#also catch the god of war reference

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR VI

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.7k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I'm finally home!! For some reason tumblr was blocked on my laptop there, which was why I wasn't that active but I hope you all enjoyed the other scheduled posts. I wanted to get this one out to y'all as soon as I could, so I hope my jet lagged brain managed to proof read it fine...if not oops. Also, I think the last chapter of this was scheduled so people were missed on the taglist, i should've fixed that for this chapter but let me know if you were missed! I'm sorry about that! Also did anyone catch that supernatural reference?

MILO'S APARTMENT

You were fucking panicking.

The second you saw that text on your phone, you were out the door and en route to Milo and Anthony’s apartment like it was a goddamn emergency—and to you, it was. You didn’t even say hello. Just beelined straight for their wine rack and uncorked a bottle like your life depended on it.

Halfway through chugging it, Milo snatched it from your grip.

“Talk or no more wine,” he said flatly. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face before collapsing onto the couch. “I fucked up.”

“Okay, well, you better start talking, because I swear to God—was it the match? You never told me how it went. Was he an asshole?”

“No,” you said, sitting up. “No. Dick was great.”

“Okay…” Milo said slowly.

“And so is Jason.”

He blinked. “Who the fuck is Jason?”

You explained. Everything. From the amazing date with Dick to the equally amazing time with Jason—each moment fresh in your mind and impossible to ignore—to the absolute mess you’d found yourself tangled in now.

“And now they both want to go out with me again,” you finished, looking like you might actually pass out from sheer stress. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Milo stared at you.

“I fail to see the problem here.”

You gawked at him. “I can’t date two guys at the same time!”

“Why the fuck not?” he demanded. “You’re hot. You’re single. And you’re exploring your romantic portfolio.”

You hesitated, then exhaled. “I feel bad.”

Milo narrowed his eyes at you like you’d just confessed to murdering someone’s puppy. “You feel bad?”

“Yes!” you groaned, collapsing against the couch cushions like the weight of your sins had finally taken you down. “I went out with Jason. After my date with Dick. Who, by the way, I also really like. And now I’m just… spiralling.”

Anthony, who’d been eavesdropping, finally emerged from the kitchen, casually sipping from his own glass of wine like this was better than anything Netflix could offer. He leaned against the doorway, perfectly at ease. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, one brow raised. “You went on a date with one hot guy, then met another hot guy who you also went on a date with, and now both of them want more?”

You glared at him, deadpan. “Yes.”

He took another sip. “Girl, if that’s not the universe begging you to experiment, I don’t know what is.”

Milo jabbed a finger in your direction. “Exactly! You’re not cheating. You’re single. You’re exploring. Gathering data.”

“I’m not running a clinical trial,” you snapped, though a laugh escaped despite yourself.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Anthony muttered into his wine. “You’re treating this like a double-blind study with ethical guidelines.”

You covered your face with both hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“No,” Milo corrected, setting down his glass. “A nightmare is getting ghosted by someone who still watches all your stories and likes your dog pics. This? This is a champagne problem.”

You peeked at Milo through your fingers. “So… what do I do?”

“Date both,” he said without missing a beat.

���No.”

“Date. Both,” he repeated, completely undeterred. “No commitment. No promises. Just casual. See who actually fits into your life. Who listens. Who remembers your coffee order. Who quotes Austen and doesn’t flinch when you spiral into a lecture about neurotoxins.”

“Dick could keep up when I went full brainiac mode,” you murmured. “And Jason… Jason quoted Austen. Unprompted.”

Milo clutched his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Be still my heart.”

“And they’re both so… different and amazing in their own ways,” you added, softer now, more to yourself than to them. “Dick is light. Safe. He makes me feel seen. And Jason is—”

“A walking red flag with a Shakespeare soul and hidden depth,” Anthony chimed in, deadpan.

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Milo gave you a pointed look. “Babe. You’re not choosing between a villain and a hero. You’re choosing between two men who see you. Who want to know you. If they’re both worth your time… then take the damn time to find out who you want and get to know them.”

You hesitated. “And if it blows up in my face?”

Milo didn’t blink. Just reached for the wine and refilled your glass. “Then we’ll be right here. With a playlist, ice cream, and a very detailed hit list.”

“Color-coded,” Anthony added with a sage nod. “Naturally.”

You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. “I hate how much sense you two make.”

“We’re gay. It’s our burden to carry,” Milo said solemnly, raising his glass. “To emotional clarity and romantic chaos.”

Anthony nodded, raising his own. “And may the best man win.”

You stared at them both like they’d sprouted wings or grown extra heads. “This is still ridiculous.”

“This,” Milo countered, pouring more wine into your glass, “is the golden age of options. You’re allowed to figure it out without pledging your undying love to the first man who makes you laugh.”

“I kissed Jason,” you muttered into your glass.

“And?” Anthony sipped. “Did you enjoy it?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Too much.”

“Exactly.” Milo held his glass up. “Right now, you just don’t know what you’re allowed to feel.”

You looked at them—these two chaotic bastards who somehow made emotional turmoil sound like a well-curated spa retreat—and let out a long breath.

“…I know I still feel bad.”

Milo rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re a good person. You can feel bad and also let two hot guys take you out. Both things can be true.”

Anthony raised his glass. “To moral ambiguity and excellent taste in men.”

You clinked yours against theirs, muttering, “I’m going to hell.”

Milo grinned. “Then take both of them with you, babe.”

BATCAVE

Meanwhile, Jason was still riding the high from earlier. The night air was cool against his skin, the streets quiet beneath the hum of his bike. He was halfway to his apartment when the notification came through.

A case update.

He didn’t hesitate. One hard turn of the throttle, and he was veering off course, heading straight for the manor.

Inside the Batcave, the mood was noticeably different. Dick and Bruce were already suited up, arms crossed in near-identical stances, while Tim was anchored to the console, eyes scanning a rapid stream of data across multiple monitors.

“Took your time,” Dick said lightly, though the usual ease in his voice was dulled.

“I was busy,” Jason shot back, tugging off his gloves. “What’ve we got?”

Bruce turned toward the central screen, the glow casting shadows across his jaw. “We found a breakthrough.”

Jason’s easy mood evaporated.

Tim tapped a key, bringing up a profile. “To cut to the chase—we know who our ghost is.”

“Well, that’s great. Let’s track the son of a bitch down,” Jason said, his voice clipped with impatience as he stepped closer to the screen.

“It’s not that simple,” Tim replied, already typing something in. “There’s been no physical sightings in over four years. No residence, no digital footprint, no bank activity. Nothing directly traceable. We only got a name because of a flagged experiment—an old one that matches his signature. It was buried in an ethics report filed by his only known connection.”

Tim tapped another key.

“B/N L/N,” he said. “And the only person who might be able to help us find him—his younger sister.”

With a soft beep, the next slide loaded on screen.

A profile image appeared.

Jason froze. So did Dick.

“Dr. Y/N L/N,” Tim continued, unfazed. “Lecturer. Neuroscientist. Gotham University. She’s the one who blew the whistle on his unethical research, which caused the rift between them. Records show he’s made multiple attempts to contact her over the years. If he’s on the run from Joker… she might be the only person he trusts enough to go to. Or the only one who knows how he thinks.”

“She’s one of the youngest in her field,” he added, “with two PHDs—”

“Three,” Jason and Dick said at the same time before pausing.

Both men turned slowly, brows raised, staring at each other across the space between.

“How did you know that?” Dick asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Jason’s gaze snapped to him. “How did you know that?”

Tim looked between them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Okay… do I even want to know what’s happening here?”

Bruce didn’t so much as blink. “Where can we find her?”

Tim cleared his throat, grateful for the shift back to business. “She’s scheduled to appear at the Gotham Futures Gala this weekend. It’s a high-profile event at the Fairmont. She’s a guest speaker. The event’s raising funds for youth science education and mentorship programs—STEM access, early outreach, that kind of thing.”

Bruce nodded, calculating. “Alright. I can go and see if I can—”

“No!” The word rang out in unison. Both Jason and Dick spoke at once, their voices overlapping in sudden urgency.

Bruce’s gaze flicked between them, unimpressed. “No?”

“I’ll go,” Dick said, his voice smooth and easy—too easy. The kind of voice he usually used to charm the high society. “You’re stretched thin with the Joker situation. Let me take this one.”

“Or I can go.” Jason stated. 

“You don’t even like gala’s.” Dick scoffed. 

“And you do?” Jason raised a brow. “You spend half the night dodging donors and sneaking champagne behind the curtains.”

“At least I clean up well.”

Jason crossed his arms. “You need to get back to Blüdhaven.”

“I’m on leave.” Dick snipped back. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already nursing a headache.

“Enough,” he said, tone edged with steel. “I don’t care which one of you goes. Just make contact with her. Find out what she knows.”

And with that, the ever-exhausted father of far too many turned on his heel and left the cave.

The second Bruce left the cave, the tension snapped like a rubber band. Both Jason and Dick turned in perfect sync, glaring at each other with the intensity of a pending brawl.

“I’m going,” they declared at the same time.

Jason scoffed, folding his arms. “How do you even know her?”

“She was my date!” Dick snapped, voice pitching upward as his patience immediately vanished.

Jason blinked. “Wait—the one from that dating app?”

“You signed up for a dating app?!” Tim choked, spinning around so fast in his chair he nearly tipped over. His eyes were wide, scandalized. “You?!”

Dick didn’t even spare him a glance. “Yes. And we hit it off.”  he said, sharp and pointed. “Now, how do you know her?”

“She’s the civilian I pulled out of that alley last week,” he said coolly, voice dipping into something just shy of smug. He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Should’ve walked her home, dickhead.”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason smirked. “We grabbed coffee today.”

Dead silence.

And then—because he never knew when to shut up—Jason kept going. “She even kissed me.”

Dick’s expression shifted like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing with something sharp and disbelieving.

“You’re lying.”

Jason raised a brow. “Am I? You really think I’d lie about something like that?”

“I think you’d do whatever it takes to piss me off.”

Jason shrugged, unbothered. “That too.”

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it. Slowly wheeled himself back in his chair like he was watching a bomb about to go off.

Dick took a step forward. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Jason cut in. “Not that it’s any of your business now.”

“That’s exactly what makes it my business,” Dick snapped.

“Funny. She didn’t seem to think so.”

“Alright,” Tim said quickly, raising both hands. “Before someone gets thrown into a wall—can we maybe, I don’t know, not have a turf war over a girl who clearly doesn’t belong to either of you?”

Neither of them looked at him.

Dick’s eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s it. I’m going to the gala.”

“Like hell you are!”

Tim raised a hand like a kid in class. “How about… rock, paper, scissors?”

Two sets of eyes pinned him to his seat. He shrank back a little. Then, after a beat, both brothers turned to each other.

There was a long pause.

Then, without a word, they stepped forward, hands balling into fists, resting on their open palms.

“On shoot,” Jason muttered.

“Obviously,” Dick snapped.

And they went.

“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot.”

Scissors. Paper.

Jason cursed under his breath.

“Always with the scissors,” Dick said smugly, shaking his head like an older brother who’d won this game a hundred times before. “You never learn.”

Jason’s glare could’ve peeled paint. But Dick was already sauntering off, throwing over his shoulder, “Better luck next time, Little Wing.”

“Best two out of three!” Jason called, stepping after him.

Dick scoffed. “I won fair and square. No one likes a sore loser.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—low, unintelligible—but Tim was pretty sure it included cheater, rigged, and next time I’m bringing a taser.

“Fine!” Jason snapped, crossing his arms with a tight huff. “But I want ground rules.”

Dick paused and turned around. He arched a curious brow, arms folded across his chest, then gave a slow nod, signalling Jason to continue. “Go on.”

“First—we don’t tell her we know each other.”

Dick nodded without hesitation. “Agreed.”

Jason took a step forward, the tension between them tightening like a wire. “We stay out of each other’s way. And I don’t think either of us should sleep with her—not until she makes her decision. Things’ll get messy.”

Behind them, Tim mock-gagged. “Ugh. Can we not?” he muttered. He didn’t even want to think about his brothers in that context. He didn’t care that they were adopted—they were still his brothers, and thinking about them doing that was just gross on every possible level.

Dick held Jason’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “Fine.”

Jason’s tone shifted, quieter now—less about pride, more about principle. “And if this starts to mess with the case, or with us, we end it. Doesn’t matter where we’re at.”

Dick’s posture shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. But he nodded. “Done.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Whoever she chooses,” Dick said, calm and clear, “the other backs off. No hard feelings.”

Jason’s fingers curled at his sides. A long pause.

Then, he nodded. “May the best man win.”

Dick’s gaze didn’t waver. “For her. The best man for her.”

Meanwhile, Tim watched the entire exchange unfold like a tennis match—head swivelling between brothers, eyes wide. He looked personally offended that no one had handed him popcorn.

“I’ve got to tell the others,” he muttered under his breath, already planning the group chat text.

Dick left for patrol not long after, slipping his domino mask into place with the smug confidence of a man who thought he’d just secured a win.

Jason, who didn’t need to suit up for another hour, turned to Tim with a groan and a scowl. “Alright, nerd. How did you even know where to look for that flagged experiment?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Uh—it was actually Damian.”

Jason’s eye twitched.

“He said the doctor might be a potential lead. Once we ran her name, we found the connection to her brother and his research. Looked solid.”

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course it was Damian. The demon spawn never let anything go. And this was exactly what he got for digging into her file on Batcave servers of all places. He might as well have slapped a neon sign across the screen that read I’m hiding something, please investigate. The one girl he was actually interested in—and she was tangled up in one of their ugliest cases to date.

Jason turned to Tim, narrowing his eyes like a man about to drag someone else into his personal war.

“You’re gonna help me.”

Tim blinked. “With… what exactly?”

“Reconning Dick.”

Tim frowned. “Didn’t you two literally just agree not to interfere?”

“I’m not interfering,” Jason said, far too quickly. “I’m making sure he sticks to the rules.”

Tim gave him a long, deadpan look. “Uh-huh.”

Jason just stared.

Tim sighed, resigned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope.”

Another sigh. Tim rolled his chair back from the console like it was a death march. “I need a vacation. Or a therapist.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a real one, Replacement.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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Taglist: @mei-simp, @sept3mberchild, @a-brilliante-mariposa, @feralwolfkat, @mercuryathens, @beepboopcowboy, @lordbugs, @coffeemin, @nikkeora, @yuyuti02, @oooof-ifellforyou, @neogogori, @thatoneloser8371, @rtyuy1346, @nkryuki, @tinybrie, @smithieandy, @yuhhh03, @kazuuhali

[kxsagi]

hellooo!! can i request rin itoshi oneshot. and like somebody wants him to sponsor calvin klein brief! ofc at first he doesn't want to do it but he had no other choice. and the reader (his gf) is the one who's gonna take pictures of him (who else). and if you're not uncomfortable with it add a scene where the reader stare at the bulge and he caught the reader staring. thank you, i love the way you write rin it's so *chef kiss*

“𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤)”

a/n: woah this request was spicy (also thank you so much!!!)

but rin itoshi in calvin kleins YESSS GAWDDD KANESHIRO PLSSSSSSS

(you were literally caught in 4K here… get it? lmao i’m so funny kxsagi pls stop)

(don't know art credits :((()

you’ve done this job a million times. professional photographer, high-end campaigns, editorial spreads, you’ve seen it all. bodies sculpted like statues, faces that belong in museums, models who strut in nothing but leather jackets and confidence. 

but none of that prepared you for your boyfriend, rin itoshi, stepping onto your set in only a pair of black calvin klein briefs. 

no shirt. no socks. no shame. 

just six feet of toned, impossibly built soccer star muscles and the most unreadable expression you’ve ever seen because he doesn't want to be here.  

he doesn't look nervous. doesn’t look flustered. just folds his arms across his chest as if he should be the one judging you. 

“ready?” he asks, voice flat, eyes already trained on the lens. 

you nod dumbly, forgetting to actually pick up your camera. 

“yeah,” you croak, though your brain is currently out of order. you watch the stark lighting catch along the lines of his abs, the dip of his hip bones, the taut stretch of the waistband hugging him so low on the hips it should be a crime. 

you've shot shirtless athletes before. but this? this is a whole war on your professionalism. 

rin shifts slightly, hands dropping to his sides. the briefs do not shift with modesty. they shift with intent. 

your eyes drop instinctively. and then freeze. 

oh. 

oh, that’s what we’re working with. 

your brain goes quiet. so does the set. 

you forget what aperture is. or how to breathe. 

“you’re staring,” rin says, flat as ever. 

you jolt like you’ve been caught stealing state secrets. 

“i-i’m not– i mean, yes, but, professionally.” 

he blinks. slowly. “… professionally staring at my dick?” 

“no! i mean– yes?! but not like that– okay, just– can you stop being built like a greek god for five seconds so i can do my job?!” 

he tilts his head. “not my fault you can’t focus.” 

his tone is calm, but you swear there’s something flickering in his eyes. amusement? smugness? danger? 

you finally lift the camera, trying not to scream into it. 

click. 

click. 

rin doesn’t pose dramatically, he doesn’t need to. his entire existence is a pose. strong arms at his sides, legs slightly apart, torso angled just enough to flex muscle and highlight the v-line carved by genetics and probably a billion crunches. 

and damn it all, he’s still looking directly at you, like he can hear your every sinful thought echoing between your ears. 

click. 

you get a few decent shots in. enough to prove you’re trying to be normal. 

but then rin stretches his arms behind his head, muscles tightening, abs rippling, briefs dipping just slightly lower with the motion… 

and your finger slips off the shutter. 

you just stop. cold. 

camera mid-air. jaw somewhere on the studio floor. 

“…” 

you blink at the screen. 

“you okay?” rin asks. 

you open your mouth. 

no sound comes out. 

you try again. 

“… you’re huge,” you blurt, before your brain throws the emergency brake. 

oh my gosh, you did not just say that. 

rin doesn’t even blink. 

“… so you’ve noticed.” 

you want to dropkick yourself into the sun. 

“i meant, like– your presence. very… commanding. intimidating. tall!” you laugh nervously, sweating bullets. “definitely not referring to the… uh… yeah. okay.” 

he steps toward you slowly, one bare foot after the other, like a lion who knows the prey isn’t getting away. 

you don’t move. can’t move. 

he stops right in front of you, close enough to smell like clean skin and cedarwood, close enough that the only thing between you and disaster is a camera you suddenly forgot how to use. 

“camera,” he says calmly, nodding toward it. “you gonna use it, or keep drooling?” 

you fumble it upright with trembling hands. “right. yes. using. working. definitely not drooling.” 

he hums low in his throat and steps back again, turning toward the light, letting the shadows frame his sharp jaw and collarbone like a sculpture. 

you finally take a picture that isn’t blurry. 

barely. 

halfway through the shoot, someone offers him a leather jacket as a prop. he shrugs it on, still shirtless, still in briefs, and you swear calvin klein’s stock price just shot up 20%. 

“we’ve got it,” you mumble after a while, cheeks sore from holding in expressions you can’t show on a professional set. “we’re good.” 

rin doesn’t move right away. he just looks at you, again. quiet, calculating. 

“you’re not used to being flustered on set,” he says. 

you freeze. “… excuse me?” 

“you’re good at your job. confident. clear direction.” he shrugs. “but you couldn’t even hold your camera straight today.” 

you want to melt into the floor. 

“i… look, to be fair, you showed up in underwear and ruined my life.” 

he does smirk then. just a tiny twitch of the lips. 

“so next time,” he says, turning as a staff member brings him a robe, “i’ll show up in jeans. wouldn’t want to distract you.” 

“next time?” you blink. 

he pauses. glances at you over his shoulder. “if there is one.” 

and with that, he disappears behind the curtain. 

you stand there, camera in your hand, heart in your throat, and morals in absolute shambles. 

rin itoshi might be a menace. 

but oh my, you hope there is a next time. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[lanascurse]

: ̗̀➛ Random shit in my jjk dr that just makes sense

─────────────────

⎯ The Gojo Satoru is a Sabrina Carpenter fan. He’s not ashamed either, despite barely understanding her songs. You’ll never NOT catch that man listening to Espresso on his way to a mission. And Bed Chem? It’s as if that song was made for him.

⎯ Ieiri cuts the smoking around me because she knows how sensitive to smoke I am. Despite claiming she quit years ago, she still lights a cigarette every now and then.

⎯ Suguru and I are roommates for a year due to me not being able to find my ideal home. Super random, it’s a long story. Oh, and he does not become a villain !

⎯ Kenjaku is defeated pre-2006 making a lot of the later events unable to happen (and intentionally 🙄). Literally fuck that dude. However, there are other villainous figures that take his place.

⎯ Yes, Sukuna DOES say “back in my day…”. Get that old ahh out of here 😭

⎯ Satoru legit sent me ¥500M at one point. It was related to the house situation.

⎯ Anytime Yuji is around me, that fuckass Sukuna always has to open his damn mouth. Poor boy is always embarrassed or ashamed as if it was him who said those things :(

⎯ Something more strange, the eye cream and body cream I use in my DR (which happen to be Japanese brands) suddenly appeared in a local store of mine in this reality. I’ve never seen or heard of these brands here in my whole life. I only knew them from my DR.

⎯ Toji gets his ass clapped by a bunch of teenagers and fails to kill Riko lmaooo

⎯ Nobara and Maki love to hang around me. If they have tea to spill, they come to me. Even if it’s something petty, I still engage as if I were still a schoolgirl 😭

⎯ My home country isn’t war torn :)

⎯ Megumi SOMETIMES refers to me as a “female Gojo” due to our similar personalities (however, he says I’m more tolerable lmao). I also call him Fushigumi. He claims he hates that name, yet he instantly turns his head when he hears it. But god forbid Satoru were to call him that…

⎯ Mahito is eradicated by Sukuna. At least one good thing he has done for humanity !

⎯ Haibara is alive and well!! Along with Nanami, who is…a little less gloomy? Ino and Haibara legit idolize Nanami, it’s actually adorable.

⎯ Honestly, sometimes I be having bi panic when I’m around my friends. Shoko??? Gojo??? Geto????? Why are they all so fucking hot? But don’t tell them I said that ;)

⎯ I get 2 bunnies after finally finding the house of my dreams. Nobody’s allowed to mess with them 🙄💅

─────────────────

this list is a mix of things that have happened or that have been scripted intentionally beforehand !!

[boowritess]

Babe I’m begging you to imagine the newest batch of rookies talking about not so badass reader and they’re just passing these legendary war stories back and forth.

There’s a rumor that the reader once killed a man with only a lemon wedge and a shoelace. One newbie says they saw footage of reader taking down a dozen enemy soldiers in the same amount of time it takes to peel a banana. Another said reader was raised by assassins and took down their first mark at age 10.

Nearly 10 feet away the 141 boys are listening to this and collectively thinking back to that morning when they watched the reader spread peanut butter onto bread with a butter knife, drop both the bread (which lands face down) and the knife which they accidentally kick under the refrigerator.

There’s a beat of silence and then a long tortured sigh, and in an accent they had never heard the reader use before they say

“Life is short but also like terribly and insufferably long at the same time.” (Jenna Marbles).

No one but Gaz has any idea what that means but Price thinks it might be some obscure internet reference.

There’s a silent understanding between the boys that if the reader ever kills someone it will be completely by accident.

not my queen and god jenna fucking marbles getting mentioned !!! and also how tf did you know i like peanut butter ?? you is a psychic fr.

i see the headcanons that ghost is this cryptic being around base with strange stories but i am LIVING for reader being one instead.

and i love the idea of reader who overhears the rookies talking and are quick to assume they're talking about ghost.

like reader just suddenly speaks up, leaning against the wall, eating bread, (nothings on it, it's just bread - which only unknowingly adds to readers supposed origin story -)

"one time it was just nothing but teeth-"

"teeth?" *rookie*.

"yeah teeth." reader says with a nod, biting into the plain bread. reader shrugs so casually. "tearing into people's neck. blood, and flesh everyone."

and maybe it's because the main source of light coming from the hallway is behind reader. It makes reader engulfed in black. their shadow filling the room. the rookies staring in what could be horror or disgust, maybe both...

"y'know it just... makes you think. doesn’t it?" readers head turns to the group of rookies. who can feel your eyes digging into them, looking at their exposed flesh.

they suddenly make up excuses and leave the room. making reader let out a thoughtful hum, slowly nodding their head and quietly whispering to themselves, "They get it... I should check out ghost's teeth..." reader mumbles before turning and nearly running into the doorframe.

what i also like about this hc, is that the 141 are totally in on it. spreading stories to the recruits because they think it's the funniest thing.

soap's just casually chatting with a rookie who sees a tiny peeble. he picks it up, holding it to the rookie. "ye know, reader threw one of these so hard and fast that it went right through the scalp of a target we had to take out." soap drawls, then tosses it over his shoulder with a smile on his face while the rookie is just awestruck.

or ghost and gaz are playing poker with some rookies for once.

gaz picks up his newly dealt cards, "Oh ghost, doesn't this remind you of when reader slit the throats of those mafia guys with playing cards." gaz chimes, meeting ghost's eyes across from him. a silent agreement that only they could understand.

ghost nods his head, "yup, then reader used ice on the last guy because the cards got too wet from the blood."

one rookie manages to speak up, "...ice...? but how-?"

ghost and gaz in unison, "you don't want to know."

later that evening, they go into the 141 common room- where reader has managed to find an old wii console and is making price play with them. only to catch reader ready to swing the remote, only to let go on accident and hit the tv square in the middle making the whole screen glitch then go black. and you also fall flat on your ass.

price looks so dissapointed but not surprised.

but gaz, ghost and soap look thoughtful. they could totally spin this into your supposed 'badass backstory.'

[taliaarchive]

Greed on the Grid

☆ pairing. Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

☆ word count. 4.7k

☆ warning(s). Emotional intensity| flashbacks| slow-burn angst| luxury fashion and wealth references| love triangle dynamics|  longing and obsession| infidelity| highly sensory text|  emotional whiplash|  references to fame|  media pressure| racing terminology| alcohol mentions| detailed beauty and travel routines|  and dangerously attractive men in race suits|

☆ dedication. This is for the girls who still believe in soulmates- especially the kind found in the blur of a race car, beneath a helmet, or behind a quiet smile in the paddock. Maybe he’s wrapped in adrenaline and fireproof fabric. Maybe he’s Australian. Maybe his name is Oscar Piastri. This one’s for you. May you never stop believing that love- real, fierce, forever love- can find you exactly where you are.

☆ talia notes. Also, yes- look, I may have done extensive research on the bougiest, most luxurious, most outrageously expensive outfits for this story. But honestly, can you blame me? God forbid a girl likes fashion. If you want to see the whole wardrobe, it's all down below. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. x

☆ synopsis. "He didn’t see her- but I did. Walked in wearing a dress like forgiveness and eyes like war… and I knew I’d never look away again."

You. Beautiful. Loyal. Unshakeable. To the world, you were just the girl next door- Lando’s oldest friend, the one who stood quietly in the shadows of his spotlight. But behind every podium, every photo, every win... was you. The one who held him together. The one who loved him first. No one knows how hard it was to let him chase his dreams while you buried yours. But you never complained. Never let it show. Not even now, after eight years together, when something feels... off. You crossed oceans for him- crossed the line between friendship and forever. Only to find him kissing someone else beneath the same lights he once said were yours. And in that moment, something inside you shattered- and something stronger woke up. He was supposed to be the finish line. But maybe the race is only just beginning.

Oscar. Silent. Calculated. Watching. He saw you before anyone else ever truly did. Before the lights. Before the chaos. Before the heartbreak. You were never his to lose- but he’s been losing you slowly, secretly, painfully from the moment he realised what you meant to him. Oscar never meant to want what wasn’t his. But every time Lando looked away, he couldn’t stop looking. And when he saw you break that night, walking away without a word, wrapped in the silk and ruin of your love- he knew. He would fight for you. Even if it meant standing on the grid, ready to burn the world down for one more chance.

Chapter 2: The Moment Everything Changed

Song: "Will you cry?" – Gracie Abrams

"You walked like royalty leaving a burning castle- like you didn’t bleed. And God, it ruined me more than any goodbye ever could."

8:10 p.m. - Leaving the Hotel

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing trembling hands down the delicate silk of your gown. The Oscar de la Renta Ombré Silk Chiffon Gown floated around you like a second skin-beginning in soft, luminous ivory at the bodice and melting into a deep, bruised plum that clung to the floor, like twilight bleeding into night.

The silk rippled with every shallow breath you took- too fragile, too alive- the movement ghosting around your ankles, whispering over your skin like something sacred.

The sweetheart neckline cradled your collarbones, leaving your shoulders bare to the chill of the room. The bodice cinched your waist gently- not with harsh lines, but with a kind of reverence- sculpting, holding, as if reminding you that you were still solid, still standing.

The Jimmy Choo Minny Metallic Leather Sandals wrapped around your ankles, the silver catching the light every time you shifted your weight, delicate but grounding.

The Harry Winston Cluster Diamond Earrings winked under the soft hotel lighting- tiny galaxies caught in delicate clusters at your ears. The Boucheron Serpent Bohème Pendant Necklace rested in the hollow of your throat, its tiny diamond pressing against your thudding pulse. And circling your wrist, where your pulse fluttered too fast to hide, was the Cartier Love Bracelet- cool, weighty, a private promise etched in metal: Always, L.

You clutched the Jimmy Choo Cloud Clutch tighter- feeling the hard, glittering metal edges bite into your palm, welcoming the pain.

You looked at yourself in the mirror- really looked.

You didn't look like the little girl who moved to Surrey at six years old, dragging a pink suitcase behind her, shy and blinking up at a boy with wild curls and a mischievous grin who offered you a toy McLaren before even asking your name. You didn't look like the teenager who spent every summer tangled up in kart tracks, grass-stained knees, and laughter that echoed down long English afternoons. You didn’t even look like the girl who stood in Monaco once, wearing his hoodie three sizes too big, cheering so hard she lost her voice.

You looked like a woman who had stitched herself back together every time he left, every time he broke her heart without realizing he was holding it.

You looked like a woman walking herself into a battlefield- wrapped in silk and diamond armour.

You breathed in- and stepped forward.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft, definitive finality.

── .✦

8:14 p.m. - The Car

The Mercedes-Maybach waited at the curb, sleek and rain-slicked under the heavy mist.

The chauffeur- a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a crisp black uniform- stepped forward, umbrella already raised. He tilted his head respectfully as you approached.

"Miss," he said quietly, offering his hand.

You smiled faintly- polite, distant- and lifted the skirt of your gown carefully, the plum-dipped silk whispering against your legs as you stepped into the car.

The door closed with a muted click- sealing you away from the cold, from the noise, from the world you weren’t sure you still belonged to.

You let the clutch fall gently into your lap, its jewelled surface flashing briefly under the muted car lights.

The leather seats cradled you in a silence so complete it almost felt sacred.

The chauffeur settled into the driver’s seat, catching your eyes briefly through the rearview mirror.

"First time in Melbourne, miss?" he asked, voice low, polite.

You blinked, startled slightly by the normalcy of it.

You shook your head. "No," you said softly. "Not the first."

He smiled faintly, understanding something you hadn’t said.

The car eased away from the curb, melting into the stream of glittering taillights. Melbourne unfurled outside your window- a collage of wet pavements, smeared neon, reflections pooling like oil slicks under the dull orange glow of streetlamps.

You leaned your forehead lightly against the cold glass, watching the rain trail lazy, uneven paths down the pane. The hum of the tires against the road was hypnotic- steady, rhythmic, pulling you under like a lullaby spun from exhaustion and memory.

Somewhere out there, Lando was laughing.

Golden and alive.

The way he always was when everything finally fell into place.

You curled your fingers tighter around your clutch, the hard corners biting into your palms.

You weren’t chasing a boy tonight.

You were chasing the ghost of a promise.

Maybe it had never been real.

Maybe it had only ever been real to you.

── .✦

8:32 p.m. - Memories on the Road

The city blurred past the window- a river of wet lights and half-forgotten sounds- and your mind blurred with it, folding backwards into memory.

You remembered the first time you met him- new house, new school, new everything- standing awkwardly in your front garden, too shy to say anything. And there he was- this boy with messy curls and a missing tooth, dragging a toy McLaren car behind him on a string.

He marched right up to you, shoved the toy into your hands, and said, "You can drive better than my sister. You’ll have to race me now."

No introductions. No hesitation.

Just certainty.

And somehow- even then- your heart had shifted slightly in your chest.

You remembered the endless afternoons racing battered scooters down your street- him always letting you win when he thought you needed it, pretending to trip or crash spectacularly at the last moment.

You remembered birthdays- him sneaking into your garden at midnight every year to leave presents on your windowsill. Silly things: a cracked snow globe, a faded comic book, a hand-drawn race map he said would be "yours and mine only."

You remembered your sixteenth birthday- sitting side-by-side on the cracked stone wall behind your house, drinking stolen champagne from paper cups. You remembered him looking at you too long, too softly, saying, "You’re my best girl, you know that?"

You remembered how your heart had nearly broken itself trying to stay still.

You remembered when you told your parents you were dating- Lando standing there, bouncing on the balls of his feet, so anxious he forgot to breathe until your father clapped him on the back and said, "About bloody time."

You remembered dates that weren’t glamorous- not five-star restaurants or grand events- but bowling alleys at midnight, corner shop ice creams after practice, falling asleep during bad movies with your feet tangled under old, battered blankets.

You remembered rainy nights like this one- him pulling you under his jacket, holding it above your heads as you sprinted through London streets, laughing until you couldn’t breathe.

You remembered promises whispered into your hair- "Wherever I go, you go too."

You had built entire lifetimes out of those promises.

Brick by brick. Hope by fragile hope.

And now- now you were here to find out if the whole house had been made of sand.

You blinked hard, smoothing the silk over your knees with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

You pressed your wrist lightly to your chest- feeling the Cartier bracelet, the engraving hidden against your pulse like a secret no one else could see.

Always, L.

You swallowed back the burn rising in your throat.

One more breath. One more step.

One more chance to find out if the boy who promised you the stars had learned how to hold them.

Or if he had already let them slip through his fingers.

── .✦

8:58 p.m. - Crown Metropol Rooftop, Melbourne

The elevator sighed open, spilling you onto the rooftop as if it were the edge of a dream, you hadn’t realized you were still clinging to. For a moment, you stood there, the threshold pressing against your body like a hand, holding you still. The world in front of you moved too fast, was too bright, too loud, too alive- a kaleidoscope of noise and color you didn’t feel part of.

The rooftop was a living thing. Rain slicked the dark stone underfoot, mist curled through the humid air, perfume and champagne hung heavy and sweet, and the sky above bled neon into the lingering mist. Beyond the glass railings, Melbourne pulsed in the distanceskyscrapers blurred into soft halos of gold and silver, the city lights blinking like slow, exhausted heartbeats far below.

The bass hit you first. A low, relentless thrum, vibrating up through the delicate straps of your Jimmy Choo Minny sandals, up the tendons of your calves, up your spine, into the hollow spaces in your chest. It wasn’t music anymore; it was a second, alien heartbeat rattling through your bones, making you feel simultaneously heavier and lighter than your body could hold.

You took a slow, deliberate step forward, the Oscar de la Renta Ombré Silk Chiffon Gown trailing behind you like smoke. The pale ivory of the bodice caught the rooftop’s sharp white lights, making you look otherworldly, untouchable. The silk skimmed your curves, cinched your waist with reverence instead of restraint, and melted into the stormy plum of the skirt, pooling at your feet with every movement like a living, breathing thing.

Your hair, curled into soft waves hours earlier, now clung slightly to the nape of your neck, kissed damp by the mist. You could feel stray strands sticking to your bare shoulders, a delicate annoyance that somehow made you feel even more exposed. The Boucheron Serpent Bohème Pendant Necklace rested cold against the fevered beating of your pulse. The Harry Winston earrings at your lobes caught the fractured light and threw it back in glittering bursts every time you moved your head.

And then there was the Cartier Love Bracelet at your wrist.

It felt heavier than it ever had before, pressing into your skin with a weight that was almost sentient. As you drifted through the crowd, you slid your thumb along the cool gold absently, the ridges and hidden engraving a silent, cruel comfort. Always, L. It was supposed to be a promise. Tonight, it felt like a shackle.

You floated forward, the gown whispering secrets against your skin, your steps light, measured, effortless in appearance but weighted with everything you could not say. You moved as you had been taught to move- like mist, like royalty, like someone the world couldn’t touch unless you allowed it.

The faces around you turned. Men leaned out of conversations to watch you pass, their glances lingering longer than they should have. Women tilted their heads toward each other behind crystal flutes, their whispered assessments slicing through the thick air. But none of it touched you. None of it mattered.

You had learned a long time ago how to wear your beauty like armour. How to carry yourself with the kind of poise that disarmed, the kind that protected, the kind that kept people from looking too closely.

You didn’t meet a single gaze.

Inside, your heart was hammering so violently it felt like it might split your chest open. It thundered in your ears, drowned out the bass, made your breath catch somewhere shallow and frantic in your lungs. You felt like you were made of glass, vibrating so hard you might shatter. Yet on the outside, you were the perfect portrait of serenity- elegant, ethereal, untouchable.

You tightened your grip around the Jimmy Choo Cloud Crystal Clutch, letting the jewelled edges bite into your skin until the pain steadied you.

The gown rippled around you like a sigh, your sandals clicking against the rain-slick stone with every step. The perfume clinging to your skin, the Baccarat Rouge 540 you had misted into the air hours earlier, still lingered like a memory, sweet and faintly bitter now.

You breathed in the night and exhaled all the trembling, all the longing, all the foolish hope that still knotted itself inside your chest.

You could feel the Cartier bracelet shift slightly as your muscles tensed. You rolled your wrist against it, feeling the familiar weight, the memory burned into the curve of the metal. It was supposed to be a tether, something that anchored you to him. Instead, it felt like a scar.

The city stretched out before you, indifferent and alive, and somewhere among the blur of strangers and sponsors and laughter too sharp to be real-

He was here.

Somewhere, he was breathing the same air.

Somewhere, he was laughing, alive in his victory.

And you- You were still foolish enough to hope he would see you.

── .✦

9:01 p.m. - Lando

He wasn't difficult to find.

You could have found him in a stadium filled with thousands, even blindfolded, even dreaming.

The rooftop was crowded, voices buzzing low over the beat of the music, the misty rain blurring the edges of figures laughing and toasting and spilling champagne across the slick stone floor. But you spotted him instantly, drawn by some old, invisible string tied between your ribs and his.

Lando stood by the glass railing, the city lights casting him in a halo of faint gold, the kind of glow that didn’t come from the neon or the mist- it came from him. He wore a white Tom Ford shirt, sleeves shoved to his elbows like he hadn’t cared to fix them after the race, the fine fabric damp where it clung to the lean muscles of his arms. His dark trousers hung low on his hips, casual and effortless, and he still had on those same worn, scuffed white sneakers you used to tease him about refusing to give them up even when he could have afforded a thousand new pairs.

His hair was damp from the mist, curls sticking to his forehead in messy loops, the chain you once gifted him glinting faintly at his collarbone.

He was laughing. Head tipped back, mouth wide open, that crooked, reckless grin cracking his face wide open.

For a second- a full, sharp, excruciating second- you were transported back to being sixteen again, running across his family’s rain-slick backyard, grass stains on your knees, breathless from chasing each other around the garden while your parents called out warnings from the patio.

“You’ll catch a cold!” “You’ll break your necks!”

You had only laughed harder. Because back then, everything that mattered fit between the spaces of your laughter and his.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, once, twice, a sickening drumbeat that vibrated up into your teeth.

You took a step forward. Then another.

The silk of your gown hissed against the stone, your heels whispering sharp, precise clicks in the heavy air.

You gripped your clutch tighter, the bracelet at your wrist pressing into your pulse like a brand- steady, familiar, almost cruel now in its tenderness.

You could already feel it building- the way his eyes would lift, search the room instinctively, land on you, widen with disbelief.

You could feel how the glass would slip from his hand, how his smile would falter, how the world would crack open between you just long enough for you to fall back into it together.

You knew the script. You had lived it before- every time he came off a race, searching the crowd, finding you.

You had believed in it the way children believed in fairy tales- not because they were real, but because sometimes belief itself could be a kind of magic.

You stepped closer, breath caught behind your teeth.

And then-

She reached him first.

Tall. Blonde. Perfect. Wrapped in a Saint Laurent black dress that clung to her body like molten glass, every line of her screaming ownership.

You froze.

Your lungs forgot how to pull in air. Your body forgot how to stand.

She touched him- casually, intimately- a palm sliding up his chest, fingertips dragging over the fabric you once tugged on during long, lazy afternoons when he refused to let you go.

You willed him- desperately, silently- Please look up. Please feel me.

The city seemed to hold its breath.

For half a second- a heartbeat, a prayer- it felt like maybe he would.

And then he smiled.

That same slow, lazy, familiar smile- the one that used to break open just for you- and bent his head.

The kiss wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t drunk.

It was deliberate.

It was certain.

His hand slid to her waist with a familiarity that punched the breath out of your body. He kissed her like it was easy, like it was normal, like it was inevitable.

The world spun violently, tilting the ground under your feet.

The neon lights fractured against the glass barriers, the music twisting into a distorted roar in your ears.

Your heart cracked audibly inside your chest- not just a break, but a full rupture.

Pain lanced up your throat, thick and choking, but you held it in place like you had been taught- like a good girl, like a perfect girl, like a girl who knew better than to bleed in public.

Your nails dug into the jewelled surface of your clutch until you felt the tiny, painful pricks of broken skin.

You didn’t move. Not yet.

Your mind scrambled for excuses- maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a joke, maybe-

But your heart knew better.

Your heart always knew first.

The Cartier bracelet at your wrist suddenly felt too tight, as if the metal itself recoiled from your skin.

Always, L.

A promise he had stopped keeping long before tonight.

── .✦

9:02 p.m. - Oscar’s POV

Oscar hated everything about this night.

He hated the feel of the Tom Ford tuxedo stretched stiffly across his shoulders, the way the fabric clung and itched against his skin with every restless shift of his body. The shoes pinched at his toes, polished to a mirror shine he didn’t give a damn about. The tie at his throat felt more like a noose than a formality, tightening every time he swallowed another forced smile.

He hated the rooftop- the stone floor slick with mist and rain, the sharp sting of champagne-soaked air heavy with humidity, the mingling scents of expensive colognes and too-sweet perfumes turning his stomach. Around him, the world pulsed and throbbed with bass, the music vibrating in his bones, the kind of synthetic noise that made it impossible to think, let alone feel anything real.

He hated the endless stream of sponsors- businessmen with too-perfect smiles and handshakes that lingered just a second too long. He hated the way they looked through him, not at him, as if he were nothing but a gleaming badge they could pin to their jackets, a name they could brag about knowing before it was too late.

He hated the celebration itself- hollow, brittle, fake. He hated pretending that the night wasn’t suffocating him.

He stood near the DJ booth, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand without any real intention of drinking it, foot tapping impatiently against the slick stone, counting the minutes until he could leave.

He wanted to be anywhere else- a quiet hotel room with the windows cracked open to the rain, a run-down bar where no one cared who he was, even the deserted back streets of Melbourne, soaked to the bone and free.

Anywhere but here.

And then- the elevator doors sighed open.

Oscar didn’t know what made him look. Instinct, maybe. Fate, if you believed in that kind of thing.

All he knew was that when you stepped into the rooftop, the world fell silent.

For one endless moment, it was just you and him.

You wore a gown that floated like mist around you, soft ivory melting into a bruised plum that kissed the rain-slick floor. The silk clung to your body with a reverence that no hands could match, sculpting to your frame, moving with you like a living thing. Your hair, curled perfectly earlier, was now kissed by the mist- soft, wild, framing your face in a halo of damp curls.

You looked like you didn’t belong to the crowd at all. You looked like you belonged to some other place- some quieter, purer world that people like him had no right to touch.

Oscar forgot how to stand. He forgot how to breathe.

His heart gave a single, painful lurch against his ribs, and he realized- too late- that every part of him had been wired, programmed, built to find you.

He wasn’t looking for you. He hadn’t expected you. He hadn’t even dared hope.

And yet- he could not have missed you if he tried.

You moved through the crowd like you were made of something finer- something stronger. Your head was held high, your shoulders pulled back, and yet there was a tightness to your mouth, a slight tremble in your fingers as they curled tightly around the small, jewelled clutch at your side.

Oscar’s stomach twisted.

He watched your eyes scan the crowd- frantic beneath the careful mask you wore- searching. Hoping.

And then- you found him.

Lando.

Oscar watched the hope bloom across your face- raw, reckless, blinding in its intensity.

It carved him open.

Because he knew that look. He knew it better than he wished he did.

He knew what it meant to pin your whole heart on someone, to believe in them against all odds, to wait across oceans and time zones and lonely nights because you knew- you knew- they were worth it.

He saw it light you up from the inside, fragile and bright.

And then he saw it die.

He followed your line of sight.

Lando stood at the railing, white Tom Ford shirt untucked, sleeves shoved to his elbows, curls damp and wild from the rain. His posture was loose, effortless, a drink dangling carelessly from his hand. His laugh cut through the noise- rich, unbothered, golden.

And then the blonde stepped into view- tall, willowy, wearing a slinky black Saint Laurent dress that clung to her like armour.

Oscar watched her place a hand on Lando’s chest- casual, confident- and tilt her chin up in silent invitation.

He watched Lando smile- that same smile he had once reserved for only one person- and then, without hesitation, he bent his head and kissed her.

It was slow. It was deliberate.

It was final.

Oscar didn’t realize he had moved until someone yelped behind him, a champagne flute knocked from their hand as he shoved through the crowd, heart pounding painfully against his ribs.

He didn’t think.

He didn’t breathe.

He just knew- knew he had to get to you.

But he was too late.

You didn’t collapse.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t even flinch.

You just stood there- frozen for one terrible second- as the world ended quietly around you.

And then- you straightened.

You lifted your chin.

You turned on your heel, gown swirling around you like mist, and you walked.

Not hurried. Not desperate.

You walked like royalty leaving a burning castle.

You walked like you had survived worse.

You walked like you didn’t bleed.

Oscar stopped moving, heart splitting open in his chest as he watched you disappear into the crowd- head high, eyes blank, shoulders squared against the storm.

He wanted to run after you.

He wanted to shake Lando until his teeth rattled.

He wanted to scream.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, feeling every stupid, broken, impossible thing he had ever tried to bury about you come roaring to the surface.

You had ruined him. He had let you. And he would do it all over again.

── .✦

9:08 p.m. - After She Leaves

Oscar stood there for a few seconds longer, staring at the elevator doors long after they had closed. His chest was tight, his hands aching from how tightly he had curled them into fists at his sides. The rooftop spun around him- laughter, music, clinking glasses- a grotesque parody of celebration he no longer had the stomach for.

The whiskey still sloshed untouched in his glass. He threw it into the nearest planter without hesitation, the heavy thud barely satisfying.

Then he turned on his heel, heading straight for the last place he wanted to go- the bar where Lando now stood, half-leaning against it, laughing with the blonde pressed too comfortably against his side.

Oscar could feel the anger crawling under his skin like a living thing. He could taste it- bitter, metallic, suffocating.

By the time he reached Lando, the words were already burning his tongue.

"You’re a fucking idiot," Oscar bit out, loud enough that the conversation around them stumbled to an awkward halt.

Lando blinked, slow and lazy, setting down his glass. "Jesus, mate. What’s your problem?"

Oscar stepped closer, lowering his voice into something dangerous. "You didn’t even see her, did you?"

Lando frowned, confusion crossing his face. "Who?"

Oscar laughed- a harsh, broken sound. "Your fucking girlfriend, who the fuck else Lando? She was standing right fucking there. Watching you."

Lando's face twisted, defensive, brushing it off like an irritating fly. "You’re seeing shit. She’s not here. If she was, she would’ve texted me. She wouldn’t just show up randomly without telling me. You know her."

Oscar stared at him, feeling something black coil tighter in his chest.

"Yeah," he said, voice razor-sharp. "I do know her."

Lando scoffed, looking away, lifting his drink back to his mouth. "If she’s not answering my texts, she’s not here. Probably busy. Not everything’s about your little fantasies, Piastri."

The way he said it- like a joke, like you were a fucking afterthought- made Oscar see red.

"You don’t even fucking know her," Oscar snarled, stepping forward until there was barely any space between them.

Lando smirked, that arrogant edge slipping into his voice. "What, you interested in her or something?"

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

"Yeah," he said, voice low and brutal. "I have been. Longer than you even realized. I see her, Norris. Every fucking time you don't."

Lando’s smile cracked- a flash of something ugly, insecure, flashing across his face.

"You’re full of shit," he muttered, but his hand tightened around his drink, white-knuckled.

Oscar leaned in closer, dropping his voice to something lethal. "I know her better than you ever did. I've seen it- the way she looks at you, even when you don't deserve it. The way she still fucking hopes."

He paused, letting the words sink in, letting the truth rip through the cracks in Lando’s armour.

"And you just threw it away for-"

The blonde chose that moment to interrupt, her voice syrupy and smug.

"Maybe she should’ve tried harder if she wanted to keep him," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her nails digging possessively into Lando’s arm.

Oscar turned his head slowly toward her, eyes flashing cold.

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, the words hitting like a slap. "You’re the reason he’s throwing away the only real thing he’s ever fucking had. You're a fucking leech."

The blonde recoiled like he had struck her, face flushing hot with embarrassment and anger.

Lando immediately moved to defend her, pushing off the bar, stepping between them.

"Don’t talk to her like that," he growled.

And that was it.

Oscar didn’t think- he didn’t hesitate.

His fist connected with Lando’s jaw with a brutal, sickening crack.

Lando staggered back, crashing into the edge of the bar, the glass he had been holding shattering on the floor.

The entire rooftop seemed to fall silent.

Oscar stood there, chest heaving, glaring at him with something dark and furious pulsing behind his ribs.

"Get your head out of your fucking ass," Oscar hissed. "You’re losing her. You already lost her. And if you don't believe me, text her yourself."

He jerked his chin toward Lando's pocket, where his phone sat uselessly.

"Go on," Oscar challenged, voice dripping with venom. "Text her. See if she answers."

But Lando didn't move.

He just stood there- stunned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, pride bleeding out of him even faster.

He didn’t pull out his phone. He didn’t call after you. He didn’t fight for you.

Oscar shook his head, disgusted, and turned away without another word.

He could feel the blonde’s furious gaze burning into his back, but he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t owe her- or Lando- a goddamn thing.

His only thought, the only thing hammering inside his chest now, was you.

You- walking into the rain alone, shoulders set like stone, the heartbreak written into the line of your spine no matter how hard you tried to hide it.

Oscar pulled his phone from his pocket with trembling fingers, dialling before he could lose his nerve.

You deserved someone who would notice.

Someone who would run after you, even if it was already too late.

[bluesey-182]

okay bear with me while i try to organize all of these thoughts.

even in arcadia is such an interesting album to me because it seems to simultaneously be the most AND the least lore-heavy album compared to all their other work. i've always been of the mind that very few, if any, of their songs are actually about sleep. vessel sings about his own personal struggles, a lot of those having to do with what was an obviously very toxic and potentially abusive past relationship, but i've never really thought he was singing about sleep for a good 99% of their discography. the songs themselves are the offerings. "here's all of my pain. i offer if to you" (in penance??? 👀). however, at the same time, the kind of metaphors and language he uses puts all of that pain behind a certain kind of... barrier, i suppose? that makes it seem like "maybe it could all just be a story". and then he comes into this album with songs like past self, caramel, provider, damocles, and gethsemane where it feels like he's being even more brutally honest and vulnerable than he's ever been before (which is saying something because dear god does vessel spill his guts and bare his heart through the project). he's talking directly to the audience in a way that's unfamiliar and new and gut-wrenching on a whole new level. it's like he's testing the waters of stepping out from behind the smoke screen he's been singing through in the past.

and yet. you get songs like look to windward, emergence, dangerous (this one to a slightly less degree than the others) even in arcadia, and infinite baths. he's saying things that almost don't seem like they'd be said to or about an actual person. they have these incredibly fantasy-battle-esque sounds and lyrics to them. and there are a million and one theories about what sleep is, but this album in particular has me feeling like sleep is a personification of vessel's demons and in this album he's fighting them like he hasn't ever before. he's not bowing down, he's actively out for blood. that's who/what he's talking to this time, as opposed to the person(s) he's usually addressing in his songs.

so that brings me to the house divide. "the house must endure" / "the cycle must end". house veridian and feathered host. and then you get the line "you know i live by the feather and die by the sword". like obviously this is the house divide, but the more i think about that line (especially with feathered host potentially being a nod to feathered quills and that suggesting the houses are actually the pen vs the sword) the more i keep thinking that like... this album is the inner battle between the poet who loves music and chose this project as the outlet vs the man behind the mask dying at the sword of that project. realizing he's gotten himself into this corner of constantly replaying his darkest moments ("i play discordant days on repeat") so he can make this music ("until they look like harmony") and realizing it's hurting him more than it's serving as catharsis anymore. and it all comes together in an album where he's both allowing himself to be what is potentially the most vulnerable he's ever been--ditching some of the metaphors to say things more point blank, addressing the audience directly, getting to be goofy and vulnerable in a lighter way through "provider"--while also giving us songs that are direct conflicts with this deity he's made himself vessel to and also building on that story in a way that has previously been incredibly vague and sparse in terms of actual canon.

it's an incredible dichotomy and i think this separation of the houses was a really clever way to do it. but it also makes me think that the album isn't as cut down the middle in the divide as i think a lot of us initially thought. it's also interesting to catch the lyrics in this album that reference each other across the aisle. (the one coming to mind rn is "war of attrition" being in both look to windward and caramel when they both have different themes to them).

all this to say, vessel is a genius and continues to achieve incredible and mind-boggling things in his music, and this album has really (in my opinion) been a gift.

[burningcheese-merchant]

I said sometime ago that Matar Paneer has a bird friend. Behold

To summarize, since I already explained before and don't want to bore anyone: Paneer found him in a tree as a little peachick, tragically orphaned after his family was attacked, killed and eaten in their nest by a predator. Not wanting him to be alone, she brought him back home and fought for him to stay, to which her parents eventually agreed (Paneer does not take "no" for an answer ever). Besides Pepper Jack, he's her best friend in the whole world and they're practically inseparable.

Extra bird factoids:

Obviously, his physical appearance is extremely abnormal. Instead of the typical green, his train/display feathers are a bold and impressive mixture of reds, oranges and yellows; nothing but warm, vibrant colors that almost make him look as though he's catching fire. Furthermore, and perhaps even more strangely, he seems to be made up of triangles: triangular "eye" patterns in his feathers, triangular markings underlining his eyes, triangular crest feathers, even triangular pupils... No one is certain why he looks like this; it's mostly been waved away as a bizarre phenotypic mutation

He is also abnormally intelligent. He appears to understand human/cookie speech and even responds when directly addressed/conversed with (as much as he can, being a peacock). He understands photos, he recognizes himself in mirrors, he's even demonstrated some problem-solving/critical thinking skills a few times. Extremely impressive for an animal (esp for a peacock, which are pretty dumb irl)

He sits at the table with the rest of the family during meals. His first night with them after being taken in, Paneer set him down next to her plate so he could reach the food (he was super smol), which her parents didn't like. They argued about it until Paneer grabbed Paravani + her food and sat down to eat on the floor in protest (Paravani is family, family sits at the table, if he can't sit there then she can't, either), after which they caved (MP is STUBBORN you have to understand) and let him sit. He sat on the table proper while he was a chick and got his own chair when he grew large enough

Paneer considers him her friend and her equal and does not take kindly to him being referred to/treated as a pet

He mimics Paneer's actions often. Like, if she tilts her head to one side, he'll do the exact same thing. It's cute

Paravani is very curious and adventurous in nature, and normally quite friendly/approachable unless you give him a reason not to be. Even then, he's slow to anger and usually becomes skittish instead; to truly anger him, you have to hurt Paneer, whom he is very protective of

As a chick, he would hide in Paneer's hair when he was scared

He does get along well with the rest of the family - but while he got on with Pepper Jack and Golden Cheese right away (bird people + he could sense their kind natures immediately), he was terrified of Burning Spice for quite some time (it's mostly because of how he looks. He looks like a predator to him). It took a while of Spice deliberately appearing docile/nonthreatening and the others insisting that Spice is nice for Paravani to overcome his reservations. Nowadays he's as fond of Spice as he is everyone else

As I mentioned here, Matar Paneer takes after Kartikeya, Hindu god of war and victory and Shiva's second son. Kartikeya is known for having a peacock as a mount, named Paravani. Keeping in line with this, not only did I give Paneer a peacock as a companion, but one day, her Paravani will grow big enough for her to sit and ride around on, just like Kartikeya's. No one knows why this happens, either. It freaks a lot of people out. Once again his unique features are written off as "mutations + lol Beast-Yeast creature")

Matar Paneer always blames herself for his family's deaths. She thinks that, if she'd found them in time, she could've fended off the predator and saved them, and Paravani wouldn't have been orphaned. Giving him a home and good company was the absolute least she could've done for him...

[regnumveritatis]

Films made to praise Arsinoe/Perseleia in the Athenide verse

2) Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame part 2

Apologies for the long wait to those of you who were excited for this compilation. Had a lot of work to be done, and now the semester is ending, so I'm using my newly found free time to catch up on backlogged ideas. That being said, I hope everyone enjoys the lore building.

1) The lie of Arsinoe 'simply fading'

On the day where the golden Athenide 'faded' away from our mortal plane despite her cult having enormous success all through the Aegean and Adriatic coasts, the farmers of Athens coincidentally write on how they witnessed large eagles attack then proceed to eat the golden orioles hiding in their olive groves. Athenians of the time took it as a sign of tyrannical delights soon to be defeated at the hands of mighty Zeus. The high priestess of Corinth, however, took this news on an entirely different way and proclaimed,'Reason has been murdered by the State!' For which she was punished and declared insane as no one would believe Zeus capable of murdering the child of his favored daughter Athena. Here, the writers are giving the winning argument to that Cassandra-like woman as Zeus/Jupiter clearly chases and kills his own granddaughter and then attempts to apply roman law to her last kit. Her death also mirrors the historical murder of Princess Arsinoe of Ptolemaic Egypt as she is killed on the steps of Holy Ground by someone who deems her a threat.

2) Styx always takes her due:

Contrary to what the ego of Olympus's king would believe, even Zeus can not break his word or violate the sanctuary of another deity without consequences. The movie chooses to represent Styx as the archdeacon of the cathedral in a historical nod to how places granting asylum to slaves (the real reason the Romani went in large waves to France during this period was escaping chattel slavery in balto slavic countries) to be broken under pain of death shifted from the temple of Hermes and the Athenides to the statue of the Emperor then finally to the catholic cathedral where any who murdered within its halls were doomed to eternal perdition. While Styx can't prove Zeus's role in the murder of their friend, they can force him to uphold the promise not to directly harm his granddaughter's wards unless provoked since doing so will condemn him to Tartarus per his own agreement centuries ago. By this fear, Frollo claims Quasimodo (a name that in this universe is a taunt to Arsinoe as she has left her work unfinished so her son is half-formed) to raise though not without embedding the child with a lie that will falsely indebt him to his supposed benevolence

3) The Roman Mutilation:

The 'future' scenes from the beginning are done from an entirely roman standpoint as far as Frollo/Zeus is concerned. He fully endorses the false tale of Pietas Securitas as it suits his needs perfectly, spreading the word of her cruelty both to eliminate anything corrupt in his eyes and to create belief in his virtue for the mortals. Fides Nerio is also brought low as she is no savior, merely a minor goddess collecting the spoils of war. Jupiter is not the cruel god calling for these barbaric games of slaughter. How can he when he did not even approve of Dionysius's barbaric revelry? By reminding the mortals/demigods still believing in him of the atrocities committed by Rome and comparing them to his care, he causes them to feel guilt over doubting him and thus easily manipulates the situation to his control. Despite all this, people long for something more than what Zeus offers even if they don't know what exactly this entails which brings us to the part you've all been waiting for: the Perpollo shipping.

4) The introduction of Phoebus

Any hardcore greek mythology fan knows what the name of this character references. Shining Phoebus arrives at the city bearing the name of that loathed Trojan Prince humbly, his desire to be part of the people a stark contrast to the previous behavior of other authority figures. His cloak is Athenide blue in deference to his unyielding devotion to Lady Loyalty and his horse is named Achilles in yet another attempt to besmirch the reputation of the demigod who trampled upon Perseleia's blessing with his cruelty as he proves that Achilles makes a better horse than a human. Due to his departure from Galia and anything remotely Roman till after the fall of the Empire, Phoebus does not recognize the layout of the now medieval city. He appeals to the previous rule of xenia by kindly asking the city guards for directions and taking their indifference to him calmly. Their lack of respect is forgotten instantly as Truth's eyes gaze at long last Loyalty, here named Esmeralda.

4) The reclaiming of the name Esmeralda

In the Ancient Greek era, emeralds were sacred to Artemis, the lady of the hunt and twin to Apollo. The connection was done because they were the same color as the woods she so loved. As such, emeralds were traditionally believed to provide protection in the woods, which is why Cleopatra purposefully gifted her most esteemed guests with them to show her sincere hospitality as well as her wealth. The Romans, however, did not wish for Diana to share anything with 'the seductress of Egypt', so they changed the stone's patronage from her to Venus. In Roman mythology, emeralds are then said to bolster fertility and were gifted as tokens of affection and/or fiery passion that could help couples conceive. Even so, a connection to Artemis remained by way of her twin Phoebus as emeralds were also believed to have healing properties (emphasized on the eyes as proven by the emerald lenses created to improve sight) and mystical properties that would aid clairvoyance. By the middle ages, it's romantic symbolism had shifted from Venus' fertility and passion to Apollo even further as mystics like Saint Hildegard commented how they were believed to provide truth among lovers as one could not lie about infidelity whilst holding an emerald per popular belief. By doing so the Christian population unknowingly removed themselves from the grasps of Love in favor of Truth and Loyalty together as they always should have been. The new meaning is reaffirmed in the character who is inspired by Perseleia. We see a further rejection of Roman times in her beautiful dark skin that Ovid considered 'the mark of the poor' and her healthy curves with voluminous black hair that are a far cry from the thin, blonde aesthetic considered a pillar of beauty by the Empire. Esmeralda is loyalty free from the shackles of Fides Nerio as she dances with her sisters' outcasts. Immediately, she is drawn to Phoebus and nods in harmless flirtation that she dare not allow to go farther knowing fully the nature of men.

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇

Songbird on a Wall

this is my first full-length fic. please be kind. this isn’t beta’d

[ tw for references to death and grief ]

The military didn’t leave time for many hobbies.

Sure, the men all went out for drinks most Fridays, and sometimes after they finished drills for the day, they’d have a couple hours to catch an episode of Jeopardy or read a chapter or two of a book, but for the most part, their lives were strictly dominated by missions.

Sometimes, though, the 141 would find time for their own little slices of life. Soap had his journal, Gaz had his computer games. Roach loved fantasy novels, Ghost had taken up knitting. And Price– did chain-smoking count as a recreational activity? It seemed to relax him, anyway.

Sergeant Paul “Scanner” Hamish Mander, however, seemed to be a soldier and only a soldier. He woke exactly at lights-on and went to bed at exactly lights-out. He followed the schedule down to the letter and most days the team had to physically drag him away from the training field.

Scanner was quiet but not closed-off, reserved but not standoffish, polite but not overly social. He was a crack shot with an automatic rifle and had nerves of steel, making him a valuable asset on the field. Every order he was given was executed with precision and without hesitance.

What the team didn’t know was that he also loved music. Scanner had learned to sing and play the guitar from an early age during a summer spent with his uncle in County Clare, though he hadn’t picked up an instrument since before he enlisted nearly eleven years ago. God, he’d been young, hadn’t he? Just a pup, really, with no idea what he was getting into, being fed off of convoluted songs of glory and honor.

He knew now that there was no honor in war. When it was down to him or the enemy, he would fight like a pit-bred dog, tooth and nail, to protect himself and his team.

Scanner realized that his moods had been off as of late; the stress of their work got to everyone eventually. The Scouser had finally hit his limit, so, with what pay he’d had put away for later, he bought himself a guitar and some extra strings, hoping that the music would help to temper his disquieted psyche.

He’d been slipping away to practice whenever he could. He was already good, but he strove to improve, just like in his work. He fancied himself a Michelangelo… now to make sure his art was as good as his reputation.

Now he was awake before the first pale grey light of dawn, perched like a songbird upon the half-wall that surrounded the entry point of the officers’ quarters, hoping to snag a few precious minutes before the daily bugle sounded and he had to listen to Soap groan about the hangover headache the Scotsman would doubtlessly have from the previous night’s intoxication.

Scanner slipped off his gloves to reveal dexterous hands mottled dark pink with burn scars. He almost always kept them hidden– they brought up old memories that he would rather forget. His fingers, though discolored, were still nimble as they plucked out a slow tune on the guitar.

Meanwhile, Soap, who had woken up to take a piss, had overheard the folk-ballad style music and peeped out the door to investigate. Though he was bleary from sleep, he recognized Scanner’s scrawny form up on the wall. Against his first instincts to just barge right into the scene, Soap remained quiet and paused to listen. His piercing blue eyes widened after a few moments, and he trundled back into the building.

Like a whack-a-mole in an arcade game, Soap popped back up about a minute later, trailing a sleepy-but-interested Gaz and Roach. Ghost loomed behind them like a ghoul.

Scanner had begun to sing while Soap was gone. The Scouser had a fine tenor voice, just the right amount of husky as he crooned out a chorus to a song that sounded like something from a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. Old-souled and heartfelt.

“When the rounds of bullets fire,

Keep your heads down.

When the brave ones pass on by ye,

Keep your heads down.”

“Bloody ‘ell,” whispered Soap. Gaz elbows him in the side to keep him quiet, but the Scotsman couldn’t resist another low remark: “Got a fine set of pipes on him.”

“When the hero’s blood runs red,

And you’re scared to raise your head,

Just be glad that you ain’t dead.

Keep your heads down.”

The song was on-the-nose for their soldier’s life, hitting perhaps a bit too close to home for the men. Soap shifted, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Roach’s brow furrowed in concern.

“You won’t win no medals here,

Keep your heads down—“

It was true— none of them were awarded recognition for their black ops. With it being strictly confidential, it couldn’t be risked. The men were under-appreciated by everyone except for Laswell.

“—Don’t be fools who know no fear,

Keep your heads down.”

Soap especially felt called-out by that line. He had a tendency to let his Scottish hot-headedness flare up like a bonfire left unattended and rush into a hostile situation guns-blazing, hackles raised like an angry mongrel. More often than not, it was either Scanner or Ghost who saved the Sergeant’s arse from being handed to him by two-to-one odds.

“We can all lay low and sing,

Duckin’ grenades and bullet’s zings.

Let ‘em chuck most anything,

But keep your heads down.”

“D’ye think he wrote this?” Gaz murmurs to Roach, who just shrugs helplessly. Scanner is still facing away from them, completely unaware of his audience.

“You won’t get no martyr’s send-off,

Keep your heads down.

Just a bullet as your payoff,

Keep your heads down—“

The men collectively winced. It was a grim reality for them. Any mission, any breath, could be their last. Playing the hero or the martyr just threw away the life of one more number on some general’s spreadsheet, accomplishing nothing even when done for the sake of their country.

“You ain’t gonna win the war,

You ain’t gonna make it home,

Cursed; forever more to roam,

Keep your heads down.”

Gaz’s dark-bright eyes were shining with unshed tears now. Soap swallowed hard.

The thought that someday they’d all be removed from the field in a body bag was something that they’d had to accept long ago, but it made their stomachs churn nonetheless. In Task Force 141, there was no such thing as retiring. They fought until they died, the end.

“Thought I’d go out with my team,

Kept my head down.

Captain drilled it into our brains,

Keep yer heads down—“

Ghost frowned behind his skull mask. Was the Captain in the song Price? The Lieutenant wasn’t sure, but he had an unsettled sense that he would find out.

Soap, however, stifled a quiet chuckle, thinking it clever and amusing that Scanner would quote Price in a song. The tough-as-nails, hard-arsed Captain certainly was the kind of CO to berate them for not keeping their heads down and taking proper precautions in a war zone.

Price did it out of care, of course. It was tough love, but Price wouldn’t lose more men than he had to. If that meant a good, old-fashioned hollering session, then so be it.

“Now they’re rotting in their graves,

And I survived, or so they say—“

The men’s eyes widened as Scanner continued the macabre lyrics. The song wasn’t about the 141, then, and the Captain mentioned wasn’t Price. The 141 were definitely not yet dead, despite the carrion birds that flocked in their wake after every op.

“—wish I’d taken mortar with my mates,

But I kept my head down.”

Roach looks like he might be ill. He felt for certain that Scanner had been the one to write the dirge. The speech patterns lined up exactly with the slang-throwing Scouser that Sanderson had come to see as a brother.

But with that realization came another, far more sickening.

They all knew that Scanner had been in the Ranger’s Regiment before being reassigned to Task Force 141. Most of his file was blacked out, requiring a higher level of clearance to be viewed. There was little about his former team or why he had been accepted into the Special Forces.

This song was clearly that story. The men were perceptive— they had to be to survive in their line of work. They could put two and two together.

Wish I’d taken mortar with my mates.

Scanner’s team had been killed in action.

“Bounced around from base to base,

Kept my head down.

Doctors sayin’ I need space,

Keep my head down—“

“Och, Paul,” Soap breathed out, his expression pained. He knew what it was like to lose mates, aye, but to lose an entire unit at once, and then have to be placed with a brand-new team to start over? It would be an unimaginable grief.

Gaz looked shocked to his roots. His hand was gripping Roach’s sleeve. “It’s just a song, right? Maybe he’s just singing to be singing.”

“He’s not the kind of man t’say something just for the ‘ell uvvit,” Ghost gruffed out, his Manchester accent thick with repressed emotion. “Never ‘as been.”

“Now I’m with the 141,

Though I thought my life was done.

Maybe learn them through this song

To keep their heads down.”

Scanner strummed the final chord and the note faded into a shimmering echo in the still morning air. Sunrise was painting the horizon with pale pinks and oranges, the clouds streaks with lavender as if the rosy fingers of Lady Eos herself had taken up a watercolor brush to delicately layer over the foggy grey of pre-dawn.

Soap took a step forward, his heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete. Scanner’s gaze snapped up and he swiveled, one hand reaching for his empty holster so quickly that he nearly dropped his guitar.

“Easy, now.” Soap raised a placating hand as Scanner exhaled in relief. “S’just me, laddie. Tha’ was a right pretty tune ye was warblin’.”

Scanner hesitated momentarily, already swiftly setting his guitar aside to pull on his usual black gloves, hiding his patchworked hands. “I, er, didn’t know anybody else was listening,” he muttered gruffly. He pulled up his gaiter scarf and plunked his helmet down over the messy crop of his greige hair.

“Ah heard ye an’ couldnae help but come tae listen,” Soap explained, rubbing the back of his neck almost apologetically. He had the decency to look sheepish, at least. “Yer right good. Where did ye learn tha’ song?”

Scanner hopped nimbly from the wall, cracking his lower back with a low groan of relief. “Wrote it. Just a wee ditty. S’nothing special.”

The team’s hearts sank to the pit of their stomach. Roach’s guess had been correct; the events of the song were the events that had led up to Scanner being placed in the 141.

Gaz wiped at his eyes, sniffling. “S’really good. You’re a proper Ed Sheeran, mate.”

Scanner gave a low chuff of laughter. “You’re talkin’ a load o’ shite.”

Gaz sniffled again, but managed a weak smile. “I’m not takin’ the piss, really.”

“Yeah, mate, you’re bloody talented,” Roach added, but Scanner just waved a dismissive hand. As if the Scouser had no idea how the other men were crumbling on the inside thinking about his past.

But Scanner wasn’t quite so clueless as he appeared. Admittedly, he hadn’t known that they were listening, but now he did and he recognized that they would have deciphered the meaning of the words. The lyrics certainly weren’t subtle, by any means. Bordering on blasé, really.

But Scanner was a proud man, even if he didn’t like to admit it. He had once been more open, but an adult life of hard training had overrode whatever natural instincts towards emotional vulnerability that he might have once possessed. He’d built up walls, similar to the one he’d just been sitting on, and like that wall, it would take a helluva lot to knock ‘em down.

So instead of acknowledging the questions that were clearly bubbling just under the faux-calm facade that Soap, Gaz, and Ghost were just barely maintaining, Scanner turned and walked inside.

“Go ahead to the mess hall without me,” he called over his shoulder, as it was their usual routine to eat together before being given their orders for the day. “I’ll put away my guitar and be there in a bit.”

Gaz and Soap shared a helpless glance. Ghost looked as if he wanted to follow Scanner, but was holding himself back, the muscular tank of a man withholding his concern behind his balaclava.

“If yew two are so worried about him,” Ghost said after a long moment where they were all collecting their thoughts and smoothing over their emotions, “then go see Price. ‘M sure he’ll know about whatever this lil performance was.”

Soap looked up at the Lieutenant. The Scotsman was biting his lower lip in the way he always did when he was anxious. The man had a heart as big as Mother Terasa’s herself.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Roach interjected. “Going to talk to Price, I mean. He’s the one who recruited Paul in the first place.”

Ghost gave Roach a withering look. “Callsigns or last names only, Sanderson. Don’t make me report ye for breach o’ protocol.”

Roach gave a small huff. “He’s the one who recruited Scanner in the first place,” he corrected with all the sass of a thirteen-year-old girl.

Soap clapped the smaller man on the back. “Aye, Roachie. Let’s go see if the boss man is in his office, eh?”

“Because he’s got some explaining to do,” added Gaz, his expression determined. “We ought to have the right to know the past of our own teammate, don’t we?”

The four men nodded curtly, almost in unison. Whatever had occurred in Scanner’s past that would warrant the words in that song, they would uncover it. You couldn’t run a team without honesty and trust.

And they all felt a bit hurt that Scanner hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them what had happened himself.

What do you think? Should I continue with a part two?

note:

The tune to the song and the first two lyrics + chorus is adapted from “Keep Your Heads Down” by Brian Jacques. Here is the audiobook version for those wondering what the beat of the song is. ( link will take you directly to YouTube and is secure )

The rest of the lyrics are of my own creation.

pt.2 here

[aliceisaperson]

What I think the NPMD gangs favorite Starkid musicals would be

Steph:

1. Black Friday

Steph would probably really appreciate the anti-capitalist and anti-consumerist themes of the show (even if she doesn’t necessarily put them into practice). The critique of modern so called “good” democratic politicians would be something she would absolutely love. I also think unfortunately Steph has nuclear level daddy issues so the whole story being centered around a father trying so hard to make his kid happy after the other parent dies would make her violently sob.

2. Firebringer

Kind of similar reasoning to the last one where I think she’d really appreciate the message of the show being a critique of modern society. I think Steph also appreciates a good WLW romance.

3. Cinderella’s Castle

She’d definitely love the music style of the show, pulling a lot from 80’s synth and such. She’d probably also really like the criticism of the attitude of royalty in the show. I can definitely see her having facade on repeat.

Pete:

1. Holy Musical B@man

I headcanon Pete’s main kind “nerd” interest as being superheroes so this one’s a bit of a shoe in. I think he’d really appreciate how to musical parallels real life reactions to things in the comics with their characters as I think he’d be a dork about comic book history. He’d definitely love all the different references, so he’d probably just have fun with it in general.

2. Starship

I’m also of the impression Pete would really like Sci-Fi shit so obviously he’d like this one. Beyond that I just think that he’d connect to message of the show, that being that it’s better to be yourself than to try to push yourself to try to fit a mold of other people’s expectations of you. I kind of feel that’s probably something he’s struggled with before.

3. ANI

Yeah idk. I just feel like he’d really be into Star Wars. I think he’d have fun with how the show kind of makes fun of the prequels a lot since I feel like he’d hate those.

Max:

1. Nerdy Prudes Must Die

Max hasn’t actually seen the show all he just skipped to the parts he’s in and cheers everytime he’s on screen. He essentially sees the story has him killing a bunch of people who wronged him and then getting laid by the girl he’s been pining after.

2. ANI

Ok hear me out on this one. ANI is essentially just a comeback sports movie. Max would love that shit. I think he watched it once at like 2:00am under the covers of his bed because he was scared of someone catching him watching something that was a MUSICAL as well as being about STAR WARS. BOTH OF THOSE THINGS ARE FOR NERDS. He secretly loves it but will never admit it.

3. Cinderella’s Castle

He likes this one exclusively because he thinks the prince is funny and because it has a ton of hot women in it.

Grace:

1. VHSCCs

This one kind of just because it’s the cleanest and has the most wide appeal to people that don’t fall into the typical Starkid audience. It would easily be the one that offends her the least and I think she’d enjoy it.

2. Trail to Oregon

To be clear I do not think Grace would like this one at all. But I do think she went to see it at the Starlight expecting it to be a fun sanitized musical about the actual trail to Oregon only to be wildly offended at its contents (especially calling god a “vicious two-faced prick”) and I think she’d went home and wrote an obscenely long Facebook post about it encouraging people to protest it. Again she does not like it, but it illicit a major reaction out of her so it’s making the list.

3. Starship

Ruth and Grace somehow end up studying together one time and Ruth puts this on after their done and Grace is so offended by the idea that “God is Dead” that she blasts gods not dead on her phone until Ruth turns off the show and turns on Gods not Dead instead. Again, she didn’t like it, but it got a major reaction out of her which is close enough.

Ruth:

1. Me and My Dick

Obviously I think the humor of this show would appeal to Ruth a lot. But besides that I just think she’d really connect to it. The show is essentially about a girl who’s perceived as ugly and is super horny getting finally noticed by the guy who’s been ignoring her for forever and getting chosen over someone who’s seen as more desirable. Ruth would love that shit, it’s full on wish fulfillment for her. After seeing the musical it’s now a goal of hers to receive cunnilingus in the choir room before she graduate.

2. Twisted

Ruth definitely gives me Disney kid vibes, so I think in general she’d appreciate this, but also I think this is as musical theatre as Starkid gets and she would love that. I can definitely see her analyzing the complex lyrics and laughing along at the silly ones, and crying at the performances. I just think she’d like this one a lot.

3. A Very Potter Musical

Firstly, I just feel like Ruth used to be a potter head when she was younger so she’d probably love the show because of that, but I also think the low budget charm might appeal to her as well. Besides that though this is another example where I think she’d hardcore relate to another character, that being Hermione. Cause Hermione in the show is a character who’s seen as ugly and is constantly under appreciated by people despite the work she does and then she ends up getting with the guy who’s been ignoring her the whole show.

Richie:

1. Nerdy Prudes Must Die

I think seeing his own arc on screen would make in sob violently. He’d hate it but he’d love it. It would be utterly devastating.

2. Starship

Idk kind of just vibes here. I think Richie definitely has a crush on February and he wants the show to be adapted into an anime.

3. Me and My Dick

I don’t think Richie is a big theatre person but I think he would have an appreciation for low budget theatre charm. I don’t think he likes or knows anything about harry potter so I went with another one of the older shows. I also just feel like he might relate to *character* Joey Ritcher.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Hi babes, long time no see....? (Not realy, not truly. But i'm bored and in need of the weight your words press evenly onto my lungs. And i also want to poke you, maybe)

What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with? To you, with our delivery girl. Because anything phisical feels dependent on the day, how Aware and squeezy it'll make him. (Like how you suddenly remember that there's clothes on your skin and that your organs move inside of you. That you're Breathing and that it pulls at your muscles, the tissue that's marbled in tapestried along his ribs.)

What would Not do that? (Less so atleast. See: Like skin growing over a splinter istead of rejecting it.)

Also!

This. Made me feel the sudden ache of my heart durring that time in my life. 'S cool. Thanks. 👍

Always so good to hear from you, @thebluespacecow. First off, The Shape of Water is one of my comfort watches/reads. The book, in particular, encapsulates the feeling of isolation from society and the suffocating loneliness that comes from it so well. The quote (said to the Asset by the scientist studying him) so perfectly portrays their relationship and the tragedy of what could have been. The text often refers to (and eventually confirms) that the Asset is a god. It often calls him beautiful and magical and wondrous. Can you imagine finding god, in all his grace and savage beauty, and being told that you must study him like an insect pinned to a corkboard? Can you imagine finding proof of the divine, only to be told to burn it down so that the charcoal of its bones can help fuel a war? It's so tragic. One day that Bucky Barnes Shape of Water!AU WILL come into existence. ONE DAY. Anyway. Your question. What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with?

I actually think that Jason would be fairly receptive to praise, actually! It doesn't immediately put him on the defensive the way physical forms of affection would. And for most of his life, Jason didn't get much of either. He craves it, however unknowingly, like a man dying of thirst would crave rainwater.

I think the first time you praise him, however small, however innocuous, would always come as a surprise. He's just not that used to it. Maybe he opens a jar for you or point out, where, exactly you had put the spices. (He is, at least, somewhat aware of how much he pays attention to you.). "Thanks, Jason, you're always so helpful." The words scatter from you like birdseed, there and gone again. It barely disturbs the still air of the kitchen. But Jason freezes, and slowly turns to look at you. You're not even looking at him anymore. Instead, you are focused on the recipe you're reading, mumbling to yourself. (In his experience, praise does not come so easily. It comes from long hours of training to perfect his aim, from endless nights of study, it comes from a grueling patrol, done perfectly, to Batman's exacting standards.) (In his experience, he barely does anything praise-worthy at all. He is, after all, the Robin who failed.) The moment passes, and he is able to brush it off. But your words linger in his mind like a thorn, only the sensation is not so unpleasant. The next time you do it, Jason is a little more prepared. Maybe he comes up with a clever solution to a problem, taken down a villain in an unconventional way. And you say it in between fits of laughter (and even the sound of that warms him like a fire in winter). "That was smart. I never would have thought of that." Jason pauses, has to catch his breath. And he mumbles out an answer so low that it's unlikely that you heard it. "Thanks." After that, it gets easier. After that, he seeks it out like a cat seeking out a beam of sunlight (or perhaps, more accurately: like a starved dog seeks out scraps). "You never told me you were such a good cook." "It's nice having you around. You make me feel safe." "You look good today." The last one though, hits like a punch to the gut. It knocks the wind out of Jason, and he has to take several seconds before he can answer.

"What?" You look up from the book you are reading. (It is raining the way it always is in Gotham, and you had chosen to spend the afternoon inside. Curled up with a thick blanket on your lap, in a sweater that is big enough for you to drown in—he would not question it if the compliment had been directed at you. He would have taken it as your due.) "Hm? I said you look good today." Again, he does not answer. Instead, he looks down, as if expecting to find himself wearing someone else's skin. But he is wearing his outfit, it is the Red Hood's helmet in his hands. For the first time, you seem to have realized the effect your words have on him. "Well, don't get a stroke," you say with a grin. "I don't want you coming back here and saying you're leaving me for a supermodel or something." He lets out a strangled laugh, and tries to brush it off the way he did in the kitchen, all those months ago. He turns away and tries to pretend like your words don't haunt him like a ghost. You said he looked good. You said he looked good. (And after all, what reason would he have to doubt you? He trusts you more than he trusts himself.) He finds that he has to put on his helmet to hide his grin.

[bi-badass-geek]

Hades 1 vs Hades 2 Designs

● Hermes besides Hypnos was first character that made me think when i saw him oh some time has passed since Zag's escapes indeed, makes you feel that time skip. In this particular debate between those i'm really digging both but if needed to say which i prefer would go with second. I feel it should be said he sure rolls nicely with longer hair i would say darker outfit too but that's probably because pallet that's used for levels.

Ps. I saw post that mentioned how his ring is the same as ones Charon is wearing in first game and if it's a hint at something i'm here for it!

● Zeus for this god specifically there is discourse about how his pose is less dynamic and oh boy if i don't agree with that so much. In first game you see him and his look makes you think yeah this is the king of gods while in second game man is just there with posture i take often because i'm useless gay that don't know what to do with my hands and feels like they took all this might and put it into chiseling his nipples & abs into his golden chestplate. Not to mention the detail of missing the iconic bolt! Don't think it needs to be said but 100% would pick Hades 1 design out of those options.

● Poseidon the King of the Sea another example in my humble opinion where they went with flattening that dynamic looks exchanging it for man that just standing there chilling which is good for him but where first screams cool uncle second one goes uncle that wants retirement. I really like how we can see the trident now tho and need to point out his outfit sure got more print on it. When it comes down to pointing out which one is the winner in my eyes it would be 2020 one.

● Aphrodite if she wasn't the one that got thrown into drama because people double standards and hypocrisy. Design from first game and the pose straight up makes you think of love, lust, seduction all the things that are associated with said goddess. As for Hades 2 version i have no clue why it feels like this considering it's actually the opposite because we can see armor on her legs now but she feels less covered for me, do i find it negative or in any way problematic? Not one bit let the woman show off all her assets all day long! Really love the adds of her weapon and shield makes you immerse in the store of oh fights are happening around these parts. From seduction to i stand here at the ready kinda vibe and i'm really digging it.

Ps. Another post i read was about fact that her war paint i will call it (not 100% sure if that is it or just line for the giggles) is reference to Ares and considering her myth i really like that touch!

● Hypnos was the first OG i saw and was like man not only catching up on his sleep but also got such glow up i absolutely adore the design. Not to say he looked bad in Hades 1 but there it was like okay nice to Hades 2 like Damnnn and his lil helpers that keeps him up! Love the fact that of all things they made him be tucked into his cape like burrito.

Ps. I really do hope by the end of the game we get to wake him up so he can try out that nectar that we all leave there waiting.

● Chaos so many things to say and at the same time silence says it all. Seen people focusing on fact some out there call them he or how it's a downgrade from previous but don't even elaborate why they think that because everyone has right to have their own preference but at least put it into words instead of going trash next..there was also notion how they resemble Meg and while i see where people get that idea from for sure before reading that my mind didn't went there at all. I think both designs really work with someone who is primordial originator and how time goes so can their form. I find it very fascinating that they put old skeleton with new one and adore galaxy under suit makes me think of Nyx right away and how they're connected. Can totally see how between those two gamers got major stance that left reminds them more of male and right of female beings but at the end of the it chaos is chaos. Gotta take chair routine from Meg while they at it! The face on the shoulder surely throws me in loop tho fits? Sure. Does it disturb me in micro scale? Yes. About frames and poses don't have much to say cause both caption the essence of i mind my business everything unrelevant until i say so.

Ps. I know it's about physical aspect but let me say Chaos roasting Mel about how her brother is amusing one out of two Hades spawns is living rent free in my brain.

[mxtxfanatic]

TGCF Draft vs. Final: Chapts. 1-2

The only difference in Chapter 1 is that the story of Xie Lian's first banishment is completely changed. It erases the events of the Xianle civil war from Xie Lian's mythology: the part where he's warned by Jun Wu that the gods are forbidden from meddling in the mortal realm, the fact that Xie Lian voluntarily descended to help his kingdom, or any mention of him being "unwilling" to accept his "punishment" of being banished. The final only says that he fell from heaven because his people, unwilling to believe that they could worship a god so and still suffer as they did, turned on him, and the subsequent lack of worship caused him to fall back to the mortal realm. There's also more emphasis on the fact that the other gods used to watch him for entertainment for years starting from the ill-fated parade until they got bored and simply tuned out. Any mention of his powers being sealed is erased.

Chapter 2 is where we really get into the plot and character changes.

Major Changes:

Mu Qing and Feng Xin are no longer generals. They are just ascended gods, with their "general titles" becoming their Daoist names.

玄真将军，乃是坐镇西南方的武神，坐拥七千宫观，在人间可谓是声名显赫。 General Xuan Zhen was the Martial God of the Southwest who possessed seven thousand temples; his name in the human world was considerably distinguished...

—Vol. 1, Chapt. 1: The Scrap Immortal, Third Time Entering the Heavenly Capital, 7seas

vs.

慕情乃是坐镇西南方的武神，法号“玄真”，坐拥数千宫观，香火繁盛。 Mu Qing, Daoist name “Xuanzhen,” was the martial god overseeing the southwestern region, seated embraced by a thousand temples, incense and prosperity.

—Chapt. 2: The Scrap Immortal Ascends to the Immortal Capital for the Third Time, me

In the above quote, mxtx also apparently decreased the amount of temples dedicated to Mu Qing, a fact I did not catch until I made this post 😭

Keeping up with the titles change: Ling Wen directly refers to Mu Qing and Feng Xin by name, and neither she nor the narration call them “zhenjun,” anymore. However, she, herself, is still referred to as “zhenjun” by the narration.

The gods of the middle court are not "deputy gods" but "god attendants" now.

在八百年前，曾是侍立在仙乐宫太子殿座下的一名副将。 Eight hundred years ago, he was a deputy general at the Xianle Palace of the Crown Prince.

—Vol. 1, Chapt. 1: The Scrap Immortal, Third Time Entering the Heavenly Capital, 7seas

vs.

而在八百年前，他曾是仙乐宫太子殿座下的一名侍神。 Yet 800 years prior, he once served under the crown prince’s temple of the Xianle Palace as a god attendant.

—Chapt. 2: The Scrap Immortal Ascends to the Immortal Capital for the Third Time, me

Mu Qing's aggression is reduced by a lot. He speaks less (thank god) and doesn't immediately come out attacking Xie Lian, instead, quietly informing him that his ascension destroyed a lot of stuff. However, you can still catch hints of Mu Qing's viper personality, such as still directly ensuring that nobody lends Xie Lian helpers for his mission. Also in the final edit, Xie Lian says that he couldn't recognize Mu Qing by his voice because the latter never used to speak to him "so gently" in the past. His sarcasm is yet unchanged.

The aggression taken from Mu Qing seems to have been directly applied to Ling Wen, who is lowkey meaner to Xie Lian. She's not offering him help or a way out of convos as often as she does in the draft version. It seems like she's really pissed about the work she has to do fixing up Xie Lian's destructive entrance lmao!

Minor changes:

Xie Lian offers to sweep the main street of the immortal capital to earn merits, and Ling Wen has to talk him down from it, a joke that seems to replace Xie Lian asking her if she would pay him the amount of merits owed if she kicks him down from the heavens.

Xie Lian doesn't enter into a "gambling channel" of the communication when he first joins. It's just dead silence. He also doesn't need the passcode to enter because Ling Wen gives him all of that info and directly tells him to enter to seek help about resolving his debt issue.

Small notes that aren't changes:

Xie Lian's "palace" is not the same as everyone else's "palaces." His palace is 宫/gōng which is a just a regular palace, but everyone else's palaces are called 殿/diàn, which are palaces of worship (though his "crown prince's palace" is 殿/diàn, just not "The Palace of Xianle"). If you see me refer to the other gods' abodes as "temple palaces," it's to stay true to that distinction. This isn't a revision change, it's just that both can be translated as "palace" in English so no other translation made the distinction.

[jabutipiranga]

Ranking every portrait in Hades 2 because why not? (Part 4)

All of these designs are still good, just not the ones I think are the most attention-catching.

Charon

Charon's design hasn't changed much, but it didn't need to - it looks just as great as it did in the first game. I enjoy how they made his robe flow to make the portrait more dynamic and how he is destroying the obols now.

Cerberus

Cerberus design also didn't change much, but it's still great. There were some minor changes that I believe have made him slightly more "realistic" (smaller canines, thinner snout), which I think have made him even cuter. I still wish they had given him a mane of living serpents though.

Artemis

Artemis is the first one here that I feel it's a huge downgrade. Her design in the first game is dynamic; she is crouched and alert, as if a wild animal could come up at any moment. But here she's just standing there — which makes sense in the context of her talking to Melinoë, but it's not like that stopped Athena from still looking menacing and imposing. Why did she look more like she were in a war when she wasn't in a war? But otherwise, she looks just as great as she did in the first game.

Apollo

That's a pretty normal Apollo design all things considered, which isn't bad, but it does feel less creative than the other gods. I really like his bow doubling as a lyre, but that's all there is going on for him here really. I'm not a fan of the sun sign on his armor because I've always felt like Apollo's association with the sun wasn't nearly as prominent compared to his other domains in Ancient Greek culture as later works would make you think. Disappointing overall.

Moros

I don't think Moros has any physical description in mythology, so Supergiant was free to make a design from the zero, and they did a great job. I love the giant needle to emphasize Moros' loyalty to the Fates, famed for weaving mortal lives. I particularly like the eye obscured by shadows. But I don't get the antlers though — is it some kind of niche reference or did they just feel like it?

Hera

I love her large crown and how striking she is, but I just can't vibe with the design. I like the peacock motifs, but I can't help but think she should look more imposing. Hera isn't as warlike as Athena, but she still fought in the Gigantomachy and I feel like she looks too static here for a new Titanomachy. I'm not saying at all that she should be in full armor, but I think she could look less "sultry" (what's with the cleavage?). She also lacks the Lotus on her royal staff, although that's a nitpick at this point.

Nemesis

Differently from Moros, Nemesis does have visual depictions, and Supergiant references them through Nemesis' sword. However, I think she looks too warlike. I know I'm sounding contradicting here after what I talked about Hera, but hear me out: Nemesis was certainly a punishing deity, targeting those who committed evil acts or received undeserved good fortune, but I don't believe she was quite a war goddess, as far as I know. This heavy armor would perhaps be better suited in a design for Enyo, or even Eris, who did have strong war associations. If it weren't for her resemblance to Nyx, I'd have some hard time figuring out this is Nemesis.

Erymanthian Boar

The famed giant boar from Arcadia sought by Heracles in his labours, now undead. He looks appropriately disgusting, and I like how his spine makes a mane of sorts. However, I do think it's curious they used the Erymanthian rather than the Calydonian boar for an undead member of Chronos' army, because I think he was never really killed by Heracles. After he showed it to Eurystheus, I think the boar just peaced off.

[wearingmysugarcoat]

Hi dear readers! This evil pink Cookie will not stop eating away at my brain, so in an attempt to get her to stop for a little while, here are my theories about the story of these upcoming chapters based on the new trailers!

Keep in mind that this is all for fun, and I am in no way a professional on any of these topics!

On the title screen, Eternal Sugar Cookie is holding a yellow fruit, perhaps an apple, with a snake wrapped around it, holding it out to Hollyberry Cookie. This is a reference to the Biblical story of Adam and Eve. The devil, disguised as a snake, offers the Forbidden Fruit to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. The Garden of Eden is also called the Paradise.

Both the names 'the Garden of Sweet Delights' and 'the Paradise of Passion and Sloth' seem to be referring to this. Eternal Sugar is the devil, offering Hollyberry Cookie a fruit. The Forbidden Fruit represents temptation. Eternal Sugar is tempting Hollyberry with her paradise, her ability to make her endlessly happy.

The fruit Eternal Sugar is holding is a yellow apple, or more specifically, perhaps a golden apple. This could be a reference to the Apple of Discord from Greek mythology. The Apple of Discord is an apple that was given to Paris, with the words 'For the most beautiful' written on it. He had to choose between the goddesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. He eventually gifted it to Aphrodite, which started the Trojan War.

Eternal Sugar Cookie is most likely based on Aphrodite, so this could be a nod to that. Or that when Hollyberry takes the metaphorical apple (gives into her manipulation), all hell breaks loose. Or they simply chose the color yellow because it has a bigger contrast with pink than red does.

Eternal Sugar Cookie seems to be able to make anyone feel happy. Feel 'relaxed', and like they are 'floating on a cloud'. Sugar in itself can be an addicting substance, with some studies even suggesting it might be more addictive than cocaine. Sugar releases dopamine in the brain, making you feel happier and more energized. This makes you associate the intake of sugar with something positive, making you crave it again once the effects wear off. It works like any other addictive substance, be it alcohol or cocaine.

Eternal Sugar promises eternal happiness, even calling herself 'the Bringer of Happiness'. She has a large statue inside of her Garden of Sweet Delights, surrounded by ionic columns. Columns are often associated with ancient Greek architecture. The ancient Greeks also often erected statues of important people, but above all, of gods.

After Hollyberry Cookie approaches the statue, Eternal Sugar Cookie descends from the sky, like a divine being. She makes it seem like she is a savior of some sorts who can make all pain go away.

Wrapped around the columns are grapes. Grapes are sweet, but are also used to make wine, an addictive alcoholic substance.

Another thing I noticed was the appearance of the Ouroboros. This is a symbol of a snake eating its own tail. It symbolizes eternal cycles. This could symbolize the (seemingly) endless cycle of addiction, and with that the 'eternal happiness' Eternal Sugar promises.

Eternal Sugar Cookie once held the Soul Jam of Happiness, which then corrupted into Sloth. The part she is missing is the Passion Hollyberry Cookie now holds in her Soul Jam. Perhaps this is a metaphor for depression, as Eternal Sugar compares happiness to a butterfly that she can't seem to catch.

She tells Hollyberry Cookie her passions will only lead to suffering. This might only be Eternal Sugar lying to Hollyberry Cookie to manipulate her, but it could also be Eternal Sugar Cookie's own perspective and experiences. Perhaps she saw Cookies that were dear to her crumble, making her depressed and lose her passion and motivation, wanting to escape from the harshness of reality with her dreamlike illusions.

And this might all be wishful thinking, but Eternal Sugar might even yearn to be truly happy again. This gives her a motive besides mere power to try and get Hollyberry Cookie's Soul Jam back, making her more of a tragic villain.

The happiness Eternal Sugar spreads is devoid of any passion. It is an easy way to escape and forget your pains, but real happiness can not exist without the pain that goes along with life. Perhaps that could be a moral the story will convey.

Or not! This is all mere speculation. I think the story has a lot of potential to explore deeper themes, and I can not wait to see what they will do with Eternal Sugar Cookie!

[skipppppy]

CARMEN SANDIEGO CHARACTERS + MOVIES

Boo I felt like making headcanons again bc I spend more time wondering what these assholes do in their free time than I do on my job

CARMEN

Didn’t have access to movies growing up so Player, Zack, and Ivy have been catching her up on the most popular ones

HORRIBLE to watch with. Doesn’t really understand “suspension of disbelief” as a concept and will ask stupid questions the whole time. Player almost ended their friendship because she nitpicked Lord of the Rings for being “unrealistic”

Enjoys low stakes 2000s girl chick flicks like mean girls and legally blonde. She has enough stress in her life man she just wants to relax

HATES heist movies because of how innacurate they are. Team Red has taken to watching them JUST to hear her pick them apart

PLAYER

Sci-fi/fantasy junkie. Anything and everything that has aliens/magic and shitty practical effects from the 80’s/90’s he is all over

Has never said a single kind thing about the Star Wars franchise in his life. They are his favourite movies of all time

ADORES Edgar Wright and has slowly been converting Team Red to his movies. Zack loved Baby Driver. Ivy loved Shaun of the Dead. Shadowsan loved Hot Fuzz. He considers Scott Pilgrim the pinnacle of Canadian cinema

Cannot STAND the amount of remakes happening in Hollywood recently

ZACK

Canon enjoyer of blockbuster action movies. Everyone dreads the nights when he gets to choose a film bc his taste is so generic

Does not know what the Snyder cut is. Thank god

His only redeeming quality is a love of early dreamworks. Will not stop quoting Madnagascar

Has seen every Marvel movie and thinks all of them are good. Player has BEGGED him to watch better movies but he won’t. He’s the type to rag on Scorsese for being “boring”

Has seen Kevin Feige’s extended filmography. Does not know who that man is

IVY

Horror fanatic

Banned from choosing movies for film night after convincing them to watch her “favourite lesbian romcom” with her. That lesbian romcom was Saw

Ellen Ripley was not only her personal hero but also her gay awakening. The Xenomorph queen was her second gay awakening

Also loves period dramas. Enjoys the tiddies and knows she would look SO good in those fancy waistcoats the men wear

Watches old slashers with Carmen and laugh whenever someone dies in a stupid way

SHADOWSAN

Faculty considered movies “low brow” entertainment so he hasn’t seen a movie made before the year 2000

Loves a good mob flick. Got into Scorsese specifically because Zack hated him. Goodfellas is his favourite

Everyone assumes he enjoys samurai movies but he actually HATES them. Hideo would ramble about historical inaccuracies the whole way through and he’s still bored just thinking about it

Used to love Yakuza films back in the day but they were soured for him after actually living as one

Loved Knives Out, found Daniel Craig VERY attractive, and has since fallen down the James Bond rabbit hole

CHASE

The most pretentious film hack you’ve ever met in your life. He is taking you to a back alley screening of some arthouse eastern european gay porn on a first date and it will be the most profound thing you’ve ever seen in your life

Detective noir movies and cheesy black and white romances are his favourites. He likes falling asleep to them

He and Player both appreciate animation as a form of cinema, but while Player is referring to like. the Mario movie, Chase is talking about some 3 minute Russian stopmotion surrealist piece from 1951. He attends Annecy every year and has been banned from the Oscars due to threats of violence

He likes Poirot tho. Transmasc king

JULIA

If she has a few hours to herself she’d rather watch a documentary than go to a movie theatre, but she loves historical dramas

Enjoys biopics but thinks it’s stupid to make them for people who are alive

Likes watching movies for the sake of trash talking them, so she is the only person who can tolerate sitting through one with Carmen

LOVES Wes Anderson though. Chase got her into his stuff and the symmetry scratches an itch in her brain. But don’t tell him that

Also enjoys period dramas for the tiddies

CHIEF

Shitty cop movie enjoyer. The kind of person who insists that Die Hard is her favourite christmas movie

LOVES heist movies because of how inaccurate they are. Will mentally nitpick whatever secret service is going after them and be like “ACME wouldn’t do that lol”

She’s semi aware that she’s the antoagonist in Carmen’s own heist narrative so she’s started having fun with it

Closet lover of b-tier comedy movies. Like the ones with Adam Sandler and Kevin Hart on the cover

Does not enjoy watching movies socially. That is quality time for her and her cat. She does not have to shush Commander