#It's never too late to be a better person and to do better than you did yesterday

[aajjks]

Blurred Lines (m)

synopsis: the lines are blurring- you’re forbidden but he has to have a taste.

paring. soft!yan best friend!jk x Reader

warnings. yändêrê,, flüff, obsèssïvè thöüghts, lôvèsïck jk, DÏRTY thöüghts,, Jungköök is sö nöt pürè LMÁÔ büt wbk.

note. heh. ENJOY AND SEND ASKS FOR HIMMMM ILY GUYS.

DO NOT ROMANTACISE THIS BEHAVIOUR AND I DO NOT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOUR IRL AND THIS IS PURELY FICTIONAL AND THIS FIC DOES NOT REPRESENT BTS OR JUNGKOOK AS A PERSON.

You’re the one he loves and maybe he’s too late to realise it, you’re singles, yes. But he just got out of a great relationship and you’d never date your best friend.

An angel that was sent in jungkooks dark, plain life to light it up with its radiatingly angelic existence. before you, it was all dark and smoky around him, the constant chaos, bad relationships and gleaming was starting to taint his entire life but then you were always there…

His savior, his salvation. His best friend, YN LN. yes, his YN, the girl of his dreams. Jungkook loves you so fucking much. His love for you is indescribable. Really, he is so devoted to you, but being your devotee was the least he was doing...you were a goddess, you deserved someone better than him.

A lot better, pure. Jungkook knew that he didn’t deserve you, you are like a forbidden fruit that’s so tempting to taste.

Becoming your best friend was a start...for something more...way more that jungkook craved so much. But… he never dared to cross the line, and then Dakhyung came.

He tried to suppress his emotions and feelings for you, how could he love you, his best friend.

But the truth is..

Jungkook is in love with you, his best friend. he has been loving you. His world revolves around you. the most random things you talk about are so lovely to hear...your voice is so soothing.

It soothes jungkooks inner demon that threats to come out and take over him. the one that’s so into you.

Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N and Y/N.

Maybe his interest in you was partly responsible for her cheating on him.. maybe, she didn’t like you.. her loss.

“Kookie!!” Jungkook blinks, Finally pulled back to reality. He tilted his head to look at you, and his mind goes blank.

God, you are so pretty, so fucking beautiful. You are a masterpiece, God’s greatest creation, God’s biggest masterpiece. “KOOKIE!”

“Y-Yes!?” This time a soft smile finds its way to his lips and his cheeks heated up in embarrassment. “yes YN?” You huff in annoyance. “What are you thinking so deeply about, kook. I’ve been calling you for the last 17 minutes.” If it was even possible, his cheeks felt more heated.

if only you kn- “got a crush or something kook? Or thinking about the bitch?”

You interrupt the trail of his thoughts once again. he looks up at you in surprise, his dark doe eyes wide with his mouth agape.

“Fuck Dakhyung.” He refers to his now ex girlfriend. He hates her, to be fair he never loved her, the relationship was rushed, she wanted to be with him and… he was too scared to ask you out.

Dumb move.

But then she cheated on him, what a whore.

“w-what?!” he stutters, his heart threatening to explode in his chest. “What, What kook. A crush. Perhaps you have a crush since you’re so distracted these days...” on your face was a mischievous smile that made him scared.

But she really did him a favour by freeing him.

what if you knew? did his friend tell you? that fucker— “w-why do you think I-I have a crush? How’d you know... Yn.” Jungkook looked everywhere but at you.

“I just got cheated on yn!”

now, don’t get jungkook wrong. He loves you a lot...like it was probably unhealthy. But he hated just how smart you were.

But then again, it is also so hot.

Jungkook shakes his head at his lewd thoughts. Now was not the time. Jungkook liftes his head up to see you so close to his face.

eeeeekkk!

“Y-Y-Yn!!! W-What are you doing!?” With your face so close to his, jungkooks breath hitches in his throat. you really are Gods most magnificent creation. and...

you smell so fucking good. peachy, his favorite scent. “jungkooooookie is innnn looooveee!~” the way your mouth moves was so attractive, your lips were so plump.

So pink and glossy, his mouth was salivating at the sight. nice lipgloss.

Damn your glossy pretty lips.

what does it taste like? Oh he desperately he wishes he could know. His gaze is set on your lips as he forces his frozen mind to think logically.

No! Jungkook is not a pervert. You are pure. He inhales loudly while scolding himself mentally.

Now. is. not. the. time. jungkook.

He closes his eyes and gulpes. These thoughts are haunting, how would your lips feel against his? your soft skin would be heaven to touch…

Just look at you.

stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop— fuck it.

“Y/N can i kiss you?”

maybe he isn’t as pure as he thought.

#jungkook x reader #yandere bts #jungkook smut #bts smut #jjk smut #yandere jjk #yandere jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook x yn #jungkook imagine #jjk imagines #yandere x reader #yandere smut #yandere boy #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jungkook fluff #Jungkook imagines #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeongguk smut #jeongguk x reader #kpop fluff #kpop smut

[leaderwonim]

unconditional love. ✧ park sunghoon x fem!reader genre: bittersweet fluff, coming of age angst

you liked park sunghoon, you truly did. he was kind, intelligent, and had that soft introverted persona on the outside.

when you got to know him, he became the most funny and loudest person to ever exist, which had your heart doing backflips.

it wasn’t him that was the issue. it was you. you always had commitment issues, never being able to settle down because of your past pulling you behind. i mean—how could anyone ever like you? you felt as thought you were too loud, too annoying, too irritable, just too much.

despite your brain constantly bringing you down, park sunghoon loved you. he loved every single piece of you, the way you’d blow your perfect hair out of your face as you concentrated on the textbook in front of you, the way your eyebrows would furrow when you didn’t quite catch a question or answer, the way you’d prop your head onto your knees as a way to comfort yourself.

god, park sunghoon swore you were the one. he didn’t care that his friends warned him about your earned title of being a ghoster when it came to relationships, he didn’t care that it felt like he was constantly putting in more effort than you.

as long as he’s got you, he doesn’t care. so how did the two of you end up in this situation?

“i don’t get it,” sunghoon frowns, “what did i do wrong?”

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you say exasperatedly, “in fact, you were perfect sunghoon. you were everything i wanted and more—it’s just me.”

park sunghoon hated the classic it’s me not you excuse when it came to situations like these. but because it’s you, he lets it slide, even though he already feels the tears coming.

“i don’t want to hurt you any longer, hoonie. you have to understand i’m ending this because i care about you too much to put you through hell.”

sunghoon solemnly nods, knowing whatever he’ll say won’t change anything, that it’s already too late and you’ve already made up your mind.

it’s cruel, he thinks. life. how it could be so depressing and meekly all at once.

it wasn’t until a year later that sunghoon and you crossed paths again. you two were now sophomores in college, and had even attended the same university.

you had gotten a boyfriend, finally deciding to settle down after maturing and realizing how much of a piece of shit you were to all the boys at your high school.

his name was heeseung and he had treated you like a princess, reminding you of how sunghoon used to treat you back in senior year.

now here you were, sitting on one of the university steps with your head hung low. your parents had given you the call about them divorcing, right in the middle of your sophomore year. you were miles away, and was heartbroken knowing your family was splitting in two without you being there physically to support them.

“hey, you okay?”

you knew that voice better than anyone.

“hoon?” you sniffle. “i’m sorry—why am i even calling you that.”

“it’s okay.” he reassures you, patting your back as he takes a seat. “what’s wrong?”

“parents are getting divorce,” you scoff. “guess thats karma for all the things i put you through.”

“don’t say that.” sunghoon gently wipes away your tears, frowning when he sees more appear.

“you shouldn’t even be comforting me, i treated you like shit sunghoon, i got a new boyfriend right after i said i couldn’t settle down with you.”

“who cares?” sunghoon says, and for the first time, you don’t see the romantic love he used to have in his eyes for you. “we’re young! of course you’re going to find other people.”

you’re in awe at the maturity sunghoon is displaying. you knew it took a lot of courage for him to do so.

“why are you being so nice, sunghoon?”

“the world is already cruel, yn.” sunghoon sighs. “so therefore, i won’t be.”

and although his words won’t stop the divorce of your parents or the sadness filling your chest, it makes you feel a tad bit lighter, knowing that you had someone like park sunghoon in your life.

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen texts #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen scenarios #enhypen soft hours #enhypen ff #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon fanfic

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (10) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n the calm before the storm?

masterlist | last part | part 10 | next part (tba)

INSTAGRAM

mclaren Shanghai International Circuit

54,829 likes

mclaren Looks like a race day to me 🤔 tagged: oscarpiastri and landonorris

pi4str1 good luck papaya fam 🧡🧡🧡

michelle.ar manifesting double podiums again

jimpxcs Let's go boys 🔥

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

↳ oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 2h WELCOME BACK LINA F1 LIVE TWEETS ↳ piaa⁸¹ @papayaeightyone · 1h she's so real for these reactions honestly 😭

INSTAGRAM

lilymhe just posted to their story

TWITTER

🕯️manifesting EB3 🕯️@ linabelles · 45m stfu i'd know that silhouette anywhere. lily muni he at shenzhen n3??? ↳ abby <3 @devilvows · 39m not just lily! alex, logan and oscar were also spotted in the venue!!

piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 21m omg oscalina crumbs 🥹 ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 21m this is so sad, they've already hard launched, why do i still feel like i'm in a drought

INSTAGRAM

lilymhe

liked by selinabui and 143,284 other

lilymhe Been hanging out with some rockstars lately 🤟 tagged: alex_albon, cameliazzz, selinabui and oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri Today I learnt: I still suck at golf ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri dw babe, at least we suck together ❤️‍🩹 ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui 🥹

selinabui gonna stick to singing my silly songs that was such a humbling experience ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui You did better than Alex

pastry81 the mother convention ft some kens

alex_albon I personally don't recommend karaoke with a musician

linasgirl4 THANK U LILY MUNI HE FOR CONTRIBUTING TO THE OSCALINA PHOTOS WE APPRECIATE U GREATLY liked by creator

oscarpiastri

liked by selinabui and 201,395 others

oscarpiastri Some moments off-track

dan_pjd puppy !!!🥺 so we have roscoe hamilton, leo leclerc and this is...? ↳ marie_h.sb @dan_pjd apollo! lina adopted him a year ago

landonorris I thought that was lily but no, she's really serious about that golfing thing, ain't she?

celia.sucxr why does he keep posting her ↳ pastry81 @ celia.sucxr because that's his girlfriend???

TWITTER

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 4h too many people bitching and moaning about oscar posting about lina but u don't understand, if u were dating selina bui, u would also never stfu about her ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 4h she's still mid lmao ↳ oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 3h until u have acclaimed music critics blaming ur success on pretty privilege, shut up :) ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 3h oomfie you ATE that and also unlocked a core memory

INSTAGRAM

emptybottles_official Shenzhen Bay Sports Center

liked by zhouguanyu24 and 362,486 others

emptybottles_official A beautiful Shenzhen homecoming for Lina and Jonny 💖 Thank you guys so much for three amazing nights of fun (and screaming with us) 🔜 Bangkok

lilymhe had an absolute blast! ↳ emptybottles_official @ lilymhe join us again soon?

zhouguanyu24 Did she sing THE song? ↳ selinabui @ zhouguanyu24 keeping dreaming man

piastri_lina shenzhen, how does it feel to WIN 😭

TWITTER

emme @flowersforcami · 1h and what do melb n1, tokyo n2 (replacement) and shenzhen n3 have in common? ↳ oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 49m oscar piastri shows you will always be famous ↳ lukas 🔛🔝 @lukiepookie28 · 28m no bc someone needs to get the stats on her energy when oscar is in the crowd like girlie is BEAMING

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee @urfavsgf @eiaaasamantha

#f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x oc #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri smau #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 smau #f1 fic #f1 smau #f1 imagine #f1 social media au

[amalthiaph]

I took an interest in The Bad Batch around the tailend of S2. It's not news to Tumblr that I almost slept on this show. And I cannot thank Caleb Dume enough for being the reason why I pressed the play button for this one. While I haven't been around for most of its active run, and I wish I had been, the last year has been among the best months of my life.

This show challenged my morals, and taught me lessons that I will forever take with me.

Tech taught me to embrace and take pride in who I am. I now think that I am not something that needs to be cured. I needed to be understood and accepted. He taught me that we deserved to be loved and be allowed to live the way we want to (as long as we are not causing harm to ourselves or to others).

Hunter taught me that at the end of the day, we're all still humans. We make mistakes. We fail. But we can learn from them, and we can strive to be better. And I should also take care of my hair bec I cannot accept that a man in a galactic war have better hair than me (Okay, did you honestly think I'm gonna be serious this entire essay?)

Crosshair taught me that at the end of the day, we really are still humans. Sometimes, we make choices that not everyone will understand or agree to. Sometimes, we don't even understand our own choices. But we can learn from them, and we can strive to be better. And that I should also go to therapy bec istg my hand shakes like hell I always need to rely on a pen stabilizer when doing my artworks.

Wrecker taught me that in this world where we can be anything, always choose to be kind. He is a great man who would always be there for everyone, and I hope that one day, I can be that person too. He is afraid of heights, but he climbs and go on high places anyway. Like him, I should also start conquering my fears. Dear Wrecker, I did try conquering my fear of heights last March 9 but I can't. I will try again.

Echo taught me to always fight for the greater good. Almost two years ago, me and a group of people campaigned for a great tomorrow. With pink flags and pink balloons, we worked on our little thing I like to call our rebellion. Sadly, we lost. At times, I am thinking of just giving up bec that's democracy and I cannot go against the people's decision, but characters like Echo and the rest of Rogue One taught me that nothing should ever stop me for fighting for the people's rights and that my love for my fellow citizens should always come first before hatred.

And lastly, Omega taught me to be curious, or more likely to not be ashamed for being curious. Learn about the world. Learn about lots of things. We never know when we need it. While I could say be good at strategy and win 30 grand on card games, nahhh, I'm not that smart.

I also learned to reevalutate myself as an artist. This show taught me integrity. I had ranted about this lately but these characters challenged me in terms of art. I knew that the creators aren't best at proper representation. While I could draw them as they are in the show, I choose to stand for what is right, and represent them as properly as my skills could. In the more technical side, I became good at drawing armors. And this little Actors AU Draw Series taught me to be responsible; I tried my very best to create and post them on time. This increased my productivity.

But enough about me.

There's something I realized two nights ago; we, the fandom, are Bad Batchers ourselves. We can consider ourselves a family, but not one of us is the same and we're all interesting, and capable in our own unique ways. We can have our own opinion and stand about something and still coexist. Like our favorite charactera, we embrace and celebrate our differences.

This show may end. No more Bad Batch Eves, no more cryptic tweets that cause us to hyperventilate, no more Bad Batch Wednesdays but it will live on, through us.

I know there will be a day where we decrease in number, one by one, little by little, but still, the show will live on through our actions, our opinions, our choices we make after May 1, 2024 because I know that all of us were changed in some ways by these characters and this show.

To the crew, your cryptic tweets caused me sleepless nights, but thank you so, so much. It is through your hardwork that we had this wonderful show. Thank you for making every second of the past year so worthwhile and enjoyable for me and for everyone.

However this show will end, whether happy or sad, I am glad it happened. However short my time was with them, I am happy I had been here. However short my time with everyone in the fandom was or if some of you leave one day, still, thank you so much for being part of my life; I am so happy I met all of you.

To Clone Force 99, thank you. I've never loved anything like this before. May the Force be with you.

#the bad batch #tbb s3 #tbb #star wars #amalthia cried while writing this

[plumgyu]

A Taste of Heaven - Choi Beomgyu

(Beomgyu/Gender Neutral Reader)

Warnings: None

You awoke to someone saying your name, tugging on the fabric of your shoulder.

“Get up… please…” The voice pleaded, not wanting to be late for your next class yet not wanting to leave you behind.

“Five more minutes…” You muttered, eyes closed shut and face buried in your arms. You felt a soft poke to your arm, the figure repeating your name now with more urgency.

“I swear if I get one more absence because of you I am going to send you to your grave.” The voice had a mixture of annoyance and amusement in its tone.

“Beomgyu, you shouldn’t have waited for me to head to your science…” You whispered, abashed at your actions having repeated themselves again.

“I wanted to.” He said simply, and you knew better than to contest to that. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at his words.

Although when had ignoring your problems ever solved anything for anyone? Whether you told yourself it was true or not, it was an undeniable fact that you were stupidly in love with this man. The thought that he could never love you too was almost too much to bear. Half your grade liked him, so your chances were slim to none. Even knowing this, you wouldn’t stop liking him. No, you couldn’t. Every part of him was far too enticing to resist, and every little touch left you yearning for more. Was this beginning to be a problem…?

You snapped out of your melancholic thoughts, not wanting to make him later than he already was. He walked you to your class, bid you goodbye, and quickly ran off to his own. It was the little things like this that made it impossible to stop liking him.

Sighing, you sat down at your desk, and miraculously, you weren’t late. You cringed as you heard the bell, knowing that there was no world where Beomgyu made it to his class two stories above within a fifteen second time frame. “I’m going to have to pay him back for this…” You told yourself, a twinge of guilt mixing with the fluttering of your heart at having been around the one you loved.

For better or worse, these feelings soon faded as endless lectures on quadratics ensued. Your math teacher, Mr. Jang, not once failed to one-up himself in the sheer boredom his classroom brought. The only interesting thing about this class was the fact that it constantly seemed to get less interesting. Despite your past mistake, the sheer uselessness of this knowledge threatened to put you to sleep in itself.

At last, the class ended, signaling the beginning of lunch. You would get to see Beomgyu. But was that even a good thing anymore? The pain of knowing that he could never love you back brought pain deeper than any cut, but the warmth in your heart his presence brought always pulled you back. Curse him and his comforting voice.

You don’t know how, or why, you chose to do it. But somehow the prospect of being with a person who made you happier than anyone else didn’t seem so pleasant anymore. When you weren’t there, would he just replace you with someone else? He wouldn’t even notice if you were gone, right…?

Soon your eyes welled up in thick tears, running down your face and soaking your skin. You had to leave before someone saw this. Between choked back sobs, you made your way out of the school building, looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide. You settled on a thick tree by the side of the school. The shade soothed you as compared to the blazing sun, the light breeze giving your senses a faint chill. Flowers bloomed in the trees, which leaves swayed so gracefully it was nearly hypnotic. The grass beneath you lay soft and welcoming, but as it soon grew wet from your cries, it served only as a way to dispose of your tears.

It seemed as if nothing would ever be okay again. God, how could you even look at him again after realizing the full extent of your feelings towards him…? You would never be anything more than a friend to him, so why couldn’t you just let it go…? Why couldn’t you let him go…?

As if by command, you heard your name called yet again, but this time with a delicate softness that held fragile emotions behind it.

“Please… don’t cry… it’s going to be okay…” It was none other than the one you both wanted to see more than all else and wished to avoid with your life. It was the voice of Choi Beomgyu. He seemed to be at a loss for words. You hardly had time to be embarrassed at your disheveled state before that sentiment worsened at the realization that he had never seen you cry before. How the hell were you going to get out of this one…?

“I was just- taking some time to relax,” you began, desperately trying to explain yourself, “Nothing to worry about here, see?” You forced a smile, but your eyes were still filled with great anguish.

“No,” he began, calling out your name yet again. If you weren’t careful, you’d get addicted to the sound of that word on his lips. “I know you, and I know you’re not okay. Tell me what’s wrong, please?” The look in his eye was deadly. Not in the sense that it scared you, but due to the fact that he looked so adorable in that moment that it made you want to pour out your heart’s deepest desires to him. And behind the cuteness lay that mysterious emotion you always felt when he was with you. Whether it be in his voice, through his eyes, or by the softness of his touch, there was this strange feeling you could never quite pinpoint through his actions.

“I can’t,” You replied simply, not knowing any other way to word it. “Not to you…” You choked back yet another sob, not wanting to show even more of your vulnerability in front of him.

“Why not?” He questioned, looking slightly hurt by your declaration. His eyebrows furrowed, lips unconsciously forming a slight pout. He looked like a lost puppy. How was it possible for a human to be this cute?

“No- it’s not personal… I just,” You fumbled through your words, “It’s just…”

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” He muttered, “I won’t be mad.”

“No, Beomgyu, you don’t understand.” Was it courage? Was it annoyance? Was it the subconscious desire to let out your biggest secret and finally be able to stop these lies? You would never know.

“Beomgyu,” You began, looking him dead in the eye. “I like you.”

His eyes widened in shock. He seemed to have both everything and nothing to say at once. Those few moments were among the most terrifying in your life, his silence being far worse than the prospect of rejection. Eventually, he regained his composure. Maybe he didn’t need words.

“Can I kiss you?” A simple question, asked so casually you could have brushed it off as small talk by the tone of his voice. It was now your turn to be at a loss for words. The most you could manage was a soft whisper.

“Please,” And that was all it took. The next thing you knew, his soft lips were against yours. It was nothing short of euphoric, everything you’ve ever wanted coming down to this very moment. When he pulled away, you found yourself wanting more. A single look into his eyes and you could see that he wanted it too.

He pulled you back, moving you closer and closer into his body, to the point where your chest lay against his. You hummed into his lips, as if asking permission to kiss him deeper, and he eagerly obliged. The feeling of his tongue against yours was almost too much to handle. Suddenly, you felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you up into his embrace. A squeak escaped your lips, and you took the opportunity to admire the boy in front of you.

His hair was soft and warm in the afternoon sun, his mouth tinted a light red as by your doing. His eyes were as pretty as ever, shining with deep admiration and long held love. He was beautiful. And he was yours.

You felt his hand brush against your cheek, an expression of longing taking over his features. He bit his lip slightly, as if contemplating whether to speak, before coming to a conclusion.

“I like you too,” he said, now unable to contain the sheepish grin forming on his lips.

He had given you a taste of heaven. Now there was nothing stopping you from taking more.

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first post so please feel free to share your criticism and feedback ♡

#txt #tomorrow x together #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #kpop #beomgyu x reader #txt post #txt fanfic

[alittlebitofloveliness]

More Darry Curtis headcanons

-Goes to every single parent/teacher interview night or open house at Ponyboy’s school, even if he has to take off work. Part of it is because he’s determined to be a good guardian but part of it is because he just proud of Pony and likes hearing from teachers how great he is

-Speaking of how great Pony is, Darry brags about Pony SO much. Like his work crew and the gang never stop hearing about how great the kid is…except when the kid is present. Then you couldn’t get a compliment out of him if you pried his jaw open

-He and Sodapop both have a soft spot for soap operas and watch them together super late at night so no one else in the gang- Pony included- will find out. (Steve caught them once but he just sat down quietly, waving away their hasty attempts to explain themselves, muttering for them to shut up, and that he used to watch them with his mom when she was still around. The three of them finished the episode and went to bed without saying anything else.)

-Loves music of all kinds (I just know he’d be one of those guys that is SO into music history and makes it everyone else’s problem) “did you know this song was meant to be an apology to-“ “-to some random broad, we know Dar, now shut up would ya?”

-Is left handed

-He and Two-bit butt heads quite a bit but he’s also closer to Two than almost anyone else in the gang because they’re the closest in age. They have so many inside jokes that the rest of the gang gets confused because Two can sometimes get him to snicker from seemingly innocuous remarks that aren’t funny to anyone but Darry

-Has dragged Soda (and Steve by extension) away from Buck’s too many times to count and is pissed every time

-Worries the whole time when he goes on ski trips with his old buddies. He worries a lot anyway, but it’s always worse when he’s too far from home to get there immediately  if something happened. Both Soda and Pony know this so they’re actually better behaved when he’s gone than when he isn’t

-Speaking of the ski trips, he always comes back glowing, for once looking his age, so the gang encourages him to go as much as possible. They have to be subtle about it though, because he gets suspicious that they’re planning something if they make it too obvious they’re trying to get him to leave, and then there’s no way in hell he’ll go

-Loves rodeos but unlike Soda has never and never wanted to participate in one

-Mother's day and father's day are contentious days in the Curtis house ever since the accident, so Soda and Pony just designated a random day as 'Darry Day" and got him little gifts, and did all the housework because they really do appreciate everything he does for them. Darry was super touched and vehemently denies tearing up when he saw the card Pony made for him

-His bond with Tim Shepard is hard for the gang, Darry himself, and even Tim to figure out, but it’s very strong despite how little they actually interact

-Despite refusing to ever go to the hospital, he’s actually the absolute worst patient when he’s sick. It takes a lot for him to admit that he’s ill, but once he does he’s absolutely insufferable. Pony and Soda takes turns taking care of him because they’re both liable to lose their temper if they have to do it for too long without a break. (“Soda my head hurts” “I know Darry” “Soda I need a glass of water” “you have a glass of water” “but Soda it’s not cold” “I got you a new one five minutes ago” “but Soda it warmed up” “damnit! Pony tag in, you deal with him, I need a smoke” “Pony I’m dying” “you’re not dying Dar” “yes I am” "no you're not")

-He’s a super fast walker. Like, anyone shorter than him has to jog a lil to catch up

-He’s a cat person. Pony and Soda are both dog people, and it has caused more than one argument despite the fact they have no pets and couldn’t afford  one even if they could agree on what they wanted

-He and Soda definitely made a secret handshake when they were little, and he still remembers every single move of it even though they haven’t done it in years and he isn’t sure if Soda even remembers making it

#the outsiders #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #steve randle #johnny cade #dally winston #tim shepard #the outsiders headcanons

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hi there!! Can I req a Matthias x reader where the reader is very nice yet shy, and Matthias fell for their kindness but is afraid to confess cause he might lose them(who's the first and only person to show him genuine care)?

(But he's also bad at hiding his feelings)

Or maybe a scenario where he has a difficult time sleeping and finds himself impulsively knocking on your door— regretful of his actions but he can't back out now that you're standing in front of the open door, curious from the unexpected visit.

He's a new char so I hardly find any fics about him and I'm desperate💔 you can change the scenario!! I'm really just desperate uehdhsishd(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

hi anon i LOVED these ideas! i tried to combine both of them into one, i hope it satisfies what you wanted!! ♡

falling slowly 🪡

Matthias isn’t one to act on impulse.

He’ll let his thoughts fester aimlessly inside him, hoping the darker among them someday fizzle out. He’ll watch precious chances fly past him, fearing the consequences of a risk taken too rashly. A missed opportunity is better than another tragedy. A guarded mind is better than a broken heart. But some restless nights drive him to desperation, and tonight that leads him to you.

He stands outside your bedroom door, arms stiff against his sides. He’s passed by this room countless times before, as the two of you occasionally walk each other back to your rooms. But never has he come here on his own, never without explicit permission.

He gingerly raises his hand, letting it hover above your doorframe. All of a sudden, he loses his words. What would he say? I can’t sleep, I need you to check for monsters under my bed? I need you to stay with me until I fall asleep? I need you to tuck me in? What a baby. He can already picture the look you’d send him: a smile that’s trying too hard to be polite, a shabby effort at concealing the judgment within. You wouldn’t turn him down directly, even though he knows you’d want to. Kindhearted people love to dance in circles before saying anything that might offend. He’s all too familiar with this game. Normally, your kindness is something he loves about you, but all he can do now is curse it under his breath. If only you were crueler to him, like most people are, then he wouldn’t have let his hopes inflate his head. He would’ve known never to even consider stopping by your room. He would’ve known to avoid this situation altogether.

His fingers close into a fist, and it’s then he realizes he’s quivering slightly. Louis wouldn’t have a problem in this scenario. That thought piques Matthias most. His “factory defect” has locked him in place yet again, and all he can do is swallow down the reminder of his incompetence. It’s just a door, for God’s sake.

He flexes his fingers one last time, glancing around as if worried someone might catch him. Then he strikes his fist. It’s a clumsy motion, rattling your door on its hinges, and his heart leaps to his throat. A courteous knock would have three raps or so, not the jarring thud! he made — nobody in their right mind would imagine that’s a welcome visitor, right? Especially not at this snake’s pit of a manor. He prays desperately for you to ignore that ever happened. In your position, he’d pretend to be asleep, maybe double-check that the door is properly locked. Surely you’d do the same.

Surely...?

“It’s open!” greets your voice from inside, entirely unconcerned.

Matthias holds his breath. Why are you leaving your door unlocked at this hour? But he tucks that thought away while he stares down at the doorknob. This is it — he’s trapped. If he turns around now, you’ll be left with unresolved fears of someone lurking around your room at night. Nothing could entice him to do that to you. And if you ever found out it was him? It’d be too late for apologies, and definitely not forgiveness. Right, so he has to answer.

Slowly, he cracks it open a fraction, afraid of peering anywhere but the ground.

“You can come in,” you urge. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. Footsteps shuffle around inside, then the door fully swings open. “Oh, hi Matthias! What’s up?”

He only meets your face briefly, at your bright and curious eyes, before his gaze flicks back downward.

“Uh… sorry to bother you, I just…” He awkwardly grasps at his elbows, struggling to string together his intentions. “…I need you.”

. . . . .

There it is. His secret is out. He didn’t mean to let it slip, but that single phrase had been bouncing endlessly around his mind, as if they were the only words he knew. It’s the one thing he can confidently admit: he needs you. He doesn’t expect you to reciprocate. In fact, he’s certain you don’t. Nobody in their right mind would. That’s why he never ventured to say these words before. So when you respond to him with patient silence, as if waiting for him to continue, the entirety of his body freezes over. Maybe only a few seconds pass in reality, but that’s more than enough time for Matthias to fill the gaps. It’s a no — he knows it’s a no.

Your head tips slightly. “Sure, what do you need?”

The whirlwind in his mind slows to a halt. He remembers how he used to cough up excuses on the spot when trying to avoid you—sometimes you’d invite him for a meal or game of cards together, and he had convinced himself those were pity invites so he tended to reject them upfront. It stings less to avoid someone altogether than to endure feeling ‘tolerated’ instead of ‘wanted.’ But now he’s wracking his brain for an excuse to stay.

“I—I just wanted to see you.” It’s not a lie, but for some reason it feels like one.

“Me?” A look of surprise flashes on your face, warmth blooming across your chest. That might be the most forward thing you’ve ever heard from him. Stepping closer, you reach for his forearm, peering up into his face to better examine his strained features. Your free hand reaches up to brush aside the limp strands of hair shrouding his face. “Did something happen? It’s almost midnight—I mean, I don’t mind, it’s just so unexpected…”

The strength falls from Matthias’ shoulders. Out of relief, maybe. Or maybe it’s to brace himself for one last leap of faith.

“Can I stay with you…?” His voice is barely audible. You search his lone eye, staring back at you in its perfect hollowness. At some point, that blank stare has become a comforting sight for you. Your hand trails from his arm to spread across his shoulder. He remains motionless.

“Okay,” you say, softly. “Always.”

As you move to wrap both arms around his neck, you notice his body tense, and his brows furrow, subtly, in a clear attempt not to let you notice. The strain on his face catches you off-guard.

“Wh-What? What’s wrong?” Immediately, you pull back to search his expression.

“N-No, nothing—keep going.”

This time, it’s Matthias who draws you close. His arms weave their way around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His face burrows into your shoulder, and it’s then you understand the weight of his visit, of his need for you. All you can do is lift a tender hand to ruffle his hair, feeling his pounding heart ease in your arms.

#matthias' self sabotage saga continues #i adore this guy #identity v #idv x reader #matthias czernin #matthias czernin x reader #idv imagines #identity v x reader #idv puppeteer #puppeteer x reader

[fernandopiastri28]

strawberry wine ~ mw2 x fa14

“Strawberry wine, and all the time we used to have. Those things I miss, but know are never coming back.”

prompts: - refusing reconciliation because they're still deeply hurt - being the other's 'right person, wrong time' - remember when they were able to keep the promises they made? *I reworded Mark's exact quote from “By silverstone i'd concluded, another year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late” to “By silverstone i'd concluded, it would be my last year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late”, as I've made it all that this happens over the course of 2013*

2013- China, April

“I just don’t know Fernando, I’m not quite sure that Ferrari is right for me,” It seems not matter how much convincing and pleading he attempts, Mark isn’t seeming any more keen on switching to the scuderia then he had been at the beginning of the phone call when he’d rung his longtime friend, voicing concerns about the possibility of him changing teams.

“Give it a try Mark,” Mah-k , in all their years of friendship, one thing he picked up from him was the exact way the Australian pronounced his own name, the r translating to a h. Feh-nando , not fe-r-nando. 

The older man lets out a strangled sigh, slightly exasperated and seemingly at a loss for words. “I- I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” He admits, a quiet click of his tongue signalling the end of his sentence.

“Why not?” He can’t understand the resistance to at least try . Driving for Ferrari at a point during your career essentially cements your legacy in formula one. All the greats have done it- Schumacher, Villeneuve, Surtees, Ascari, Lauda- now himself. 

Mark should be added to that list. Webber should sit right after Alonso on the list.

“Because who’s to say I’ll do anything remotely remarkable at a new team? I could completely bomb out the second I step in the car. The devil I know is better than the devil I don’t,” Alonso didn’t realise when his friend had become this complete pessimist- the kind of guy who didn’t even consider trying. 

“That’s not a world champion’s mindset,” They both know he’s true. As a two time world champion himself, Fernando does have some kind of power over the other to say so- he knows first hand what it takes to be the best. “Red Bull isn’t doing you any favours, so really- how much worse could Ferrari possibly be?”

The Australian hasn’t had the best run being at Red Bull. To say he’d been bad would be an outrageous claim, and objectively untrue, but the Spaniard just knows he’s destined for better. He’s deserving of a world championship, and as long as he’s a second driver to vettel, he simply doesn’t have the car or the possibility to achieve one. 

“Seb is winning the championship currently, in a red bull- that’s gotta count for something,” Fernando rolls his eyes at the mention of the young german. If he’s the reason that Mark is so resistant to leave, Fernando would happily beat some wits into him, get him onto his side in convincing the Australian to leave the team that disregards him and treats him so poorly.

“And I’m second, what is your point?” Ah perfect, he’s got him there. When he doesn’t answer, he adds on, “Just, you’ll consider?” The question is met by a short exhale from Mark, shaking over the phone call. Picking at a piece of flint that’s attached itself to his fire engine red team polo, he patiently waits for Webber to cave and agree to it.

“Yes Nando,” His voice has a sense of faith and possible hope, “I’ll consider it for you,” It’s not a ‘ I’ll sign the contract now,’  

2013- Britain, June

WEBBER TAKES RAIKKONEN! From nowhere the Australian rips past the Finn, and is closing fast on Rosberg! Where did this pace come from? 

Fernando watches as Mark zips ahead in front, his pace looking outstanding from the glances he catches, trying to focus on his own face- aiming to secure another win for the season.

Rosberg has turned the speed on and posts a quicker lap than Webber in that one, and is 1.35 seconds clear of the Red Bull. Not far behind Alonso is all over Raikkonen's tail... AND HE MAKES A MOVE! 

Fernando catches Raikkonen at a vulnerable moment for the Finn, feeling no regret or empathy as he whips past him into third, trailing just behind Webber. 

1.2 seconds now between Rosberg and Webber - the German is doing enough, and will surely win the British Grand Prix now! 

The gap between him and the Australian is only getting tighter, the possibility of standing on the second step at the end of this becoming a more realistic and possible reality. For now though, he won’t allow himself to get distracted by dreaming of what he could do, he needs to focus on pushing.

Lewis Hamilton right in on Alonso as well - half a chance of a podium for Lewis despite that blowout which put him back in last place! 

Shit. Being too focused on the gap between him and Webber meant he’d lost all consideration about how closely the Mercedes of Lewis had been trailing on his heels, eager to snatch up a podium finish.

NICO ROSBERG WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX! He crosses the line 0.7 seconds clear of Mark Webber, who has almost pulled off an amazing victory despite falling back to 15th after a catastrophic start to his race! 

First place is no longer an achievable spot, but just as Senna’s mantra went, ‘If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you are no longer a racing driver’, he won’t allow himself to slow down just because he won’t be top step when it’s time to receive a trophy. Second or third is always better than fourth. 

Webber second, Alonso third with Hamilton fourth despite the tyre blow-out which robbed him of first place early on. 

It’s done now at least. He may not be first, or even second, but he’s not in Hamilton’s spot either- a blown out wheel and the lost opportunity of a race win. He’s doing better than most, and he’s willing to take that.

He stands on the third step of the podium, Mark proudly standing tall to his left, waving his sweat soaked hat high above his head. He looks proud, a grin stretched across his mouth in a tired relief. He may have not gotten first place, but he sure as hell has enough pride in his expression to seem as if he did. 

Rosberg is equally as happy, an unbeatable look of elation staining his face. He pumps his hands up, showing off his golden trophy. One by one, they receive their bottles of champagne, ready to really start the celebration. 

The Spaniard and Australian coat each other in sticky bubbles, while the Finn focuses his onto the crowd in front of them, raining down on the Mercedes team in particular. Pressing the spout to his lips, Fernando takes a long mouthful- the sharp champagne filling his mouth and sliding down his throat. 

He makes eye contact with Mark as he does so, ‘We’ll be doing this every weekend if you make the move,’ . He reckons Mark picks up on that, but there’s an uneasy look in his eyes, withholding something from him.

When the fizz dissolves and all three men are left in sopping race suits, reeking of alcohol- it’s time for interviews. A man, wielding a microphone goes straight to Nico, interviewing him about ‘how his race had gone’, and if he thought he’d ‘win the race from the get go ,’. 

While the attention isn’t on them, rather solely focused on the blond man, Mark takes his opportunity to slip into place beside the Ferrari driver, dropping his voice a few octaves and tilting his head, putting them at near the same height. “I’m not going to Ferrari, Fernando,”

No. 

No. 

He’s not doing this right now. 

If this is true, he doesn’t get to say this in front of a crowd of thousands of fans.  

That’s not fucking fair. 

“Mark,” He hisses, drawing his eyes away from the crowd to look up for the slight difference they have between their height right now. His jaw goes lax, his lips parting in shock. 

“Nando,” He places his hand on the small of his back, his fingers nudging into where the suit awkwardly clings to his narrow waist. “I’m sorry,”

“Not now,” He looks away, his attention drawing to where Nico’s interview is drawing to a close, Mark will be the next to be talked to. “ Dios - why?” His throat is gluey, his accent strengthening despite how he often tried to dull it down to be easier understood.

“I couldn’t,” Mark ducks his head, shame flooding his face. Fernando doesn’t care, Webber doesn’t get to feel poorly about his decision. He’s the one who disobeyed his promise and broke trust. He’s to take responsibility for that.

2013- Germany, July

Tensions are still high between the two by the time the next grand prix approaches. Alonso avoids each attempt that Webber makes to reconcile their relationship- try to make some half arsed apology in which he’ll not even understand why Fernando is hurting like he is. He doesn’t understand how much the promise of teammates means to the Spaniard- he likely never would. 

2013- Italy, September

“By silverstone i'd concluded, it would be my last year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late” The Spaniard feels like driving a screwdriver into his head upon hearing that over the radio, maybe step onto incoming traffic. There’s a strong urge to gouge his eyes out and then cut his ears off bubbling deep throughout his whole body. The want to go out in the most painful, gory ways.

Is it seemingly an intensely dramatised reaction to a seemingly harmless statement the senior pilot made? Not in the slightest. It’s not fucking fair, Mark doesn’t get to do this to him. The Australian had promised for years that they’d be teammates eventually- even if it took their whole careers to do so. 

Bringing him into the interview was beyond unfair. Clearly it had all just a joke to him, some easy fucking lie he could reassure Fernando with to get him to stop bothering him. 

It’s the first that the Ferrari driver is hearing of the official news, the final verdict that had been reached. Sure, Mark had told him back on the podium in Silverstone- but hearing it over national news, it just feels far more true and official. 

Up until this point, he’s allowed himself to view the possibility of the situation through rose-tinted glasses, a warm and hopeful feeling deep in his chest- the belief that he would one day be teammates with the man he considered his closest friend. Maybe Mark would change his mind, maybe he would decide at the last moment that Red Bull wasn’t for him.

Now that’s all being betrayed so he can stay driving an energy drink on wheels alongside some bratty german kid who barely looks old enough to be driving on the freeway.

Fuck you Sebastian Vettel.

Fuck you Red Bull.

Fuck you Mark Alan Webber. 

2013- Singapore, September

He ignores each call the Australian tempts him with, patiently outwaiting the five rings until he can return to the aching silence of his hotel room. It’s not fun, nor is it any what pleasant. Deep down, he wants to pick up, hear even just the careful and calculated breaths of the older man- give him a chance to explain.

But what if he doesn't like what he heard? What if Mark gave him all the reasons why they wouldn’t work as teammates and it was all the things that Fernando had spent so many years ignoring because he so desperately wanted it to be perfect- he was willing to make any sacrifices just to be alongside Mark in matching bright red race suits. 

So for now, he’ll just rot under the thin bleach-white sheets of his hotel bed, wishing for a different outcome to the ending he always secretly expected. 

He doesn’t have to see Mark on the podium this time. He’s on the second step this time, Raikonnen in third and the Australian’s younger teammate Sebastian took an easy lead the whole time- winning by almost a landslide. Fernando refuses eye contact with the German, the man who gets to take the place of being the teammate of Mark for another year, until he will retire.

It settles in his mind for the first time that the next time he’s in this exact spot, racing in Singapore, he will no longer be racing under the humid heat and bright city lights alongside his Australian friend. This was the final time the pair would ever race on the Marina Bay Track together.  

That’s a fate he’d rather not talk about.

2013- Brazil, November

In the five races after Singapore and before Brazil, Mark secures an impressive three final podiums for his last year in the sport. Alonso doesn’t. They don’t stand on the podium together past the british grand prix, and despite how betrayed he feels- it doesn’t mean that he wants Silverstone to be the last time they held those trophies above their heads together. 

His wish is finally granted in the concluding race of the season, Mark’s career too. With Sebastian winning the race, his teammate stands on the step below him, and Fernando on the final step. It’s just like Silverstone all over again. 

It’s the last dance for the two of them, a final chance for them to celebrate together- even when separated by Sebastian, and separated by rival teams.

It’s beyond impressive in his last races in formula 1 that he’d secured four podiums, but that was just Mark’s fashion. To go out with a bang.

2014- Abu Dhabi, November

After a whole year of stewing in slight hatred and missing of the aussie at ferrari- having Kimi Räikkönen as a teammate, who is significantly quieter and more serious then he was expecting out of his 2014 teammate- Fernando finally makes the difficult decision to change teams to McLaren.

He’ll race alongside Jenson Button, who he reckons will be a breath of fresh air- closer to Mark then the teammate he’s had this year. It had been an abysmal year for him too, only 2 podiums- China and Hungary. So he’s looking onto next year in a positive light, a new chapter of improvement for himself. 

2015/2016

Jenson is only his teammate for a single year of the 2015 season. For 2016, he has Stoffel Vandoorne alongside him at McLaren and they don’t get on too well. Fernando is clearly the favoured driver- Stoffel often being instructed to let the Spaniard past him. Regardless, they remain racing for the same team for the next three years. They’re a painful few years without a single podium, still chasing that high from Brazil- stood next to Mark. 

He’d had two since then, but they’d felt empty and meaningless to him, wishing he’d been dressed in red with Mark instead of Kimi. Being in orange doesn’t feel any better than that- especially without a single trophy to prove that maybe Ferrari also hadn’t been good for him.

2018, August

Fernando announces his retirement on twitter on august 14th. He posts a minute long video, thanking the sport in general and all his adoring fans over the years of his career. He does a bit near the end that showcases him in all his different team merchandise- Minardi, Renault, his first year long McLaren stint, again to Renault, Ferrari, and finally McLaren once again.

 It’s a moment that he thought he would be able to avoid for a few more years. He had faith he would win a third championship- hopefully at Ferrari too. But he looks around at the grid that surrounds him, all the new and fresh talent, and he feels a lack of belonging.

There’s supposedly going to be an eighteen year old replacing him at McLaren when he leaves, there’s already a twenty one year old in Max Verstappen, and a twenty year old Lance Stroll. He just feels old. 

Hamilton’s still there, so is Vettel, and a few other drivers from his prime time- but he can’t escape the feeling that his time has come, it’s time for new ventures. 

Maybe he’ll continue to race under different circumstances, maybe he’ll focus more time and energy into managing- maybe he’ll just leave racing to the past, and go on with the rest of his life without it.

2020, February

Mark and him speak for the first time in a while on the phone. Mark sounds well, his voice rougher with age if anything. They’d last spoken when Fernando had announced his retirement, and the Australian had showered him in congratulations and best wishes for his further ventures. They were now on the same boat, even if the events had occurred almost eight years apart.

Mark tells him that he’s just begun managing the FIA Formula 3 champion, a seventeen year old Australian called Oscar. According to the older Australian, Oscar was possibly the biggest Alonso fan growing up- had one of his karts and a race suit. It makes him smile that he’s inspired someone who was born after his career even began. 

Beyond that short call, the amount of times they talk on the phone increases as the pandemic regulations tighten, forcing everyone into home isolation. Hearing all about all these fantastic achievements Oscar is making, Fernando feels something he had lost back in 2018- the want and desire to race.

So after many conversations, emails, phone calls, meetings- Fernando Alonso officially becomes an Alpine Driver for 2021.

#f1 #formula1 #formula one #fernando alonso #mark webber #sebastian vettel #oscar piastri #2012 f1 #webbonso #webbonso wednesday

[looptroupe]

HI GORGEOUS!!!!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL US ABOUT YOUR WIPS AND AUS IM REALLY INTERESTED 🙏🙏🙏

Foams at the mouth

I’m in the middle of writing up a whole HC post for someone asking about a highschool AU but I’m gonna take this opportunity to sidetrack the conversation towards something I’d love to genuinely see from the series… a HEAVY (film) noir lean. Think: Bogart, Framed, Gilda, Vertigo… probably pushing the era back 40’s, 50’s way (Maybe even some 30’s lean in there, if I could get away with it) instead of the general 60’s vibe Lupin has going for it.

I think there’s a TON of potential there. I mean, I’m aware something like this was pitched (and never picked up, sigh…) so there IS sentiment there, and the idea has been thought about, but instead of TWCFM’s ‘serious Lupin’ I’d love to see a true noir ‘serious Lupin’. I think you can put these characters into a serious setting without making them straight up evil, and I’ll be honest, I think it would be way more appealing than the stuff they’ve been releasing lately (besides Zero. I have to admit that I loved Zero).

I’d want the gang to actually feel like criminals, though. Cutting shady deals in illegal bars, Lupin running his mouth to big players about whatever new heist he has up his sleeve. I’d take them back to being Miyazaki-esque ‘living paycheck-to-paycheck’ rather than ‘insta-rich Lupin funding his hedonistic spirit’ because I think that would work better in this universe: Lupin is constantly getting them in hot shit with the big leagues because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Jigen has shot ten guys this week who have come knocking at their hideout’s door looking for trouble. Goemon’s sick of digging graves and is antsy to finally be who he dreams of being. Fujiko’s got her eyes on a bigger prize, like always.

Zenigata’s an underpaid beat-cop-turned-inspector who has been trying to climb the ranks for a long while. He’s ambitious, but a little too soft for his own good: he’s hopeful in a way that most of the guys in his squad aren’t, and that makes him the perfect candidate for when the commissioner has to shill a shitty 9-5 case on an unsuspecting worker. A file lands on his desk, and he flips through it with this eager fire, like he’s just been asked to take on the world, and Lupin and his gang smile up at him from the pages.

Lupin is a crook, he learns. Part-time petty thief, full-time smooth-talker: a man with a legacy to live up to and not a whole lot to show for it besides a reputation as a lady-killer and a particularly long unpaid tab at the seediest bar in town. His sticky fingers have landed him in more trouble than they’ve gotten him out of, and recent reports say that he’s managed to get under the skin of the most notorious once-criminal-now-film-director in town… the very criminal that underhandedly paid Zenigata’s boss to start an official investigation in the first place.

Jigen is a gun-for-hire. Babysitter, bodyguard, hitman… whatever you need, he’ll do, however begrudgingly. He’s not a guy you mess with: and his reputation is actually pretty good in criminal circles. He’s well-respected and well-liked. Or, he was, until the monkey-faced man at the bar implicated him in a crime he didn’t commit. Now, he’s babysitting without pay, and he’s starting to get a little sick of having to put bullets into the faces of old friends who decide his bounty is worth more than his loyalty. Figures.

Goemon’s a man slightly-less-out-of-time. A famous Japanese-American film star, he’s known world-over for starring in Samurai flicks alongside his leading lady, Fujiko Mine. The thing is, Goemon is classically trained in swordslinging, and when Lupin offers him an opportunity to be the very person he’s been portraying on screen, he’s more than happy to throw his reputation away. He never cared much for fame, anyway. There’s just this one little hitch: he’s enamoured with the sword he last used on set, and he won’t take no for an answer when he asks Lupin to retrieve it for him.

Fujiko has her eyes on a prize a little more exciting than Zantetsuken: the film empire she’s helped build herself. The tabloids can’t get enough of her, and she knows that a marriage to the most famous director the world has ever seen might just secure her a place in history. The thing is, the man she’s trying her best to seduce has stopped paying her attention since his beloved priceless-antique-turned-prop-sword went missing, and she’s determined to get it back for him. Because what would make him fall quicker? Ah, there’s just one catch: Lupin is kind of charming, and the life he’s living is… exciting. Tempting. Fujiko likes playing with fire, but she’s starting to get a little too close to this one particular flame. The heat has her cheeks burning… Or maybe that’s Goemon’s doing.

They’re a strange little bunch, the Lupin Gang. But man, do people have a habit of underestimating them. Zenigata included. Because what he thinks to be a simple case of theft soon turns into something more sinister as the layers of movie-magic veneer begin to peel away. Maybe Lupin was onto something, targeting this guy, and maybe this hotshot director isn’t quite as reformed as he says he is.

He went to court recently, after all. Say, how much did he pay the judge to overturn that guilty verdict? Zenigata would like that sum as a pay rise once this has all blown over. That, and some fresh smokes.

((Mmm someone should hop on board and help me develop this I think. Could be a fun little exercise on the side… if it’s up anyone’s alley >:) ))

#lupin iii #lupin the third #lupin the 3rd #arsene lupin iii #looptroupe rambles #ask box

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

This story started with Guthláf, Théoden’s banner bearer. To carry a flag in war was (in LOTR and real life) very dangerous, and it got me thinking about the kind of person who would willingly take on that danger and why (see here for Guthláf’s answer). And then I got thinking about what it would be like to love that kind of person and have to watch them do something so brave and glorious and selfless but also so perilous. And that brought me to Wídfara.

Like Guthláf, Wídfara exists in canon for just a few sentences. He’s from the Wold. He’s intuitive about the weather. That’s it from Tolkien. But I do so love an obscure horse boy of Rohan, and two together is even better. Here they are in part 1 of 7, where our boys have their first meeting.

August, T.A. 3017

When he’d taken a third wrong turn in as many tries, Wídfara finally decided to ask someone on the street for help. Unfortunately, getting anyone in Edoras to stop to answer his questions proved even harder than finding his own way around the city. It wasn’t that people were unfriendly or unwilling to assist, but rather that they didn’t seem to even notice him as he tentatively raised a hand or stammered out the beginnings of a greeting. Everyone walked so quickly and with such a busy sense of purpose that they were invariably four steps past him already by the time he got his first few words out.

A quick glance up at the sun told him that he was going to be late if he didn’t get himself together soon, and the last thing he wanted was to make a poor impression on his very first day. He already had enough working against him – his simple country clothing, his thick rural accent, his obvious cluelessness in navigating his way around, all of which marked him clearly as an outsider – and he didn’t need his new éored thinking that he was careless or unreliable on top of everything else. He shifted his pack on his back, hastened his steps around another corner and felt a wash of relief at the sight of a garrison complex with the king’s banner flying in front.

An older man, clad to the waist in armor and standing with a rigid military bearing, waited on the front steps of the central building, just under the banner. His eyes scanned all the passersby, and when they landed on Wídfara they lit up with a spark of intuited recognition. The rigidity melted away in an instant, and he beckoned Wídfara over with a smile and a welcoming wave.

“I’m on the lookout for a new rider just in from the East-mark, and I would bet my horse that you’re him. And right on time, too. My name is Elfhelm.”

Wídfara dropped his pack and stood to attention. For all that he didn’t know about Edoras, he certainly knew the name of Elfhelm, the commander of the garrison and the functional First Marshal of the Mark any time the king himself wasn’t present. “Yes, Marshal. I just arrived in the city last night. My name is Wídfara, sir.”

Elfhelm’s bushy eyebrows shot upward at the distinctive heavy twang of Wídfara’s words. “The Third Marshal told me he was sending us a real country boy, and I see that he wasn’t exaggerating. Where exactly are you from, son?”

Elfhelm’s open, casual manner took Wídfara by surprise. Back home, his captain had been a rather grim man, one who never spoke an unnecessary word or showed his riders even a hint of his own personality, and Wídfara had expected the leaders of Edoras, some of the most powerful in the kingdom, to be even more stern. But yet again, it seemed, he simply had no understanding of how life in the capital actually worked. “I’m born and raised in the Wold, Marshal,” he answered. “My family has run herds out there for generations. It’s quite…” He glanced around at the bustling rush of people moving in and out of the collection of buildings around them. “It’s different from the city.”

Elfhelm nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Well, that’s certainly true. I imagine that Edoras can seem a little overwhelming at first to someone who’s spent his whole life in a place like the Wold. And an éored reordering is never easy on anyone. Saying goodbye to the people and places you’ve always known is a rough task.”

Wídfara swallowed hard on the lump that immediately formed in his throat. It had been less than a week since he’d been forced to say those goodbyes, gathered together with family and friends and brothers-in-arms out near his old post in the plains where the Limlight joined the Anduin. The Wold had never been a thickly populated area – the land was too unforgiving, the semi-nomadic lifestyle of the herdsmen too harsh – but as more and more families moved out of the grasslands and into the East-mark’s larger settlements and towns, an independent éored for the Wold had become increasingly unsustainable. No one had been particularly surprised when the reordering was announced, but it had been painful nonetheless and especially so for Wídfara. Because while his friends were reassigned to one of the three surrounding éoreds in the Eastemnet, all within a few hours ride of home, he had been singled out for transfer to Edoras, a place so foreign to him that it might as well have been Dunland or Rhûn.

His face seemed to betray some of his thoughts to Elfhelm, who put a large, comforting hand on Wídfara’s shoulder. “Change can be tough, son, but it also presents opportunity. And you’ve been given a golden one here. It’s not often that someone gets called up to the king’s éored – I can only remember one other time that it happened, and my memory stretches back longer than you’ve been alive. But your old captain was adamant that there isn’t a finer mounted bowman in all of Rohan and it would be a waste to just reassign you to yet another remote outpost. If you’re even half as good as the men of the East-mark claim, you can make a real name for yourself here.”

Wídfara felt his face grow hot, and he looked down at his feet. No one had told him how this transfer had come to be, and the thought of that dour, taciturn captain singing his praises to anyone was almost more than he could believe. And while he was proud of his own talent, he felt an instinctual urge to defend against the implication that the other riders of the Wold were any less skillful. “Everyone who grew up where I did learned early to shoot from a moving horse, sir,” he offered. “A herd will always attract wolves.”

Elfhelm chuckled. “That may be so, but your captain didn’t convince the Third Marshal of the Mark to send just any old herdsman to us. He picked you. Try to remember that.” A bell behind him tolled, and he glanced toward the door over his shoulder. “I need to get back to some other business, so we’d best get you on your way. You’ll be living in Barracks A with the other unmarried men of the company. You can drop your belongings there and then head over to the armorer to get everything you need. Training starts tomorrow at sunrise.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”

Elfhelm was already halfway out of sight before Wídfara realized that he had no idea how to find either Barracks A or the armorer. He considered calling after Elfhelm for help, but the marshal had indicated that he was busy and surely his other tasks were more important than giving basic directions to an ill-informed newcomer. Instead, he reshouldered his pack with a sigh, resigned to wandering the complex until chance took pity on him again, and he took a few hesitant steps toward his left.

“Other way, Wídfara!”

He looked up to see Elfhelm watching him from the doorway, one foot already inside and the door itself held open with his elbow. The older man laughed and nodded in the opposite direction. “Second building on the right. Can’t miss it.”

A furious blush rushed back to Wídfara’s cheeks, and he winced as he felt it spread across his ears and neck. “Sorry, Marshal. I’m still…I’ll learn my way quickly, I promise.”

Elfhelm stepped back outside, allowing the door to close behind him as he walked a few paces toward Wídfara again. “It’s alright to be new, son. You just need someone to help show you the way of things here.” He cast an appraising eye over Wídfara and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment. “Keep an eye out for Guthláf. He’s from Edoras, but his mother grew up in the Eastemnet and he spent much of his childhood out there. He even talks a lot like you do. You’ll like him, and he’ll help you get to feeling like home again.” He turned once more to head inside.

“Marshal Elfhelm?” Wídfara called after him. “How do I find him? Guthláf, I mean.”

Elfhelm looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Anywhere there are people gathered, he’ll be right in the middle of it. You can count on that. He’s one of our best, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t let him talk you into playing dice with him unless you’ve got money to burn.” He pulled open the door and his last few words drifted out from the hallway. “See you at training first thing tomorrow!”

Wídfara rolled over again, grimacing as his left shoulder made contact with the floor. One of his first tasks that day had been to see the garrison’s armorer, where he had been fitted for new equipment and received the distinctive tattoo that would identify him as a member of the king’s éored: a small crown above a hill. Each éored had its own mark, used as a crude means of identification in the event that a rider was injured or killed far from home, and the armorers typically etched the designs onto the shoulders of new members, punching a small ink-tipped needle repeatedly into the skin to create the necessary lines and curves. The new tattoo left a lingering pain in Wídfara’s arm, though it was minimal compared to the ache he felt in his heart when he watched the armorer draw a line through his old éored’s mark, casually crossing out an entire decade of his life with a few minute’s quick work. But that had just been the start to an increasingly difficult day.

The éored’s clerk seemed unaware that Wídfara had joined the company, and no arrangements had been made yet for his pay. Wídfara was counting on those funds to support his parents back in the Wold, especially now that he was no longer close enough to help his father with the herd work during his free hours, and the possibility that his first wages would be significantly delayed left a sour feeling in his stomach. Then he had gotten lost on his way to the mess hall and again between the mess hall and the stables, where he discovered that the stablehand sent to fetch his horse from last night’s boarding house had brought back the wrong animal. At every turn, he seemed to be in the wrong place, with the wrong information, running into obstacle after obstacle while being constantly asked to repeat himself as the city dwellers struggled to understand his accent.

He had greeted the eventual coming of night with urgent relief, happy to retreat to the privacy of his little room in the barracks where, at least for a few hours, he knew where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. But even then, he struggled. The small, soft bed in the room felt unnatural to him after so much time spent sleeping rough in field camps or out on the plains with his family’s horses, and he quickly gave up on it, crafting himself a makeshift bedroll on the floor instead. After an hour of further tossing and turning, though, he realized that the bed wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. A windowless box barely big enough for both the empty bed and his nest of blankets on the floor was a poor substitute for having shimmering stars overhead and endless golden plains around him, and he wondered how he would ever find rest in such a confined little space. He sat up, frustrated, and decided to take a walk in an attempt to clear his mind.

The streets, at least, were much more enjoyable to him at night, when few others were out and about. It was quieter, and he could walk at his own pace without worrying that he was holding up someone behind him. Keeping close attention to where he turned and how to retrace his steps, he headed up a hill, thinking to get a good view of the city from the top of the rise and perhaps be able to better orient himself amidst the maze of the city’s layout.

It took only a few minutes from the barracks to reach the peak of the hill, but he was disappointed to find that the view down onto Edoras and the surrounding plains was largely obscured by a thin haze in the air and heavy overhead cloud cover that dimmed the light of the moon. The quiet of his walk was also broken by the presence on the hill of a small tavern, a little wood and stone building from which drifted not only the smell of ale and baked bread but the clamor of voices and laughter and singing. The windows were aglow with warm yellow light, and he could see a large and boisterous crowd inside, many members of which seemed to be about his age. He considered going in – his rational mind understood that the only way to make friends in new surroundings was to put himself where other people were – but the thought of dozens of bodies pressed into such a small building made him a bit panicky, and he had already used all the energy his mind could spare that day for navigating the stares, questions and sometimes the judgments of so many others. That would need to be a challenge for tomorrow instead.

He leaned against a corner of the tavern and gazed northeast, back toward the beloved home that was now obscured by the intervention of both distance and weather. A gentle breeze blew from that direction, and he closed his eyes to savor the soft feel of it against his cheek and in his hair. There was a clean, earthy scent to the air, and he willed himself to believe that this sign of a clearer morning on its way could also mean that good things were on their way for him.

At that very moment, the door of the tavern flew open, bouncing noisily off the wall, and a tiny gray dog scampered out, followed by the striding figure of a man in the uniform of his éored.

“I just need to let Slaga out for a minute,” the man called back to unseen companions inside. “Hold the game for me, and I’ll be right back to finish taking the rest of your money.” A laughing chorus of boos rang out as the door swung closed again, and the man chuckled to himself.

Wídfara registered the stranger’s words as they were spoken, but what flooded his heart with joyful recognition was the lilting drawl of their delivery, the comfortingly specific cadence and tone that represented Rohirric as Wídfara’s ear had always heard it voiced. It was the sound of his cousins calling to him from across the grasslands, his friends teasing and joking as they sat around a fire at night. It was the sound of his old life, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

The other man was crouched down now, cooing affectionate endearments at the tiny dog that bounded in adoring circles around his feet, and Wídfara lightly cleared his throat. The man froze at the sound, the last doting little trill dying on his tongue, and he smiled sheepishly when he looked up and saw Wídfara standing just feet away. “I’m sorry. I thought Slaga and I were alone out here or I surely would have kept that to myself.” He stood and extended his hand in Wídfara’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Guthláf.”

Guthláf. The name chimed immediately in Wídfara’s memory, and he smiled to himself at how effortlessly correct Elfhelm had been on all fronts – where Guthláf would be found, how soothingly familiar he would sound to Wídfara, and how quickly just a few words of that familiar sound would kindle a feeling of comfort and kinship in him. He closed the distance between them with a few steps, and in the dim light that shone from the windows he found himself face to face with an unusually tall, well built man with long blonde waves, a trim blonde beard, and striking eyes of the palest blue. He gripped Guthláf’s hand with grateful enthusiasm and smiled. “Wídfara. You wouldn’t have seen me before, as I only just got here.”

“I certainly don’t have to ask where you came from,” Guthláf said, and Wídfara thought he detected a slight strengthening of Guthláf’s matching accent in the reply. “Welcome to Edoras, Wídfara. What brings you here?”

Wídfara nodded at Guthláf’s uniform. “I’ll be joining your company starting first thing tomorrow.”

“Is that right? We’ll be glad to have you. The boys could use an eastern rider to show them how it’s really done.” He glanced down briefly at the dainty little dog that was now cautiously sniffing Wídfara’s boots. “Don’t hold it against me. The absurd fussing with the dog, I mean. Every man has an embarrassing weakness, and I guess Slaga is mine.”

“Think nothing of it.” Truthfully, in any other circumstance Wídfara would have found both the toy-sized dog and the indulgent spoiling of it a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to say that to the first person in the city to take any interest in him. Outside of Elfhelm, who as Wídfara’s commanding officer was certainly no peer of his, it had been a struggle that day just to be noticed by anyone else, let alone engaged with or welcomed. Wídfara was eager not to squander this opportunity, especially with someone who seemed so friendly and good natured. “I love dogs and have nearly always had one myself, though admittedly never one that size.”

“He is small, isn’t he? I got him when he was a puppy and expected him to get bigger as he got older, but he just never did. And by the time I realized I had myself a lapdog, the rascal had already worked his way into my heart.” He bent down and scooped Slaga up into his arms, where he quickly settled with the look of one who spent a lot of time in just that position. Wídfara reached out and gave the dog a gentle rub behind the ears, which was received with a small, contented sigh.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” said Guthláf, looking up with a smile. “But then again, you’re not a stranger anymore, are you, Wídfara of the East-mark?”

Wídfara couldn’t identify anything unusual or remarkable about the way this question was asked, nothing that would explain the sudden rush of warmth that settled over him when that open, earnest smile was turned in his direction. But it was there all the same. “Not a stranger, at least not in the technical sense. And I would hope one day to be a friend, though I wouldn’t presume to call you that yet.”

“No? Why not?”

“You barely know anything about me.”

“But that’s not a problem. Discovering things about each other is half the fun of friendship.” He inclined his head and fixed Wídfara with a long, thoughtful look. “And I have a feeling there is much to discover about you.”

The steady gaze of those cool, blue eyes sent an anxious flutter shimmering through Wídfara’s chest, and he looked away. Before he could muster the nerve to speak again, the tavern door opened, and a red-haired head popped out.

“Guthláf, if the game doesn’t restart soon, Hildred insists he’ll take his losses back and charge you interest for making him wait.”

Guthláf laughingly rolled his eyes and waved a hand in concession. “Buy him another ale from my pot and tell him I’ll be right there.” The red haired man nodded and went back inside, and Guthláf turned once again to Wídfara.

“Do you ever play dice? If you’ve got the time now, you can join us, and by the end of the game you’ll have ten more great friends, I promise. Though I can’t promise I won’t take your money.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m something of a professional.”

Wídfara laughed. “Believe it or not, I’ve already been warned against playing dice with you, and I don’t know the rules anyway. But I appreciate the offer.” The temptation to stay in the kindly glow of Guthláf’s company was strong, but the tumult of the busy tavern still intimidated him. And the length of the day, with its many ups and downs, was beginning to catch up with him at last. “Will I…or, rather, I hope I’ll see you at training in the morning?”

He cringed inside at how needful the question sounded to his ears, but if Guthláf heard it that way he gave no sign. Instead, he smiled broadly and tapped a fist against Wídfara’s arm.

“Of course. I’ll look for you there, friend. Now wish me luck, not that I need it!” He and his dog slipped back inside with a wave, and Wídfara watched through the window just long enough to see them disappear into a rowdy group of men, all wielding mugs and talking excitedly to one another.

Alone again, he turned then to retrace his steps, mercifully finding his way back to the barracks without incident, and he stretched out once more on his floor with a heavy yawn. The weight of sleep closed in on him quickly, and he soon drifted into the comfort of peaceful rest, where a pair of the palest blue eyes lingered in his dreams.

Notes: Guthláf’s dog is named Slaga, which means “Killer.” Presumably he chose that name before he realized his “puppy” was already full grown and would always be a lil’ tea cup.

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @dreambigdreamz (I don’t usually have a tag list but I tried to @ people who had specifically requested it at some point — if you want off (or on, I guess) don’t hesitate to say so!)

Dividers by the lovely @quillofspirit ♥️

#guthláf #wídfara #rohan #forth eorlingas #obscure blorbos #♥️🐎🗡️ #horse boys in love #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #guthlaf #widfara

[damned-punk]

What You Won’t Ever Find (Kidd x Reader)

Part Eight

.⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

Content Warning: nsfw, modern!AU, suggestive language, unhealthy attachment, angst

Content Description: gn!reader meets Kidd in a bar and their relationship develops from there ♡

.⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

Killer had to work the next day which was why he hadn’t attended the party and while you hated to bother him so late in the evening, you needed to know that Kidd was safe. He answered after a few rings but to your dismay, Kidd hadn’t come home and Killer hadn’t heard from him since he left hours earlier. None of it made any sense, he’d never done something quite like this before and it seemed so strange. Killer reassured you that while he was likely fine, he’d do what he could to locate him and that you should try calling him in the morning. He knew Kidd better than anyone and the fact that he’d told you to trying talking to him later didn’t sit right with you.

Did Killer know something you didn’t? You ran through every scenario of the evening but not even the slightest thing gave way as to why Kidd had disappeared. You’d already been waiting for him to return for just over an hour and since Killer didn’t seem too worried about it, you decided to just go home for the evening. You’d be lying to yourself if you said his actions weren’t hurtful, perhaps there was an unforeseen reason? Nevertheless, you tossed and turned until finally succumbing to sleep sometime in the early morning hours. The first thing you did when you woke up was dial his number. It rang for a little longer than you’d hoped and just as disappointment flared, your call was answered.

“Hello? Who the fuck is it?”, a voice you did not recognize asked, high pitched but groggy from being woken up.

“Who is this?”, you asked, doing what you could to maintain your composure, “Where is Kidd?”

“Still asleep, care to leave a message?”, the unknown person prompted with attitude.

“Are you at his house?”, you asked, ignoring the snarky tone the person had assumed.

“Yeah, I think so.”, they replied as your anger boiled over.

You immediately hung up and pulled yourself together as quickly as possible. Whatever was going on, you needed to see it for yourself. You fought against what would be the worst case scenario, attempting to rationalize that the person could be a friend of his that you just hadn’t met yet. Alternatively, you couldn’t shake the reality that the person could’ve been at the party last night and caught him alone after your heated exchange. You wanted to think that he wouldn’t go as far as to sleep with someone behind your back, but you weren’t sure of anything anymore. The fact that he’d left at all was enough of a problem in itself, made worse by the addition of his unknown accomplice.

And if he had slept with someone else, was it really feasible to be upset? No matter how often you saw each other or how much your time together meant, neither of you had given your situation a title. You didn’t want to overwhelm or press him to move too fast after he’d opened up about his continuous struggle with emotions, but you also couldn’t ignore the intense nausea that came from imagining him with someone else the same way he was with you. As you started pulling into his driveway, relief washed over you when you noticed his car was parked in its usual spot.

That relief was quickly eradicated because just as you stepped out to knock on the door, it swung open to reveal a shirtless Kidd and woman you’d never seen before. She wore a shirt that was very oversized, one that was eerily similar to those you’d borrowed from him. Several deep purple hickeys littered her neck, obviously created within the very recent past. They were talking and laughing far too merrily for your taste, all of it coming to a halt when their eyes fell upon you. Kidd froze in his tracks and felt like he’d been punched in the gut, he could do nothing but watch your eyes begin to water. The woman made her way to his car, slipping directly past you and into his passenger seat where you’d once sat not so long ago as the two of you got to know each other.

Your heart was pounding alarmingly hard and a deafening ringing sounded in your ears, the accumulation of stress and hurt was working against your ability to remain calm. You didn’t want to seem weak and you certainly didn’t want them to see you break down, but something had finally snapped. He’d made a couple mistakes during the several months that you’d been seeing each other, but this was something of an entirely different magnitude. Your face was so hot that you could barely feel the tears rolling down your cheeks, the only indication of your emotions was the shaking of your chest between deeply strained breaths. Kidd didn’t know what to do, he felt like the idea of even trying to begin to explaining himself was off the table which in turn caused his own rage to manifest. It wasn’t what it had looked like, at least not as far as he was concerned, he’d hoped to be able to send the girl on her way and blame his absence on the innumerable drinks he took in stride with his friends.

“What the fuck?”, you asked in defeat, the crackling of your voice serving to substantiate his surmounting guilt, “What the hell have we even been doing all this time?”

You weren’t sure if you were asking him or yourself, all you could really be certain of was the overwhelming feeling of humiliation. So much time and commitment felt like it’d been wasted but even more so than the loss, you felt stupid for thinking someone like him would ever take someone like you seriously. Even as he stood before you, clenching his fists and becoming consumed by wrath with each surmounting second, you mourned the person that you’d hoped he was. Kidd could be good, it was something that you’d experienced many times before and it was great, but it seemed that something like this was an inevitable part of being involved with him. Every incline was met with the eventual plummet, no matter how sublime things had been previously.

“(Y/N), I fucked up and we both know that.”, he said through gritted teeth, his breaths impossibly heavy, “I need some time to think… I don’t even know how to begin to explain this shit.”

“Did any of this mean anything to you?”, your voice raised involuntarily, “We talked about some really serious and personal things, Kidd. You know things about me that no one else has ever cared to know… This is making me fucking sick, I don’t understand why you’re like this.”

You knew you were spilling your innermost thoughts, but the situation was so turbulent that there was no chance in hell you could stop yourself. Grief and its many forms were sinking their teeth into the tattered remains of your pride, working to irritate what was already an open wound. You brought your hands to your face to cover your mouth as tears turned to full-on sobs. Kidd couldn’t take the intense feelings pilling on top of him so he relieved his stress the only way he knew how, carrying himself to the nearest tree and laying a heavy fist on its trunk. The sudden display of violence caused you to flinch, you’d never once feared him but the situation was taking a detrimental turn. He felt like a monster as he watched you tremble, this wasn’t what he wanted and was certainly never something he’d intended to happen. He’d told you time and time again that he wasn’t good with these things, this was the reason no one was ever glad to have met him.

“Of course you mean something to me!”, he shouted far too loudly, “If you didn’t, you’d fuckin’ know it! I wouldn’t waste my goddamn time!”

“Kidd, that’s enough! Get your ass inside and calm down!”, Killer scolded as he stepped out of the house to try and act as damage control, “(Y/N) please, I really don’t think it’s what it looks like. He’s got a bad temper, just give him a second.”

You appreciated Killer’s willingness to jump in the flames for his friend, you were happy to know that Kidd had someone like that on his side. If this behavior was usual for him, he’d need someone like Killer when everything inevitably falls apart time and time again. By this point you were becoming numb, your senses were heightened and you’d been feeling everything so intensely that nothing could register as it had before. It felt like you were watching things happen through a screen, unable to feel your lips moving and only hearing what you were saying.

“I think I should just go.”, you took several strides back to your car, “I’m not welcome here anymore.”

Despite walking through your own front door and seeking the comfort of your bed, you couldn’t recall the drive home. You couldn’t remember a time that you’d driven in silence, let alone a time that you couldn’t remember the task of traveling. To say that you were devastated was an understatement. If the woman was just a friend, why hadn’t either of them just come out and said that from the start? In the most rational division of your thoughts, you knew what the likely outcome was, you just couldn’t face it. Those few fatal minutes you’d spent helping Hip were so much more detrimental than either of you could’ve ever imagined. It wasn’t her fault by any stretch of the imagination, all the same her warning seared through the few lingering parts of your self worth.

Whether you’d listened to her then or now, the damage was done. Your feelings for Kidd had bloomed in spite of her warnings and you were finally paying the price. You wished you could say that you hated him but those feelings hadn’t changed in the slightest. He needed to take accountability for his actions and while you weren’t sure if your relationship was even a relationship to begin with anymore, you admittedly yearned for his comfort. He was somehow the disease and the cure, a twisted dichotomy that had been in motion since the first night you’d met. He hurt you then only to talk his way of it, you couldn’t let that happen again.

You could hear your phone’s incessant buzzing from its place on your nightstand, you certainly didn’t have the energy to answer it. You could see Kidd’s name brandished on the screen, not at all prompting you to answer and instead bringing you to tears once more. What was the point if something like this was going to restart your relationship every few weeks? You had a lot of love for him, but it clearly had nowhere to go.

Part Nine

.⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

A/N: Thank you for reading! All characters presented in the story have been caricatured to fit the desired plot devices. Some interactions and situations may read out of character, this is only to progress the story and does not reflect my view of their canon personalities.

.⋆⁺��⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

#kid pirates #one piece #one piece fanfiction #anime #one piece x reader #killer one piece #eustass kid x reader #captain kid x reader #what you won’t ever find #eustass kid #captain kid #massacre soldier killer

[bonefall]

I'm glad you're keeping the part where Thunder puts himself between Clear Sky and Grey Wing, willingly showing that he would rather die before letting Clear Sky kill his dad.

That's actually a Bones Addition. You just think it's canon because it literally should have been there from the very beginning. Thunder doesn't get between them at any point during the battle, he runs towards them only to get interrupted by 2 people trying to kill him.

First was Falling Feather, who Jackdaw's Cry then jumps on and dies fighting with, sister killing brother.

Second was Leaf, who's a diehard Clear Sky supporter and general bully.

In canon, Clear Sky stops the battle after Gray Wing says the line, non-fucking-sensically imo. Killing his BROTHER is too far, but killing someone who wasn't even attacking him? A noncombatant who said something mildly insulting? That wasn't. Rainswept Flower did the SAME thing Gray Wing did and still got bumped off for it;

“Is this worth it?” he heard Clear Sky hiss at Rainswept Flower. Scrambling to her paws, she faced him. “What do you mean?” Clear Sky flattened his ears menacingly. “Are you ready to die just to stop me from making borders?” Rainswept Flower curled her lip. “You’ll keep stealing land as long as we let you.” “Stealing land?” Clear Sky’s mew trembled with rage, “I’m just making sure my cats never starve.” Rainswept Flower’s gaze flitted around the lush slopes of the hollow. “How could any cat starve here? There’s so much. Wanting more is just greedy!” “How dare you!” With a snarl, Clear Sky leaped for her, grabbing her throat between his jaws. Her paws flailed desperately, lashing out at thin air as he shook her like prey. Then she hung still. Clear Sky dropped her, gazing coldly at her lifeless body. “You never understood. I’m not greedy. I’m just strong.”

-The First Battle, Chapter 20

Then in Clear Sky's pathetic wet beast scene, he stares down at Rainswept's corpse, and thinks "I was so angry I don't remember killing her :("

So how, exactly, does this same character keep his cool when Gray Wing says the same shit but worse?? Is he really so controlled by emotion that his logical processes flip off, or fucking not? Gray Wing was refusing to submit, lunging at him, calling him power hungry and taunting him that he would kill his own littermate for it, and THAT manages to get through Clear Sky's blood-poisoned head?

"ouuugh it's his brotherr that's why his personality completely changes for him" the fucking guy tried to have this same brother murdered in Sun Trail by Fox. The first book. He EXILED HIS OTHER BROTHER for having a broken leg because he, "didn't want to look biased"

Again; is he controlled by his fear and anger or not? Is this a man who would snap the neck of someone he cares about because he feels insulted, or not?

The answer is that the Erins are breaking their spines bending over backwards to try and keep him "redeemable" when he shouldn't be. He's whatever the plot needs him to be, but the most consistent character traits point towards Clear Sky being the kind of person who would never have wanted to change his ways.

So, they write Clear Sky ridiculously backing down for Gray Wing, calling off the battle and "coming to his senses" instead of having Thunder do WHAT HE SHOULD HAVE DONE and jump to his REAL dad's defense.

This is what I mean when I mention how firmly I feel that Clear Sky's Redemption Arc was a mistake. He works best as a villain, a fearful, proud, controlling monster, understood by his impacts on other characters rather than as a person the story should concern itself with sympathy for.

#and because of that. Because of THAT. #DOTC is full of abuse apologia. #Because it firmly and desperately wants you to empathize with people like Clear Sky. His victims? The story is less interested in them #DOTC decided early on that Clear Sky was a 'good person deep down' and was working to that conclusion from the start #WC as a series believes that there are good people and bad people #And good people can sometimes do bad things but they're still good 'under it' #I reject this. There are NOT fundamentally good nor fundamentally bad people #We ARE our actions. Not our thoughts. Not some innate quality #It's never too late to be a better person and to do better than you did yesterday #But people like Clear Sky are terrible because *they dont care.* #They will never change because they don't want to #And focusing soooo hard on this person waiting for him to 'reveal' the goodness inside of him Deep Down is a fool's game #You will be disappointed over and over again #He HAD power and you see what he wants to do with it #Control and abuse people so they never leave or scare him. #He is an angry and egotistical person. That's it. #Evil is not complex. It's very simple. PAINFULLY simple. #It feels good to get what you want #warrior cats analysis

[caramellashton]

'this is like wanting your kid to get better by yelling at them and hitting them… you know it won't change/fix anything.'

EXACTLY I have been saying this for so long!! it's not gonna work and it's just gonna make everything worse. it's not a form of activism to just bully people until they conform to what you want; humans are autonomous people capable of choosing good, and like. we could be in the fandom of another band that doesn't even try, whose fans have given up on them and are just there for the music and the drama, but it's like the minute they do try to do something good they have to do activism a certain way and it almost becomes a kind of purity culture and purity culture is famously about control and not good for anyone.

but it's also people trying to be funny in the comments with thinly veiled frustrations that come out as insults about their appearance (which especially gets to me bc like. does body positivity stop if you're famous? or are they just idealised figures/bodies/personalities for us to look at and pretend our bodies don't change over time and we don't like it when they remind us that they actually do?) or their partners or how they express themselves. and it's the aura of entitlement that erodes their right to autonomy and individuality that gets me, not only because the way we get the creative music they make is them expressing that.

anyway i do think we as a fandom can do better and i want to attempt to start a conversation about that rather than trying to call people out in the comments. still thinking of how. there's a lot of people in the fandom who are struggling and exasperated with life and relate to their songs and the pressure has to come out somewhere; it ends up being in comments they feel like won't ever be seen except for by people who agree with them, at people who seem to far away and too big to ever see getting hurt by their comments. at least that's what I assume happens. but yes, they were bullying a cat

I agree with everything...

Was it always like this? It can't be because this is too much, none of the hate was on me and I couldn't take it, I wonder how the guys (or any celebrity) feels, being judged about the tiniest move you do, it's crazy I would totally lose my mind.

That's not how life is... yes I would love to be a fan of good people but if the gf/partner of the artist you're a fan of is bad and their friends are bad what does that make them? Maybe it's on you, maybe YOU should pick better idk 😭.

#like you don't have to like everyone around the guys they're not your friends. You don't know them. #maybe I'm the worst person to agree to this because yes i look up the ''drama'' or whatever and I'm nosy but i never thought for a second- #-that I can tell them what or who to hang out with... #because it's stupid. like here I am from across the planet and I'm gonna fix 5sos and their friend group yes totally not mental... #please 😭😭 #Also is it activism if you tell them how they should say it and do it? If they say something it's not enough- #-if they don't they're the worst to walk on this earth. If they apologize for a mistake it's not sincere and won't be accepted. #How will anyone change if you don't even let them? #this fandom can do better but will it ever try? Maybe when it's too late. #too late as in they stop interacting with us ever... and i wouldn't blame them.. #call me bald everyday i will write a paragraph about how you ain't shit. you WILL see me in fan wars lmao... ashton is better than me. #are the tags too much? im sorry i feel more comfortable here lol 😭 #ask #5sos

[drewsaturday]

yeah two cakes theory but something about being in... small to medium sized fandoms makes doing the same thing someone else did feel like a social violation honestly?

i immediately lose all motivation to do a thing if someone else does it first because to me, it'll come off like i'm shamelessly copying them or that i thought i could do it better.

(sometimes i probably could, but i'd rather not come off that rude by actually doing so even if i'd had no idea someone else was working on it when the idea hit me.)

#txt #i should probs get into bigger fandoms where there's such a sheer volume of stuff going on no one would even NOTICE similar works j;alskdjf #but alas the brainrot only hits for environments where i can't enjoy making anything without worrying this will happen #if i'm not contributing anything 'new' i simply cannot justify the energy #can you tell i just saw some art of a niche idea i wanted to draw for one of my small fandoms j;LKJajl;sdfjk #in this case though that person did it far better than i could so i can't even be disappointed #just like. ough #this is a big reason i havent rly vidded anything lately too #the couple soooorta recent fandoms of mine i wanted to vid for were more medium sized and someone ended up using the exact song #i was working on for that character so i noped out bc the copying concerns hit even harder in those cases #i need to go do something original sometime ever in my entire life so my creative existence stops being about filling a #niche no one else is in so i feel like i have a tiny little place i slot into or belong in or whatever #because the whole nature of fandom means 'mine' does not exist #and it feels like even if someone outright DOES copy you... #you have no right to be upset about it because you're all playing with someone else's dolls anyway #(see: someone literally doing this after i posted about an idea i was writing and them interacting w the post so they DEF SAW IT #without crediting/involving me in the finished thing at all and saying it was their idea #i never want to do that to other people or come off like i am lol)

[gideonisms]

grits teeth this anxiety is just an excuse to treat myself better that's all this is telling me. It's just the sign to go on more walks and make myself my favorite tea and read more. Things that WILL feel good and luxurious so help me

#going to win at self care something that is normal to want and possible to achieve #knowing for a fact i'm never anxious about the thing i think i am and i'll figure out 2 years from now what this was about #but still having random intrusive thoughts and judging myself for everything i've ever done is like. #guess i will just stew in this! until unspecified date my brain decides things are better. rolls eyes this shit again #>:/ #things that should feel fine do not feel fine i can't tell if they're really not or if i'm just having feelings at random #love to be the sherlock holmes of my own fucking life trying to figure out what's going on when the causes for this in the past have been #everything from actually horrible job to didn't read enough to too much noise in the morning to actual depression to not enough interaction #to too much interaction #like? give me a clue here #am i upset about insert event this fall or am i sad i got a b on a recent paper. hello?? #side note this is so funny i put more personal details into this recent paper bc the professor said we should #got a worse grade than my sterile infodumps. back to infodumping it is! experiment concluded #it was also 30 minutes late maybe that's why #she also just skipped grading a presentation i did? like just. wasn't on there #idk man i might just take the b for the class trying to decide if i care enough to email to be like #you have skipped. assignments

[urostakako]

my mom is the best person in this household and she is the best person in this whole fucking family and im sick of people acting like its otherwise

#ive never met a person who has made more sacrifices than her #my aunts and my grandma made her life absolute hell and my dad never believed her and blamed her for ripping our family apart #he only believed her when he heard it straight from his sister in laws' mouth. HIS SISTER IN LAW. NOT HIS WIFE. #my dad's sisters are constantly shitting on her. constantly constantly constantly and he never thinks theres anything wrong with it #because shes from a 'lower' family and because what right does she ever have over his siblings who have bullied him his whole life #it makes no fucking sense how he can side with these people over his own wife. what kind of husband are you #and my mom has done infinitely more for my brother than my dad but somehow my brother finds blame for her for every single thing #if there is a problem like the lights going out EVEN IF MY MOM ISNT FUCKING HOME my brother will find a way to blame her for it #because everything is a womans fault. if she makes him late to school once he wont talk to her for weeks disregarding all the times he made #her late for work and made her work until 9 in the fucking night to make up for it #and if my dad ever does the same thing? oh its not his fault 😐 #these people are all the worst hypocrites #everybody has their flaws. my mom surely has flaws too. but who are you people to act this way to your wife. to your mother. #someone who has sacrificed for you over and over and over again and continues to suffer because of you but still does things for you without #complaint #my mom's mother is sick and was so close to dying these past few weeks. alhamdullilah shes doing better now #but my dad did not call my nani or my mom's siblings once. NOT ONCE. never asked about her. never did anything #and then when my mom had enough and called him out on not being there for family he yelled at her for being crazy and unreasonable #but if this were any of my dad's siblings and my mom didnt call hed throw an absolute fit 'oh youre horrible you dont even think of family?' #my mom is somehow always the scapegoat for every single problem. if my dad drives recklessly and breaks smth in the car #and then my brother drives the car he will blame my mom for breaking the car because women are always horrible drivers #if my dad leaves the lights on and the bulbs stop working my brother will blame my mom #if my brother does something horrible my dad will say my mom is the reason hes grown up this way #DISREGARDING THAT HE HIMSELF ENABLES MY BROTHERS BEHAVIOR. #im so sick of this family im sick of their hypocrisy. my mom is the best person theyll ever meet AND THEY KNOW IT #if i could be even half the person my mom is i would not have the problems i do now #aricouldyounot