. “I’m not! Just tryna know how I can be better.”

Cam huffs, but the sound is amused. “We’d be here all night, then,” she says jokingly. Paige’s jaw drops, her expression full of indignance, and Cam’s laughter echoes in the car. She pauses for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I know this isn’t helpful at all, but you play like a vet. I could sit here and nitpick at your game just from what I’ve seen during camp even though we both know the league’s not going to slow down for you.”

“I don’t want it to,” Paige says honestly.

Cam looks at her, at the quiet determination in how her jaw is set. “I know,” she agrees. “I’m not gonna sit here and lecture you about how fast and physical the league is. You know that. But rookies come in all the time, hot off of their college season, and think they can handle forty-plus games of league play. By the end of October, you’ll have been playing basketball nonstop for a year. That wears on your body. Be honest with yourself and with staff when you need a break.”

Paige nods silently, not having to ask for elaboration. She knows what Cam means. The risk of injury. Of overuse, burnout, everything in between. “You’ll hate this advice,” Cam continues, her lips twitching into a smirk. “But everything just takes time. Once you get comfortable and stop with that humble hooper bullshit, you’ll be really scary.”

Paige scoffs, a smile creeping onto her face. “Humble hooper bullshit? Nah.”

Cam laughs. “Paige, you’d be wide open for three and you’d pass to someone an inch closer to the hoop. You did that three times in the last two days of camp and the ball didn’t make it back to you once. One scoreless possession like that is something that shapes the entire game. You’ve gotta hunt for your shot as much as you try to hunt for others. Nobody eats if everyone’s passing the plate.”

“You’re watchin’ me?” Paige asks, trying for a lighthearted tone, but it falls short, like she’s genuinely touched that Cam is actually investing in her.

“Of course,” she responds. “Just trying to make sure we didn’t fuck up by drafting you over Kaitlyn Chen.” Paige laughs, adjusting her glasses as she stops at a red light. She takes the moment to glance over at Cam, whose smile softens. “I just want you to remember that you’re exactly who you think you are. Whether you’re winning or losing, shooting lights out or bricking everything – especially when you’re bricking everything – you are not worth less. You’re not letting anyone down by not being perfect. We’re not gonna win everything this season. It’ll take time.”

The light turns green and Paige presses down on the accelerator. “Feels like you’re in my head,” she says softly, her tone lacking its usual playful bite.

“I’ve been there,” Cam says. “Fresh off of a natty and exhausted. My mental was terrible and things weren’t immediately clicking. The difference between me and you is I didn’t have a vet in my corner who’d lived it to tell me I’d be okay.”

“Will I?” Paige asks.

“Be okay?” Cam clarifies, and Paige nods, an uncharacteristic hesitation on her face. Cam doesn’t hesitate before she says, “Yeah. You will be. Just remember who kept you humble when you’re Rookie of the Year.”

That makes Paige laugh, the slight tension in the car dissolving. “Thanks, Cam,” Paige whispers.

Cam doesn’t say anything – she doesn’t have to. SZA keeps playing over the radio in soft tones and the gentle hum of Paige’s voice makes Cam sink further into that ever present feeling of peace that she’s felt all night. Part of her is almost disappointed when Paige pulls into the parking lot of her apartment complex, pulling as close to the front door as she can. The rumble of the engine fades into background noise.

“Thank you for the ride,” Cam says.

Paige’s beaming grin makes it all worth it. “Of course,” she murmurs. Cam pushes the passenger door open, stepping out cautiously and shutting it. She pokes her head through the open window, wishing the night could go on forever. “See you in practice tomorrow?”

“God willing,” she jokes with a lopsided smile. “Have a good night, rook.”

Paige’s smile is gentle, returning the farewell in full, and she doesn’t pull away from the curb until Cam buzzes herself into her building. Even after she makes it up to her apartment, getting ready for a shower and her nightly routine, her smile doesn’t fade.

[oimoitalaina]

The Emperor Has no Clothes, or, Is There an Opposite of Review Bombing?

The comments @staying-elive left on my last post (which were great thank you!) has made me think more about another strange element of Thunderbolts. That is the fact that despite the movie being objectively a terrible mess and a financial disaster, it got good reviews. And now we’re seeing Ironheart get review bombed, like many projects before it. This makes me wonder, is there such a thing as the inverse of a review bomb? Where a bad movie gets artificially positive reviews?

One of the biggest problems with having a project get review bombed is that it puts anyone with positive things to say on the back foot. The most recent example before Ironheart was Brave New World, and I still see people start any positive take of the movie with something like “don’t believe what you’re seeing online” or “Well I *actually* liked it” or “despite what people say, I think it was good”. Or “I don’t get why people didn’t like it!” (It's racism, keep up). People are always giving ground to the “majority” negative opinion before giving their own positive take. Any praise of Brave New World has had to fight uphill so to speak, it's at a disadvantage because of that damn Rotten Tomato score. Even when sites like Rotten Tomatoes crack down on review bombing like they finally did for Ironheart, it's often too little too late. The first thing many people heard was that there were negative reviews. Even when people *logically* understand that something is incorrect, like an overwhelmingly negative series of reviews, first impressions make a huge unconscious difference on the average fan.

So we know that an objectively good movie can be made to look bad to the average audience if there are negative reviews, no matter how fake those reviews are. My question is - can the opposite happen? And can that help explain the weird case with Thunderbolts? Thunderbolts got good reviews and did terribly at the box office. Now, for many movies, this is not an uncommon phenomenon. The current state of theaters is pretty terrible, and people don’t have the finances to go out to every movie that comes out. We also have streaming now, so most people are willing to wait to watch a movie for much way less money. But while this is the case for lots of movies, it has not been the case for the MCU. These movies have a huge established fanbase, a massive marketing budget, and extra control over the movie theaters themselves. Disney has a huge amount of sway over how many theaters and showtimes their movies get. Thunderbolts had every advantage to do well, even over other MCU movies this year since it had a noticeably larger advertising budget than Brave New World.

The thing is, Thunderbolts is a bad movie. And a bad MCU movie bombing makes sense. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is the positive reviews. So while many people are questioning why a movie with such good reviews did so badly at the box office, I’m instead asking how such a bad movie got such good reviews in the first place. And, as I’ve clearly been hinting at so far, I think it's because the nature of many of these reviews is in some way artificial.

Now before people think I’m some conspiracy theorist about it, I don’t actually think that this is a one to one comparison to the act of review bombing. I don’t think that fans who didn’t watch the movie flooded Rotten Tomatoes with 100% ratings. Instead, I think that the marketing of the film influenced a lot of the reviewer’s opinions. Again, credit to @staying-elive for talking about this, because it is true that Disney made a big push to act like Thunderbolts was some indie film. They did the whole “absolute cinema” meme, and they leaned into the practical stunts involved with the movie. Florence Pugh jumping off that building and the cast talking about Bucky’s stunt double with the wig on his helmet come to mind. The marketing also leaned into the concept of mental health representation. This feels especially odd in hindsight. The depiction of mental health in this movie clearly moved some people, but a great deal of it was fairly one dimensional. Nicque Marina made a great video going into detail about this topic. This movie feels rather patronizing when it comes to the topic of mental health at parts, acting like it can be solved with a group hug.

The highlighting of mental health for this movie also feels odd since other MCU projects have also covered this topic, often with much more care and grace, but the marketing for those projects didn't use the term "mental health" as judiciously as we see in Thunderbolts' marketing. Moon Knight, Falcon and the Winter Soldier, and Wakanda Forever are great examples. These all do a much more in depth, nuanced look into mental health while also not taking such a patronizing attitude towards its characters. Hell, I’d say that Brave New World covers mental health more than Thunderbolts in a much more detailed and subtle way. It covers Isaiah’s trauma, Sam’s grief and sense of constant pressure as a Black man in such a prominent position. It's about, dare I say it, men’s mental health and how they can support each other by being open and vulnerable in their emotions. Sam and Joaquin’s conversation at the end of the movie does more work in that department than a goddamn group hug, that’s for sure! And, again, its fine if people liked the mental health messaging in Thunderbolts, but to act like its the only project that has covered this topic is questionable in my eyes.

The trailers also did a lot of work to make Thunderbolts look like a Guardians of the Galaxy style scrappy team looking for redemption, with Bucky acting as the mentor and moral center of the movie. The montage highlighting each character, complete with big text of their name, implied that this would be a true ensemble cast movie that would dive into each of their stories. The glimpse of Yelena’s room gave the impression that the story would involve all of the characters needing to confront their demons to defeat an insurmountable foe. By showing their initial confrontation with Val, the trailers implied that this would be a clear Thunderbolts vs. Val story where they reject her and help take her down.

But, much like the indie film comparisons, the theme of mental health and redemption isn’t a legitimate trapping of Thunderbolts. Neither was the whole “future of the MCU” angle I talked about in an earlier post. These were all just straws that the marketing department found themselves grasping at when everyone behind the scenes realized that the movie was a dumpster fire. But of course the initial reviewers didn’t know that at the time. And a lot of these reviewers wanted these things that the marketing promised to be true.

While I think that Disney deserves a lot of blame for how they marketed the movie, especially with regards to how they disrespected every project to come out in phases 4 and 5, a lot of blame also falls on the fans. Because the origin of the idea that the MCU fell off after Endgame was not from Disney itself, that was something that came up on the internet just a few projects into phase 4. And while there were a few missteps in the last six years, most of those were more a matter of issues behind the scenes. Executive meddling, poor organization, and insufficient support for creative teams. Disney not immediately listening to the requests of the writers and actors unions which led to the perfectly justified strikes. These account for most of the issues, and beyond that, there were plenty of disappointing movies before phase 4 that the fanbase has  just conveniently forgotten with time.

But to many of these reviewers, the claim that Thunderbolts was the start of a new era for the MCU, a return to form, was tempting. It didn’t hurt that this movie was overwhelmingly white. There has been an insidious, racist association between phases 4 and 5 being of supposedly lower quality and their push for greater representation. The racists who believe this are of course choosing to ignore that Antman Quantumania and Thor Love and Thunder were not good at all despite having white leads. And while I’m not going to pretend that every reviewer had openly racist motivations behind being excited for Thunderbolts, it was probably the case for a few. And for those who weren’t being actively racist, I think the general feeling online about phases 4 and 5 have spread to reviewers who aren’t aware of the racist undertones. Plenty of people’s ears are too bad to hear dog whistles. 

So, between the work of the marketing team and a general desire for the movie to be good, I think it makes sense that a good deal of reviewers would walk out of the movie having liked it. There was nothing to prime them towards having negative opinions towards the movie other than the actual movie itself. And, well, this is where I get into the kinda conspiracy-esque part. I think that these reviewers really wanted this movie to be good because it fit the narrative that the internet had already decided on. They wanted Brave New World to fail and Thunderbolts to succeed. Brave New World had the rumors about extensive reshoots and a bloated budget, it had a controversial character, it had a moment or two of questionable CGI, and it had a lead who many people can’t stand for reasons they *insist* aren’t racist. In comparison, Thunderbolts was marketed as the creative darling, with actors like Florence Pugh and Sebastian Stan who had been having great success with indie movies. This movie didn’t have those pesky reshoots like Brave New World, and it had all those practical stunts! It was moving the plot forward, bringing back these characters who we hadn’t seen in quite a few years confronting a villain who had been set up over multiple movies. It was an ensemble cast, which we haven’t seen since Eternals.

So unlike the victims of review bombing, this movie had nothing but positivity at its back. And so reviewers just kinda rode that wave. Because this is their job, and part of that job is getting attention. A confirmation that the movie everyone wanted to be good was indeed great? That gets views and clicks. So at least a portion of reviewers were just riding off the fun of watching a new MCU movie that they wanted to be good. A  proportion were probably genuinely racist John Walker fans who loved how the movie mocked and erased Sam. But I think there were definitely reviewers who recognized that the movie was bad. I mean, how could anyone with half a brain not notice that? But I think they had good reason to not point it out.

Why would a professional reviewer not take the opportunity to call out a bad movie? Don’t they love doing that? Well, as I said before, it would go against the desired narrative, a narrative that was shared by Disney, fans, and reviewers. And it is genuinely risky to go up against something that powerful. Nobody wants to be the first one to point out that the movie everyone wanted to be good was actually really bad. They don’t want to be the buzzkill, especially since the movie is supposed to be this heartfelt masterpiece about the importance of mental health! To finally reference my title, nobody wants to be the person to point out that the emperor’s beautiful robes don’t exist, that his tailor has been lying to him, that he’s parading through the streets naked.

And so, much like the review bombing we’ve seen directed at recent projects, the reviews for Thunderbolts feel similarly untrustworthy. And while this is a concerning thing to have happened, in some ways it is actually kind of comforting. Because I want the theater industry to survive, and I want the MCU to last and make good movies. If it became a pattern that MCU movies with genuine, overwhelmingly positive reviews bombed in theaters just like every other movie, that would probably spell the end for theaters and the MCU. But in the case of Thunderbolts, it was just a case of a bad movie doing badly. And that is at least something that is actionable, something that can be changed for future movies to ensure financial success. I hope that the lesson execs learn from Thunderbolts is that, at the end of the day, quality is all that matters. No amount of marketing or public perception is going to affect the actual content of the film. Because when the emperor has no clothes, someone will eventually point it out. 

[naoxm]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

ִ ࣪𖤐 Hero and his Demon King

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

𐔌  .  A Hero chosen by Aeon of Destruction has been born. The Prophecy stated that the chosen hero will end the Demon King's cruel reigns. Phainon goes on his journey to the Demon King's tower, defeating all of their strongest companions each floor until he is faced with the Demon King himself. ⸝⸝  ୧

♡ . — ꒰ Cws ꒱

phainon x reader, hero x demon king, gender natural reader, no use of yn, fluff, out of character, fantasy alternative universe, demon king!reader, hero!phainon, no spoilers, reader follow the path of erudition

˖ ֹ੭୧ Part Two ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

(Part 2 Still Work In Progress)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖╭ ┆A visitor? It's the hero himself?╰⊹ ࣪

˗ˏˋ ꒰ What even are you? ꒱ ˎˊ˗

──── ୨୧ ────

Phainon couldn't help but wonder, what kind of person Demon King is?

Since he was a child, he always asked the people around him. They told him, that the Demon King is a cruel person who cares about nothing but powers. They don't have feelings nor emotion, and their only happiness is the blood of other races.

Phainon had decided, to defeat the Demon King and bring an era of peace. He managed to arrive at the Demon King's tower without any problem for half a day, defeating your strongest companions and now, here he is, face to face with you.

".....Impressive. You managed to defeat my strongest companions and get up here." You sighed as you casually sat on your throne, reading a book while Phainon held his sword, pointing its blade towards you.

"I still remember the Prophecy. *'The Hero will be chosen by Aeon of Destruction and will embark on his journey to defeat the Demon King. He shall bring the Era of Peace into this world." You repeated the prophecy in your head as you stood up, closing the book while placing it on your seat.

"But to be honest, I don't really have any interest in fighting a hero or taking the world."

"I beg your pardon?"

Phainon is completely shocked. He thought he would be trying to end or fight you, but you didn't.

"I'm just a Demon who follows the Aeon of Erudition. All I did was study and research magic for the past few centuries. I don't have any interest in fighting a hero or.... Taking the whole world."

The hero is speechless. He didn't know what to say. But judging by your expression, he can tell that you're not lying.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Phainon asked as he lowered down his sword, completely confused.

"Like I said. I don't have any interest in taking the whole world. I don't even want to bother other people. If you please, the door is right there to take you down back and leave this area. I have research to do." You casually pointed towards the door right behind you before walking away, leaving him all alone.

"....What just happened?"

Phainon didn't expect this to happen at all. Not to mention you don't care about the world. He's guessing that humans sure have a grunge against you without any reason to the point they had to create false rumors about you. What a joke.

But even so, why's the prophecy there? The prophecy never lies. Or was it fake?

Is there any more meaning to it?

....He found himself wanting to know more about you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

@concreteafterrain

Pulling this from the replies because this is such a cogent, intelligent, analysis and really speaks to the heart of this piece. There is a lot to be said about the political "why's" for the American distaste for Brutalism (by the 1950s it was considered communist and all American designed brutalist structures became "anti-american" retroactively) and also for the Bauhaus and other early European brutalist and constructivist designers insistence on comfort within the structures (the Bauhaus' whole textile department for instance) but thats neither here nor there when speaking to this piece in particular. I'm also not an architectural historian and would love to hear others takes on this if I'm missing something here.

I think something that a lot of the replies dont understand is the historical context. During this era downtown was a primarily working class and underprivileged area. This was also not a main thoroughfare, primarily serving as it did lawyers, judges, and other elites crossing from offices to the courthouses. Not normal citizens of the neighborhood just trying to eke by in poverty. Because of the way the structure eventually came to function within the community sphere of the neighborhood, what it really was were these elites complaing about having to contend with the poorest of the city's population, before they hopped in their cab to go back to their doorman apartments uptown.

Their comfort, the comfort of the elites, is always considered before the comfort of the citizenry. This is just as true today as it was then. I find this piece an interesting example of "hostile architecture", which historically only impacts the most underprivileged, being weaponized against the people it is proported to serve the interests of.

IIRC Storm King Art Center upstate offered to buy the piece from the government to install it on their land but Richard refused, citing the site specificity of the piece and that it wouldn't "be the work of art" outside of that particular context. It is not just a material object, the work of art is the response and the engagement that the public has to and with the material object.

On a personal note I dont find this the most aesthetically compelling of Serra's works. In fact, as a member of that same elite class this piece sought to discomfort, I probably would've hated it at the time myself. But the impact of this piece on the discourse can not be overstated. The fact that people still argue against it 40 years after its deconstruction with the same trite arguments is proof positive of its abiding importance.

I really didn't expect this post to blow up like it did and I would've been more detailed in my original post if I had the gift of prophecy but alas.

RIP Richard Serra. You made so many people so so so mad

[iri-desky]

So I'm jumping on the bandwagon. For anybody who's making fics, here are my best guesses as to who the "parents" of each of the petri dish children are in Karma.

Before I start, I want to clarify here that, judging by the way that these kids were made, every child is the product of one male character and one female character. So, unfortunately, no Mizisua kids or ivantill kids, or anything else in between.

From left to right (in the scene itself):

Hyuna/Till - They definitely have Hyuna's hair, but those sharp eyes and teal irises are 100% Till's. They also look to have a bit of Hyuna's face shape.

Sua/Till or Mizi/Till? - Okay, work with me here. This is the hardest one for me to figure out. I've seen a lot of people argue that this is actually a Mizi/Till child. In total honesty, I'm not too sure myself--if the theories about how every child corresponds to a cover are right, then this is 100% a Mizi/Till kid. Sua never covered a Till song, and vice versa, but Mizi and Till did have an UTTE cover together. But from appearance alone, I'd assume this is a Sua/Till child. The choppy and thin hair consistency mixed with the silver hair really signifies a mix of Sua and Till to me--however, I could definitely be wrong. Unlike all the other kids, this little one isn't showing their eyes, making it harder to tell what genes they have. I'll reluctantly say that this is most likely a Mizi/Till child, but unless Vivimeng releases a comic or something that gives us a better look at the kids, I'll never be sure.

Mizi/Ivan - They're 100% a Mizi/Ivan kid. The pink hair is obviously mizi, and those dark eyes with the red irises are characteristic of Ivan. It's kind of a no-brainer.

Luka/Hyuna (and maybe Sua?) - This kid is, at first glance, very very clearly a mix of Luka--the tan skin is obviously Hyuna's, and other than that, the kid is basically a carbon copy of Luka. That said, their eyes are notably more akin to Sua's than Hyuna or Luka's. I checked the footage to see if there was another angle, assuming that this was just a lighting issue and the purple-ish tone was actually something like Hyuna's grey eyes reflecting in the light, but this kid undoubtedly has purple-ish eyes. Again, if the cover-kid theory is right, then this would make sense--ROMH was sung by Luka, Hyuna, and Sua, and this kid is definitely a mix of the three. How the aliens pulled that off? Don't ask me.

Luka/Sua - The second easiest one (the first being the Ivanmizi kid), in my opinion. They're very short, like both Luka and Sua, and have Sua's hair consistency with Luka's golden eyes. Very clearly Luka and Sua mashed together. They even have the same passive expression.

And thats the most detailed breakdown I can give you. I know I sent out a post confidently claiming that the silver-haired kid was a SuaTill child earlier today, though I took another look and am definitely reevaluating myself...Either way, hope this was a helpful read, and happy fanficking!

P.S. please, I need more single dad Till content.

[nyc-pizza-rat]

"Is it the guy thing? Because, Dean, you can't. I mean. God, fuck. I don't know. Is this about dad? Is this because — because you don't think you deserve to be happy?"

"That's enough!"

Sometimes, Sam thinks, his brother could bury him with his glare.

"It's not about dad. And it's not the guy thing. It's not."

"Dean."

"It's Cas. You know? It's Cas. He — God, I don't know. I feel. I feel like I took him in and fucked him up. He doesn't even really understand what it is he's feeling. He thinks he wants — He thinks. He thinks this is all there is, man. But there's. God, there's a whole wide world out there. I can't give him anything. I'm just. just some fucking asshole with an attitude problem."

"Bullshit."

"Sam."

"No seriously. Bullshit. You think you're doing him some kind of favour? Because, what, you know better? You think you're protecting him by doing this?"

"I'm not protecting him! I just — God, he deserves more. Something good."

"And you're the judge of what's good for him?"

"Sam!"

"Listen, Dean. I get it, okay? I do. Things we've been through, sometimes it feels like we shouldn't be allowed to. I don't know. Fuck, exist around other people. Things we've done, feels like there's nothing that could make us better. Make us clean. I know, alright. But, man, I don't know. That's no way to live."

"What happens if I tell him, huh? what are we gonna do?? Tie the knot, walk off into the sunset, buy a house with wood siding and a white picket fence? Have 2.5 kids???"

"Fuck, I don't know! Yes! Maybe!"

"Sam, come on. this isn't the movies alright. You don't get to have a happy ending."

Sam is catching his breath, he is drawing the fight into his lungs, but then —

"I killed his son."

And that's the sound of heartbreak, he thinks, all that suffocating quiet.

"Dean —"

"As good as, anyway. I let him down. So many times. And he died for me. All that, and he looked me in the eye and told me he loved me. And just fucking disappeared into nothing. I look at him and I'm so angry, and I'm so — Fuck! I don't. I don't know what to do. I don't know how the fuck to get past everything."

"I don't know, either."

"I'm going to fuck it up. Because I'm fucking angry, and I don't know how to be anything else. And I don't — I can't keep doing this to him. I can't keep doing it to the both of us."

"Dean...You don't know that."

But Dean's not listening. Dean's not even looking at him.

"Atleast I have him, now. Atleast he is here. I get to keep him with me, like this."

"You just said — you can't even look him in the eye, Dean."

Silence. So much of it. Sam feels it like it is a solid thing, pressing his skin into his bones.

"I just want you to be happy."

His brother sighs. Looks at him. Smiles, and he looks like an empty vessel, like he's dying.

"I know, Sammy. I — I know that"

[noaanotfound]

I LOVE YOU, ALWAYS

pairing: Se-Mi x f!reader

warnings: violence

synopsis: you don't know where Se-Mi is. She doesn't answer your calls, nor your messages, so you try every possible way to find her.

content: this gives pure depression

wc: 3.2k

a/n: this is like the best fic I've ever written. I was going to say I'm sorry in advance but, actually, I'm not 😇

“The number you have dialed is not in service at this time. Please leave a-“

Your hands were shaking, the beep of the call ringing, your breathing becoming heavier.

This was the third day. Third day since you’ve been calling non-stop, sending messages, asking people around. And still, you didn’t get an answer.

Everything between you and Se-mi looked fine, felt fine. Why did she leave leaving no trace? Was she okay? You couldn’t stop your mind from thinking that something happened to her. Something bad. Because how could she do that with no reason? That wasn’t her. Your instinct told you there was something else, something deeper.

You decided to call again. That damn beep sounding for the eighteenth time that afternoon. This time, you stayed until the ‘please leave a message after the tone’.

“Se-mi… are you okay? Please tell me if you are, where the hell are you? I’ve been looking for you, asking people about you, sending messages and calling. I… I don’t even know what else to do” Your voice broke through the phone, but you didn’t care about it anymore. “Don’t leave me, please. Not like this. Did I do anything wrong? I’ll apologize, I swear. But please, just tell me something, anything” A pause was heard. “I love you”

You waited for five minutes, felt like two whole damn hours. You spent those minutes looking at the clock, hearing the sound it made every second. Then, you started writing more messages. You lost count of how many you had already sent.

“Please tell me you’re okay. Say something”

“I miss you, come home”

“I’m sorry if I did something. I love you”

“If something happened, tell me where you are. I don’t care if you’re in the fucking Antartica, I’ll go. Right now. I’ll do anything.”

“Please tell me you’re safe”

“Are you going to choose to keep playing next time?” Min-us asked, not judging, just curious. She shook her head. “Why?”

The room felt tense, smaller than other days. They could hear people planning things, making groups. But they were going to end up dying anyway, that was the harsh truth behind all of this.

Se-mi was sitting next to Min-su on the stairs between two rows of beds. No one else was near.

“I have something to fight for outside here” She looked at the floor. “Someone”

The younger one didn’t say anything, but he turned his face to her, allowing her to keep talking.

“She’s… the most beautiful human being to ever exist, you know? You should see her” She turned her gaze to meet his. “I know she would hate this fucking place, and I know she would hate that I decided to get in too. Even without knowing about the killing part”

Min-su nodded. “I'm sure she would understand”

“She would. She always does” While she was talking about you, about her girl, her smile was genuine and her eyes sparkly as ever.

Her smile slowly faded away when she remembered something. “Min-su, can you do me a favor?”

Min-su was surprised, but he quickly nodded, a little bit nervously. “What is it?”

“If something happens to me…” She put her hands inside her pants pocket, taking out a folded piece of paper. “Can you give it to her? The address is in the paper”

The boy's mouth opened and closed a few times because he really didn't know what to say. Of course he would do it, if he survived, but hearing those words was harsh. Especially coming from her.

From what he could know in those three days, Se-mi wasn't the type of person to open up easily or talk about personal matters. So, since she was talking about that, it should be very important for her.

Min-su rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes… sure”

Se-mi smiled and handed him the letter. “Hey, don't open it, I told her where the body is hidden in that”

Min-su laughed a bit awkwardly, his usual laugh, followed by Se-mi’s.

They didn't know that was going to be their last laugh together.

It was rainy. You didn’t even know which day it was. You just knew this was the fifth day and Se-mi didn’t send a single message, didn’t call.

You tried everything. You went outside everyday to try to find her somewhere, you continued asking, calling and texting. Still nothing.

What were you doing wrong?

You thought about people who could want to hurt her, to do something to her. She did have debts, but you didn’t know who she owed her money to. You did ask, but she didn’t want to tell you.

Now, you understood she didn’t want to put you in danger.

There was still a chance that she just left. You preferred it, because that would mean she’s okay. All you cared about was her being fine. You couldn’t cry anymore, there were no more tears in your eyes because you just couldn’t let it all out.

You sighed, got up from the couch and grabbed a hoodie and some pants. You didn’t even grab an umbrella.

Well, not a hoodie, her hoodie. It was her favorite.

That was why you thought something happened to her. She left with no clothes and no money. She couldn’t be out there without that.

When you stepped out of your building, you felt the rain dropping on your skin. You closed your eyes for a couple of seconds. Her hoodie felt like her, felt like she was hugging you.

You wished it was like that.

Your feet started moving, almost automatically. You decided to go search through dark alleys, the ones where shit happened. Everyone in that street knew it. If someone took her, they must be there.

No one was outside. You were the only person there, because you were mad in love.

You remembered what you told her that night when you were on the couch. “I love you, always”. You swore to yourself that you’d never, ever, stop loving her. Because your heart knew it. You wouldn’t stop loving her, not even if you wanted to.

You pulled up your hood to cover yourself a bit from the rain and started looking at the sides of the street, searching for some places that might look suspicious.

The first alley looked like a poor neighborhood, clothes were hung out in the street, broken bicycles were everywhere. Even the smell was weird. But nothing, no one was there.

Same thing happened with the second one: an alley with a lot of bars with lights. The only ones there were just alcoholics, or drug addicts. But no one was exactly dangerous.

Just when you were going to walk out of the third alley, someone grabbed you from your shoulder and made you turn around. It was a tall man with a big beard, you could see tattoos all over his arms.

The typical ‘tough’ guy, you thought.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him with no hint of any fear. “What do you want?”

“Aren’t you Se-mi’s girl?” His voice was rough and deep. You could smell the scent of alcohol.

Something lit up in your eyes. He knew her. Maybe he knew where she was. But you weren’t going to be that obvious.

“I am. Again, what the hell do you want?” You shook your shoulder, getting rid of his hold on you.

“Same attitude, no doubt you’re her partner” He said that in a way of derision. “Where the fuck is that bitch? She still owes me money, you know that right?” He got closer.

You didn’t buy it. If someone did something to her, it must have been him. You took a step closer, showing you didn’t care about him.

“You’re the one who knows where she is” You pushed him in the shoulder.

He quickly grabbed you by the collar of the hoodie, making your hood fall off. You gasped. “Listen, little piece of shit, if I had any idea of where she is I would have beat the shit out of her already”

It was impossible not to be nervous with that man grabbing you, but you kept on talking. “You talk too much, but you don’t do anything. Who’s the little piece of shit then?” You knew you shouldn’t, but you spit him on the face.

He instantly threw you to the floor with force when you did that. You fell on your elbows and your face showed that it definitely had hurt. He lowered himself to the floor and grabbed you again.

You didn’t expect him to do it, but he did. He punched you, right on the side of your face. You fell on your side, supporting your whole body to the floor with one arm.

“I don’t care where she is. I don’t care if she’s dead or alive. But that money is mine. If she doesn’t pay me, you’re going to” Then, he grabbed you by the face. “And if you don’t, you’re going to be disappearing too”

He finally walked out from your sight. You could feel blood coming out of your face, but you instantly got up. It hurt, but still not knowing where she was hurt more.

Se-mi's dad was a drug addict and a compulsive gambler. Since her mom was dead too, when he died, all his debts were transferred to her. It wasn't her fault.

You came out of the alley at a fast pace. Your breathing was so heavy, you couldn’t breathe. You put your hand on a wall and folded your knees, pressing your chest with your other hand.

You tried to breathe, you definitely tried. But you couldn’t. That’s when you noticed tears were running down your eyes. You couldn’t stop them.

Your knees fell to the floor and your back pressed to the wall. You closed your eyes, tried to breathe three consecutive times and failed. You punched your chest, tried to make your lungs work.

It felt like hours until your breathing came out again. But tears never stopped flowing. You didn’t know if someone saw you, but if they did, no one did anything.

Where the hell was she? You wanted to be with her again, to feel her arms surrounding you, her lips on yours. Everything. You couldn’t be without her, what would you even do?

Your world was falling apart piece by piece.

Ninth day.

You didn’t leave your bed for two days. You couldn’t. What was the point anymore?

Then, your door bell rang. You waited four seconds, your eyes opened instantly. Was it Se-mi? Did she come back?

Please, let it be her.

You got out of bed in the split of a second, you ran towards your door and grabbed the telephone next to it.

“Se-mi?” Your breath sounded heavier, and your voice desperate.

“There’s a package for you”

You couldn’t believe it. You threw the telephone to the ground, left it handing over the cable. You fell to your knees again.

You punched the floor. You screamed. You cried.

And then, you walked down the stairs with your pajamas, without any shoes.

When you reached the door and opened it, there was a black envelope with a red little lace on it on the floor. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. But you grabbed it.

You entered your house again, sat on the couch, took a deep breath and opened the envelope. It looked like there were two papers inside it. You took out the first one.

You didn’t notice that your hands were shaking when you unfolded the paper. Right when you saw the first damn letter, you knew whose handwriting that was.

Your hand came up to your mouth, to silence the sobs that were going to come out.

To my everything,

I’m writing this at night, I think. I don’t know what hour it is. No one knows. At least they were human enough to give me a paper and a pen.

If I didn’t give this to you myself, I’m probably not here anymore. You know you were, are, and will always be the love of my life. I want to show you that more, but I don’t know if I’ll have time for that. I hope you’re okay, you always find a way to be.

I want you to know that you have to get through this. Don’t get stuck, not for me. I want you to live. I got in this shit to finally pay off my doubts, to not put you in danger. I have you in my mind every day, every fucking day. I want to get through this for you, but this is… I don’t even have words. It’s cruel. So much.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not making it out, for every damn mistake I made about us… I’m sorry for everything I can’t tell you I feel sorry for anymore. When I sleep, I dream about hugging you. Remember that time you wanted a flower but it wasn’t allowed to take one and I did and then the police came? I’d do it again. I’d do everything for you, I swear. I’m also sorry for not telling you about this, I didn’t want you to get worried. You would have said to me that it was crazy. I didn’t tell you because I know that if you asked me not to go, I wouldn’t. But I don’t want my problems to eat you alive.

Please, remember me. You’re the most important person in the whole universe for me. The way you always succeed to make me calm, the way you find solutions for every problem, the way you love so deeply. Don’t ever forget how much I love you.

You’re my everything in every universe.

Love you, always,

Se-mi.

Tears started falling when you started reading the first damn word.

You were right, something did happen to her. But being dead? You didn't expect it at that limit. You couldn't believe she was gone just like that.

One day she was holding you and the next she was just… gone.

The worst thing is that you don't know where, how, what was that place she was talking about. Why didn't she call the police? She probably didn't have her phone, but…

You didn't even know what you were thinking about. Your gaze stopped on a random place in your room for minutes, Se-mi’s letter still shaking on your hands, your whole body tense.

It was like the whole world stopped. Your world.

Because your world was Se-mi.

What were you going to do without her? How did she expect you to keep going, to not get stuck?

Then, you remembered there was another letter there. You sighed shakily and took it in your hands. When you opened it, the handwriting wasn't the same one.

The handwriting looked messy, like someone was shaking while writing it.

I'm Min-su. I met Se-mi in the games. She was the one who told me to give this to you if something happened to her. I convinced a guard to send this to you if I don't make it out.

I'm writing this hours after she died. After she was killed. I thought you'd want to know what happened to her.

This place is… somewhere where desperate people like me, like us, have a choice to pay off their doubts. They offered this to us by playing ddakji. If you won, you'd get money, and if you didn't you'd get slapped. After this, they gave us a card with these symbols △□○ written on it and a number on the other side. We called and they got us here. We didn't know, I swear we didn't. They make us play children's games and if you fail, you get killed. I know this sounds crazy, but I swear it is what's happening.

We had to vote to keep playing or to stop and go home. The first option won, because most of the players needed more money. Everytime someone's killed, they add money to the prize.

The lights went off and on every single second. People started killing each other with anything they had. It was a game for them. Nam-gyu, that idiot, he killed her.

I tried. I swear I tried. I threw a bottle, but I just couldn't… I couldn't. I'm sorry.

She voted to go home last time, and she told me it was because of you, because she had someone to fight for outside here. Someone worth this place. She told me that she loved you, deeply did. That you were the most beautiful human being she had ever seen. Just by her eyes, I could tell how much she loved you. Her eyes lit up that time when she talked about you.

Se-mi was the only human person here. She helped me, every time. Every single time. And I didn't. Right when I had to, I didn't.

It's my fault. I'm sorry.

-Min-su.

What were you supposed to do in that situation? You couldn't take it.

Who was that guy, Nam-gyu? You wanted to find him, to kill him for what he did. You felt angry, sad, desperate.

Broken.

You felt thankful for that guy, Min-su, for telling you how she… died. That word was difficult to say, to think about it even.

But what did he mean when he said he couldn't do it, that he tried? You wouldn't have more answers. And that felt like someone kicking your stomach.

Your heart was ripped apart.

You pushed your knees to your chest and you hugged your knees with your arms, resting your head on them. You cried, you cried out loud because you couldn't hold it anymore.

There was no place to talk to her, to feel her loss. Not a cemetery, not a coffin, not her body.

A year has passed since you received those letters. You still kept them next to your bed because you still read Se-mi’s some nights befores sleeping.

Well, you couldn't even sleep.

But you just couldn't read Min-su's. You couldn't read how he died anymore, because your mind started making scenarios. You had nightmares about it.

You still called her sometimes. Because there was still a piece of you that hoped to hear her voice again. But that didn't happen.

Now, you were sitting on a bench in front of a lake. That's where your first kiss with her happened, when she asked you to make it official, when everything started.

You knew she was the one since the first day. And you know she did too.

You started going out without feeling bad a month ago, hanging out with friends. She was still on your mind every single second, but you accomplished her last wish.

It was the time of the sunset. You were looking at the sky. You weren't religious, but if she was somewhere there, you wanted her to know that you still love her and always will.

A year felt like three without her. You couldn't sleep on her side of the bed, you couldn't eat her favorite foods, nor her favorite drinks. Sometimes, you took one of her clothes out of the wardrobe and hugged it while you slept.

You were still dealing with loss and pain, you'd be dealing with that forever. But you did what she wanted, you lived. You didn't get stuck.

Because like she said, you always found a way to be fine. A solution.

Or, at least, tried to.

Because you loved her, always.

[katerinaaqu]

Hello ! I have a question since I really liked your analysis of some part of the odyssey, especially regarding Odysseus’ relationship towards Calypso & Circe.

It’s about the Iliad this time because there’s a lot of debate around this subject on twitter.

Was it ever staten without ambiguity that Odysseus used the women taken as war prize as concubines/bed slaves or was it kept vague on purpose ?

There sure is and I had also answered to that a few times in the past given how indeed people seem to be so intrigued

The answer is simple; there is absolutely zero evidence that Odysseus had sex slaves. In fact we know that Odysseus had his war prize like Achilles but by some random statement of Agamemnon that said "even if I had to take the prize of Ajax" (and people occasionally place Tecmessa there) "or the one of Odysseus" but we have zero evidence as to whom that prize might be. People assume she would be young or potentially pretty given how she is being brought up in such a context plus Agamemnon mentioning the possibility of taking her but not even that seems certain here.

And as I have stated many times to the confusion war prize doesn't equal sex slave. Odysseus has 50 war prizes in his palace in Ithaca. All of them are treated as servants at the palace. There is no evidence that he slept with any of them at any given time yet alone after his marriage with Penelope. His last war prize being Hecuba who was old and even Euripides states at his Trojan Women that Odysseus was probably aiming to make her serve his wife Penelope or his mother Anticlea (not specified which).

I believe that the majority of people suffer from the holistic type of sentences like "it was common" and "everyone did it back then" but did they though? Did they? Then why not speak about Hector too whose love for Andromache was legendary. Judging by the fact that his father had like 80-something kids by two wives and potentially a large number of concubines is not like he lacked the options and potential of getting concubines. Why are people so obsessed by depicting him strictly monogamous while Odysseus regardless of the version we speak on, we see people absolutely wishing to tell us "he did it because everyone did"? And again we speak about Homer not about the several post-homeric sources that speak on affairs for several reasons. If anything Homer seems to give us the interesting parallel of his father (as I also mentioned before) that he had all the rights and chances in the world to sleep with Euryclea his slave and he chose not to because he didn't wish to anger his wife. If anything it seems to me like Odysseus took from his father on that matter.

That being said of course people can think that Odysseus took some slave to his bed during the war if they so please. I just mean there is zero evidence of this thing happening in the text and in my opinion, we have more hints and evidence for otherwise than that. But Odysseus's sex life during the war is definitely not hinted at the text

I hope that helps ^_^

[teddyniffler]

Gihun is alive, his death was faked by Inho

In this essay, I shall attempt to convince you of my delusion; it's nice and warm here.

I shall now just load up my 456 page powerpoint. Try to keep up...

So my main points of my delusion.

Gihun is ALIVE. Inho faked his bestie's death. Gihun did not die, he is safely in Inho's arms right now.

Inho's Plan for Gihun

Inho prepped the final game to have a safe net that would dispell at a push of button.

He KNEW Gihun would not kill the other players while they were sleeping and he wanted to protect Gihun should anybody push him off.

Baby and Gihun were never in any danger. Should Gihun be pushed off, pink guards would threaten the other players to shut their mouths. Snitches get Bang Bang-itches! 🔫

The VIPs' Viewing and Soldier's Role

The TV screen the VIPS were watching was on a 4 min delay and the soldiers inside the room for this game had been personally picked by Inho, they were loyal to a T.

They had been told in advance to get Gihun out of the net as fast as blinking, the net would withdraw within a second and in they place, a fake body on the floor would drop.

The Gihun Swap

Remember when Noeul saw the creepy arsed stuffed Oh Illnam?

Well Inho had one made of Gihun too, we do not ask why, that's Inho's busines and its not on us to judge.

Dead!WaxGihun was thrown down and fake blood was quickly spread across the floor.

Real Gihun was smuggled into a side room. He was very shaken by what had happened, but he was assured the baby will be just fine, he must move quickly if he wants to live.

When the guards were finished and Gihun was out, the 4 min delay was lifted so the VIPs were seeing the arena in real time for the first time, with a fake waxy Gihun in place of the real one. They didnt notice a thing.

GiHun's introduction and Inho's request

Gihun was placed inside the Black Square uniform, he walked from the island with Inho, who give him a proper introduction, his real name, his story.

Inho wants redemption and has asked Gihun to help him reclaim his humanity by going to America and stopping the games there. He is now fully on board with Gihun. The games must be stopped, he owes his wifie and their child that, as well as all those people who died.

Returning home and dropping off Baby 222

They sailed home, Gihun - (as who else knew his hotel? You're telling me Inho was stalking him? I mean it's extremely, very, very likely...) - took Inho to his hotel, they collected the money and together they dropped of Baby 222 at Junho (the tearful reunion between brothers will be shown in the Inho x Gihun series) as America is no place for a baby!

Regarding the Player 456 hoodie scene and later Inho and Gi-hun's first move in America.

That scene where Inho left the blooded Player 456 hoodie was fake, propaganda, likely from North Korea, just ignore that, it never happened. Netflix should really check their content carefully.

I am joking!

It was to throw off any suspicion. Gayeong has since been told her dad is fine, he will visit her shortly with her new baby sister, 222, who will visit when America is safe again

They start in Hollywood by capturing Cate Blanchett. She's clearly funding the games, a VIP who uses an Elf Queen mask. She's not fooling anybody with that disguise.

You know this is true. I've figured it out... they can't fool us; we saw through their deception. No, I will not seek counseling. You all said Junho was crazy, too! He was right, so am I, yes yes.

[elodieunderglass]

Question about Charlie (I've stopped pulling weeds in his back garden and I'm mostly just existing here so I have company. I'm pretty sure he's noticed and deliberately isn't saying anything and I pretended I didn't hear him ask one of the children to ask me if I have any dietary restrictions but I'm not ready to leave yet):

How easy does he find it to delegate tasks? And how easy is it for him when those tasks are not done to his standards or in the way he'd have done them? Obviously this would be a regular occurrence in his household but is it a problem?

Ahahaha! Oh no! Careful or you’ll be moved in!

I think this is probably a place where Charlie has to stop and decide to “be the better person” about it, which takes practice. Although Charlie has a lazy streak and a competitive streak running insanely side-by-side, two horses locked in battle with their eyes rolling and hooves pounding in a very conflicting race (and the lazy side often winning somehow), he is also trying to be conscious of what parts of himself are Due To His Upbringing, and which parts are Charlie As A Person. Unlike everyone else on the planet, Charlie firmly believes that he can unpick these: RIP to the rest of you all but I’m different.

The thing is - his father Bill, being a very high-key impatient high-strung competitive kind of person, who perceives himself as the “self-assigned alpha male of any given situation” - is VERY complicated about other people doing things. He’s simultaneously bossy and critical - delegates tasks but can’t bear to be uninvolved. You can imagine the riding lessons he gave the kids. You can imagine what he was like in his prime, bossing around a clan of 30+ family-employees in his own miniature kingdom. Bill’s fundamentally convinced that if he orders the universe to his satisfaction, his family will be safe, and everything will be okay.

Thus, Charlie would never in his conscious experience criticise or micromanage a job he gave to another person, because that’s what Dad would do. He forces himself into the Laziness side and manages to be quite chill. None of it really matters, nothing matters, don’t worry 😎

In some ways Charlie - a reasonably senior person in his day job - is a tricker boss than Bill. If you fuck up with Bill, he just barks for five minutes and cuffs you upside the head, but genuinely thinks nothing of it. When you fuck up at work, and Charlie is your boss, he says things like “you’re empowered to handle this yourself” and “what would you do differently next time?”

It also helps that Charlie left a job/family/microcosm where he was naturally perfect at everything - without consciously doing a damn thing - for the wider world, where he couldn’t do anything well. So he can’t judge. He can’t paint a ceiling, or reach a high shelf, and he was like 20 before he even tried to cook a hot meal. He is trying to so hard to be better that at this point he probably is.

But in the specific case of pulling bindweed, are you kidding? The entire family of (n) people, where (n) is whatever number is funniest, plus neighbour children, are staring at you starry-eyed and grateful, amazed at this display of executive function. Are you kidding?! That’s the most anyone has successfully done in the garden for WEEKS. Thank you???

[sadieshairtie]

LET THE WORLD BURN

synopsis, , charles smith, the lone wolf has taken a liking to you. and it's in his nature to protect those he cares for. albeit from afar. his affection rather shown through actions instead of words. things were going well. that was until dutch's grand plan to smooth things over with colm o'driscoll went to shit. leaving you, the sharpshooter, in colm's clutches. the lone wolf had only one priority. to track you down, and save you.

warnings - brief mentions of SA, gun violence, cursing, wounds, kidnapping, trauma, basically just what arthur went through but a wee bit worse, and drinking

content - charles/fem reader, you're both adults, camp takes place at clemens point, charles being protective, bit of mass murder its for good reason, charles fluff, slow burn, requited love (eventually)

hiii so this is my first ever charles fic, or just fic in general that im posting on tumblr!! i really hope it does well. please note this is my first time ever writing like this and actually posting it. so im probably not that good with the time skips and flow but i tried to make it work. this will be multiple chapters, at least 3-4. this game has been my obsession for months (i have over 1000 hours don't judge me) and ive just been itching to write so here this is

prologue,

you ran with the van der linde gang for years, not nearly as long as arthur or john. but long enough that they were your family.

you were brought in as a teenager. fussy, stubborn, but a quick witted thief and con-woman. bringing the attention of hosea and dutch. always wanting to bring together and raise those future outlaws.

you didn't steal from them, nor con them. not yet anyways. instead you watched and waited for the perfect moment.

they had just made a big score, and you were there to take just a bit for yourself. waiting until nightfall to strike.

you came up on their camp, sneaking into their stash of money and pocketing atleast a few hundred. along with food. you were desperate.

and that desperation caused a flaw in your plan. you got caught.

just leaving the camp, suddenly you had the barrel of hosea's gun to your head and could only get out with your silver tongue.

but instead, he recognized your desperation and wit. and brought you into the family.

years past and you knew how to handle yourself more. with their teaching. your best skill being guns. with deadly precision and your attention to your surroundings. you were an asset.

the gang was strong, too. more people, almost constantly growing. "creating a name for ourselves" as dutch would call it. and about half a year ago you vividly remember the introduction of the newest member.

Charles Smith.

you can recall the first time he ever walked in to camp. his dark skin a shade you can't word, sweeter then syrup brown eyes, long raven locks hiding the rest of his face, and a scar on his cheek telling a story he wouldn't speak.

it intrigued you, drawing you towards him although your body never moved. you just watched from afar. read him over the months.

he was quiet, he stayed that way. never talking unless he had a good reason to. when he did he spoke with maturity and wisdom that gained the respect of others.

besides the respect that already existed just simply from his stature alone. he was by no means a small man. his musculature made him powerful, but so did his pure drive and determination. he was a force to be reckoned with.

and gods above did you find it attractive.

watching him do chores and simply just help out around camp had you fascinated. he'd chop wood nearly all day, just to keep the pile stocked for everyone else. bringing in a huge buck after hunting so pearson could feed the gang.

you always noticed the littlest things, he even did those things for you.

one time you were absolutely enveloped in this book you were reading. it was some sappy romance that mary-beth had lent to you to pass the time. but interesting nonetheless. while reading you completely lost track of time.

sitting in your bedroll inside your tent, you flinched when the flap suddenly opened. breaking you out of your trance. in came charles, with a bowl of stew. and did he look awkward. his neck was bent at an angle to keep his head from touching the ceiling, so he was basically hunched in on himself as he spoke.

"sorry, didn't mean to scare you.."

he talked with an uncharacteristic discomfort by the position he was in, still gruff though with his natural rasp. you folded the book in your lap. your lips slightly upturned at the sight of him, mainly out of amusement though.

"you're alright. did y'need something?"

he stood there for another moment before carefully handing you the bowl, filled nearly to the brim with pearsons stew.

"oh, charles, y' -you didn't have to do that."

you stuttered a bit, flustered by the notion. besides your protest you gently took the bowl out of his hands. still warm.

"i wanted to."

he responded simply. another thing you loved about him, he was blunt at times. saying things as he meant them. nothing more, nothing less. so for a man of not many words, when he did speak it left you tongue-tied.

he slipped out of the tent before you could even mutter another word. it left you dumbfounded. but also warm inside.

you could've chased after him, asked him why, begged for all the answers but instead you just sat there and ate your stew. wondering. fantasizing. perhaps there was something that could be there between you and him.

present

you were sat near the edge of camp, perched on a log with your rifle in hand. carefully cleaning it of any dirt with an old rag and some gun oil arthur lent you. you were far enough that you were in your own solitude, but close enough to still be of use if anything happened. you could still hear ms grimshaws shrill voice as she shrieked at either karen or tilly for "slacking off." poor girls.

luckily ms grimshaw didn't nag you much, she knew you were more of use with dutch's needs instead of sewing up old socks. so she left you alone to not cause any problems with him.

while you wandered around in your own thoughts, you didn't even realize arthur had crept up behind you.

"see yer putting that gun oil to good use."

he drawled, that accent from god knows where strong in his voice.

you looked behind you with surprise, you hadn't even realized he was there. your shoulders slumped with relief when you realized it was just him.

"ah, hey arthur. i gotta clean up this old girl sometimes dont i?"

you mused, looking at the guns condition. satisfied with it, you leaned it up again the log and turned towards arthur.

"that you do.. listen, pearsons talking up about some thing with the o'driscolls."

your nose crinkled simply by the mention of their name. the o'driscolls were nasty folk. as much of outlaws as the gang is. but dutch got into some issues with them years ago, killing colm's brother. which in turn killed who he loved most, annabelle. you were there for the whole thing.

arthur continued, "seems like colm wants to settle things."

he finished, enough disbelief and disdain in his tone you voiced what you were both thinking.

"what a bunch of horse shit."

you muttered bitterly, shaking your head. this just screamed like a set up. but nonetheless you asked the dear old question.

"what does dutch think?"

you respected dutch with everything you had, he taught you the morals that you stand by today. and with that you were loyal to him, so if he wanted to do it with you along with him. so be it.

arthur sighed, waving his arms up exasperated.

"micah got in his ear, he thinks it might be worth it. didn't tell me what his plan is yet though. but he wants you there for it."

you closed your eyes and exhaled, pushing down whatever doubts you had. opening your eyes again you got up and slung your rifle over your shoulder.

"well let's see what he has to say, shall we?"

arthur sighed as he trailed along behind you, both of you silent in doubt. your hand rested on the stock of your side-arm as you walked, a habit of yours.

you could see them all gathered around the bloodstained table in the middle of camp. it was dutch, micah, hosea, and pearson. dutch retelling the story about how everything went to shit with the o'driscolls. you could hear him even though you were a couple paces away.

your eyes trailed over to where charles sat not to far away, he twiddled an arrow between his fingers. his eyes focused directly on dutch. you knew charles had his own reservations about the o'driscolls, we had run into them before.

you tore your eyes away as you came up to the table. micah began to talk.

"as you say.. it's a long time ago, dutch."

his eyes turned to you, a disgusting curl to his lips.

"and see here, our protecter. little miss marksman."

he said with a cheery tone, his hand coming up to point at you. you could hear the sardonic edge in his voice that he always carried, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

you looked over at dutch, you could see the conflict brewing in his entire expression. then he looked up, a fire burning in his eyes. you recognized that fire, he was going headfirst into something he might not be able to put out.

"let's go. you, me, and arthur. with her protecting us." he pointed at you, "no one else!"

dutch declared already walking away infront of everyone else. you sighed, following arthur as he waved you along.

"what about me?"

pearson butt in. but you were out of earshot to hear what dutch said afterwards.

you walked up to your horse. it was a beautiful mare, a dapple grey hungarian half-bred. you murmured a couple praises to her as you took the reins off the hitching post. adjusting her girth strap of the saddle.

when you did so you could hear a clinking noise in your saddle bag, you undid the buckle and reached in. pulling out a few throwing knifes. you stared at them in confusion, looking at the wood grain you noticed the handiwork. charles.

you turned your head to look back at him, to your surprise your eyes already met. you held up the knifes almost as a question. he just gave a small, imperceptible smile and looked away.

again, him and the little things. you curled your fingers around the small daggers and stuffed them into your pocket. the weight of them bringing you a sense of security and pushing down whatever doubts you had.

you secured your boot in the stirrup and grabbed ahold of the horn of the saddle. mounting your horse. patting her neck as you guided her to follow the rest of them. somewhat listening as dutch rambled on again about how long its been since colm and him started fighting.

you all left the camp in doubt, but hope to end this decades old feud.

[inchidentally]

how do you feel about people saying that lando and oscar are not friends outside of the f1 space and they’re just purely teammates? ofc i’d love to think that they’re not just teammates but actually friends but we really don’t hear much about them together outside of race weekends or there are stories of them not interacting at all while being near each other. on the other hand though in the clips we get from media and race weekends they seem close enough, but then again it literally is media and pr, they need to seem like they like each other.

omg this is loooooooong as fuck honestly u can refer back to my previous responses - or even this post - bc I will not expect anyone to want to read this fcking essay aslfsjafglsaf proceed if you want to tho

this has come up more than once so I kind of want to just dump every thought out here so it can be like a reference ?? I’ll try to link to sources wherever I can but also life is not at all conducive to me doing too much research for a topic I personally don’t have a problem with 

OKAY SO here’s the main thing that will help people who are judging landoscar’s dynamic by other Lando driver friendship dynamics: Oscar - as Lando himself said - is practically the flip opposite to Carlos, Daniel and honestly almost every other driver. he’s an introvert, he’s low frequency (Oscar’s term) he has at no point been a single guy since being in F1 (or a cheater, sorry to get #tooreal) and he only does partying on very special occasions (usually Lando’s bidding). even Max V likes partying and couldn’t be classed as an introvert, he just doesn’t like doing media. Oscar is a very unique being in a sport mostly populated by guys who view having a great time and meeting beautiful women and looking good on camera as the little side benefits to an already fantasy career. and there is nothing wrong with any of that (well there is with cheating but I won’t go into that) but Oscar quite literally is just there for the racing part. he’s not joking when he says that his priorities after racing are sleep, his gf, his family, his friends and in that order lasgsajlfas. 

(there’s also things like Oscar not being super tactile or into PDA (even with Lily) with other people so there’s no deliberate PR yaoi potential for the types of fans who are hopping from 1D or kpop rpf. the times that Oscar has wound himself up to actually touch Lando’s body deliberately are adorable and awkward. and also that Oscar resolutely has never once since becoming known to the public done gay chicken or queerbaity humor. I don’t say that as in drivers who do queerbaity/gay chicken are being offensive - it’s just seen by most men as just part of the arsenal of guy humor that softens their image to girls and women. but Oscar literally just does not do it. when he openly finds Lando adorable he just openly looks at him like he’s adorable. when he flushes and giggles over someone bringing up how attractive Carlos is he’s flushing and giggling and saying he has “great hair” bc that’s how he genuinely reacts. whatever Oscar’s actual attractions to other people are, he both doesn’t change them for public consumption but he also doesn’t make any definitive or specific indications. which makes it even cuter/more of a minx that Lando likes invading Oscar’s space and smacking his ass and holding him by the hips etc.) 

so you’re never going to see Lando being the same with Oscar as he is with the other drivers bc Oscar is an anomaly among the drivers. I’ve always said you should more look at their friendship in terms of Lando’s non-F1 friendships bc those are the guys Oscar gets along with/most resembles best anyway. Max F and Oscar are actually pretty damn similar in personality (Max is just more chatty) and Max also only really parties with certain people and leans toward hanging out in small groups of friends to attending huge events or going to clubs.

and I’ve had more than one person be unaware that Max F and Oscar have kept their friendship going ever since Renault Academy but you only have to look at my piastrell tag to get an overview of it. Pietra has said on a dinner stream that she loves Oscar too. and crucially Max has been the voice of reason during things like Hungary and Monza to calm fans down and mitigate hate towards Oscar from Lando fans bc he’s always rooting for both of them when he watches on weekends. Lando is his obvious priority but he also has no time for Oscar hate.

so the funny thing about ‘it’s just PR’ with landoscar is that landoscar don’t do PR! all the times they or someone else has mentioned them playing padel or having dinner or traveling together to races have never been used for social media or publicity - which is why, unless you follow landoscar content pretty heavily and consistently, you won’t hear about it! landoscar rank probably dead last every single season only behind maybe 2023/4 Alpine for teammate pairings who get the least amount of sm traffic and engagement, while carland0 easily rides at the top every single season bc they are PR gold and they both very actively engage in it.

and the only story of them not interacting while together was that satire “gossip” acc that said their parents didn’t see Lando and Oscar greet each other at a restaurant fully 15 minutes after just being together in team debrief at a restaurant where they were split off to their own garage debriefs. that was not actual gossip aslfgsjlaf and what’s funny is that McLaren is known specifically for having an open door policy between the garages so it’s not even one of these cases where the drivers’ teams would be ignoring each other/hostile etc

but even funnier about that whole thing is this is what they were actually like at Barcelona - literally they couldn’t have been cuter and omg if you compare the lowkey energy of this to carland0 and dand0 videos like howwww do ppl look at landoscar and go oh yea THOSE guys are the ones playing up for cameras to sell a bromance ??? in what world does Lando murmuring that Oscar smells like his deodorant and Oscar blushing and stuttering that it’s chocolate flavored scream “strategic PR” like who out there would be whispering to them to very awkwardly giggle and mumble about how Oscar smells different to usual like what strategy is that

and just as an example of what all these guys are like together when they don’t know they’re being filmed or are far from fans - and they’re not my photos to share and aren’t public - but a friend of mine shared some pictures her friend took behind the fanstage that same weekend way at a distance: Lando is on his phone and typing/focusing hard and “ignores” Oscar and Carlos and only talks to Alex (he actually is smiling up at Alex while offhandedly fist bumping Carlos). which hey! if someone wanted to obsessively twist every bit of downtime in a stranger’s life, could easily be made into him hating Carlos AND Oscar and his only REAL friendship being Alex !! but instead it’s that in real life we don’t have to obsessively perform friendships for them to be real and our friendships don’t live and die based on if our interactions would perfectly fit fan fiction. it was Lando being relaxed around three friends of his bc he had stuff to do on his phone and he doesn’t have to continuously offer verbal and physical reminders to them that he does in fact like them just as much as the other day or ten minutes ago when he saw them.

(but also there would be precedent for Lando somewhat preferring Alex over anyone like no one will ever match his first love lbr)

and as someone who is embarrassed at how much gossip I consume I can assure you any other “examples” someone who dislikes landoscar is claiming to have heard about aren’t real. everyone except landoscar fans actually do want Lando and Oscar to hate each other so trust me if there was a verifiable instance of them actually being hostile or avoiding each other I would’ve seen it already bc I’m trash and I follow wayyyy too much gossip ((: 

(I also follow an extremely wide selection of blogs on tumblr and race weekends are wild bc the reactions are all completely different - and more than one either hates McLaren or hates landoscar (they don’t hate constantly it’s just one of the things they don’t like) so yea trust me any valid instance of landoscar tea would show up somewhere I would see it)

again, they don’t play up a big bromance for PR so they don’t have to pretend to like each other to keep up any kind of facade. so when you see them laughing together and chatting off alone and choosing to spend the intervening week in Bahrain after the race together playing padel or playing a game of padel in Monaco during a break or Max F or Lando brings up Oscar during a stream then it’s bc they want to. when Lando complained to a room full of fans at a Jack Daniels m&g that he doesn’t spend as much time with Oscar as he does his other driver friends bc Oscar won’t get into a sport Lando likes, he didn’t do it to a huge audience or to the media and there was just one video of it. and when Oscar almost immediately started learning padel and even kept practicing in Australia during the winter break, it wasn’t used as PR or to push the bromance at all. hell, we never even got the Williams vs McLaren padel match that people asked for and Alex volunteered for. 

all these interactions and developments of their friendship gets them absolutely zero PR benefit and never travels beyond landoscar fandom bc we don’t have any of the rpf crazies to go out and flood comment sections and make millions of posts declaring in full insane seriousness that these two men would be married with babies if only those pesky real life partners would just disappear etc etc 

and this is a big thing: landoscar fandom is not what most other rpf fandoms are. not in a stupid elitist fandom way askfgsjkagfa I mean as in it’s entirely based on two guys who have been very slowly and gradually growing closer together but who provide absolutely zero targeted ship content. there are some very intriguing threads of fate there and Oscar’s social media history regarding Lando is what most people pretend the few pre-F1 interactions of drivers were - but the whole fandom is people who are enjoying watching a friendship and bond in real time and with no PR narrative being presented to us. especially that so much about landoscar was perfectly prepped for them to be in their innermost friend circles but that contrary to other ships, being teammates actually has made things more complicated and difficult. they’re so easy to write as a pairing bc in every way they fit their existing private lives and closest friendships perfectly. but they’re even more compelling in reality bc they’re taking their relationship as teammates SO incredibly seriously and passionately that their baby steps into friendship have been so unusually cautious and careful compared to how teammates usually are. 

but that’s also why the fandom doesn’t spread and doesn’t attract any of the die hard rpf delulu ppl. nobody wants to augment reality and nobody wants Lily to disappear and nobody has a problem with keeping fic writing and discussing real life separate. we will just never do numbers the way carland0 and dand0 do where they’ve got armies of women determined that girlfriends are all fake and beards and will go to any lengths to remove them so that their yaoi dolls can get smooshed together and have a gay relationship in spite of these men irl bro coding each other and doing queerbaiting precisely bc they feel safe and comfortable in their sexuality and aren’t among the terrified actual gay male athletes who stay in the closet until they retire and often long afterward.

now let me make a quick note abt something relevant !

so most ppl seem to be using PR completely wrong and think that it refers to some nefarious big brained 4D chess plot to fully dupe the public and cover up something that’s the opposite of what’s presented. the terms for that are whitewashing, spin etc which yes technically falls under the umbrella of public relations but most public relations do not involve stuff that dark.

that’s not how PR works for these drivers or for most lesser known celebrities. PR is how and what a public person chooses to present based on knowing that it will get engagement and interest from the public that will increase focus and attention on the person. when someone hires a “PR person” it’s the same as hiring an administrator for thinks like finances or filtering emails etc. they’re just helping out with the controlled image that a person already has cultivated. it’s not a pack of lies but it’s also not fully honest or authentic either. the driver friendships using PR are absolutely based on real friendships! but they’re also very deliberately engaging with fans and media in whatever way will sell them more, even if that just means doing some excessive PDA or always making sure to take pictures or video when they hang out or hanging out in places where they know they’ll get seen. it’s not dark sided or sinister or even all that cynical, it’s just how most of these guys incorporate things into being public figures and having sponsors etc!

but what’s so funny to me as someone who has had F1 in my peripheral life forever bc of my relatives who are lifelong fans is newer fans thinking that teams give a single fuck about driver PR outside of don’t do anything openly illegal. men in this sport are actually expected to be playboys and the whole social level where it exists is one of elitism and excess and indulgence. it’s not American team sports, it’s not pretending to be wholesome or originating from salt of the earth or bootstraps etc etc. 

and they sure as SHIT do not care if two teammates make for good PR or not. if they at all cared about that then a very openly struggling team like Alpine wouldn’t have had Esteban and Ocon together. 

media day is one day and PR day at the factories is one day and provides enough content to be spread out for weeks. if the content is plentiful and engaging then it’s purely bc the drivers themselves choose to do it and are wanting the PR for themselves as well. the teams have so much more to focus on than if people are squealing over the latest challenge on social media !!

but what’s even more hilarious about ‘landoscar are PR’ is that McLaren actually dropped almost their entire socmed dept not long after Oscar got his seat - this is the team that right up to Daniel leaving would release bromancey big production long form content almost daily and made beautifully edited Unboxed episodes and liaised with Lando and Carlos and Daniel’s personal PR teams so that they could coordinate releasing content on their own social media as well. oh and Carlos (and Daniel until his retirement) will still work with F1 and McLaren to create bromance content or make sure to be at certain places and times and even Adam uses carland0 content and Carlos Sr to promote his scooters. 

PR at McLaren used to be a MAJOR machine for literal decades in no small part bc their drivers were so shit hot at it - and when it comes to carland0 even after him leaving, it’ll still rev back up along with all Lando and Carlos affiliated accs to milk everything possible out of them being in any physical proximity or interaction

but it all started tapering off after Oscar joined McLaren - to hilariously minor fanfare might I add, they do more for new F2 drivers - and the longform stuff had all but ended by Austin 2023. as of the instagram wipe in 2024, Unboxed was scrapped and all socmed videos were filmed in short bursts on phones and the video length almost never exceeded 2 minutes. there might be some props that can be borrowed but usually it’s just having them read questions from cards or prompts 

(and the one rumor that Unboxed was ending bc of DTS makes no sense bc DTS has been going as long as Unboxed since 2019 and no other team or driver has been told to drop their long form content)

part of this absolutely came from the fact that Oscar didn’t want to do the whole PR thing with Lando (remember that McLaren made an entire dramatic production out of Carlos leaving after just two seasons and Daniel straight up said ‘landan’ would be bigger than carland0) and he doesn’t have the personality/stamina for the Carlos and Daniel level of publicity. so all the cute little interactions between him and Lando on twitter or instagram have always been unplanned and sporadic and natural. (Oscar has gone almost entirely over to a private acc since we can’t even see his likes in the wild much anymore and Lando has started to do the same) when Lando posts Oscar on his jpg acc or we see him taking video and pictures of Oscar it’s always just bc Lando thinks Oscar is neat! he posts him like one would an often elusive but beloved neighborhood cat.

and tbh there has been more than once (getting to that in a minute) that having a big public bromance creates totally unnecessary and distracting tension when two drivers are inevitably clashing on track and rrrrreally do not feel like dancing around so everyone can have their bromance feel good moment. so to whatever degree the team/Lando/Oscar felt that yea this new teammate pairing has strong legs to it, it would make logical sense to also say yea let’s just drop the whole bromance angle and let them focus on their jobs and the whole friendship thing will be up to the two of them.

and as someone who got sucked into F1 fandom literally bc of carland0 and dand0 PR being truly outstanding, it’s also worth mentioning that the way Lando’s relationships with Carlos and Daniel started was also completely different to with Oscar:

Carlos’ first season with Lando was Lando’s first season in F1 and it was absolutely perfect bc Lando needed a big brother figure to lean on and Carlos had been that for Max already - and Carlos himself always tries to have a great rapport with his teammates and is still close to all of them even now

Carlos spent his last season with Lando during COVID and Daniel spent the whole of his time with Lando during COVID, so there were whole periods where they existed in a bubble and quite literally had nowhere else to go and no on else to go to. again, thankfully they did actually get on very well but in a normal situation yes they would’ve chosen to spent a lot of that time with their friends and family

Daniel was already known to Lando through Max and mutual DJ friends so there was already a friend group they both belonged to

and I don’t want to focus on the bad times with carland0 or dand0 so I don’t go around storing up every instance of them fighting or tense/awkward moments where they could be classed as “ignoring each other” so just pulling from memory with these: Lando said here and multiple other times that he “hated” Carlos and Daniel as his direct competitors, especially because they had so many years of experience on him. and as he said here he felt very isolated and was even worrying if he could continue in F1 because Carlos was so far ahead of him. then of course there’s the famous moment when Carlos said something so out of pocket that Lando looked him up and down in disgust and straight up walked wide of him even when Carlos was clearly trying to smooth it over. I think their personal teams scrambled to arrange a golf date not long after this to keep fans and media happy asgdlsjagd. there’ve been more than a few times where Carlos has had to hastily say to media that “carland0 is okay” bc contrary to fan theory, Carlos and Lando have always raced each other same as they do anyone else and that means clashes sometimes. then Lando’s first win last year Carlos angrily asked “so he won it then?” over radio and in all his interviews with media said that if he’d had Lando’s luck with the SC then the win could actually have been his and while he made sure to do a big public hug, he opted out of celebrating with Lando after and chose to have dinner with Nico instead. bc yea he’s happy for Lando bc that’s his friend and former teammate BUT he was also wrestling with his last season for who knows how long being able to even fight for podiums and these drivers are literally paid to try to win and that’s what they want more than any type of friendship with another driver (I could also point out how Carlos “almost entirely ignored” Lando at the F1 movie premiere and “barely showed interest in him” at the big filmed Stefano dinner this weekend - quotes being bc if someone wanted to read into it with a slant against carland0 the way they do against a ship they dislike then it would be very easy - but the reality is that it’s perfectly ok to be a veteran driver who got dropped from Ferrari and is stuck in a car that’s exploding while your younger former teammate who used to look up to you now looks set to get the WDC before you - it doesn’t mean you don’t love your buddy or that you’re mad at him it just means it’s hard to do ride the PR chuckle bus as expected of you sometimes and that’s okay!!)

the majority of the DTS rewatch with Daniel was full of uncomfortable moments where they try to joke thru obviously being annoyed at each other - especially when Lando started laughing when DTS Lando got a little bit savage and wouldn’t back down so Daniel started making jokes about his hands or smth? there was also the I think Unboxed moment or post race debrief where Daniel’s win overshadowed Lando’s best result in F1 to date and Lando was very openly annoyed by it and Daniel was super awkward with how to deal with that. and it’s pretty well documented that Daniel was very unhappy at McLaren and his and Lando’s experiences as teammates diverged heavily even tho they were able to still have a laugh.

and all of these instances of tensions or fighting are normal and part of friendship and when you don’t try to pretend that these friendships are “special” or romantic then you won’t be upset by them !

speaking of which, the big things people say make carland0 and dand0 more special than their other friendships are

a quick visit to Daniel and his friends in Perth that Lando said was “never planned” and was “just to get out of the place he was currently in” and this was during one of Lando and Martin G’s solo world journeys over the winter they sometimes do. Daniel and Martin are also tight so this really was not some deep pre-planned dand0 bonding experience it was riding dirt bikes and watching NFL games askfskahgf oh and Lando making breakfast for the group who didn’t eat it and made him do the washing up r u d e

Lando going to Carlos’ sister’s wedding was again, not some deep bonding moment at an intimate family event it literally involved press photographers and interviewers ?? I read a whole post on ig last year (the page is private now so I can’t find it again to link to it) that basically detailed how these types of huge society weddings among old money classes always involve inviting famous friends - and also that Carlos Sr 100% sees the strategic benefit of carland0 and having Lando as part of the family’s very carefully controlled and honed publicity. so it’s not to be compared with say Lando attending P’s birthday parties where it’s mostly family and just a few intimate friends and no press involvement. was the invite bc Carlos and his parents are fond of Lando? yes! was the invite done with a lot of publicity benefit involved? also yes! that’s fine!

this also goes with the times ppl thought Carlos and Lando were flying together or at dinner together just them but Rebecca was there too and was still hiding from being in pictures (Pierre’s the one who accidentally posted her first then edited it) and Mexico this year was Lando being invited along as a little brother with the huge group who had come to support Carlos - and he quickly left the grown up club they all went to after dinner to go party as the single young guy he is

I won’t get into it bc it’s gossip and in the past and Isa is happy and moved on but yea a lot of those ferda trips Lando took with Carlos and some friends were absolutely not for “guy bonding” so we should just… ignore those in terms of wholesome friendship moments el oh el

side note to this a lot of ppl are like Sainz Sr loves Lando and yes! he does! but Sainz Sr also is like that with multiple drivers and people on the grid bc he’s been deep into that world since long before Carlos was born! and just to say that Charles used to play padel with Sr and Carlos and that even with all the huge ups and downs Charles has had with Carlos and his family, literally still to this day Carlos Sr seeks Charles out specifically (even at his own son’s home race) to show affection and support. again it’s the fact that carland0 fandom is so insanely massive and the ship gets so much corporate socmed interest is why so many ppl think it's only Lando or especially Lando that gets on with Carlos’ family. 

I should also bring up the fact that Carlos and Ollie have developed a completely spontaneous bond outside of F1 that would have carland0 fans in seizures over if it was happening with Lando - but bc it’s not the popular yaoi the fandom reaction to it has stayed realistic and calm. but yea Ollie is straight up in Team 55 and Carlos’ life away from F1 in a way no other driver has been and it’s not at all publicity helpful or strategic and I find it so sweet <3

and I’m not going to go too deep into the charlos of it all bc I haaaaaaate rpf ship competitions and there are still ppl who deny Charles and Lando having a solid friendship that’s nothing to do with Carlos butttt it’s worth mentioning that Carlos himself is the one who has said he and Charles spend a huge amount of downtime and social time together, have meals together and that they “talk about anything, every subject you can think of” and that their girlfriends are even bonded in friendship - charlos are definitely a friendship of equals and contemporaries compared to the big brother/little brother age divide that Carlos has with Lando. so again, no point comparing bc the relationships are totally different.

and I have to say again !!! I never like having to do these bc when people delulu these things it means that reality seems “worse” but it isn’t !!! Lando was yes on a very lengthy invitation list and happened to be available where other drivers weren’t BUT he was still a friend that Carlos asked to come! if no one tried to turn it into something that shits on every other friendship Carlos has with other drivers then it could’ve just stayed as this super sweet thing and no one would have to like be talked down from the rpf ledge. for example, I use carland0 lore to create a super emotional doomed romance storyline for them in my royalty au bc I understand that taking reality and manipulating it for fic is fun but also not reality ! and then I enjoy reality as two guys who are good buddies and have perfectly matching sense of humor who no, don’t hang out as much as they used to but still hang out a lot! and they also hang out with a lot of other drivers too! and shouldn't that be enjoyed rather than turned into an insane competition among fans!

and god, Daniel and Lando couldn’t be more your typical extroverted fun-loving ferda type friends. they don’t do “deep and personal” they’re just bros. which again is really cute and fun and is only considered disappointing by ppl who take the PR and run with their imaginations to pretend it’s super "special" meaning want to pretend it's ~real life rpf~ (and omg the rages these ppl exist in when maxie| happens again or oh no norstappen is what ppl want carland0 and dand0 to be !!) 

whereas Lando and Oscar are jointly committing to McLaren over and over again and saying things like “we’re going to grow old and gray together” “we’ll be the strongest and longest running partnership” “we want to have this for as long as we’re in F1” about each other as teammates even as they’re still developing and feeling out their friendship !! 

it just has zero comparison at all to not just any of Lando’s other teammates but honestly to any other teammates at all. so trying to find the PR yaoi will never work and yea unless you follow pages or blogs that are heavily landoscar, you won’t for instance have seen the one grainy video of Oscar saying how he played padel with Lando and one of Lando’s friends (we all think it was Ed) bc while we in landoscar fandom love hearing about that, we’ve gotten fully used to the fact that neither Lando nor Oscar shares that stuff on social media or with McLaren PR. 

ironically the only comparison that can be made in terms of how they both approach their relationship and how we should too is Oscar and Lily salfgsjalfgslaf “private but not secret” we know literally nothing but the basics about their relationship and get very sparse amounts of actual coupley content of them and they're never actually spotted out and about except from someone mentioning it and honestly if Lily didn’t use her phone camera and Sarah Oscar’s socmed person didn’t liaise with her then we wouldn’t even have most of that ?? which we all FULLY respect and honestly love that they don’t want their relationship out where people can analyze it and pick it apart and project nonsense onto it.

that’s very clearly what Lando and Oscar are doing with their developing friendship. it’s not there for all of our benefit and they don’t have anything to prove to any of us. they’re also not liars and they’re blatantly not doing anything for publicity. 

if you want to enjoy landoscar then just bear in mind you won’t be spoon fed anything and they won’t be giving you a load of “content” to freak out over, you’re just going to be enjoying them having little private in-jokes they never fully explain and drawing close together when they feel under threat and using soft little private voices with each other when they’re tired or feel comfortable. it’s so genuine and soft and vulnerable and they have everyone telling them they’re going to fall apart and their response is to say they want to stay together long term and they want to never fall into the self-destructiveness of toxic competition with each other. 

so no, it isn’t that Lando and Oscar don’t like each other "as much as" other driver friends and it sure as shit isn’t that anything they do is PR - it’s that in order to see their relationship at all you can’t rely on publicity or fandom visibility you’ve actually got to pay attention to what they say and do. and none of that is coming from a PR machine.

[psychopomp-namine]

trying to organize my thoughts as I write the "lx gives ltc the neck tattoo but it's really a xiaochen relationship study" fic. this isn't very organized, so bear with me.

this is wild speculation at this point, so I have to put a disclaimer that I think there's a low chance this will happen in canon. that said, please consider the following ideas:

the craziest plot twist they can do at this point is that liu xiao wants li tianchen to be his successor of sorts. which is something I never considered and never would have in a million years if not for the blindfold transfer

but. this isn't shown to be a good thing. in keeping with the undead themes of the mv, and the general sorcerer imagery associated with liu xiao across multiple artworks... imagine if the blindfold represents a "curse"

now usually, you wouldn't want to inherit a curse. but, well, li tianchen has nothing to live for and nothing to lose. so.

several other things I would like to point out:

young li tianchen incorporating young (?) liu xiao's worldview (re: hunters and beasts)

liu xiao dressing up the mannequin in his colors and in clothes he would wear

this isn't the first time they've associated mirrors with liu xiao now. something something reflections and likeness something something

I also kinda wonder if the dead/pinned butterflies in map of dreams (behind the mirror) might also represent the same thing that the empty mannequins (without the clothes/blindfolds, see above screenshots) do in the pain mv. they both serve to contrast the flying butterfly and the clothed/blindfolded mannequin (<- yes. I am picking up crumbs. li tianchen is the butterfly in mod)

which begs the question... what are the pinned butterflies and naked mannequins to liu xiao? see, I don't think he's had that many victims, even if that is what the metanarrative wants us to believe. he's a manipulator! he's the mastermind! yes, yes, I get that. that may even be true.

but let me play devil's advocate for a bit.

consider, once again, that liu xiao himself is blindfolded here. it really doesn't make sense to me, because it does not match the image we're presented of liu xiao. he should be putting the blindfold on other people, not wearing one himself.

we see this symbol on liu xiao's neck, and we now see in this mv that it's associating itself with putting liu xiao in the blindfold. weird!

would it be too out there for us to consider that liu xiao himself might have once been, metaphorically, a butterfly/mannequin himself? were the butterflies/mannequins in the background his many, many victims, or is he one among many that perpetuates some kind of cycle that creates more butterflies/mannequins? something to consider.

lastly. there's also sonnet 121

sonnet 121 is about pointing out hypocrisy and refusing to be judged for sins by people who are themselves sinful (it's also a poem on infidelity lol)

within this context, it also makes sense why liu xiao associates with people like vein and li tianchen. they don't shy away from what they've done. li tianchen doesn't show remorse for his and qian jin's victims. he hated the hell he was in and wished his mom didn't die, but I don't think he regretted killing his dad. vein... is just an honest guy lol, he also hates lies and I do think he enjoys being a mafia boss. there's something genuine about his leadership and violence. and I think liu xiao appreciates that kind of sincerity in people.

"'tis better to be vile than vile esteemed" + "those lost in the darkness are my friends" indeed

the funny thing is, "hypocrisy" and "fraud" are words that are being associated with him a lot. yet they are concepts that don't necessarily describe him, but are things he doesn't like himself, which we're seeing again with sonnet 121. if we're keeping score, liu xiao busted the gambling fraud in yingdu and is most likely the one that commissioned the emma case, which exposed the fraud in quede games.

anyway, I'm not saying that liu xiao is a good guy or anything. just that sonnet 121 shows us he is aware of what his reputation is (to who?) (aside from the audience, that is) and his response is that he refuses judgement and will keep doing... whatever it is he's doing.

"or on my frailties why are frailer spies, which in their wills count bad that I think good?" / "unless this general evil they maintain: all men are bad and in their badness reign"

I've been trying to think of who exactly is judging him in canon. maybe we haven't met them yet. but considering how liu xiao loves breaking the 4th wall (and, I believe, is the only character to have done so, so far), I wonder if this is also another one of those instances. the way the metanarrative presents him hasn't always been 1:1 to how he actually acts so far. this is less "I think liu xiao is actually good!" and more "he doesn't think he needs to justify himself to us" which! is always a fascinating character trait to me. and tbh I think this is part of why li tianchen admires him (the other being that he is just surprisingly impressionable)

anyway. bringing this back to xiaochen. we have liu xiao blindfold wearer passing on the blindfold to li tianchen. li tianchen wearing liu xiao's clothes by proxy of the mannequin. there's something to be said here about how he also put on li tianxi's clothes in S2....

there's many ways we can interpret this, of course. for me, these are the new li tianchen possibilities I personally want to see:

liu xiao gives him the same neck tattoo at some point (cool)

he starts wearing purple more and wears more clothes in liu xiao's style (SUPER SAD. HE'S ONE OF THE MOST COLORFUL CHARACTERS IN THE SHOW)

"dye your mind with the faded violet" indeed

[a-whispering-echo]

Egg Man

Horror and Dusts first meeting!

fic for the Uni au that i was working on when i STARTED thinking about the dam thing. this was meant to be the BASE, like, draft thing, and id buff it out with more thoughts and descriptions and things later, but i couldnt be fecking bothered, so im posting this as it is now. i put so many random Deltarune and undertale references in here that are stupid and tiny and some more noticeable than others, but i did it, so- like, if you spot them...

Horror wasn’t sure what to make of Dust.

There were plenty of weird people at university - himself included. But Dust was… a particular flavour of weird. The kind of weird that made you wonder if he was actually a person or just some cryptid that had wandered onto campus and decided to stay.

He was easy to spot, at least. Always slouched, always in a hoodie and sweats, shuffling around in slippers with his ever-present red scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. The rest of him looked like a disaster - his clothes wrinkled, his eyelights wild, his expression somewhere between dazed and vaguely amused - but that scarf? Pristine. Always clean. Always neat. It didn’t make sense.

But then again, nothing about Dust did.

Horror had seen him around. The first time, he’d assumed the guy was just some perpetually sleep-deprived student, muttering to himself and shambling across campus like a ghost with a caffeine addiction. But the more he saw him, the more odd details he picked up. The way vending machines never seemed to reject his money, no matter how finicky they were for everyone else. The way he always had a pen and would scribble random equations on napkins or receipts. The way he never showed up to lectures but somehow still aced exams.

And then, of course, there was the talking-to-himself thing. Not in the casual way people muttered under their breath, but full conversations. Arguments, even. Horror had walked past Dust in the library once and caught him saying, “That’s a fucking terrible idea,” to thin air, pausing, and then sighing. “No, it would not be funny. Stop.”

Horror had quickly pretended he hadn’t heard anything.

So yeah. Dust was weird.

But Horror didn’t make a habit of judging people too harshly. He knew he wasn’t the most approachable either, being a big guy with a scarred-up face, a thick build, and a permanent case of looking vaguely pissed off even when he wasn’t. Add the head wound that made his memory spotty and his hands a little shaky, and he figured most people saw him as some sort of brute. He got it. He didn’t blame them.

Which was why he didn’t really plan on ever talking to Dust.

Until the egg incident.

-

Horror liked the communal kitchen at night.

It was quiet, for one. For another, it meant he could take his time cooking without anyone hovering or making jokes about his size versus the tiny cakes he liked to make. And tonight? Tonight, he was making one of those tiny cakes. Or at least, he had been until he realised he was missing an egg.

“Shit,” he muttered, staring at the counter like the egg might magically appear if he glared hard enough. “Thought I had enough…”

He checked the fridge. No eggs. He checked his grocery bag. Still no eggs.

With a groan, he rubbed his face. It was a bigger issue than it sounded; he’d already pre-heated the oven, mixed most of the ingredients, and was at the point of no return. If he abandoned the cake now, the batter would go to waste. And after the day he’d had? He really needed this cake to happen.

Horror sighed, leaning against the counter. Maybe he could substitute something - banana? Yogurt? He wasn’t sure if he had either. Maybe he could knock on a few dorm doors and ask around. Or maybe he should just call it a loss and-

“Need an egg?”

Horror nearly jumped out of his skin as something heavy landed beside him. He turned sharply, hands clenching into reflexive fists - only to find Dust standing there, blank-faced as ever, dressed in his usual chaos of wrinkled sweats and that damn red scarf.

“Stars-” Horror started, his heartbeat still trying to settle. “Where the hell did you-?”

Dust cut him off by reaching into the pocket of his hoodie and pulling out… an egg.

Horror stared.

Dust held it out, wordlessly, like this was a completely normal thing to do. Like it wasn’t fucking insane that he had an egg just hanging out in his hoodie pocket.

Horror didn’t move at first. He wasn’t even sure how to respond. He had questions. So many questions. Where had the egg come from? How long had it been there? Why did Dust have an egg in his pocket? Why was he just handing it over?

More than anything, though, Horror was just… confused.

Dust raised an eyebrow. “You wanted an egg,” he said, like he was reminding Horror of some very simple, obvious fact.

“I- yeah, but-” Horror stopped himself. There was no logical way to approach this situation.

After a moment, he sighed, wiped his hands on his apron, and gingerly took the egg. It was cold. Fresh. Not cracked, not even slightly damaged from being in a pocket, somehow. Like it had just been taken out of the refrigerator a few seconds ago.

“…Thanks?” Horror said, though it came out more like a question.

Dust just nodded and turned to leave. No explanation, no lingering, nothing. Just a simple handoff, like a man on a mission, and then he was gone, shuffling back down the hall as silently as he’d arrived.

Horror stood there for a long moment, staring after him, before slowly looking back down at the egg in his hand.

“…What the fuck,” he muttered to himself.

But he used it.

Of course he did. He wasn’t about to let a perfectly good cake go to waste just because the circumstances around acquiring one single egg were deeply unsettling.

The cakes came out great.

-

Horror wasn’t the type to let things go. When something got stuck in his head, it stayed there, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts until he either dealt with it or let it drive him insane. And the whole Dust Egg Situation was one of those things.

So, he did what any reasonable person would do: he took a few of the finished mini cakes, packed them up, and went to find Dust’s dorm.

Tracking him down wasn’t hard. Identifiable was a good word for Dust. Everyone knew of him, even if no one really knew him. Horror asked a few people in the dorm hall if they knew where he stayed, and it only took two or three conversations before someone directed him to the right door.

Horror knocked.

There was a long pause before it swung open - except, the guy standing there was not Dust.

The monster at the door was big. Built, that was, because he was actually quite short. A scar under his right cheekbone and over his nasal ridge, wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, arms crossed over his chest as he gave Horror a once-over with sharp, suspicious eyes. Horror blinked, momentarily thrown off by how Not-Dust the monster standing in front of him was.

“Can I help you?” Dust’s-maybe-friend asked, his higher than Horror had expected, but not unfriendly.

Horror cleared his throat, still a little thrown by the unexpected presence of someone so… imposing. “Uh, yeah, I’m looking for Dust. Is he here?”

Dust’s-possible-Roommate - who looked like he could bench press a small car - raised an browbone, “Did he give you something weird or did he piss you off? Cus I’m not his personal handler, but I’ll punch him in the face for you if you want.” He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the suggestion, more like he was offering a casual favour.

Horror blinked, unsure whether the guy was serious or not, but decided to keep his cool. “Uh, no, no, nothing like that. He just… gave me an egg. And, well, I made something with it, and I wanted to thank him. You know, for the egg.”

Dust’s-perhaps-brother’s face didn’t change. “He gave you an egg.”

“Yeah, just- It was helpful so I figured I’d return the favour..?” Horror trailed off, unsure how much more explanation would be necessary for the egg incident.

Dust’s-mayhaps-Lover started him down for a second longer, eyelights flaring in suspicion in narrowed sockets, before he seemed to decide that, yes, the situation was too weird to be anything but genuine. He deflated, letting his arms drop to his sides with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, that.. sounds like Dust. Right, fine, you can come in. He’s probably still in his cave.”

“Cave?”

“You’ll see.” He turned and called over his shoulder. “Dust! You’ve got a guest. Someone who wants to thank you for giving them an egg, apparently!”

There was a muffled voice from the back room that might have been a groan, or might have just been Dust making a noise for the sake of not coming out.

“Sit tight,” the guy said, stepping aside to let Horror in. “I’m Cross, by the way.”

“Horror,” he replied, ducking slightly as he stepped through the doorway. It was an old habit - he’d hit his head on too many low frames over the years, and more cranial trauma was the LAST thing he needed.

The dorm was… something.

Half the room looked like it had been touched by divine light and a military bootcamp at once - neatly organised bookshelves, immaculate floors, a faint scent of lavender and clean linen. The other half?

Chaos.

A storm of paper scraps, half-disassembled gadgets, what might have been a melted kettle (or possibly modern art), open textbooks stacked in precarious towers, mismatched mugs everywhere. Clothes strewn about, socks somehow pinned to the ceiling. A white noise machine hummed in the background, mingling with the low patter of rain sounds from a speaker in the corner.

Horror didn’t need to ask which half belonged to Dust.

Cross gestured vaguely toward the disaster zone. “Help yourself to the couch - if you can find any of it under that mess.”

Horror took a careful step forward, spotting a relatively clear spot on the edge of the couch and lowering himself down with the grace of someone trying not to break a student-loaned piece of furniture. He still clutched the small cake container in his hands like it was the most reasonable object in the room.

A minute passed. Then two.

He was about to ask if Cross had meant to actually retrieve Dust, or if this was some kind of weird hazing ritual, when he finally heard soft shuffling from the back. There was a faint clunk, a muttered curse, and then - Dust appeared.

Well. “Appeared” might have been generous. He half-limped, half-drifted into the room like a hungover ghost who’d overslept by a decade. His hood was up, his scarf wrapped tight, and his slippers made a soft sht-shhh noise against the floor as he dragged one foot slightly as he moved. He blinked at Horror like he wasn’t entirely sure he was real. His red scarf was perfectly wrapped, of course, but everything else looked like he’d just escaped a lab explosion - and maybe had.

“…Cake guy,” Dust said, voice low, rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

“…Egg guy,” Horror replied, equally flat.

There was a beat. Dust tilted his head slowly, sockets narrowing a fraction. “Did you come to give it back?”

“What- the egg? No. I used the egg. You gave me the egg.”

Dust considered this. “Yes.”

“I brought you cake,” Horror said, holding out the box like a peace offering. “To say thanks. You know. For the egg.”

Dust stared at it like it might explode. His hand didn’t move.

“…You don’t have to eat it right now,” Horror added quickly. “Or at all. I just thought- I mean, you saved my baking session, and that doesn’t happen a lot, so I figured it was polite.”

Finally, Dust reached out and took the box. He didn’t open it. Just looked at it, then back at Horror. “..Why’d ya do that?”

Horror blinked. “Do what? Bake something?”

“No.” Dust’s voice was soft, distant. “The returning part.”

Horror scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s… just manners, I guess. You helped me out. Didn’t have to, but you did. Figured I’d say thanks.”

Dust hummed, almost like he was tasting the words, turning them over in his mind to see if they made sense. “Weird.”

“Yeah,” Horror agreed, deadpan. “The egg part was already weird, though, so I figured we were past that.”

Dust ust stared at him, wonky eyelights staring into Horror’s soul, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he sank down onto the edge of the couch, cake box balanced carefully on his knees, like it was something precious - or volatile. Horror watched him pick at the tape, fingers careful despite the ambient chaos that clung to the rest of him like static.

They sat in silence for a bit. The rain sounds in the background filled the space between them with a calm, distant rhythm, and the white noise machine hummed like the inside of a shell. Cross had vanished down the hallway at some point, giving them the kind of privacy that didn’t feel intentional but was deeply appreciated.

Eventually, Dust peeled the box open and peeked inside.

“They’re tiny.”

“They’re mini cakes.”

Dust blinked at them, brow faintly furrowed as though he was trying to solve a riddle, or maybe just trying to remember how food worked. “Why would you make them tiny? You’re… huge.”

Horror shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Big hands. Makes them look smaller. People laugh.”

Dust looked up. “You like that?”

A pause.

“I like feeding people,” Horror said eventually. “And tiny food makes them smile. Plus, it’s easier to make in batches. Less risk of it going bad before someone eats it.”

Dust stared at him for a long moment. Then, very slowly, he nodded. “Huh.”

He reached in, took one of the little cakes with oddly reverent hands, and just… held it. Didn’t eat it. Just looked at it like it was some tiny miracle that had fallen into his lap. Horror wasn’t sure if he was offended or flattered.

“Y’can eat it, you know,” he prompted after a moment.

Dust blinked once, twice. Then slowly, with the awkward focus of someone who hadn’t quite decided whether this was a trap or a gift from the gods, he lifted the mini cake to his mouth and took the smallest possible bite.

Horror watched him chew, dead silent, like he was observing a wild animal trying fruit for the first time.

Dust froze mid-chew. His sockets went wide, eyelights dilating with something close to awe. Then he gave a tiny, breathy exhale that might’ve been a laugh.

“Oh fuck,” Dust whispered. “She’s delicious.”

“She?” Horror repeated, both amused and slightly concerned.

Dust gestured vaguely with the half-eaten cake. “Her name’s definitely Susie.”

Horror blinked. “You named her.”

“You do,” Dust said, head tilted in confusion like a dog, “Thought I’d return the courtesy.”

“…How do you know I name them?”

Dust licked a crumb off his thumb with casual, unblinking focus. “You talk to them.”

Horror’s mouth opened. Then shut. He floundered for a second. “… I do not,” Horror managed, cheeks burning. “I don’t- talk to the food.”

Dust didn’t look up from where he was licking frosting off his finger with alarming dedication. “You told the last batch ‘sleep well, little guys’ before putting them in the fridge.”

Horror stared. “You were there?!”

“Library window. Good view. You hum badly when you bake.”

“I- okay, rude- ”

“Wasn’t a complaint,” Dust interrupted smoothly, finally looking up at him again. His expression was unreadable, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth that might’ve been a smirk, might’ve been a tic, or both. “Just an observation.”

“Observation,” Horror muttered, folding his arms. “Right.”

Dust didn’t even blink. “You were whispering sweet nothings to a lemon tart last Tuesday. Called her Lilith.”

Horror’s soul attempted to exit his body through sheer embarrassment. “Okay, that’s- nope. We’re not doing this.”

Dust took another bite of the cake - Susie - and chewed thoughtfully. “She deserved it. Good crust. Solid flavour profile. A little clingy, though.”

“You are not psychoanalysing my pastries.”

Dust raised a finger in solemn objection. “They’re people too.”

Horror ran a hand down his face with a groan, but he was laughing under it, helpless and hoarse. “Stars, you are so fucking weird.”

“‘Says the guy who named a cinnamon roll Benjamin.’”

“I never said Benjamin out loud- ”

“You muttered it. Real soft. Like you were ashamed of how much you loved him.”

“Okay,” Horror huffed, looking vaguely to the ceiling as if asking some divine power for strength, “you’ve clearly been eavesdropping for weeks, and this is officially harassment.”

Dust shrugged, entirely unbothered. “You’re welcome to file a complaint. I’ve got a form somewhere.” He began patting himself down half-heartedly, as if he genuinely might produce a complaint form from his hoodie pocket.

Instead, he pulled out a gum wrapper. Then another pen. Then - concerningly - a paperclip chain long enough to strangle a mid-sized dog. He looked at it blankly. “…This is not a form.”

Horror stared at it. “What in the actual- why do you have that?”

“For emergencies,” Dust replied, as if it were obvious.

“Emergencies that require four feet of linked paperclips?”

“You’d be surprised,” Dust said. Then tucked it back into his hoodie.

Horror didn’t even have the energy to press it. There were some battles you just let go.

He watched as Dust delicately finished Susie off in three more bites, licked his thumb again, and held the empty wrapper up like it was a treasured artifact. “She was magnificent. May she be remembered fondly.”

Horror blinked. “You… want more?”

Dust tilted his head. “Do I look like I can feed myself?”

Fair. Horror’s eyes flicked briefly to the apocalypse that was Dust’s half of the dorm, to the open coffee cup that was growing mold, to the charred whatever-it-was in the sink. “…You shouldn’t be allowed near ovens.”

“I’m banned from four.”

“Of course you are.”

Dust leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers tapping the empty box like he was deep in thought. ““…I like your cakes.”

The words were simple, but the way Dust said them made Horror pause. They weren’t just polite. They weren’t said out of obligation. They came out like a confession. Like something that had been sitting on the edge of his ribs for a while, waiting for the right moment to tumble out.

Horror glanced at him, surprised. Dust’s expression hadn’t changed, not really, but there was something in the way he held himself - shoulders dipped a little lower, hands relaxed against the cardboard like they trusted it. Like he trusted him.

“…Yeah?” Horror asked, quieter than before.

Dust gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

The silence returned, but it didn’t feel awkward now. It sat between them like a cat, warm and vaguely smug, purring into the hum of the white noise machine and soft rain.

Horror shifted on the couch, resting his forearms on his knees and letting his hands hang between them, relaxed. “So… do you do this often? Hand out emergency eggs to strangers?”

“Strangers?” Dust echoed, sounding almost offended. “I’ve watched you make cakes for a month.”

Horror arched a browbone. “That doesn’t make me not a stranger.”

Dust shrugged. “You hum the same song every time. You like lemon zest even when the recipe doesn’t call for it. You do the little wrist shake when you mix batter. That’s not stranger shit.”

Horror rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning faintly. “Alright, stalker. You’ve made your point.”

Dust grinned. “Observer.”

“Stalker.”

“Enthusiast.”

“Psycho with an egg in his hoodie.”

Dust blinked at that. Something flickered behind his sockets - not hurt, not quite - but something sharper, something smaller, like a twitch behind the eyes you weren’t supposed to see.

Then he blinked again, and it was gone, replaced by a flat sort of amusement that was a little too practised.

He let out a soft huff. “You wound me.”

Horror didn’t miss the shift - but he let it go. Just tilted his head and gave a snort. “Good. You’re weird as hell.”

Dust perked back up like nothing had happened. “So are you.”

“Yeah, well, I own it.”

Dust’s grin stretched wider. “You name your cakes.”

Horror groaned. “We’re back to this.”

Dust held up the now-empty box like it was evidence. “I just think if they’re going to die delicious, they deserve an identity.”

“They’re not dying-” Horror stopped himself. Took a breath. “Okay. Technically, yes. But they’re pastries. They don’t have souls.”

Dust tilted his head again, eyes sparkling with something unnameable. “That’s speciesist.”

Horror opened his mouth to argue, stopped, then narrowed his sockets. “Are you telling me you believe in pastry souls?”

Dust didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he set the empty cake box on the coffee table - or at least the vague pile of books and laundry that might have once been a coffee table - and looked up at Horror with that eerie sort of sincerity he wore like a second skin. “I’m just saying, if someone whispered loving affirmations to me while I was being born into a 350-degree oven, I’d probably haunt them forever.”

Horror stared at him. “That’s not-”

“And,” Dust continued, voice solemn, “if I came out golden and perfect and was immediately devoured, I’d want a name.”

“Jesus Christ,” Horror muttered, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge.

“Dust, actually.”

Horror let out a bark of laughter despite himself. “You’re cracked.”

Dust’s eyelights flared with delight. “That’s egg-cellent. Keep going.”

“No.”

“One more?”

“Absolutely not.”

Dust grinned wide. “You’re yolking.”

“Dust.”

“Egg-xactly.”

Horror buried his face in his hands. “Stars help me.”

“Don’t worry,” Dust said, patting his arm solemnly. “I’m egg-stremely supportive.”

“Stop.”

“I shell try.”

There was a pause, then a wheezing snort that bubbled up from Horror’s chest before he could stop it. He tried to smother it with his hand, but Dust caught it, grinning like he’d just discovered gold in his couch cushions.

“I knew you had a laugh in there,” Dust said, pleased with himself.

“I do,” Horror admitted, tone dry. “You’re just lucky I didn’t choke on my own tongue trying not to.”

Dust gave him a mock-bow where he sat, sweeping his scarf dramatically. “My talents are many. Inducing laughter-related cardiac events is just one of them.”

Horror squinted. “Is that why Cross offered to punch you for me?”

Dust gave a lopsided shrug. “He likes to feel useful.”

“And what, being a pain in the ass is your way of helping him stay busy?”

“Exactly. I’m a very giving person.”

“…You gave me an egg.”

Dust pointed at him. “See?”

Horror shook his head, fighting another smile. “Stars, you’re unreal.”

Dust leaned back against the lopsided couch cushions with a pleased sigh, hands folded over his now box-less lap like he’d just performed some ancient rite. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m not sure what it is,” Horror muttered. “But it’s definitely something.”

“‘Something’ is better than nothing,” Dust replied, then leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Nothing is boring. You’re not boring. Therefore, we’re friends now.”

Horror blinked slowly. “…That’s how this works?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure. You bring someone a tiny cake named Susie and laugh at their egg puns - friendship sealed. Boom. Social contract.”

“That’s not a social contract, Dust. That’s a hostage situation in a bakery.”

Dust looked thoughtful. “Could be both.”

Horror chuckled again, low and reluctant. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet,” Dust said, lolling his head to the side with a crooked grin, “you haven’t left.”

“…I haven’t.”

They let the quiet hang for a bit, letting it stretch comfortably. The rain on the speakers hadn’t stopped - still steady, still rhythmic - and the hum of the white noise machine had become less noticeable, folding into the atmosphere of the room like background radiation.

Dust shifted, his scarf slipping slightly down one shoulder. Horror glanced at it - still perfectly clean, like it had been pulled out of a sterile museum display instead of worn by someone who looked like they bathed in espresso and nightmares.

“Where’d you get the scarf?” Horror asked, surprising even himself.

Dust blinked, slow and owlish, like the question had been in a different language. “Hmm?”

“Your scarf,” Horror said again. “It’s always clean. Even though you’re…” He gestured vaguely at Dust’s Everything.

“Oh.” Dust looked down at it, fingers brushing it lightly. The change in him was small, but immediate - the faintest shift in posture, the way his hand lingered just a bit longer than necessary. “It was a gift,” he said simply.

“From who?”

There was a pause. Then:

“My favourite hallucination,” Dust said, matter-of-fact.

Horror blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Dust didn’t look up. “Nope.”

“…So, a hallucination gave you that scarf. And you… kept it?”

Dust nodded.

“How.”

Dust tilted his head again, sockets wide like it was the most reasonable question in the world. “Wouldn’t you keep a gift from someone who only exists when your brain’s on fire?”

Horror opened his mouth. Closed it again. Thought about it.

“…Okay, when you put it like that, it just sounds metal.”

Dust snorted softly. “It is kind of cool.”

“Also a little terrifying.”

Dust grinned. “That’s me.”

Silence again. Not the bad kind. The kind that said you don’t have to fill this space if you don’t want to.

Horror leaned back, hands folded across his stomach now. He wasn’t sure when his guard had dropped. He wasn’t even sure he’d noticed it going. But something about Dust’s honesty - off-kilter, raw, matter-of-fact - was weirdly comforting. The guy wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Wasn’t even really trying to be understood. He just was.

It was kind of… refreshing.

“So,” Dust said after a while. “What are you gonna name the next batch?”

“…You think I’m gonna tell you?” Horror asked, amused.

Dust put a hand over his chest in mock betrayal. “After all we’ve been through? Susie would be heartbroken.”

“She’s crumbs in your hoodie now.”

“She lives on in spirit.”

“Again: pastries do not have spirits.”

“You just lack faith.”

Horror let out a slow breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Alright then. Fine. I’ll tell you one.”

Dust perked up instantly.

“Next batch,” Horror said, smirking slightly, “I was thinking of making little lemon cakes. You know what that means?”

Dust’s sockets brightened in anticipation and maybe hunger.

“Her name will be Ethel.”

Dust gasped like he’d just been given the nuclear launch codes. “Ethel.” He whispered it like a prayer. “She sounds regal.”

Horror couldn’t help it. He laughed - real, warm, unguarded. “Regal?”

Dust nodded solemnly. “You don’t name a lemon cake Ethel unless she’s got secrets. Unless she’s lived through at least one world war, three marriages, and still wakes up every day to terrorise the HOA.”

Horror laughed harder, shaking his head. “She’s got four lemon zests and a grudge.”

“She made her first lemon tart during Prohibition and never looked back.”

“She serves it to her enemies.”

“She is the enemy.”

Dust smacked the arm of the couch. “Ethel was born spiteful. She’ll stain your teeth with citrus and judgment.”

“She haunts fridges.”

“She is the fridge!”

They both broke then, giggling like teenagers, breathless and wheezing - Dust collapsing sideways with a strangled little sound that could not be real.

It wasn’t even a laugh - it was a full-on, wheezy, high-pitched giggle that sounded like it had snuck out without his permission. It tore out of him like a balloon deflating through a kazoo, helpless and shrill. Like a dying tea kettle mixed with a cartoon hyena.

Horror stared.

Dust clapped a hand over his mouth too late, eyes wide in panic.

Horror blinked at him, clearly startled. “…That’s your laugh?”

Dust froze, then slowly tugged his hood lower over his face like a turtle retreating into its shell. “No it’s not,” he mumbled, absolutely mortified.

Horror was still staring. Then - slowly - he grinned. A full, amused, genuine grin, the kind that didn’t come easy to him but felt worth it now.

“Stars,” he said, and laughed again, softer this time. “You sound like a broken whistle.”

Dust curled a little more inwards, clearly trying to die on the couch. “I will kill you and bake you into a pie. I swear.”

“You’d name it after me.”

“No, I’d name it Sharon.”

Horror snorted. “Why Sharon?”

“Because Sharon tastes like betrayal and too much nutmeg.”

There was a long pause. Then they both cracked, dissolving into laughter again - Dust’s a shrill wheeze muffled by his scarf, Horror’s deep and gravelly and coming from somewhere in his ribs. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. And it felt better than anything had all week.

Eventually, they both slumped against the couch like they’d just survived a war.

Dust sighed, defeated. He melted deeper into the couch, arms folded and scarf now halfway up his face like a security blanket. “I liked you better when you were just Cake Guy.”

“You mean when I hadn’t named your pastry’s soul and witnessed your horrifying laugh?”

Dust gave a one-finger salute from beneath the folds of fabric. “Exactly that.”

They fell into silence again, but it was different now. Softer, more lived-in. The sort of quiet that came when you realised you didn’t have to be funny, or clever, or particularly normal anymore. You could just… be.

Horror stretched his legs out, one heel knocking over a pile of newspapers that had definitely been there since the semester started. Dust didn’t even react.

“I’ll bring you more cake,” Horror said eventually.

Dust blinked at him, surprised. “Why?”

Horror shrugged. “Because you named Susie. Because you laughed like a dying goose. Because you’re weird.”

Dust tilted his head again, blinking slowly, expression unreadable for a moment - and then a soft, genuine smile bloomed on his face. Not the cracked little grin he used when he was plotting something unholy, or the sharp-toothed smirk that usually came with caffeine-fuelled chaos. This one was different. Quiet. Honest.

“Cool,” he said softly. Then added, even softer: “I’ll save you an egg.”

Horror blinked.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have felt like anything. But something about the way Dust said it - like it was sacred, like it was some kind of promise - made Horror’s chest tighten just a little.

He chuckled low in his throat, rubbing the back of his head. “Well. Clearly, I owe you a whole carton now.”

“I take payment in baked goods,” Dust said solemnly. “And firstborns.”

“I’ll give you muffins,” Horror replied dryly. “And you can pretend they’re the children of my labour.”

Dust’s whole face lit up, alarmingly fast, like a child being handed a flamethrower. Horror could actually see the exact moment he came up with the joke, and braced for impact.

Dust opened his mouth-

“Don’t say ‘bun in the oven,’” Horror said instantly, jabbing a finger at him. “I swear to god.”

Dust’s jaw snapped shut with a tiny squeak. His shoulders trembled with held-back laughter, eyelights wide and manic.

“But- ”

“No.”

“C’monnnn.”

“I’ll take the muffins back.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Dust whispered, scandalised.

“I will eat Susie’s siblings in front of you.”

Dust gasped, hand to his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’re a monster.”

Horror gave him a toothy grin. “So I’ve been told.”

Dust’s eyes sparkled with unspent mischief. “Okay but… what if I do say it?”

“I’ll egg your bed.”

Dust threw his arms wide in theatrical defeat. “I’m already sleeping in crumbs!” he wailed. “Do your worst!”

And Horror looked at him - really looked - and realised with a sharp, unexpected certainty that somehow, without meaning to, they’d crossed a threshold.

This wasn’t just banter.

It wasn’t just some weird night and a weirder cake exchange.

It was a beginning. Something small and strange and alive, like the whisper of a song you hadn’t meant to hum, or a name carved in icing, or an egg from a strangers pocket.

And so, he smiled.

And Dust, scarf slipping loose, cheeks flushed with laughter and too many terrible puns, smiled back.

theyre sillies. Dusts a fucking loser, Horrors sweet, and theyre SO gonna kiss at some point lol.

[yellowsheart]

IT'S NOT PITY, dumbass!

KATSUKI BAKUGOU X POOR FEM! READER

A/C: Hi, this is my new story! When I was young (the first year at high school), my parents have some money issues, and I feel very bad about that situationship. And even today, the money issues of my parents blocks me to live my life! I always imaginated some Katsuki Bakugou (not him, just random people that can help me)! I remember my father couldn't buy me glasses, so for months I had to pretend I could see well and squinted, making my myopia worse!

themes: the Reader is poor, blowjob, fingers, suggestively, Katsuki is very protective. All the characters are at the legal age!

synopsis: YN is very poor. Her father works tirelessly to pay the bills. Lily is ashamed of her situation, especially when the only one who notices her discomfort is her crush, Katsuki Bakugou.

Katsuki Bakugou sat slouched on a bench near the training field, sipping from a water bottle, his eyes scanning the courtyard without really looking — until he caught sight of her again.

YN YL.

She walked with her usual quiet steps, her oversized uniform sleeves falling well past her wrists, the fabric worn thin at the edges. She clutched a worn textbook tightly to her chest like it was the only armor she had. Her hair was tied back loosely, probably rushed that morning. No lunchbox. No snacks. And just like the last few weeks — no stop at the cafeteria.

He frowned, squinting.

She always slipped out during lunch. Always. And today, again, she hadn’t touched anything. He noticed. He wasn’t the only one who did — but unlike the rest, he paid attention for a reason he didn’t fully understand.

She was so damn quiet. Too quiet. And too skinny.

Katsuki stood abruptly, stuffing his water bottle in his bag and walking toward her. He hated this — hated how his feet moved on their own when it came to her.

YN didn’t see him until he was right in front of her.

“Oi.”

She startled slightly and looked up, blinking. -“B-Bakugou…”-

He scowled. “What the hell’s your deal?”

She looked confused. “Huh?”

“You didn’t eat. Again.”

YN froze, clutching her book a little tighter. “I-I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit.” His voice was sharp but low. “You’ve been ‘not hungry’ for two weeks straight.” She averted her gaze. “I just… don’t like eating with people.”

“Tch. Liar. You think I don’t notice? You think I’m some dumbass stupid?”

There was a pause. She looked like she might cry, and it pissed him off — not because she was weak, but because he didn’t know how to fix the tightness in his chest.

“Look, I’m not judging you,” he muttered, softer this time. “I just… noticed, alright?”

YN took a breath and looked at him. “It’s not something I want to talk about.”

He stared at her — really stared. The way the hem of her skirt was frayed. The loose buttons on her blouse. The way her shoes were more patched than leather. He clenched his jaw.

“You have a job?”

She blinked in surprise. “How did—?”

“You come in every morning tired as shit. Your hands are always dry from soap. Don’t need to be a damn genius to figure it out.”

She looked away, cheeks flushing in shame. “My dad works three jobs. We don’t really have money. I only got into U.A. because of a scholarship. I… I’m trying not to be a burden.”

Bakugou felt something twist in his gut. The way she said it — like she was apologizing for existing.

“Stupid,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have to do that alone.”

“I don’t want pity—”

“This ain’t pity.”

She fell silent.Bakugou shoved a small wrapped onigiri into her hands. “Eat.”

She looked at it, stunned. “I—what—?”

“I brought extra. So just shut up and eat it before I throw it at you.”

“…Thank you,” she whispered, eyes lowering to the food.

He rubbed the back of his neck, grumbling. “You skip meals again, I’ll find out. And I’m not lettin’ you starve just because everyone else here is too rich and stupid to notice you.”

A tiny smile curved on her lips, the first real one he’d seen on her face in days. And damn it — it made his chest feel tight all over again.

TIMESKIP

Katsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to watch the way YN limped ever so slightly as she walked past. He’d seen it earlier that morning too — barely noticeable unless you were really paying attention.

Which he was. Again.

Her steps were uneven. Slower. And her left foot kept turning in just a little. He didn’t like it.

“Oi,” he barked.

YN froze mid-step. “Y-Yeah?”

“Come here.”

She hesitated. “I… I have class.”

“You’re limping.”

“I’m not.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

She clutched her books tighter and looked away. “It’s nothing. Just sore from training.”

He stalked toward her, and she instinctively backed up until her back hit the wall. Her eyes widened as he crouched down suddenly and grabbed her ankle.

“K-Katsuki—wait! Don’t—!” she gasped, trying to pull away. “It’s fine, really—!”

“Shut it.”

With a scowl, he tugged her shoe off despite her protests. The sole was barely attached, flapping loosely. But what hit him harder was the sight of her sock — torn at the toe, her skin red and slightly swollen.

“…What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, voice tight.

YN squirmed “Please give it back—”

“You sprained it,” he said flatly. “Didn’t you.”

She didn’t answer. He looked up at her, still crouched. “How long?”

“…Three days,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “I slipped at work. It’s not that bad.”

“Bullshit.” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “It’s swollen.”

“I didn’t have a choice! I can’t afford to get it looked at,” she snapped, the words rushing out like she’d been holding them in for too long. “Recovery Girl’s gone and… and I can’t pay for ointments or wraps, okay? I’ll be fine. I just need to—”

“Shut. Up.”

She blinked, startled.

“You’re not fine,” he growled, standing up again, still holding her ruined shoe in one hand. “You’re limping around this damn school like it’s nothing, with a sprained ankle and socks that look like they’re from five years ago.”

“I am fine!” she snapped back, but her voice cracked, more from shame than anger. “I have to be. I can’t afford to stop. I can’t miss work. I can’t ask for help—!”

“You can ask me.” His voice cracked like thunder.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, breathing hard.

Katsuki’s fists clenched. “You think I’m gonna look down on you for not having money? For trying to survive? You think I don’t know how hard people work just to stay on their damn feet?”

He threw the shoe into the trash can beside them with one smooth, angry toss.

“Katsuki—!”

“You’re not walking another step on that foot,” he muttered. “Not until I fix it.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he bit out. “So stop pushing me away like I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a damn.”

She froze, the words hitting her harder than she expected. Her throat tightened. She blinked, once, twice.

“…My sock is torn,” she whispered, cheeks flushed deep red. “It’s gross.” He looked down at her foot again and shrugged.

“Don’t care. You could have holes in both your socks and I’d still carry you if I had to.”

Her breath caught in her chest.

“Now shut up and sit down,” he grumbled. “I’m wrapping your ankle. Then I’m buying you new shoes. And if you say no, I swear I’ll make you wear mine.”

“…You’d really do that?”

He looked at her, eyes sharp but softer than before. “I already am, dumbass.”

TIMESKIP - A WEEK LATER

YN sat under the shade of a tree, reading over her notes on hero ethics. Her hand gripped a pen so tightly it looked like it might snap. The notebook in her lap was one of those cheap ones — recycled, pages thin and slightly yellowed. A corner of the cover had already torn off.

Katsuki approached slowly, hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw tight.

She looked up and smiled, soft and a little tired. “Hi, Bakugou.”

He clicked his tongue. “Tch. Just Katsuki.”

“Oh… right. Sorry.”

A beat of silence.

“…You busy Saturday?” he asked, voice a little too gruff.

She blinked. “Saturday?”

“Yeah. After your shift.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

He avoided her eyes. “I wanna take you out. Dinner or something.”

Her mouth parted slightly, stunned. “Wait—seriously?” He scowled. “No, I’m joking. Obviously I’m serious, dumbass.”

She smiled, flustered. “I—um—okay. Sure. But… can we maybe do it at my place first? I can’t really afford to go anywhere fancy, and I could cook something—”

“Tch. I didn’t ask for a five-star meal, YN. I just wanna be with you.”

She looked away, face pink. “Still. I’d like you to come over first.” “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll come by after training.”

Katsuki stood in the narrow hallway of the apartment building, the air thick with must and years of oil from the nearby fried food shop. The building creaked when he walked. Peeling paint. Broken buzzer. No elevator. He climbed four floors.

When YN opened the door, she was in a simple hoodie, still flushed from rushing around. “Hi! Sorry—my dad’s not home, he’s working late again. Come in!”

He stepped inside — and froze.

The living room was more of a single cramped space with a cracked linoleum floor and mismatched furniture. A foldable table served as a dining area. One chair had a taped leg. The curtains were faded, sun-bleached. The air smelled like cheap detergent and something warm — maybe miso soup.

YN rushed toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back! I just need to change into something nicer.”

He watched her vanish behind the bathroom door. The apartment fell quiet.

His eyes wandered.

The corner that must’ve been her room had no door — just a drawn curtain. He pulled it back slightly.

Her bed was just a mattress with a sheet and a blanket barely thick enough for winter. On one side of the room was a wire rack — with exactly two pairs of pants and two gray shirts, all shapeless and faded. A school uniform hung carefully on a hanger, ironed and mended at the sleeves. He stepped closer.

Threadbare. The UA patch had been stitched back on. Twice.

On the shelf above her bed, there were no books. No makeup. No bags. No jewelry. No old stuffed animals. No framed pictures.

Just a small stack of fraying notebooks, most of them written front-to-back. He clenched his jaw.

His hand hovered over the curtain as he heard the bathroom door creak open.

“Sorry!” YN called, voice flustered. “This is the only nice dress I have—well, had. I bought it years ago for middle school graduation. It’s… a little tight now.”

Katsuki turned.

She stood with a faint, shy smile, adjusting the hem of a pale blue dress that clung too tightly to her chest and barely zipped up at the back. The sleeves looked like they’d been made for a smaller body. The color was faded, but she still wore it like it was something precious.

He didn’t say anything at first.

She mistook his silence for disgust and looked down. “I know it’s stupid. I should’ve just worn the hoodie. Sorry.”

He stepped forward.

“Don’t apologize,” he said roughly. “You look beautiful”

She blinked, surprised. He glanced once more at the little room behind her, then turned back.

“You ready to go?”

She nodded, and they left together.

Later that night, Katsuki return home.

He tossed his bag on the floor, kicked off his shoes, and sat on the edge of his bed.

The room was quiet.

His UA uniform was draped over a chair — perfectly ironed, pristine. A slight stain from today’s training, but nothing major. His closet door hung slightly open.

Inside: dozens of shirts. Jackets. Sweatpants. Shoes. Half of them untouched.

A drawer sat beneath his desk. He opened it.

Video games. Old trading cards. A tiny plush toy he got when he was five. A pile of comics.

On his shelf — untouched fantasy novels. High-end hero magazines.

His gaze lowered.

A weight settled in his chest. Heavy. Hot.

YN had nothing. And yet she treated that threadbare uniform like it was treasure. Like her whole future depended on it.

Because it did.

Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight.

“…Damn it,” he muttered to no one.

He didn’t deserve her. But he sure as hell was going to fight like hell to protect her.