#and i wanted to draw her as close to her canon appearance (or. *a* canon appearance??) as possible aside from the deliberate changes i made | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mitsies · 1 year

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» THE TRAIN RIDE HOME ; itoshi rin «

; ↠ itoshi rin sees you every morning at 7. the moment you smile at him, he knows it's all over.

## author's note: i went thru the 7th circle of hell and a pack of malboros while writing this. enjoy! ## contents: itoshi rin x reader, feminine reader, crushing, canon-compliant i think? idk ur both like 17 so it works, confessions and fluff! ## wc: 13.2k (i'm unwell)

itoshi rin likes to count the people as they board the train. it's a habit leftover from his childhood, where he'd sit with his little legs swinging, pointing everyone out to his brother. (passenger 4 wore blue every day, and passenger 18 always had cat fur on his coat, and so on.)

he collected minute details to store in his head, a way to de-stress from the rush hour of his life. every morning at 6, he'd go on a run, and then from his final destination, he'd take the train back. rin was a regular, and an observant one at that- so it was only a matter of time before he noticed you.

you sat diagonally from him, always with your hands in your lap, twirling around the loose threads on the cuffs of your sweater. that was the first thing he noticed about you- the white cable-knit zip-up you frequently donned.

it looked nice on you, he thought. you seemed cozy, almost, as cozy as one could be on a train at 7 in the morning. rin wondered where you were going, since you appeared too young to have a corporate job.

you were on the train whenever he boarded and got off 2 stops before he did. and itoshi rin couldn't help but watch as you left. you carried a canvas tote with a familiar character that he couldn't quite place, and you'd always smiled warmly at the sweet old lady to your right. there were paint splatters smudging your shoes and rin wonders if you liked to draw.

he’d never ask, though. because why would he? you were a pretty person on the train, and he was just another passenger.

rin thinks he’ll settle for just watching, for now. he never expects you to look his way.

it’s a cloudy thursday when you aren’t sitting at your regular spot for the first time in at least a month. rin shouldn’t feel a tinge of disappointment, the way he does in the pit of his stomach now. he doesn’t even know you, so who is he to be upset by your absence?

it’s not until he takes his own regular place that he realizes- you weren't missing. you'd just shifted seats. you were next to him, now, bag in your lap and hands rested on top of it.

rin snaps his head away from you as soon as he realizes you're there, and he can feel his ears burning. you're not even looking at him, exchanging amicable conversation with the same elderly woman, who is now across from you rather than next to you. there's a mother with a little sleeping boy on her lap occupying your regular place, and he presumes that's the cause of your breech of pattern.

he's snapped back to reality when the old lady laughs and says a name that sounds so honeyed and sweet that it couldn't belong to anyone but you.

"you're just the funniest," chuckles the woman, "makes me feel young again."

your smile is wry. "i guess i picked that up from you, mrs. sato."

rin doesn't quite mean to eavesdrop on your quiet conversation, it kind of just happens. you were right next to him, how could he not? and he also didn't mean to sneak glances towards you whenever you were turned away. that was also an accident, a slip-up he was very grateful that no one else picked up on.

it wasn't his fault that you looked even prettier up close. it wasn't his fault that he wanted to memorize how you looked when you smiled, down to the minuscule creases and lines of your cheeks.

you bid mrs. sato goodbye with a polite tip of your head when the train reaches your stop. your shoes have new paint stains, and your jacket is collecting more lint. rin wonders if you've noticed. and he watches you go long after you're gone.

he's not expecting to be addressed, so it takes a few tries before mrs. sato gets his attention.

"hello! young man! hello," she waves a wrinkled hand in rin's face and he turns to her.

"so..." her eyes shine with a childlike mirth and rin is a bit scared because what is going on?

"you're not as sneaky as you think you are, boy."

rin stiffens. "what?"

"i see you peeking at my dear friend."

he blinks, unsure how to reply. it's not everyday that the 70-something year old woman your totally-not-a-crush is friends with confronts you about your staring problem.

"huh?" he asks dumbly.

the old woman rolls her eyes and the train lurches to a stop. "well. i'm out of town for who knows how long, and i wouldn't want them to be lonely. i'm sure you wouldn't, either."

she stands with a joking wink and rin fights the embarrassed scowl from creeping onto his face. he's positive that he's red right now, and he's giving his all to not be disrespectful to this elderly woman in public.

"well, be good to them." rin opens his mouth but she's already hobbling away. he sinks back into his seat and wishes it would eat him alive.

rin sees you the next day, sitting in the same place as you were yesterday. he shifts to put a little more space between the two of you, a little embarrassed- his breathing is still heavy from his run, and he's sure he smells of sweat.

you notice and give him a soft smile, though something akin to confusion muddles your eyes. you must be wondering where mrs. sato is, but you don't bring it up.

"sorry," you apologize for nothing. you also scoot a little to the side, and rin almost wants to say 'no, don't move further, you didn't do anything,' but that would be creepy and he doesn't want to be that guy.

so instead he fights his resting bitch face and gives you a sharp nod without meeting your eyes, because his face is already hot from hearing your voice say a single word and he is rather humiliated by his limits. "you're fine."

rin thinks he sounds like a strangled cat and he'd punch himself in the face if you weren't right there. but you give him a smile, and he feels a strange elation, and god, was it always this warm on the train?

"you're on this train every day, right?" your voice is hushed, and rin wonders if it's because you're trying not to disturb the mother and her child (who are still cuddled into your usual spot) or if that's just your demeanor. either way, he wants to find out. he wants to know you.

"i am."

you seem to consider his words for a moment and rin realizes that this means you know him. or, at least, know of him. you've seen him every morning just as he's seen you- the realization sends a strange spark through his stomach.

"where are you headed to so early?"

"home. i run out here and take the train back."

"you're a runner?"

"something like that."

you hum, and before you turn away, rin speaks again. "where are you going?"

he watches as you turn your head back towards him, a genuine smile forming on your face. "i work at a primary school. it's not an official position, but i'm kind of the art teacher."

he raises his brows. "art teacher?"

"yeah! i started off as a volunteer, but i guess i fit better since i'm younger than regular teachers," you shrug, and rin thinks he could listen to you talk forever.

your voice is beautiful, he thinks. it suits your name, and you face, and he can't think about it much longer because otherwise he'll start burning alive. he's still not looking at you when you introduce yourself, because for the sake of his dignity he doesn't think he can.

he already knows your name but he thinks it sounds even prettier falling from your lips. and god, he messed up, because now he's thinking about your lips.

"itoshi rin," he manages to get out when it's his turn to introduce himself.

"itoshi rin," you repeat, and the boy thinks he might die right then and there. what is wrong with him?

you're about to say something more but you get a look out the window and realize it's almost your stop. grabbing your bag, you stand as the train stills.

"this is me. i guess i'll see you tomorrow, then."

"see you."

and then you're gone, just like that. the morning train is silent once more, save for the whirring as it begins to run again and the footsteps of passengers finding their places.

rin decides that he can't wait until tomorrow. he's not sure why.

over the next few days, you and rin grow closer. or, you'd like to think you've become closer. you talk a lot more, about everything, and he sits and listens.

he knows about your favorite student at work, and how he had given you the doraemon tote bag that you always sported for your birthday last year. he knows about your cat named snorkel and how your friends always tried to set you up on dates. he knows about your favorite foods and how you hated sleeping with wet hair.

and rin decided that he would do anything to hear you talk. he acted uninterested, sure, but he hung off every word you said. he engraved every single sentence into the details of his memories, stowing away any information you'd give him in the catalogs of his brain.

it came to a point where every single one of his thoughts were tainted with the knowledge of you. you were all he could think about- he saw you in every crowd and smelt your perfume in the wind even when you weren't around.

it was pathetic, really, the way he searched for you in everything, and the way you appeared to him, too. especially since this 'infatuation' was the product of a few measly mornings and some half-asleep conversations.

this was pitiful, rin thought, he was pitiful. but he kept coming back.

(..and it was especially pitiful because you were kind of annoying.)

your smile was as radiant as it was infectious, and you really, really liked talking. you might've been a little hesitant to speak to rin at first, but that certainly wasn't true anymore. with the way you ran your mouth, anyone would think you'd been friends for years.

rin hated how you left him without things to say. he couldn't muster his usual cruelties when he spoke to you. usually, he just hummed along or gave you minimal replies. but the flow of the conversations you had were never dull, and they became a highlight of his day.

"you'll never guess what happened," you started, as soon as rin took his usual seat next to you one tuesday morning. he uncapped his water bottle and took a sip as you continued.

"yesterday morning, i told you about how we were doing an animal painting activity, right?"

"yeah."

"okay, so i had just finished my example and instructions, and i was helping this one little boy. he's really sweet, by the way, he just doesn't really like... paint. which is kind of counterproductive."

"mhm."

"but anyways, this other kid comes up to me- she's tugging on my sleeve, and she says 'i made you something!' and it's not like i never get paintings from students, so i'm all like 'oh, thank you! what is it!' fully expecting it to be just some drawing, right?"

"right."

"but she hands me my bag!"

it's then that rin notes that you aren't carrying your usual tote bag. instead, you have an old canvas satchel that's cute but not nearly as endearing as your previous one. he frowns.

"it was fully covered in paint- like, it was all over her hands and everything. no way i'm getting that bag back. so messy," you shudder.

"it was the one your student gave you last year, right?"

"yeah. i'm a little sad, but i can't be too upset. she was like, 7 years old. they do that."

you begin to prattle on about some other inane topic, and for the first time since he's met you, you don't have rin's full attention. you don't seem to notice, but he's already adding another item to his mental checklist.

‧̍̊ ˙ · 𓆝 . ° ｡ ˚ 𓆛 ˚ ｡ ° . 𓆞 · ˙ ‧̍̊

the following day, when rin boards the train, he doesn't greet you. he's holding something, and when he sits next to you he wordlessly drops it on your lap.

"what's this?" you fumble with the item in your hands- it's something light in a plain paper bag. rin doesn't reply, crossing his arms and slouching down in his seat. he stares straight ahead, eyes probably burning holes into the side of the train.

"okay, grouch. don't say anything, then."

"just open the bag, dumbass."

"jesus, fine."

you reach into the parcel, pulling out a denim bag. it's roomy and well-crafted, and a set of pins are stuck into the side. you recognize familiar cartoon characters, a paint palette, and a little train. for the first time since you've met rin, you're not sure what to say.

you stare down at the bag. rin stares at you. when you look up to meet his eye he whips his head away. but then he hears a shuffling, and your arms are around his neck, and he's frozen.

you're hugging him, and he can smell your hair, and he can't say a word. he thinks your shampoo smells like peaches. he would ask you if he was right if only he could find the words.

you're gone just as soon as you appeared and rin misses your warmth, but maybe a bit of it has transferred to him because he's all hot beneath the collar of his crewneck and he's feeling his face grow uncomfortably flushed.

he slumps back in his seat as you fiddle with the enamel pins- they're dainty and unique, and you're a little taken aback by how thoughtful they are. "i love this."

if rin were to try and form a coherent sentence, he thinks he might combust. so he just hums an 'mhm' and pries his gaze back to the opposing window, a little humiliated by how difficult it is for him to take his eyes off you.

he thinks he's done a pretty good job of cooling himself down until your hand is on his forearm. the contact feels icy against his hot, flushed skin and it sends a shiver down his spine as he turns to meet your gaze again.

"thank you," you say and your hands gently squeeze his arm, "this means so much to me. really."

this isn't the first time you've left him speechless, but it's the first time you've witnessed just how potent your effect on rin really is. you smile at him again before leaving him be, continuing to fiddle with the bag while he recuperates.

you keep talking at him but it's in one ear and out the other, and by the time it's your stop he's only a little bit better. you stand when the train stops and the window's light trickles through the opened doors and falls upon your lips like they're being highlighted just for him. he blinks the thought away.

"i'll see you tomorrow morning, rin," you say as you hold your bag close to your side, its new contents sitting heavy in the bottom. rin only nods and crosses his arms.

he hopes that little expression can contain the vast expanse of indescribable emotions that he feels for you, but he knows he's unfair for that because even rin himself hasn't been able to comprehend them.

he's not sure why he doesn't see you as a bother or distraction. he's not sure why he'd be disappointed whenever you didn't continue a conversation or praise the littlest things in a way he'd never expect from anyone else. he's not sure why he's so determined to make you smile, and he's even more uncertain as to what the strange, strange sensation he experiences whenever he succeeds is.

he's not sure, he's not sure, he's not sure, but he thinks he loves it.

he frowns. rin loves how you make him feel. his frown grows deeper at the realization. his eyelids flutter shut and he tips his head back against the edge of his seat, a dull thump sounding as it hits the metal.

he thinks he'll ignore this realization, for now.

it's almost a week after rin's gotten you the bag, and it's become your new everyday option. he can't help but think it looks especially good with your white zip-up and he applauds himself silently for his fashion choices.

the bag already has some tiny, colourful fingerprints decorating the sides and streaked up from where you'd presumably snatched your property out of your students' grabby little hands.

the thought makes his lips quirk upwards into a tiny little half-smile, one that's barely there but you pick up on all the same. pausing in the middle of your sentence, you ask him: "what're you thinking about?"

if rin was smooth, and if he was interested in you, he'd reply with 'just you, babe,' or something else that would make you blush and make him want to die inside. but rin is not smooth, nor is he sure how he feels about you.

it's nothing short of sickening, how you continue to take residence in his mind constantly. if he thought it was bad when he'd first started talking to you, it was a thousand times worse now. rin kind of wishes he could go back in time for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of the past him as a warning to not let you do this to him.

because, if he was being honest, he was scared. the premonition that his feelings toward you might be something like attraction was horrific because god, what was he supposed to do?

his entire life was dedicated to being the best. he was born to be on top and he'd die on that podium, looking down on everyone else. in the past, he'd cared about nothing else but winning.

his dreams, for the longest time, were plagued by pedestals and gold medals, and trophies with his last name but someone else's first. he'd fall asleep to his mind's eye envisioning blood pooling in his gut as he bled for his crown, his crown that was always out of reach.

and then you showed up in them. rin couldn't decide if you made his dreams better or worse. (okay, that was a lie- definitely better, but he's not ready to admit that quite yet.)

in the midst of his bad dreams, you'd come to him, sitting pretty on the train next to him. you'd talk but he'd never be able to remember what you said come morning.

this was bad, rin thinks, he was bad. he was awful and horrible and wrong because he should be dreaming about winning and not you. you were distracting him, being on his mind all the time. while he ran to the train stop, a task that usually cleared his tired mind, all he could picture was you, you, you, waiting for him.

that was another thing. you were waiting for him, and he couldn't not show up. rin's considered changing his routine so he could keep away from you for the sole purpose of fighting his maybe-crush and being able to focus on his sport. he's thought about not replying to your texts, which you sent every afternoon to check in and ask how he was.

but then he pictured you, alone on the train, and he couldn't. the thought of you getting friendly with anyone but him made his skin crawl. what if that boy who sat on the other side by the door tried to talk to you while he wasn't there?

no, no, rin couldn't have that. not when he liked you this much- it was far too late to let go. he'd already done this to himself.

so he keeps coming back, every single morning, just to see your face. there was no denying it anymore- rin liked you. too bad he'd never say a thing.

"rin?" your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "what's up?"

he glares at you like he hates you, but you know better and so does he. "nothing."

you tilt your head. he stares right back at you before conceding. "the paint smudges on your sweater and stuff."

"hm. what about them?"

"your job must be hard."

if he's being honest, rin doesn't really care about what you do. he's just trying very hard to not let the fact that he was smiling thinking about you show.

"it's not that bad," you say, "well, i mean- tedious, sure. plus i hardly get paid, i'm not under contract, and they could just decide to stop paying me at any point since there's nothing making them, technically."

rin raises an eyebrow. "and you say it's not that bad?"

"it's not! really!"

"and you work with kids."

"yeah, so not that bad."

"that's worse." you make a face at him and he fights another smile because how do you do this to him so easily?

"i swear it's not as bad a job as it seems."

"it's not even a job, technically," rin points out.

"okay, okay, you can stop making fun of my position, rin."

your use of his name makes his heart do something weird and nauseating in his chest and he hates it. "whatever."

you hum in contemplation before sitting up in your seat with an idea. "how about you come with me today?"

rin stiffens. "what?"

you don't flinch at his unintentionally bittered tone, and rin feels something strange inside him again. he feels a bit like a fish out of water, being put on the spot like that.

"well, i mean- only if you're free, of course," you twist away from rin ever-so-slightly as you start to backtrack, hands finding their way to fiddle with a strand of your hair, "i don't wanna overstep or anything, and i know you're probably busy and we're just-"

"no."

rin's voice cuts you off. "oh. that's cool, i'm sorry i asked."

oh. that wasn't what he meant to say at all. "no, no, wait. i mean no, stop talking."

"oh. i said i was sorry."

he's really just digging his own grave, at this point.

"wait, wait, wait. i mean.. no, stop talking, yes, i'll go with you."

it's almost comical how you brighten up in a heartbeat, and a strange twinge of pride at the fact that his presence could do that to you zips through his chest.

"oh, i'm great. i mean- that's great. this is great. i'm so excited." you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater and the enamel pins on your bag that he got you jingle and rin thinks that he's stupid for ever considering avoiding you.

and again- if he was a better man, he'd say so. but he's not, so he side-eyes you instead. "are you sure this is even allowed?"

"i am. as long as you're not some kind of criminal, or whatever." you look back at him, eyes creased with amusement. "you're not, yeah?"

"nope. just a few aggravated assault charges." he's only kind of joking (because injuries on the field do not count against him outside of it), and his voice is dry with sarcasm. he's not expecting you to laugh but you do, and he thinks everything he's done to lead up to this moment has been worth it.

"lovely. then you'll be fine. i hope you're good with kids, rin."

his mouth falls into a frown. he'd forgotten about that. he's about to say something but the train lurches or a stop and you're standing, prompting him to follow.

it occurs to rin that this is the first time the both of you have stood next to each other. the slight widening of your eyes at his obscene height is something that amuses him, but he chooses not to comment on.

he also keeps silent about how your beat-down and paint-smudged pair of shoes squeak ever-so-slightly as they exit the train. you move with a slight bounce in your step that makes the shoes pivot and squeal a little in a way that should irritate rin and not endear you to him the way it does.

it's only a short way to the school you work at from the train station, and you talk about menial things the whole way. rin's arms are crossed uncomfortably over his chest as he walks, and the plush insides of his deep blue sweater suddenly feel too hot, and he's feeling clammy even though the sun is hardly out.

you walk through the front office with rin in tow, tailing you while looking incredibly uncomfortable the whole time. the front office ladies chuckle like they know something he doesn't when you check him in and rin kind of wants to punch them. he doesn't, though.

when you lead him to your classroom (or, more precisely- a large storage room that was reassembled with tables and chairs to become a classroom) he's not surprised to find it colorful and bright.

the walls which aren't big windows are practically covered in various pieces- hand turkeys, landscapes, various misshapen animals, crude imitations of people- and a few pieces that are undoubtedly from a much more skilled artist. there are beautiful scenes that look like they're from movies, and there are unique interpretations that seem like they took painstakingly long to create.

he walks up to one- a faceless pair of women. one is sitting on the kitchen counter and the other stirs a bowl of something that looks like cookie dough. it's simple, it's sweet, and it's beautifully made. "you painted this?"

you're placing your bag down on the chair that sits behind the teacher's desk, which is just a repurposed old table. "i did. that's really old, though. kind of embarrassing."

"it's not." his finger traces his newest observation about the painting- your name scrawled in the corner. "it's not."

he's not looking at you, but he knows you're staring at him. he won't look back now, but he wonders what you're thinking. he imagines your quizzical expression, and he imagines the sun filtering in through the windows making you shine as you absorb every colour in the room.

he imagines you looking at him, and he thinks it's the prettiest sight he's ever thought up.

the bell rings after a beat of silence passes. the shrill noise draws you both from your stupor, and rin turns to see you walking around, busying yourself with placing a piece of thick watercolour paper on each desk.

"well," you say, and rin might be imagining it but your voice is a little choked, "we've got.. 2 classes? yeah, two. both will be 7-year-olds today. think you can deal with that?"

rin's eyes narrow. "i thought you said i wouldn't have to deal with any kids."

your face contorts into a smile. "yeah. i know. you can just sit in the back and watch. i'll get them to not bother you."

you gesture to a tiny little desk situated in the back corner of the room and rin cringes internally as he walks up to it. he sees you biting back a laugh and glares. as he takes a seat, his knees are up to his chest and his arms are draped uncomfortably over them.

"this isn't funny," he deadpans as you bite your tongue. with a humiliating amount of effort, he removes himself from the tiny chair and walks back over to the teacher's desk where you stand, crossing his arms over his chest.

"in my defense, i didn't compensate for how tall you'd be. you can just be at my desk, i don't mind."

you place your bag down onto the floor in the corner and rin moves to take your seat. all you have on your desk is a pile of books that are collecting dust, and a dingy computer setup that seemed like it was from the stone ages. there's a series of sticky notes on the black screen- he knows he shouldn't, but he reads a few.

there's a few about restocking some supplies, and even more about various lesson plans. rin thinks you put an awful lot of work into a position that technically isn't legal. and then, his eyes land on his name- in pink pen that stands out on the yellow paper, 'itoshi rin' is scrawled on with a myriad of stars and hearts and squiggles surrounding it.

rin blinks, half expecting the message to vanish. it doesn't. his hand reaches out to take the note but he's interrupted by the room door slamming open and a gaggle of children bursting in.

their teacher seems exhausted, and rightfully so, especially considering it was barely 8 in the morning. she takes a seat close to the exit and slumps over, seemingly asleep, as the students spread around the room.

they take places behind desks and fist the provided paintbrushes in their little grubby hands, chattering amongst themselves as if it's not insanely early. rin watches as you bounce around the room, conversing with the kids who call your name.

his gaze doesn't leave you once, as you move to the front of the classroom to begin your speech on today's assignment. he's only half-listening, but he catches short phrases. it's something about practicing watercolour responsibly and learning to work with a new medium.

rin's never been an art kid. he's never seen the appeal. but the way you seem so excited to be there, and so genuinely happy to teach, makes him think that he should be listening, too.

the kids start to paint, now. he notices how some of them start with a pencil, tracing crude outlines of whatever they're trying to make, while others dive headfirst into the watercolour. you weave around desks lavishing them in praise, and rin wonders what you were like when you were their age.

little feet begin to scramble around the classroom as the assigned seating chart dissolves with time. you don't seem to care all too much, continuing to help a student- a little girl, with tiny, short pigtails tied off with purple scrunchies.

he doesn't realize he's been watching you until the girl catches his eye and says something he can only kind of make out. "who's that guy lookin' at you all mean?"

her finger points straight at rin, and he promptly pretends like he was very invested in the blank screen of your 1900s computer. he sneaks a glance back to see your eyes fixed on him before returning to the girl with an awkward laugh.

"ah, him! he's.. my friend. he's just sticking with me today," you smile, and feels himself sink into the chair deeper. he's not sure what he feels at the use of the word 'friend' but he doesn't think he likes it.

but it was a fine answer. it was decent, it was true- what, did he expect more? if he did, clearly he wasn't the only one because the little girl with the pigtails gives you a look. rather loudly, she exclaims "you mean your boyfriend?"

you blanch at her words and rin's subtle gaze returns to a full-on stare as he watched your reactions. "asami, not so loud! indoor voices," you try to sound authoritative but your voice splinters and sea of little faces is suddenly turned to face you.

and then, slowly, like a horror movie, the 20-something 7-year-olds pivot to face rin.

a little voice speaks up. "you're ms. teacher's boyfriend?"

in a normal scenario, rin would probably linger on the fact that you were addressed as 'ms. teacher' as if you had no other name. but with an ocean of inquisitive eyes, yours especially, he felt a little frozen. just as he was about to snap open his mouth to say something probably cruel and snippy, you jumped in.

rushing to the front of the crowd you wave your hands frantically, trying to maintain your cheery disposition while sweating through your clothes with anxiety. "no, no! he's- he's not my boyfriend! and don't bother him, please, he doesn't.. speak the language! he's from.. germany!"

it's a bad lie. horrible, even. and it would take a fool to fall for it- either a fool or a collection of unbelievably innocent children.

"oh!" one pipes up, "is that why he's so mean and doesn't talk?"

you furrow your brow. "we don't call people mean, remember."

and just like that, everything is back to normal. or, at least, however normal this situation could be. the students resume their artistry and continue scurrying like mice around the room to show off their creations or grab fresh sheets of paper.

you walk up to rin, and he hopes his ears have turned less red at this point as you sit on the desk in front of him. "see? not so bad."

he narrows his eyes. "are we in the same room right now? did you not just see that?'

you sigh dramatically and place your hands behind you as you slouch back. "maybe they're right. you are mean."

"okay?"

"you should be ashamed of yourself, y'know."

"you really do sound like a schoolteacher." at this you laugh and swat at his shoulder, eliciting a tiny could-be smile from rin. "never say that to me again."

and it seems like cutting rin off is a fun activity, because a little boy with messy brown hair skips up to the desk and basically shouts, "hello!"

the thing is, he's not talking to you- he's talking to rin. big, doe eyes are fixed on the striker expectantly, and he rolls back and forth on heels while clutching something in his hands behind his back.

rin blinks. "hi."

he sounds mean, he's sure, and definitely not german, but the kid doesn't seem to notice or care. "i think germ-in-ey is so neat! i made you this!"

the country is pronounced like he's speaking with rocks in his mouth but the boy's smile is bright and he holds a kind-of crumbled piece of watercolour paper in his hands.

it's still dripping and incredibly poorly done. what appears to be a house? or a building of some kind? is splattered onto a green line that might be grass. a blob that could be a body if you squinted hard enough is attached to a big oval with messy dark hair, angry eyebrows paired with neon blue eyes, and the biggest eyelashes the world has ever seen. they extended from all the way inside the eye to the sticks that rin supposes must be hands.

a random rectangle with doodles inside is in the top left corner. a little label reads 'german flag' in pencil.

rin blinks at the paper and looks dully at the kid. he feels your eyes staring into him, too, and he opens his mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

"this looks bad," he speaks before he knows what's coming, eyes widening at his own words. a deep pit of guilt opens in his stomach as the boy retracts his hands with the paper. oh, my god, what did he just say?

he is unbelieveably lucky that you are still next to him at that moment, because you jump in to save the day yet again:

"haru! don't worry about him- he's german, remember? he doesn't know how to say what he means! bad in german actually just.. uh.. means really, really good!"

the boy instantly brightens up again, like a wilting flower back in bloom. "really? that's so cool! i didn't know they spoke german in germ-in-ey!"

you return his bright smile. "how crazy! what a small world!"

the little boy skips away, leaving his masterpiece in your hands, and rin lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"oh, wow," you say with a sparkle of amusement in your eyes, "i didn't know you were this horrid with kids."

a grumble of annoyance leaves him, but he's more embarrassed than anything at this point. "and i didn't know i was german."

you shrug. "it was the first thing that came to mind. it worked, didn't it?"

rin ignores your question. "i can't believe you let that kid go off thinking 'bad' means good. he's gonna go around telling everyone that."

"i.. did not consider this," you purse your lips, "it's his teacher's problem. i don't even work here, technically."

"so you're a random person who comes onto campus and spreads lies to children."

a smile splits your face. "at least i'm a nice liar."

"nice?"

"oh. ouch. okay, thanks rin."

and he exhales, and it's no longer just a half-smile, because you see it so clearly on his face- the way his lips turn up at your words as he speaks. "yeah. anytime."

it's then that itoshi rin has a moment of infinite clarity- he's fallen for you. he doesn't like that fact, nor does he understand the intricacies of this romance.

he likes you. that's all there is to it. rin doesn't see why there needs to be any more. it's not like he'll tell you and even though the feeling of repressed and realized emotions in his chest is something a little unbearable, he's dealt with worse. and he thinks he'd rather keep his mornings beautiful than run the risk of messing it all up.

so rin thinks he'll settle for being in your background, as he watches you hop off the desk and move to help the students as they finish their paintings and clean up.

they sing a stupid jingle about keeping things neat that makes you laugh in the way you do where your head tips back just a little, and rin swears it's his favourite sound in the world.

it's another hour and another class before you're finally done with your work. the second one was thankfully a lot less strenuous for rin- none of the students paid him much mind at all, save for the occasional curious glance every so often.

"bye ms. teacher!" the final student belted before leaving, slamming the door with a resounding thud. you wave cheerfully and take a deep breath as soon as the kid is out of sight. "and we're done! how was that, rin? you just got the full fake-teacher experience."

rin stands from his place behind your desk and stretches out his limbs, slightly sore from being in one place for so long. "as bad as i thought it'd be."

"you're always so negative."

"glad you noticed."

you roll your eyes and grab a spray bottle and washcloths off the highest shelves. "help me clean?"

wordlessly, he catches the rag you toss and the other bottle. the two of you work in silence for a few moments, wiping down the desks that the students had done their best at keeping neat. the only noises were the muffled sounds of the cafeteria during lunchtime outside and the ever-present squeaks your shoes made.

the lighting through the window lit the scene golden and turned all the colors and textures and works in your classroom even more beautiful. and not just them- rin thinks that you look breathtaking in the sunlight. a part of him suspects that it was invented just for you.

"what did you think?"

rin looks up at your voice. "hm?"

"what did you think? about this, i mean."

he looks at you for a moment. this is a new expression, the one you're wearing- at least, one he's never been able to observe unobstructed. you almost seem bashful, in the sunlight, refusing to meet his eyes.

"i think," he says, and he's so careful because he thinks he'd die of embarrassment if he misspoke and insulted you again, "that this makes sense."

"what?"

he frowns, not wanting to explain himself. "you loving this. it makes sense."

"i actually have no idea what you mean by that."

he scoffs, "whatever," but you keep pushing, curiously leaning over the table and placing your washcloth down.

"you can't just 'whatever' me. i'm curious now."

"you're irritating."

"i'm aware." you keep looking at him and it's no surprise to him when his conviction crumbles into dust and ash.

"you just seem like an art person." he tries and fails to get his point across. you raise a brow. "are you profiling me? what, do i seem like your starving artist trope?"

"no, no," he grumbles, "like, you're.."

and he's not sure.

rin has no idea how to follow up his words. because he thinks so many things of you- he thinks you're kind, in ways he will never be, and he thinks you're pretty enough to rival the sun, and he thinks you're flat out lovely- but he can't convey it all into one word.

"you're just you," he says. it's a simple statement, said with a conviction that doesn't match the quiet tone of his voice. he speaks softly, like he's afraid you might disappear if he was too loud.

blinking, you meet his gaze, and rin hopes you can see yourself how he sees you in the reflection. he hopes you see yourself like gold, and all the colours in the world, and as the essence of creativity- he hopes you know that he sees you as art, plain and simple.

but your expression is unreadable. he wonders if his is, too. and rin also wonders what you see when you look at him, because you're suddenly inhaling sharply and pivoting, busing yourself with straightening up jaws that don't really need to be fixed.

"well, rin," you say, and your voice is a pitch higher, "i didn't mean to keep you so long. i'm sorry you got held up here."

you're laughing, but it sounds strained, and rin wishes he could go up and smooth whatever's bothering you out from your skin, but that's creepy so he'd rather not.

"i didn't stay so long because you made me or anything. i wanted to."

"oh." you freeze for a split second before continuing to scrub a little too vigorously, "uh. thanks."

"i like your paintings," he blurts out. it's not fitting as a response, and he should've just said 'you're welcome' and moved on with his life, but he feels like he needs to say something, and relieve at least a fraction of the burden off his chest. he likes your paintings, and he likes you, but he can't say that quite yet.

"oh! i didn't take you as an art connoisseur."

"i'm not."

and he was telling the truth- rin knew virtually nothing about art. he remembers his own experiences with the subject, all limited to his pre-teen years in school, where he'd been forced to make whatever the teacher commanded.

his work had always been lopsided and a little fugly, but in the spirit of learning no one had ever said anything. it was always 'that's so good!' or 'you're so creative!' or 'nice cat!' when it was meant to be a tree.

"not even a little bit?" you hum as you lean onto your tiptoes, struggling to push a bottle of cleaning solution back into the space. rin moves to your side, placing it on for you. he misses how you go breathless at his actions.

"was never an art kid," he says simply.

you purse your lips in that stupid way he's noticed you do when something doesn't go right, and shake your head. "i don't buy it."

he raises an eyebrow. "what?"

"i don't believe that."

"you're just.. rejecting my statement?"

"yeah. everyone's an art kid."

rin considers your words before shaking his head. "no. you're just weird."

rolling your eyes, you're suddenly gone again to the front of the classroom, rifling through a set of overworked cabinets that seem to be bursting at the seams. you come back to the desk rin was standing by with a full arm of various supplies- he recognizes paper, canvas, pencils, gouache paints, and brushes.

"everyone's an art kid," you repeat, "you just never had anyone show you right."

"you sound fucking crazy."

"yeah, probably," you reply, motioning for him to sit down on the chair. he complies, and you hop up to take a seat on the desk again.

"and cheesy as hell. like a stupid nickelodeon character."

"that's a little far. be nicer to me! i'm about to give you free painting lessons."

"ones that i didn't ask for."

you sit back on your hands. "you could leave if you wanted."

rin is silent. you smile. "lessons it is."

‧̍̊ ˙ · 𓆝 . ° ｡ ˚ 𓆛 ˚ ｡ ° . 𓆞 · ˙ ‧̍̊

you might have been a little bit incorrect in your approach. rin is kind of a little bit hopeless with art.

"just a straight line," you're practically begging, "just one. you can do it."

rin proceeds to draw another very un-straight line to go with all the other ones on the piece of paper.

that was okay, though! maybe pencils just weren't for him. you could live with that. you'd brought out some paints just for this possibility, after all.

painting is difficult to mess up. you slap some colors on a canvas, call it modern art, and you're set- that was your philosophy. anyone could paint. anyone, you now think, except for itoshi rin.

"are you colourblind?" you say, and you're not trying to be mean, you're genuine, because he had just used the most horrendous choice of color palate he could have had.

"shut up," he scowls, covering his face with his hands. "you're a shit teacher."

you gawk at him. "how is this on me?"

"your stupid 'art kid' philosophy. plus, you've just been staring, not teaching."

you frown. okay, yeah, maybe you had been a little bit stare-y, but it's not really your fault. he just has one of those faces that would be criminal not to stare at. an idea pops up in your mind, and you hop off the desk.

rin turns his head to follow you as you move behind him. "what are you doing?"

"i'm teaching," you bite back playfully, leaning over his figure. you take a hold of his hand with the paintbrush, and you're both so close that you can hear his heartbeat speeding up inside of his chest. you wonder if he can feel yours do the same.

your hand ghosts his before you take a hold, grabbing it gently. his palms are warm and his whole body seems to radiate heat. the skin of his hand is rough and calloused.

"like this," you instruct, dragging the brush slowly across the canvas. it's already a smoother, straighter line than his previous ones. rin remains speechless, but he lets you take control of his movements. you direct him gently and he moves in return, like a slow dance on canvas.

after some time, a scene is playing out on the formerly blank space before the both of you. it's the classroom, complete with the yellowed lighting of the sun coming through the windows and the blocks of color to represent the various works hanging on the walls. it's a crude imitation of reality, but a piece of you and a piece of him, and you think that makes it beautiful.

"see?" you say, breaking the silence, "you did that."

you move to release your grip on rin's hand but he clasps his other one over it without thinking. you blink at him. he lets go, embarrassed.

"you did most of the work," he shrugs off, but it feels like he's just talking to himself, "i was just there."

"hm. you're right, but come on! give yourself some credit."

your attempt to lighten the heavy tension in the air falls onto deaf ears. "i should go," he mumbles, standing.

"oh."

"bye." his words lack the usual edge, and he seems more confused than upset. still, you wonder if you've overstepped and a pit forms in your stomach.

"bye," you say, but he's already out the door.

you try not to be too upset about it, but it's a little difficult. you've liked rin since before you even knew his name, and you were far too stubborn to let it go just yet.

you'd been almost 100% he felt the same, too. but again, your pride wouldn't allow you to make the first move. and his reaction to the closeness didn't bode well for your intentions.

a surge of disappointment consumes your chest and everything suddenly feels a lot heavier. your regular cable-knit feels itchy and too hot on your skin. you bite your tongue.

your friends have mocked you for your infatuation with this faceless 'itoshi rin.' they've encouraged you to move on from this crush that was seemingly going nowhere until almost a month ago, even going as far as to try and set you up with someone. maybe you should finally look into that offer,

you sigh to yourself and flop back onto the hard wood of the desk. oh well, you think, you'll see him tomorrow anyway.

the next week of early morning train rides is missing something.

rin notices it almost right away- how you sit a little farther from him, you you're just a little more skittish and quick to leave. it's a stab in the gut every single time, and he's not sure how he can mend the undeniable rift forming between the both of you.

he's not sure what happened. was it his leaving? had that upset you? why?

the invisible wound of unspoken words festered like mould as the morning conversations grew shorter and stiffer, and he felt helpless like he never had before.

and then, you bring something up that makes his heart plummet.

"this afternoon? i think i have a date, actually."

he shouldn't be mad. he shouldn't be upset. but doesn't he have the right? the person he likes, and ew, he hates admitting that, is going on a date with someone else.

"oh."

"mhm. my best friend's friend- she's been trying to get me to go out with him for ages."

"oh."

"tomorrow night, i think it is."

"hm."

"i hope it goes well."

"why?"

again, rin's mouth runs separately from his conscience. he wants to hit himself. you have no obligation to answer, because the both of you are just friends, maybe even less.

you blink, looking over at him. "i mean.. why not?"

the rest of the train ride continues in awkward silence until you get off. you give him a brief smile but you don't say goodbye, and rin watches your figure walk away until the train starts again and he can't anymore.

there is a very strange emotion, that rin is experiencing. he recognizes parts of it- that same bitter, green envy that curls around his lungs and squeezes til he can't breathe. he's familiar, but never in this context.

and then there's something darker that hurts his chest. it reminds him of growing pains, and of valentine's day, and of things he never thought he could have wanted. it reminds rin of you, and he is so, so distraught.

that afternoon, he waits for your text. usually, your messages are usual, like clockwork. you'd message him around 1 when you were on the train ride home, either to update him about your day or send him a game pigeon game.

he always indulged your messages, and he'd never let you see but you were one of the pinned contacts on his phone.

that day, however, your text never comes.

he's so pathetic for how he sits in the locker room at 2, alone, staring at his phone screen. he's sad for how he's taking a break from practicing at 3 just in case you message. he's stupid for how he spends the next few hours just waiting for a notification that he knows will probably never come.

it's 10 now, and rin has never felt more tired.

he's about to go to bed, having his night clothes lined up on his bed and brushing his teeth in the bathroom mirror. it was an average, regular day- there was nothing special nor abnormal, but everything just felt so wrong.

he wonders if you were on your date then, as he spits his toothpaste into the sink. he wonders what you wore- if you donned your white cable-knit or your squeaky paint-smudged shoes. he wonders if you carried the bag he got you, pins and all. he wonders if your date held open the door like he would have, or if he joked around with you like he did (kind of.)

rin wonders where you were. he wonders if you were okay.

and then, his phone rings.

your name lights up his screen and suddenly, he's not so exhausted. he answers a little too haistily on the 1st ring.

"hello?"

there's a short pause, but he can hear the way your breath comes in short huffs on the other side of the line. this was strange- the both of you had never called before.

"rin?" your voice is crackly in a way he could accredit to the poor reception wherever you were, but something in his heart wrenches and there's an undertone that is undeniably distress in your voice.

"yeah? what's up?" he's already bustling around his home, though, grateful he hasn't changed yet as he pulls out his shoes.

"are you doing anything?"

"no," he lies.

"i'm sorry then, 'cause i know it's late, but- um, yeah. i'm about to get on the train. like usual, just the night one. but, i don't want to bother you, so-"

"no. keep going."

another silence follows rin's words before you continue. "could you.. come here? i know it's dumb, askin' you to ride the train here just to come back with me but," and your voice cracks, "i don't really want to be alone right now."

rin exhales. he's already outside, walking briskly through the cold night air with his free hand stuffed in his jeans pockets as he makes his way to the train stop.

"i'm on my way."

‧̍̊ ˙ · 𓆝 . ° ｡ ˚ 𓆛 ˚ ｡ ° . 𓆞 · ˙ ‧̍̊

when rin gets on the night train, you're the only other passenger on board. you're huddled up in your usual seat with your knees drawn up to your chin and eyes misty with something dismal. you look at rin and he's heartbroken for you, because nothing should ever make you this upset.

but you offer him a weak grin and move to sit normally, patting his seat next to you. he notes that you are indeed carrying the same bag he got you.

the new distance isn't present when he takes his place beside you. in fact, he's so close tonight that he can almost feel your thigh brush his. he eyes you cautiously, unsure how to begin. thankfully, you answer his questions before he needs to ask.

"remember my date?" rin nods. how could he forget?

"it was kind of awful," you concede with a watery laugh. "he was all fine, at first- but i just wasn't interested. he asked for a second date, and i said no thanks- he just- he yelled at me. called me all sorts of things. i dunno."

his heart tightens in his chest as you keep going. "it's not a big deal but i didn't really- i'm not sure. i'm not sure."

he doesn't think too much about his next actions, as his hand curls around your shoulder. you're all too complacent, letting yourself be pulled into the warm fabric of his crewneck. he hopes you can hear his heartbeat pick up its pace. he hopes yours does the same.

rin allows you to bury yourself in his warmth, to acquaint yourself for a few moments before he starts talking. "last week i went to the grocery store and i saw this lady with her cats," he said.

you glance up at him quizically but his arm holds fast, keeping you there as he continues: "she was old. probably too old to be toting around all those groceries.

"i would've offered to help but then i took another look- she was ripped."

a muffled laugh escapes you. "for real?"

"yeah. i mean it."

"a ripped old lady with cats, huh? what was she getting?"

"blueberries."

he thinks he feels your smile against the fabric of his clothes. "blueberries. that's nice."

"and just a few days ago, i think, i was on my run and i passed by this apartment, right?"

"mhm."

"and i hear yelling. so i stop."

"yeah?"

"on the balcony of the apartment, there was this woman and some guy. they were in their 20s, i think. and she was screaming at him."

"oh? what about?"

your voice is thickening again, but this time with exhaustion. the occurrences of your day were finally weighing on you, rin presumes. he keeps talking.

"something about him being unfaithful. then she threw his gaming console off the balcony."

"oh," you say, with a slight yawn, "that sounds so funny. i wish i was there."

"me too."

rin really should break this habit he's beginning to form. it definitely isn't a great idea to share all his innermost thoughts with you always- but lucky for him, you seem too tired to notice the accidental compliment.

"good for her," you mumble.

"good for her," he repeats.

you tilt prop your chin up on him to meet his gaze. your eyes are heavy with exhaustion and bags are formed beneath your eyes, and your hair is frazzled and messy but rin thinks this might be the prettiest he's ever seen you.

you're dead on your feet, but you're still looking at him. you're feeling so many things and you're still you. his hand absentmindedly flutters accross the back of your head to flatten your hair as you begin to speak.

"you're so nice." is all you say. rin looks at you, incredulous.

"you are," you insist, breaking away from him for a moment with your hand pushing yourself off of his chest. "you wanted to help that old woman. you heard yelling and stopped in case someone needed help. you're here at 10pm after i messed everything up."

rin blinks.

you've always been the kind of person to make him think. you made him reconsider his own future, his capacity for love, his interest in romance- you made him think about it all. but there was one thing that was a constant, that he didn't think even you could make him reconsider- the fact that he wasn't a good person.

it's then that it dawns upon itoshi rin- he doesn't see himself as worth loving. his life's purpose was success, and without it, was he even worth caring about? and on top of all that, he was cruel.

he cared about no one. he was blunt, and he was unfriendly, and when he was in school people walked away. the neighborhood kids all hid from him, and his teammates never bothered to even try and introduce him to new faces anymore.

itoshi rin was mean and cruel, a fact that he had decided for himself and then been enforced by the people around him. itoshi rin was not worth anything without a gold medal to demonstrate his value. itoshi rin was not worth caring about, because he'd just hurt you. itoshi rin didn't think himself even capable of wanting anything but to win.

and itoshi rin was proven wrong the day he met you.

because he'd fallen for you, with your shoddy footwear and worn-out zip-up that could hardly be considered white anymore. he'd fallen for you and the way you always had something to say, and he'd fallen for you, who could see the art in anything- even hideous artwork made by unskilled 7-year-olds, even teenage boys who couldn't find it in themselves to admit that they loved you.

you must've changed him, he thinks, or at least brought out a part of him that he'd long since forgotten had existed. because now, on this train at 10 pm with you still staring at him with intent, tired eyes- he thinks he sees it, too, in a way that he thinks you might've been trying to get him to see from perhaps the very beginning.

he sees himself, itoshi rin, as artwork. and he sees you- the artist.

it's beautiful, how the world explodes into colour at that moment. the night sky outside the train window has never been quite so beautiful, and he thinks he can see all the stars in the world even though he's not even looking at them. his eyes are trained on yours, and there's nothing left to do, say, or realize, so he just pulls you back into himself and keeps talking.

"and then two days ago, i think, i was at practice. and my teammate opens his locker, and a squirrel falls out. nanase- that's his name- was terrified."

it's almost comical, how the roles have reversed. usually, you were the storyteller, and he was the patient listener. he doesn't remember the last time he spoke to someone in such a one-sided fashion for so long, but he doesn't really care anymore.

"apparently it was bachira. no one was really surprised."

he looks down at you, and you're finally asleep. your breathing is even, and he can only partially see your face. your cheeks are patchy from previous tears, but the way your features are relaxed amends for the hurt. his hand holds your head close, still, fingers absently massaging your scalp.

the silence carries on for a few beats. he watches your inhales and exhales when you do. when he finally talks, he's even quieter.

"i missed talking to you," he finally admits. it's almost as if he's admitting this to himself rather than you, with the way he leaves the words to hang in the air.

"so much," he adds, "it was fucking gross."

he continues to speak. perhaps this was his confession- he'd tell you his truths, the fact that he liked you, and the fact that he'd never be able to say it to your face. he doesn't see the harm, not on the empty night train with just him to hear.

"when we were all.. distant. i hated that. i had so much to say to you. i guess i always have. because," he lets an aggravated sigh, "i just didn't know.

"you're rubbing off on me, i guess. you and your stupid.. i dunno. just you. you make me so weird inside."

he pauses like he's waiting for you to say something, even though he knows you can't even register his words. he frowns and rewinds:

"that day. a week and a day ago. i left.

"you were so close to my face, so close to me- i dunno. i guess- i guess i just panicked. because i shouldn't like you. you're so.. you. and i'm nowhere near that. so i left.

"i wanted to kiss you. i want to all the time, it's fucking awful. when you told me about your date today? i hated every second of that. i just wanted to tell you but i couldn't. i don't know why, though.

"i still can't tell you. don't know if i will. but it's out there, now. i like you," rin laments, the last words foreign and unwelcome on his tongue.

"i like you. i like you a lot."

rin thinks his words should be followed by silence. he thinks that they'll hang and vanish in the air like his breathe, and he thinks it'll be gone forever, just like that. he thinks the next morning, he'll find a new morning routine and delete your contact.

but your breath hitches, and your body stiffens ever so slightly against rin's as his confession exits his lips. rin freezes, his hand falling dormant in the air behind your head.

you rise from his chest, and an empty cavity of dread is left in your place. the quiet is so poignant that you could hear a hairpin drop. he stares at you. you stare at him.

"rin," you start slowly, voice rough around the edges with sleep.

(the train rumbles distantly in the background. faintly, rin wonders when his stop would be.)

"you like me?"

he is silent. you blink once. then twice. and then you move. from your place next to him, you take his hand in both of yours and shift it to your lap.

"you like me."

it's not so much of a question now as it is an answer. your skin is cold against his, and it reminds him of the afternoon spent in your classroom where he learned of his limits for the first time.

"and you said you want to kiss me all the time," you continue, and rin thinks he'd be utterly humiliated if he wasn't so frozen.

"so why don't you?"

your question is one that lingers, hanging in the air like a heavy mist or smoke, and his lungs feel like they're being weighed down by the steeled sky.

you're right for asking, because why didn't he? why had he run, that day in your classroom? why had he let you grow so distant from him in the week that followed?

rin has always been one for pushing his limits. even when his body was broken over his sport, but he kept going because that was what was right to do. it was his purpose, and he didn't matter much outside of that.

but things were different now that he'd met you. rin decides that he just might be worth something more than a victory, because you look at him with a reverence, an affection, that tells him that he's maybe more than that.

you hold his hand in yours like it's glass, and your expression is soft with a curious lilt, and his hand is on your side and traveling to your back, and his other one is in your hair, and his lips are pressed on yours like he needs you, because fuck it, rin decides, he's never cared much for limitations anyway.

you kiss him back before long. it's messy and crude, and all teeth and bumping noses, and a long time in the making. you pull away before he does and he chases your lips like a starved man. but you duck your face into the crook of his neck, body as close as you could manage on the uncomfortable train seat. he feels you laugh into his neck, and he can't help the smile that spreads on his face.

"fucking finally," he says quietly, more to himself than you.

"finally," you agree, as the train slows to a stop. you glance up to check the destination- oh. it's your stop- your apartment block was only a short walk from here.

"this is where i am," you say, trying to find it in yourself to stand up. rin beats you to it, emerging from his seat and pulling you with him.

"i'm walking you home." he's no longer holding your hand, but his pinky finger is interlaced with yours, and he gives a surprisingly firm tug as he ushers you to the exit. "let's go."

you skitter along right behind him as the cold air rushes against his face, planting rosy, frosty kisses against his skin. you swing your joined arms with a wicked grin like you know it'll annoy him but he's not about to tell you to stop.

and if rin thought you were the prettiest in your classroom, or prettiest on the train, he was sorely mistaken because you're nothing short of gorgeous now, in the night air holding his hand, with a big, dopey grin on your face and his name on your lips.

he thinks he'd like to kiss you again, so he stops in his tracks on the sidewalk. you lurch to a halt, and call his name questioningly. he kisses you again because he can now, and you kiss him back, and he can do this again, and again, and again, because what's stopping him now?

the weeks following the emergence of your newly formed relationship are nothing short of blissful.

neither of you discussed your relationship status- it was just implied that he was your boyfriend now, because rin is almost sure he'd implode if he had to consider his feelings any longer.

your routines had both amended themselves around each other. every day, you'd meet on the morning train. he'd come to your classroom and sit through your lessons with you, and the both of you would go to either your apartment, his house, or whatever other destination was on one of your to-do lists. he'd go off for practice in the afternoons, but he never missed you too much.

he knew your texts would be waiting to be answered, without fail, and he knew you'd always be waiting for his call. and it felt nice to have someone- someone who cared for him, someone to call his own, someone who waited for him, someone he'd won.

rin thinks that he'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked, and especially if you didn't. he sees it as mature and responsible- someone has to keep you in check. you just call him clingy.

this is how he finds himself at a farmer's market. it's bustling, and nostalgic, and crowded, and probably not his scene. but you're there, so he'll make it work.

"oh, there's so many things. uh, let's see," you fumble with your phone, pulling up your list from your phone, "naomi can't have peanuts. asami is allergic to.. strawberries? how sad. and hiroshi will probably start crying if he sees cucumber. god, kids get weirder and weirder by the day."

you've been roped into helping host the graduation party for this year's oldest elementary students, most of which you knew by name. you'd been stuck with the food prep which rin didn't really understand assigning to you, since it's presumably the hardest task and you're not even a real employee.

"what's left, then?"

"uh.. i think we can make blueberry pie or something. and if they don't like it, it's not my fault because i tried."

"i'm not helping."

"no, no. you are. you don't have a choice in this."

he scoffs, and is about to reply, when-

"ms. teacher! hi, hi! hi!"

a little tiny pair of legs attached to a blur of brown hair as a small boy hurtles into your legs, capturing you into a hug the best he can. you let out a huff as the wind is knocked out of you.

looking down, rin recognizes the same kid- the same one who had made the watercolour painting of him and was surprised that they spoke german in 'germ-in-ey'.

"haru? hi yourself! what're you doing here?"

you almost instantly kneel down to meet his eyes and haru immediately giggles and taps the side of your head. "bonk, bonk!"

you laugh. "that isn't an answer, buddy."

the boy rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet with his hands fidgeting with each other in front of him, and rin is both enamoured by your endless warmth and feeling very out of place, standing awkwardly behind you like a scared child.

"my mama runs a fruit shore. yum, fruit! 'nd, i get to ex-spore! 'cause they're all busy with the fruit shore!"

"really? how cool!"

"yeah, yeah! 'nd, why are you here ms. teacher?"

you pretend to be in deep contemplation, tapping your finger on your chin. "well, if i tell you, you've got to keep it a secret, 'kay?"

"pinky swear! swear it!"

"it's for a surprise party."

haru looks like you just told him nuclear secrets. "oh my gosh!"

he squirms where he stands, running around in circles. "a sur-pies party! a sur-pies party!"

and then he stills, looking at you with the utmost serious expression that cracks a grin onto even rin's face. "i swear i won't tell anyone about your sur-pies party."

"thank you very much, haru. i appreciate it," you reply, with equal seriousness.

and then, haru's eyes wander over to rin.

"mr. germ-in-ey!"

rin cringes. he wasn't mentally prepared for this, not today. "hi."

haru seems to have forgotten that people from germany tend to speak german, because he converses with rin like there's no implicit barrier there. "hey, hi! i didn't know you went outside the school!"

rin's brows furrow and you stand, laughing. "what?"

"you're always in ms. teacher's classroom. in the back, all sad."

he frowns. "i'm not sad."

haru surveys him, and he feels a little ridiculous getting once-overed by a 7-year-old. "no," haru agrees, "not anymore!"

at this, you chime in. "oh? what changed?"

rin glares at you over his shoulder and you return with a bemused expression. haru mimics your previous posture, with his hands on his chin like he's stroking a beard.

"you guys are in love!"

you freeze, shooting up straight with wide eyes. rin stares at the kid.

"come again, haru?" you manage to choke out, perhaps hoping that you heard him wrong.

"you guys are in L-O-E-V-E!" haru sings the words out, spelling it wrong but still reinforcing his previous statement.

rin is flabbergasted, and you choke on your saliva. bystanders are beginning to look at the scene unfolding, and you attempt to straighten yourself out while rin takes a step away.

"uh, haru," you say, letting out a breath and an awkward laugh, "why don't you go find your mom? tell her i say hi."

haru hums before nodding like he'd entirely forgotten the previous conversation. he scuttles away with the speed of a scared cat. rin directs his gaze to you and shoots you a look.

"your students are so fucking strange."

you sigh, "yeah. yeah, they are."

he pauses. and lets out the heaviest, most resigned sigh he thinks he's ever managed before. "but they're not wrong."

you look at him blankly, before you process his words. and then you're positively beaming as rin makes a face.

"ugh, gross. forget i said that. that was vile."

"awh, rin!" you say, disregarding his statement, "you're so cute! so, so cute!"

you close the distance between him and you, and he ducks his face away but makes no real effort to move. "i hate you so much."

"i don't think so," you hum, getting infinitely closer to his face. he's sure you can feel the heat radiating off him at your proximity, as you continue: "i think that you are obsessed with me."

your lips are ghosting the corner of his mouth and he doesn't realize he was holding his breath until you pull away, eyes suddenly wide with realization.

"oh my god," you say, all the teasing removed from your voice and instead replaced with a daunting sobriety, "haru is going to tell the entire class. the entire school."

rin blinks. "okay? and?"

"no, you don't get it!" you grab his arm, a genuine terror that is almost comical shining in them. "i'm going to be trampled."

your boyfriend shrugs. "i don't see how that's my issue."

"you idiot. you come with me every day."

"so?"

"you're never going to know peace again."

rin finally gets it, and he frowns deeper than he thinks he ever has. "i'm breaking up with you, then. no way am i dealing with that."

you roll your eyes and sigh, and rin laughs- it's quiet and short but real and genuine, and he sees the love brimming in your eyes as you follow his movements.

"god, i love you."

your words catch him off guard. but he takes your hand as a response. rin doesn't think he can say it back, not right now- but you know he does, and this time, so does he.

because rin loves you, and you love him, simple as that. there are no limits, there are no rules- just brushstrokes on a canvas, just an artist and a muse.

in that moment, in the middle of the bustling farmer's market, you and rin are all alone, and he thinks to himself: he would spend forever counting the passengers on a train if it meant he would meet you.

he'd spend years if he had to, waiting for his girl, the one with a white worn-out zip-up and shoes that were on their last few wears, and a denim bag smeared with paint and decorated with pins, and a smile to rival the sun.

he'd give it all to meet you again, and he'd give even more if you asked. in truth, there's nothing he wouldn't do to fall in love with you all over again- but he doesn't need to imagine, because you make it happen every day.

because truly, it may have started in just a few mornings, but it would always end with you.

(3 weeks later, mrs. sato appears on the morning train again.

you and rin are seated in conversation, bodies turned towards each other as he listens to your words. you're both interrupted when the train doors shut and a voice calls your name.

"ah, what have i missed! do my eyes deceive me, or is there a lovely new couple in my presence?"

you grin at her arrival. "oh my gosh, mrs. sato?"

the older woman hobbles over to sit down in front of you. "you have so much to tell me," she states, wrinkled smile gleaming with childlike joy.

rin frowns. why is it such a common trend to make him the 3rd wheel in his own relationship?

rin listens in as you narrate the course of your relationship, thankfully skipping out some more personal pieces, with a pink face and blood warming the tips of his ears.

and in turn, you learn that in mrs. sato's absence, she'd been partying all over the bahamas on a cruise, making a few crude and suggestive jokes about ship crew boys. "ah, but i can't say that anymore, can i? not with your boyfriend here. girl talk."

rin crosses his arms over his chest, looking and feeling a bit ridiculous with your bag on his laugh. mrs. sato cackles. he thinks she reminds him of a witch, just a little.

"ah, well, i hope you didn't miss me too much, dear. i'm off again- to jamaica this time!" mrs. sato exclaims and you smile supportively even though rin can tell you're more amused than anything.

"when do you leave?"

"tonight," she laughs, "i'm going to the airport right now."

when mrs. sato leaves and bids you and rin farewell with a hug and wink respectively. rin looks at you questioningly. "i can't believe you speak to her."

you grimace. "she's terrifying. i think if i wasn't friendly she'd hunt me down."

"probably. wouldn't be hard."

"i should send you to jamaica with her."

"i'd take some cruise boys over you any day."

"i'd pick them over you, too"

rin smiles. his hand taps a rhythm onto your knee. "so what're we doing today?"

"after school, i think it's finally time i buy new shoes. it's been long enough."

he frowns. "i like your shoes."

"they're like, a million years old. there's a hole in the sole."

"oh."

"you can pick them, since you clearly seem to think your fashion sense is better than mine."

"it is, actually."

"you're horrible, y'know that?"

"yep."

the train stops, and you stand before he does. you extend your hand for him to take.

he takes it without hesitation.)

##: if you read this long, hey! writing this actually made me insane i'm not gonna lie! but it's finally out, and genuinely would mean the world if u left a like, reblog, or comment :,) feedback keeps me motivated!

#blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock #bllk #bllk rin #rin itoshi #rin x reader #itoshi x reader #reader insert

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marlenacantswim · 3 months

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tenth doctor the most relatable doctor because i too have a massive ego and ignore people who are attracted to me 💖

closeups (including text and image ID) under the cut, snip snip snip ✂️

[Image ID: a sketchpage-style series of eight digital drawings of the tenth doctor. they are all bust/torso up, and each is doing a different activity in slightly different canon outfits. the first depicts him in his glasses fiddling with wires. in the next he's wearing classic 3d specs, and appears shocked. in the next he is smiling with his face close to the viewer while donna stands annoyedly behind him. in the next he side-eyes the viewer with a neutral to serious expression. the next depicts his sad, wounded face from the aftermath of the conflict in End of Time Part Two; his suit jacket is slightly torn and his eyes are watery. the next has him examining a chip pierced at the end of a plastic fork he's holding. in the next he stares off to the side, slightly confused. in the last he's wielding the sonic screwdriver, pointing it upwards with a perplexed look on his face. there is penciled text scribbled around the drawings, reading "Ten!", "god complex", "GEEK CHIC", "adhd icon", "everyone want her sooo bad", "baby girl", "go whiteboy go!!!", "farsighted (for the DRAMA)", "stylish bedhead", "there's like, four of him", "SAD.", "WET.", "PATHETIC.", "will not STFU", "has canonically eaten human blood :)", "omfg?!", "needs therapy", "kinda toxic :/ (free my girl martha)", "if a drowned weasel was also the most beautiful girl you're ever seen", "misses his girlfriend :(", "PRETTYBOY", "asexual SLUT", "he's sorry. he's so, so sorry.", and "ALLONS-Y!". there is also sparse radial gallifreyan and crude sketches of the tardis and a chuck converse shoe. /.End ID]

my brain goes "ooooo you are gonna draw tenth doctor fifty bajillion time" and i go "thanks brain you are correct. we are in agreement."

#the tenth doctor and i also share a fondness for: having adhd; sitting in chairs wrong; being slightly farsighted;#wearing exclusively hightop chucks; and preferring our hair resemble some sort of evil birdsnest #i've started stimming with my hair because of this bitch. unbelivable.#also i know i'm not supposed to put image ids below readmores #i'm a wordy bitch :(#doctor who #nuwho #tenth doctor #10th doctor #david tennant #donna noble #catherine tate #running my mouth #made this with my hands #my artwork #doctor who fanart

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starryinkart · 3 months

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[CLICK FOR BETTER QUALITY!!!]

(Likes and Reblogs are appreciated!!)

Soooo I was sucked into Poppy Playtime again because of these goobers!! I don’t think I’ve ever posted Poppy Playtime stuff on here before, buttt I think I will now, I just wish the fandom was a bit bigger and more lively lmao 🤣

Catnap is my #1 favorite, then DogDay, then KC, and then Hoppy! I love the others too, but Bubba and Crafty are so hard to draw atm. I just need to practice more with them!😓

{Colorless Lines Below!!}

Headcannons for them below too!!!

———————

Some headcannons in the show universe cause I’m feeling fun:

- Catnap is the youngest! DogDay is the oldest of the crew! Their age order goes (oldest to youngest) DogDay, Bubba, Picky, Kickin, Crafty, Bobby, Hoppy, Catnap!

- Catnap doesn’t talk much, but he can. Just with a low voice that tends to be calming, and very sweet sounding. He usually just points, says short answers like yes or no, and nods.

- While Kickin (or KC) is the most egocentric and confident, Hoppy is the most energetic and tends to like talking people’s heads off, which causes them to butt heads at times, all while Picky tends to be the usual third wheel, often just quietly eating.

- Crafty is the most creative while Bubba is the most thoughtful and intelligent, which usually allows them to have deep, meaningful conversations of the wonders of life together.

-Crafty is the shyest out of the bunch, usually drawing with Catnap calmly, sharing her creations with him or hanging out with Bubba.

- Bobby and Picky tend to share their love for the world together, usually playing dress up with each other, talking about crushes. or cooking of course! Bobby always has something lovely to share and Picky, in contrast to her name, always is open to trying something new, as long as she thinks she may like it.

- In contrast to the canon, all of the crew just magically woke up in the Playcare, with no memories of before they opened their eyes to the colorful world around them. DogDay and Bubba were the first to appear, Picky, Crafty and Kickin spawning after, Bobby and Hoppy spawning together and Catnap spawning alone. There seems to be no way out, so the crew just embraces their situation and tries their best to not think about it too much.

- Catnap was the last and most unexpected to spawn in. From the time he opened his eyes to the new world around him, he had felt like something was off, like he didn’t belong there. While most of the others treated him nice, some of the crew were uneasy about his sudden appearance, seemingly years after the last of the previous arrivals had spawned in.

- Catnap begins to grow close to DogDay, almost becoming like his little brother. They spend the most time together, due to DDs kindness and warm welcoming energy towards him on his arrival! Also them both noticing they wore opposite necklaces, Cat being the moon and DD being the sun helped with that connection too!

- Kickin doesn’t really like or trust Catnap much, and doesn’t try to hide it, making snarky remarks and comments to clearly express his dislike for him.

- Catnap is super playful with the others, his best friends being Dog Day, Hoppy and Crafty! He tends to move like a ghost, the crew not usually noticing they are in his presence until they turn around! A lot of times, he hangs by his tail on the trees to say hello, or can be found in the fields laying in the grass and sleeping.

- Cat can sleep anywhere that is a surface, and is not wet.

- Every once and while, Cat swears he can see a skinny, metallic hand in the shadows, beckoning his attention. He’s tried to bring it up to the others, but they either think he’s acting weird, insane, or tell him not to worry about it.

———————

If you want to hear more, my asks are open!!! And I will be drawing them inbetween my Absolutely Chapters for Murder Drones, which I am STILL working on and Chapter 4 is coming out soon!! Promise, I didn’t forget, things have just been busy!!

ALSOOOOO New Murder Drones Comic for King Solver N coming this weekend 👀👀👀 Perhaps some angst or something fun?

#poppy playtime #smilling critters #poppy playtime smiling critters #poppy playtime catnap #catnap #DogDay #artists on tumblr #digital art #fan art #dog day #kickinchicken #craftycorn #hoppy hopscotch #bobby bearhug #bubba bubbaphant #picky piggy #PoppyPlaycareAU #< that is what this AU is called for now #starryinkartwork

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nyrandrea · 7 months

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hiii I’d like to request (again if that’s ok, it’s me the one who asked for the injured ) but if so then may I ask for this time so what if everyone’s at camp all asleep when a few people sneak in and kidnap reader but Astarion wakes up hearing something wasn’t right seein what’s going on watches as reader disappears then ofc hunting them down to see them being used in an ritual all tied up and weak dndeueududid ( sorry it’s like 1:18am I’m laid awake thinking about random things 💀 )

Helloooo again! I enjoyed your last request and certainly had fun with this one too so thanks again! (1:18am is the best time for random thoughts :D )

Warnings for canon typical violence, kidnapping, rituals (kinda), blood and swears

Word Count - 2.9k

Enjoy!

xxx

Under the silvery embrace of the crescent moon, nestled within the heart of a tranquil forest, you and your companions had surrendered to the gentle clutches of slumber, a collective of soft snoring weaving its way through the rustling leaves and whispering trees.

A clearing in the woods served as your base for the night after a long, grueling day of travelling. The grass beneath you was like a plush carpet, and a delicate blanket of dew kissed the blades, glistening like diamonds. The air was crisp, yet tender, cradling you in its nocturnal embrace.

Your team had all gathered in a sort of semi-circle, heads pillowed upon hands or nestled into makeshift cushions fashioned from backpacks and rolled-up cloaks. You weren’t sure how or when, but throughout your sleep you had unconsciously rolled over and inched yourself closer to where Astarion lay, his delicious scent drawing you in.

One could observe the group and note the serene expressions etched upon their faces. They appeared as though they were sculpted by dreams, their features softened by the embrace of rest. Your eyes fluttered beneath closed lids as you chased the remnants of recent adventures.

Unfortunately for you, you were being observed.

You flinched as the corner of your vision registered a goblin kneeling beside you, the tip of his dagger against your throat before you could even scramble for your own weapon.

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you," he purrs, smiling smugly down at you. “Not if you want your friends to keep their innards intact.”

Your eyes widen and dart over to where the rest of the group lay, completely oblivious to the goblins that threatened their very lives. You were even surprised to see Astarion still in a deep trance of meditation; he was usually so much more alert at night.

“What do you want?” you whisper.

“For you to come with us, true soul,” the goblin answered. “We are in desperate need of your... assistance.”

‘Great,’ you thought. ‘Just what I need, more Absolute nutjobs.’

“Look, I don’t think I can help you.”

“Oh, but you are the only one who can,” he retorts, slowly pulling the knife away from your throat. “It’s our leader, you see. She is gravely ill and only a true soul like yourself can cure her.”

Your face scrunches up in disbelief. “If she’s ill, then it’s a healer you need, not me.”

The goblin frowns. “It’s you she needs, she said so herself.” His blade edges closer to you once again, signaling for you to get up. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to come with us. Or am I going to have to resort to a bit of… persuasion?”

He exchanges a glance with one of his men, who seemed all too giddy to slash Astarion’s neck.

“No…!” You almost shout but restrain yourself so as to not alert the others and incur a massacre. “I-I’ll come with you, just... leave them be.”

The goblin grinned up at you, and you had to force down the bile that was rising in your throat.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he crooned, gesturing for you to follow.

You hesitate for a moment, your gaze darting between your weapon and the goblin, his eyes are trained on you, almost as if he was daring you to try. Ultimately, you were outnumbered, and they held the element of surprise over your companions. No matter which way you tried to cut it, there were going to be casualties if you didn’t do what you were told.

So, you begrudgingly allowed yourself to be led into whatever hellish fate this cult of the Absolute had in store for you. A plan of escape would have to come later, when you were far enough away from your friends.

Unbeknownst to you, one of them was already on your trail.

xxx

Amidst the shroud of night, when the moon hid its luminous face behind a thick blanket of heavy clouds, you and your merry little band of kidnappers ventured into a meadow cloaked in long, swaying grass. The air had an eerie stillness about it, broken only by the distant whispers of nocturnal creatures.

As you traversed the meadow, moving with cautious steps, your feet sinking into the cool earth with each stride, you silently weighed up your options. The grass was like a sea of shadows, their whispers brushing against your legs like ghostly fingers; it would be so easy just to blend in and disappear.

You would have considered it, if it were not for the worgs.

The air was imbued with the scent of dew-drenched grass, but those beasts would still be able to track you down within seconds. Only... there were most certainly four of them the last time you checked. But looking around now, you only noticed two.

It appeared the goblins had noticed too; their hushed conversations were like faint echoes in the vast expanse, mixing with the symphony of crickets and the occasional haunting call of a night owl. You couldn’t make out a damn word they were saying, but they looked nervous.

“It would seem that we have a stalker in our midst,” the leader of the group growled, holding up a hand for everyone to come to a halt before he grabbed your wrist, forcing you down to his level. “Sod it, change of plan. You’re with me,” he commanded one of his men before turning to the rest. “You lot deal with the bastard while we take our friend here back to base.”

“Hey!” You grabbed his wrist and tried to wrench yourself free. “Let go!”

“With pleasure,” he grinned as he simultaneously released his grip and struck the back of your head with a blunt weapon, rendering you unconscious just as the ambusher seized the opportune moment. With lightning speed and calculated precision, he pounced from the grass, launching himself like a shadowy wraith. Long grass bent and swirled in his wake, mimicking the dance of phantoms.

In that fleeting moment, you caught the glint of a blade unsheathed, reflecting a cold, silver streak in the night. Chaos ensued, and the long grass became a battleground, hiding the combatants in its tangled embrace.

The clash of steel rang through the night, intermingling with the desperate cries of your name as you slipped away into darkness.

The ambusher moved with ruthless determination; his scarlet eyes ablaze with a wild, unholy fervor. In the end, silence fell upon the meadow, broken only by the ragged breaths of the victorious, standing amidst the long grass, a solitary figure bathed in the haunting glow of the moon, his cloak billowing like a specter as he followed the trail of broken grass the other goblins had made as they carried your prone form away.

xxx

The first thing you could feel was a pounding in your head. You try to sit up, to pull your knees up so you can curl up and settle the turning in your stomach. Slowly, your eyes opened as your breath sped up.

You were lying on the dirty floor in the middle of some sort of temple, hardly able to move due to your wrists and ankles being bound by chains. You struggle to draw in shallow gasps as you blinked through the blurriness of tears that clung to your eyelashes.

“What?” you whisper to yourself, wiggling to try and find an opening in the chains, trying not to hyperventilate as the bindings dug painfully into your skin the more you tried to move.

You bite your lip as your mind races with ideas to escape, to get away from this place, to kill these people for having the audacity to kidnap you, to threaten your friends.

Different scenarios play out repeatedly in your head, but the reality was that you were powerless to do anything.

“Comfortable, are we?”

A goblin slinked her way over to you from the shadows, she was unlike the crude and menacing stereotypes that often plagued her kind. She possessed an eerie, captivating beauty and moved with an uncanny grace; as sinuous as a serpent. Her skin, the color of moss, bore intricate tattoos that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy.

Your skin tingled, hairs on the back of your neck prickling up as the goblin prowled behind your back to watch over your shoulder, her warm breath brushing behind your ear.

“I do hope so - it is truly an unimaginable honor to have a true soul like yourself amongst us, especially one with such... soft, tender flesh.”

A soft whimper pressed from your throat as warm hands slithered over your shoulders, kneading gently into tensed muscles. It sent a shudder down your spine, pressing your entire body in on itself.

“No need to be so coy, dear,” she said. “We’ll be getting to know one another, after all. For what is to come.”

Your lips pressed tight together as you swallowed down a knot in your throat, but your chin was forced up so that your eyes locked with hers. The symbol of the Absolute flashed on her face like a dazzling light, but no matter how much the tadpole wriggled and pulsed inside your head, nothing was happening.

You held no authority here.

“Those little mind tricks won’t work with me,” she sneered, pointing a clawed finger to her temple. “For I too, am a true soul. In fact, I am the one and only true soul!”

“W-w-what do you mea-?”

You were silenced with a hard slap.

“You may not speak in my presence, worm,” the goblin growled. “Speaking of, I’ve got so many of the little buggers up there, I may as well be as powerful as the Absolute themselves!” She barked a laugh and grinned maniacally down at you. “And your parasite will make a fine addition to my collection.”

‘Gods, this bitch is fucking crazy,’ you thought, but your mind immediately seized up and burned as she pried her way into it, and she was not too happy with your choice of words.

“You haven’t even seen crazy yet,” she growled as she traced a claw down the side of your face, drawing a thin line of blood. “I think I’ll pry your worm out myself with my bare hands and make you watch as I consume it before we gut you and roast you on the spit with the rest of the pigs.”

Strong hands took hold of your arms and legs and dragged you onto a slab of stone that had markings etched along the edges. You could just make out they were in Infernal—akin to the ones on Astarion’s back—but like his, you couldn’t decipher their meaning.

You kicked, flailed and screamed in desperation, but you were soon silenced by the goblin as she wrapped her hands around your throat while the others formed a circle around you and started muttering some sort of ritualistic prayer.

Your senses were dulling further by the second and a part of you wanted to give in to the pain, to just let yourself black out and fade away, but something within you pulsated with the will to live. To fight to your very last breath. Was this the parasite’s doing? Or was it something else?

“Just give in to the Absolute, dear, "the goblin said, her tone almost sickeningly gentle. “You’ll be all the better for it.”

“F...f...”

“Aw, your last, dying words,” she purrs, leaning in closer to listen. “I will permit it.”

“...Fuck you,” you spat.

The goblin’s smug expression warps into one of pure fury, and she bares her teeth at you as she grabs a hold of your face with one hand, using the other to slowly inch her claws towards your left eye. Her hiss garbles into a shrill wheeze as a dagger is plunged into her back and through her chest several times, relentlessly. A stray drop of blood trails down her mouth as she screams silently before she is rolled away from you, her body plopping onto the ground with an unceremonious thump.

You try to catch your breath, thanking whatever Gods were out there that they decided to spare you today.

“Don’t thank them, darling, thank me,” a familiar voice teased, though his shaking voice betrayed his light tone. “They would have done bugger all, anyway.”

A tiny, joyful laugh escapes from your raw throat as your eyes fall onto the welcome sight of Astarion, who seems just as relieved to see you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, quickly approaching with what appeared to be a pair of bolt cutters.

You nodded desperately, holding out your wrists.

Astarion took a moment to get the teeth of the bolt cutters properly in place where they wouldn’t bite through the skin but snapped them together fairly easily.

You shuddered a soft sob, relief dripping from your eyes as you rubbed at your wrists. Astarion didn’t wait for further instructions, you needed to move.

He knelt by your feet, slotting one link of the chain between the thick metal teeth, then braced one handle against his thigh. It bruised and dug into the flesh of his leg, but he didn’t stop.

The metal didn’t relent, but neither would he.

“Astarion-”

“Just... hold on, darling!” he says, pausing only briefly to give you a reassuring smile. “I’m no Lae’zel or Karlach; strength isn’t exactly my forte but I’ve... almost got it...!”

Teeth grit, fueled by fear and desperation, Astarion pulled harder and harder, feeling the bruise work against the bone and listening to his back crackle at the strain. He shifted, readjusting – maybe one half of the link would be enough? It was dented – that was a good sign.

You rested both hands on Astarion’s shoulders, steadying you both as he groaned under the effort. He jerked the handle to and fro, desperately trying to force the iron link to submit to iron teeth.

With one final effort, the metal finally crunched, and you were free.

Astarion’s arms encircled you with a strength that made you feel safe and cherished, while you nestled your head against his chest.

“You... how did you...?”

“I knew from the moment they took you,” Astarion said, smoothing down your arms, the motion was slow and helped calm you down a little. “I was, let’s say, aware of their presence in camp. But like you, I wanted to avoid a messy fight and so I tracked you down myself and... thank the gods I did.”

“Guess they helped out a little, after all,” you weakly joked.

“Oh shush,” he softly retorted. “It was fairly easy, what with that awful stench those creatures' reek of.”

“So, it was you... in the meadow.”

“It was,” he smiled, but it was tinged with bitterness. “I almost had you, if only I’d been quicker, or less sloppy, you wouldn’t have...”

His eyes, pools of worry and tenderness, never left your face. He reached out with a hand that trembled, his fingers brushing away strands of your disheveled hair. His touch was feather-light, as if he feared causing you any more discomfort.

With a voice softer than a whisper, he asked, “Did… did they…?” The words carried the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions.

“It’s okay,” you said, reaching out to caress his cheek. “I’m okay.”

He nodded, his lips curling into a tender smile as he leaned into your touch. Gently, he began to inspect your injuries. His fingers traced the contours of your throat, seeking out any sign of any permanent damage. With each touch, he was meticulous, ensuring that he didn’t aggravate the forming bruise.

"Does it hurt much?" he inquires softly, his expression unreadable, almost dazed.

You wince slightly but shake your head. "It's bearable.”

He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "You're so, so strong, my dear," he whispers, his words a soothing balm to your wounded soul.

His soft gaze hardens as he glares down at the goblins' bodies that littered the room. “Death is too good for them. I’m almost tempted to have them revived so I can make them suffer just a little longer.”

“How did you even manage to kill so many?” you ask, you knew he was a dab hand at killing but even he couldn’t take on a whole horde by himself.

“They were all so engrossed in their little ritual, they didn’t even see me coming,” Astarion said with a shrug. “That’s what you get for blind faith, I suppose.”

You wanted to laugh, but your throat hurt too much.

“Come on, darling,” Astarion gently looped your arm around his shoulder and guided you, going as slow as your aching legs would allow. “Let’s get you home.”

Your eyes met his in a gaze that transcended words, a silent conversation of empathy and understanding. In that moment, the world ceased to exist beyond the contours of your bodies, and the only reality was the sensation of skin against skin, the intoxicating scent of each other's presence, and the unspoken promise that he would never allow this to happen to you again.

xxx

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

#bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #fanfiction #tw kidnapping #request

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 10 months

Text

Consequences | Six | End

Word Count: 4k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, death, Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, kinslayer aemond

Series Masterlist

Aemond woke the next morning with a burning migraine , the epicentre of which was at his temple, where the scar throbbed the worst. The bedsheets were draped around his waist, half of which were now on the floor with his restless sleep. Everything annoyed him, the light coming in through the curtains, any sound, any mild inconvenience like not having water at his bedside.

It was today that he’d face the repercussions of his actions. When everyone would know what he is.

Kinslayer.

He rubbed his temple, where his scar lay, with his palm, trying to ease the discomfort somewhat. He winced though when there was a soft knock at his chamber doors. It was different from her usual rhythm and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Prince Aemond” a soft voice called out behind the door. Not your grace.

He sighed, “Enter”

He groaned, rubbing his non-existent eye so hard he was beginning to see stars behind the other, wincing at the sound of his chamber doors closing, as soft as it was. Once he cracked his eye open and sat up, watching the little maidservant, with her braids tightly done, place his clothes for the day on the armchair. Aemond furrowed his brows, thinking that she was deliberately acting against him, in a direct refusal to obey him.

But then she had turned her head towards him, and it was like a slap across the face.

It was not her.

This other maidservant curtsies and proceeded to open his curtains, tying them at the sides to keep them open, visibly shaken by being in his presence, a notion that Aemond himself hates. He was sick and tired of people bristling away from him because of his appearance. Or perhaps there was another reason for this. And he wondered if everyone knew.

Kinslayer.

“Who are you” he said to her,

“Alanna, your grace” she says in return, not meeting his gaze as she continues doing her morning duties.

His maidservant would look him in the eye. This one didn’t.

“Where is she”

Alanna opened her mouth to ask who, but quickly closed to it, sensing it was a silly question.

“She is not at all well, your grace. I hope it does not inconvenience you” she says, clasping her hands together, something Aemond noticed that women do when they’re anxious.

He bit the inside of his cheek at her answer, drawing just the slightest bit of coppery blood. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to feel at her blatant disrespect for his wishes for her to return to her duties as soon as possible. But all those feelings dissipated when Alanna spoke again.

“Your mother wishes to break fast with you this morning” Alanna says politely, giving one shallow curtsy before exiting the room as fast as she could.

There was no time to feel angry at his little maidservant. Today he would be reprimanded by his family, seen for what he was, and punished for what he did. He didn’t want to. And he had been turning about the possibilities in his mind since Lucerys fell from the sky.

Does he lie. Does he lie and say that he went after his young nephew with malicious intent?

Or does he speak the truth. That he had no control over his own dragon and that Vhagar had actively sought the young Prince out herself, with Aemond begging on her back, for her to stop.

He was supposed to be the dutiful Prince Aemond. And there was the thought in the back of his mind, that if he said he hadn’t meant to do it, would anyone actually believe that, knowing the bad blood between them.

If he had to be the villain, then fine, he would have to act like it.

He got dressed slowly and secured his eyepatch, venturing out into the hallways for the first time that day. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face what his family would say, or the not-knowing of what they were all thinking.

So as he walked through the Keep, the stagnant waft of something horrid in the aura, his mind had drifted to her. The maidservant named Alanna said she felt ill.

She had mentioned a procedure, one which Aemond, in the heated moment when he’d seen her last, did not prod about. But he knew, he knew what it was. And there was a deep part of him that thought the action repulsive, to do such a thing to an unborn child. It was a sin, he thought at the time, perhaps the worst one. On one hand, he regretted his part in giving her the funds to do it.

But on the other hand, it was either one corpse that way or two the other. And inside him, he was too selfish to let her go. Especially a tumultuous time such as this, where he was quite possibly at his lowest, he needed the comfort she offered, even if it was only the comfort of her flesh against his. So he brushed the thought of the procedure away, in favour of thinking that it was no worse than Moon Tea and that it was the result of sheer desperation.

More than anything else, as he walked past the entrance to the staff quarters, he wondered. Did the procedure hurt? Was it so incredibly painful that she needed so much rest?

Had there been blood, he wondered.

Imagining it made something horrid curdle deep in his stomach.

Drawing blood from her, on the night he took her maidenhead felt right. Gods, it felt so right. To smear it over her thighs, to remind her of who she belonged to. He even remembered the way it felt. The way it had sent a dark, almost electric impulse up his spine, right to his head, inflating it with a sense of power.

But the thought of her bleeding now, as a result of whatever horrors had occurred. It was wrong. It felt wrong.

And for a brief moment, as he stared down the hall, he considered going to her. To do what, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t in his nature to apologise, not to be a soft, doting man to a woman. Such feelings, he felt, were below him.

So he didn’t.

He would face his family. Have whatever they threw at him. For better or for worse, he had a role to play, a script to read.

Kinslayer.

Aemond knew he was going to have teeth marks on the inside of his cheek by the end of the day if he didn’t stop. His stresses were so high though, he could not find it within himself to care.

It had gone about as well as he predicted. If not a little worse.

Breaking fast with his family, with his brother now sat at the centre as King, was an experience he wouldn’t like to repeat. His mother barely spared a look in his direction, staring straight at her plate, hands placed either side and clenched into fists, as if resisting the urge to move them at all. Her under eyes were puffy, like she’d been awake all night.

His grandfather, Otto had done rather the opposite, and kept his eye on him for the entire meal, as if anticipating he would act out if confronted. Aemond couldn’t fault the reasoning. If approached with the subject, he probably would have. He was at least grateful that the subject was not brought up, but was secretly apprehensive inside at what his family were thinking about him instead.

He felt like he’d regressed somewhat. As the sun began to set, he couldn’t bear to think of returning to his chambers, and so he did what he remembered he’d used to do. Usually, he’d go to Alicent, but as she was so upset and beyond offering compassion, he’d gone to Helaena instead. Where Alicent offered comfort in her words, Helaena offered it in her companionship in relative silence.

So he sat, a rapidly emptying goblet handing in his fingers, the other hand tapping against the armchair in Helaena’s chambers. Aegon, of course, was not present, as he rarely was alongside Helaena even in the days before his ascension to the throne. Not that Aemond would even be here in the first place if his brother was present.

Aemond had a book open in his lap, eye straining in the low light of the room, with only several candles wafting in the cool draught on each flat surface. Helena was sitting in her armchair next to him, her right hand poised with her needle and the other holding the off-white cotton with her embroidery pulled taught in the tambour frame. Past a few hums of concentration, the odd whisper and the whip of the candle flames as they danced, it was entirely quiet.

And though Aemond was hiding it well, his mind was busy.

It was dark, and yet his handmaid had still not returned to her duties.

He craved something, a closeness she could offer. And thought at first, Aemond surmised that he desired her bare flesh against his, the feeling of her heart drumming against her chest, her soft and gentle sounds, to remind him of his power and strength above her. But the more he pondered, not really reading the book in his lap and just staring blankly at the ever-entwined words, the more he realised what he really truly craved.

He wanted to hear her voice when she spoke. Wanted to feel her eyes on him, even fully clothed. Wanted to feel her soft breath against his skin.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

It suggested something Aemond didn’t want to know the meaning behind.

A light, cold breeze at Aemond’s feet made him shudder, and Helaena had raised her head when the candle at her side was snuffed out by the chill. She’d watched, stock still, as the blackened wick emitted the steady stream of thin smoke into the air.

Aemond, having seen his sister raise her head, had looked over, “What is it?”

But Helaena met his gaze and quickly turned back to her embroidery, shaking her head, as if ridding the thought from her mind altogether, whispering to herself once more.

He tried not to be concerned by his sister’s reaction. But it was clear as day on her face that something had perturbed her.

When it became too dark, he’d found the courage to return to her chambers. Her lack of presence there had his chest feel heavy. The bedsheets, once he’d crawled back into them, didn’t seem as soft and nowhere near as comforting. There was a chill about the room and though he could not see his own breath, he’d felt the sheer vastness of his solitude.

Aemond wanted to see her face. Feel the warmth of her blood beneath her skin.

Sleep took him at the thought of it.

“Your grace”

She walked through the doors of his chambers, her hair down about her shoulders in waves, as if they had been in plaits. Aemond opened his eye, his body lethargic and heavy, from something that seemed so much more endless and deep as sleep.

He saw the way she dreamily walked through his room in her usual uniform, her hair covering her expression. A small smirk came to his face. She was here.

She turned to face him, her face lit only by a small flame of a candle, flickering against her features. Aemond felt his blood run cold in his skin, his heart beating furiously inside his chest.

Blood.

All over her apron, hands and arms. Thick and fresh.

“It cannot be”

"Aegon!"

Aemond was awoken early in the morning, startled from sleep by his mother's voice as her hurried steps flew past his closed doors and to Aegon's chambers.

The speed at which Aemond had been forced from sleep to wakefulness sent his head all dizzy and his mother's voice had such an urgency about it. He was urged to his feet, pulling the closest thing around him to his body, which was his breeches and doublet, though it was left unbuckled at his chest.

The sun was barely up and when he'd poked his head out the doors, all he saw was the dizzying blur of his mother's auburn curls and a flash of neutral fabric, which must have been her robe. What on earth was his mother doing at this time in the morning? And with Aegon no less? Who quite possibly had not been in bed long.

Alicent threw the doors open, making for Aegon who was barely rousing from sleep with eyes cracked open thinly. Aemond knew his mother, wracked by sheer emotion, would most likely lash out at her eldest son, as she had done in the past, so he’d rushed to her side, gently pulling her arm back, keeping her from doing anything she might regret to the new King.

At this moment, Aegon was not her King. He was her son. And she had nearly forgotten that.

There were unshed tears in her eyes, “What is this?!” she threw the green silken purse at Aegon’s lap, making him groan in pain at the hefty throw, “Paying for some sinful, disgusting back-alley abortion? You cannot keep carrying on like this, Aegon!”

Aegon furrowed his brows, eyeing the purse Alicent had thrown in his lap with a groggy, tired expression, “What?...”

“Gods…Have you no shame? She had been with us barely half a year, Aegon!”

“Who?!” Aegon barked back, annoyed, and clearly confused.

“You know very well who! The poor girl whose silence you bought with coin!” Alicent was breathing heavily, feeling crowded and pulled her arm free of Aemond’s grasp weakly, “I thought you were past this, Aegon…”

Aegon stood from the bed, Helaena long absent from the chambers, it was probably for the best anyway. He held the sheets over his body, eyebrows furrowed once again in confusion.

Before Aegon could open his mouth, Hedi had appeared in the doorway, offering a curtsy with a sullen expression.

“Your grace” she greeted with a wavering voice.

Alicent swallowed, meeting her gaze with her watery, chocolate brown eyes, “The maester has confirmed it?...”

Hedi was pale and when she unclasped her hands, there was a smudge of dark blood on her apron. She nodded, “Yes, your grace…”

Hedi rushed to the door, forcefully using her shoulder to break through. Alanna was backed up in a corner, wailing and crying loudly, her whole body shaking.

“Hush, child, you’ll wake the whole Keep!” Hedi whispered once knelt before her.

Alanna choked on air, trying desperately to speak through her tears, “Sh-she…” was all she managed through quivering lips.

Hedi righted to stand and looked upon the girl in the bed, the sheets still tucked up to her chest. Looking upon her face, her eyelashes didn’t flutter, and though it would’ve been natural at first glance to assume she was merely sleeping, Hedi could see now that her chest was unmoving.

“Seven Hells…” Hedi whispered and when she’d touched her hand, it was cold and still.

Hedi looked over her, furrowed in confusion without any obvious sign of injury. Her hands pulled the bedsheets back and even the young woman, wise beyond her years, had almost gagged at the sight.

Waist down, with the darkest patch at the base of her torso, her chemise, bedsheet and mattress alike had been entirely soaked through with blood.

A heavy guilt set in Hedi’s heart, that she could not and had not kept her safe in her short time here.

“Gods…” Hedi had known this business, seen it for herself in the maidservants before her even, but she had never imagined that this sweet, quiet girl would have to suffer the same fate.

On her bedside, sat a green purse made of silk. Hedi needed to only have one look to see there were silver and gold coins inside, money that any average maidservant would never have had access to. Coins only the upper class would have.

Or royalty.

The older maidservant felt ill, as though she had failed her and not listened to her gut when it had screamed that she needed help.

All the while Alanna was still crying helplessly in the corner, “She is dead, isn’t she…” she’d asked in a weak voice.

Hedi swallowed thick and hurried Alanna out of the room, “Go to Mari’s room now, child. And do not say a word of this to anyone, understood?” Hedi instructed quite forcefully, ushering Alanna out of the room and locking it behind her.

Every step through the Keep to Queen Alicent’s chambers became heavier with Hedi’s hurried breathing, feeling the urge to both vomit and cry at the same time. The image of that young woman in her bed, locked behind that door and bathed in blood would be sealed into her head for the rest of her life. And though she was in no position to accuse anyone, she could at least show Alicent what her son was capable of and the irreparable damage that had been done.

Aemond had been silent the entire time, watching something akin to a tragedy unfolding right before his eye. He could feel his mother shake violently, in both a state of upset and anger at her eldest son.

Hedi had confirmed that the little maidservant was indeed dead, divulging the more clinical details that had included words like ‘perforation’ and ‘infection of the womb’. Alicent turned away, as if it would protect her from the words, holding her chest with her hand to calm her breathing.

Hedi’s watery, red eyes had met Aemond’s gaze then and that is where he had felt the hot whips of panic on the back of his neck. He knew. He knew that she also knew, but could not say anything. He watched as Hedi’s expression went from grief and mourning, to one of anger and a deep female rage that he couldn’t quite comprehend. Like she had felt the pain and loss of her death in her very being herself.

Hedi was the one who had seen her come back from her duties, hair down, limping and crying quietly. And she looked at him as if he were the most vile person she had the displeasure of laying eyes on.

“Do you…know of any family living?” Alicent asked.

Hedi briefly moved her gaze from Aemond, “A living sister, your grace”

“Send her wages and…necessary funds to her next of kin. Do not divulge her true manner of death, we shall say it was a low fever” Alicent said with a shaky breath, not wishing to look anyone in the eye.

Heid nodded, feeling dejected and saddened, for having to write to her living sister to tell these lies about her. And she thought…that the little maidservant would not feel right about it, but sincerely prayed that her soul would be at rest, and only hoped that she felt at peace in the end.

Once the maidservant was gone, Alicent turned to her second son, looking up at him, pale and disorientated. And when their eyes met, it was like Alicent was seeing Aemond for the first time, as if she’d just realised he was a man and no longer her small, desperate child. Her lips had parted then and Aemond felt hot and prickly all over.

Perhaps she knew as well. Deep down.

That both of her sons were capable of the same sordid behaviour.

She looked mournful. Grieving the loss of the Aemond she thought she knew. The one she had protected.

But if Alicent had seen it in Aemond, she did not say anything. And she left, letting Aemond stand there to ferment in his self-hatred.

His maidservant was dead.

And it had been his fault.

It had all been his fault.

Aegon and Aemond looked at one another. Aegon held the silken purse in his hand, looking at his younger brother knowingly. But instead of returning the purse to its rightful owner, Aegon had gripped it tight and gave Aemond a hard frown.

It had been his fault, and yet, with three people knowing without speaking, he had somehow managed to evade blame.

The maidservants took the bloodied bed sheets and mattress from the bed to be burned, standing beside the flames as they licked the blood away into ash with tears covering some of their cheeks. Freiya had not cried and instead, stood with a bitter expression, scolding the silly girl who had passed away for being involved in such vile actions.

Aemond did not see her bloodied corpse. Couldn’t, without revealing his own involvement.

But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see her like that.

He just knew he wished to see her. Alive.

A wish that could now, never be granted.

Her dearest friends, amongst Hedi and Alanna, had cleaned her body and given her one of their light cotton nightdresses, laid on the bed she had died in with a sheet laid underneath her. She didn’t look dead in the least, but only very pale. And all laid out in white like that, she looked just like a bride.

She could not afford a proper burial and so her body was committed to the flames. Her ashes returned to the earth.

History would not remember her.

She only existed in the memories of the people she had touched around her. And with their deaths, would be lost forever.

It was only expected that a lot of maidservants handed in their notices and left the employment of the Red Keep. Alicent understood and sent them off with a good reference, thinking that it was the least she could do to offer this kindness. A new wave of maidservants had arrived, as if there was a never-ending supply of young girls excited to serve under the Targaryen family and their new King. Something squeezed tight about Hedi’s heart to hear them sound so excited. She’d known at that moment, they needed her protection.

So Hedi had stepped in as Aemond’s personal maidservant. To protect them.

As if he had even wanted them in the first place.

Every single morning, Hedi entered his chambers, forever with an angered frown to her face, and a loss of that carefree lightness that was there before. She only ever greeted him with ‘Prince Aemond’ and left before he could say anything else to her. It was as if she knew that Aemond could not hurt her, could not raise his voice at her of all people, nor dismiss her.

He hated how quickly her death was forgotten, brushed over in less than a week's time. As if everyone else was not feeling the same tear in his heart as he was. That deep, burning, vomitting sensation he always got whenever he saw the back of one of the maidservants, their hair tied up on the same braids.

He willed his bed to give him her warmth. Arguing internally that she had been there not a week before, glowing for him as radiant as the day he'd laid eyes on her.

He had dreamt of her voice.

“Your grace”

He had dreamt of her skin, her soft, supple flesh against his. The warmth of her plush insides.

Her heart beating against his. The life that she exuded.

He didn’t think he was capable of feeling grief. Is this what it was?

This pain.

“Your grace”

There was nothing to contain him any longer. No outlet for his rage to find a home.

His fire had already claimed its first victim.

So he allowed it to kindle, with the ghostly whisper of her voice forever haunting him, his dreams. Her blood. Reminding him of what he had done. Reminding him of who he was. As if she was doing now in death what pain and regret she had always wished to inflict on him in life.

“Aemond”

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t @hopeless-addiction-love @leeleebabe101 @babyblue711 @croatianprincess @what-is-your-wish @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @garnetbutterflysblog @queenmizuki @tempt-ress @ithoughtulikedme @babyblue11 @qyburnsghost @heavenly1927 @madislayyy @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @eddiemunsonsgroupie @iloveallmyboys @malynn @qorirah

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

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rozcdust · 1 year

Text

The little princess

Pairing: Haitani brothers x younger sister reader

Genre: Fluff, crack

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: Canon divergent, ooc, profanity, kid on a leash, kid close to gang business, jokes about hating men, Kisaki

“Haitani brothers, the rulers of Roppongi. They could get a hundred men to come with just a call.” Chifuyu solemnly explained to Takemichi, nodding in the direction of two men sitting to the side, carefully observing.

“A hundred men?” Takemichi turned to look, halfway expecting hardened criminals with murder in their eyes and prison tattoos, and could already feel himself shake with fear.

What he found instead, was intimidating two men, yes, but one of them, the one with glasses, was tightly holding onto a small child, bouncing his leg, clearly not even noticing the tiny girl trying to braid his hair while putting sparkly clips in it.

Takemichi blinked.

“IS THAT A TODDLER?”

“Shut up about the toddler before they hear you. They’ll kill you.”

Takemichi could only stare as the child climbed into the lap of the other man, who allowed her to adjust as she pleased, with no issues quickly unbraiding one of his braids, combing through the locks with his fingers and letting the girl do as she pleased.

These were the feared Haitani brothers?

Takemichi found that hard to believe as he watched the two men coo at the child, Rindou’s fingers lightly tickling her stomach as the squirmed, giggling.

And why was the kid on a fucking leash?

“Ran! Ran, look! Rinnie too! There’s a pretty lady there!”

Ran glanced between his sister and the general direction as to where she was pointing her finger, trying to figure out who the hell was she talking about.

He really started considering if she should have some positive female influence in her life.

Ah, there, he found it.

The one from Toman, with a mask covering his face and long, platinum hair, clearly busy boxing some guy’s face.

“Princess, pretty sure that’s a guy.” Rindou chuckled, ruffling the girl’s hair as she visibly wilted with disappointment, “Don’t worry though, Ran is also a pretty lady.”

Ran shot a glare at his brother, who merely grinned.

“Luna! Luna!” A tiny voice called, drawing both the attention of Mitsuya and his younger sisters.

A small girl, no older than 5, was running towards them clumsily, in clearly too pretty of a dress and too impractical of shoes for such a task, almost tripping and falling multiple times, yet persisted until she reached Luna, slamming into her with a bone-crushing hug.

Luna’s face lit up as she hugged the girl back, a smile splitting her usually serious face in half.

“Y/n! Hi! How are you?”

“I’m okay!”

Before Mitsuya could as much as ask who this child was, and why was she on the busy streets of Roppongi by herself, a panicked, breathy voice interrupted him, calling for the girl.

“Y/n?! Y/N! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“She’s here!” Mitsuya called out, presuming the male voice was the girl’s father, but as a familiar, rather unpleasant face pushed through the crowd, Mitsuya’s heart sank to his heels.

The older Haitani seemingly didn’t even notice him, instead scooping up the tiny girl into his arms, pressing her close to his chest.

“Good god, sweetie, you can’t do that, we talked about this! Rin and I got scared to death! What if something happened to you?!”

“Sorry,” The small girl murmured, burying her face into Ran’s collar, “I just wanted to say hi to my friend.”

“Haitani y/n, you have to tell us where you want to go so we can go with you!” Rindou appeared out of nowhere, out of breath as much as his older brother, his glasses crooked and slightly steamed. He glared at the child with a stern expression, “Next time I’m putting you on a leash.”

“Sorry, Rinnie.” The girl mumbled against her older brother’s neck, whose panic finally seemed to dissipate and turn to relief as he stroked her hair, gently rocking the child in his arms.

“Don’t worry, sir! Y/n would be safe with us and my brother! You’d get her back in one piece!” Luna enthusiastically responded, nodding wildly as if that affirmed her statement.

Ran finally looked away from the girl Mitsuya assumed was y/n, glancing at Luna, then at Mitsuya.

A grin split his face practically into two.

“Mitsuya, lovely seeing you here.”

“Haitani.” Mitsuya nodded, acknowledging him, if rather unwillingly.

He still hasn’t forgiven him for slamming a brick into his fucking head.

“Hi, Mr. Haitani! I’m Luna, y/n’s friend from school!” His younger sister grinned, taking a step towards the two brothers before Mitsuya could as much as try to pull her back, extending her tiny arm to offer the Haitanis her hand to shake.

Ran, then Rindou, both took it, shaking it rather softly considering the bullshit Mitsuya has seen them be capable of doing.

“Hi Luna, what a pretty name!” Rindou leaned down to be at a more of an eye level with the girl, smiling lazily.

She spoke too fast for Mitsuya to try and rather firmly excuse himself and his sisters.

He would literally rather lick the asphalt clean than spend a minute more with the Haitani brothers.

“Thank you! You could go with us if you want? I haven’t seen y/n in so long-“

Long time, his ass.

Luna hasn’t seen her friend since literally earlier that afternoon.

The girl perked up, still in Ran’s arms, and looked between both her brothers with excitement.

“Yes, yes! Can we, please? Please, please, please?”

“Well, princess, since you asked so nicely.” Rindou nodded, extending his arm to offer the girl a quick pat on the head. He unclipped one of the numerous colourful butterfly clips littering the girl’s hair, fixing it to hold all the strands back into place.

Of course the fucking Haitanis, rulers of Roppongi and flashiest bastards alive, had to also dress that tiny child like she won’t be running around and ruining the dress.

Idiots.

Mitsuya truly, genuinely did not want to go anywhere with the two bastards, but he was pretty sure Luna would throw a tantrum if they didn’t.

Come to think of it, Luna and Mana rarely cared for men, only liking their older brother and tolerating Hakkai on best days, as opposed to being obsessed with any girl they met, but they seemed to like the Haitani brothers well enough, probably due to their long hair and the fact Ran looked like a living, breathing doll with his long braids and stupidly soft facial features.

Heavy-hearted, Mitsuya took Mana’s and Luna’s hands and continued, now in tow with the Rindou and Ran fucking Haitani, to the carnival.

That was the start of their long-lasting, if begrudging, comradery.

Izana curiously stared down at the small girl, who confidently stared at him back, her small head tilted up to look at him properly.

When Kakucho said the Haitani brothers had two demands, Izana did not expect… This, whatever the hell this is, to be a part of them.

He was pissy about them having different uniforms, the cocky bastards, sure, but he stomached that well enough, no issues there.

This, however-

This.

He knew they had a younger sister, but he expected her to be younger by maybe a couple of years, probably around Kakucho’s or Kisaki’s age.

Not by a whole decade and some change.

Apparently, they did not trust anyone else to be left with her, so they just casually brought her around gang members and let her run wild and do whatever she pleased, as long as she was within their eyesight.

Come to think of it, she was tiny for her age, hold old was she even? 4, 5? A baby, basically, and Izana had to wonder, what the fuck do they feed her?

Clearly not enough milk.

Maybe Izana was just short.

The girl took her tiny rucksack off her back, rummaging around it as she stuck her tongue out in concentration.

Finally, she seemed to find what she was looking for.

“You look sad, Mr. Kuro- Ku- Kuroka- Mr. ‘Zana! Do you want a juice box? Or a snack?” Holding out an apple juice towards him in one hand, a small bento box in the other, she tilted her head cutely, “It always cheers me up, and Rinnie says it’s important to share.”

Izana could now understand why the Haitanis adored the kid.

In his defence, he wasn’t soft, not at all, no ma’am, nuh-uh, not the feared Izana Kurokawa, he has never been soft in his life.

It was just hard to see a tiny child, dressed like a doll, her hair in pigtails with pom-poms, offering him her afternoon snack, and not immediately wish to scoop her up and coddle her to death.

If the other Tenjiku members wanted to comment on Izana letting the girl sit on his shoulders, they didn’t, but he noticed the smug look Kakucho gave Ran.

Bastards.

Now, Mucho and Mochi were never particularly liked by kids, they usually either started crying or hid behind their parents when the two men passed, and honestly? They were fine with that.

You, however.

You apparently decided they were just two huge teddy bears, and perfectly appropriate for jumping on, often tugging on the leg of their pants to ask them to pick you and throw you in the air.

And they always indulged you, because you were too damn cute with your wide eyes and tiny face.

No, Mochizaki Kanji and Muto Yasuhiro were not soft for the youngest Haitani sibling, don’t be ridiculous.

Glancing up from his game of shogi with Mucho, Sanzu found you fixated on him, situated on Ran’s lap as you stared intently in awe.

They were in the Tenjiku hideout, doing nothing at all really, mostly just hanging around and playing games, one of the rare slow days when everyone was exhausted and just wanted to relax.

And of course, the Haitians brought you along, seemingly forsaking the usual dresses they put on you in favour of a frankly adorable outfit of floral-patterned overalls, hair braided and clips added to match, and a turtleneck, fretting about you possibly getting sick.

It was undeniable, to say the least, that you were Tenjiku’s favourite little creature, each and every member, including Izana, practically tripping over each other in a rush to cater to whatever need and whim you may have, constantly offering you snacks and toys, bundling you up in blankets whenever you as much as shivered, and rarely a second passed when you weren’t either in somebody’s hands or on someone’s lap.

Sanzu fretted imaging the kind of spoiled brat you’d grow up into, but shockingly, the Haitanis, seemed to be doing a good job of raising you to be a perfectly polite little girl, always saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and insisting on calling everyone ‘Mister’ even if they did tell you to just call them by their name.

The Tenjiku members did make a competition of who would be your favourite, and even if Ran and Rindou continuously held the first place, the others fought tooth and nail for the second, going as far as to try and bribe you.

They all offered you to buy anything you wished if you just said they were your favourite, but you always diplomatically shook your head, shyly noting you liked them all the same.

Even if everyone knew Sanzu was the second favourite.

He wasn’t even sure why, he never interacted with you much, as he found kids to be sticky and loud messes he preferred to keep as far away from himself as possible, and yet, you persisted.

You insisted on calling him miss at first, not grasping the concept of a man being as pretty as he was, and bloody no one corrected you, as they found it adorable, even if Sanzu was not amused.

After a couple of mishaps, however, you learned, but still stuck to him as glue.

You toddled out of Ran’s lap, who merely glanced at you to make sure you weren’t gonna wander off too far, before focusing again on his conversation with Izana, and towards him.

“Mr. Sanzu? Mr. Mucho? Can I watch you play?” Tilting your head so your nose was touching the table, Mucho and Sanzu both nodded, Mucho already reaching out to pick you up under your armpits and seat you on his leg, but you shook your head, gently pushing his arms away.

“Sorry, Mr. Mucho, would you be upset if I sat with Mr. Sanzu today? Brother said I can if Mr. Sanzu agrees.”

Mucho smiled, barely, amused as he glanced up at Sanzu, quirking his eyebrow in question.

Containing the urge to roll his eyes, knowing his captain will tease him about this for the foreseeable future, Sanzu nodded, picking you up and letting you curl up into his lap.

Shrugging off his jacket, he tucked it around your shoulders, proceeding with the game as Mucho and he both started to explain the rules to you.

“Mr. Kisaki? What happened to-,” Unsure of how to explain your feelings, you simply gestured to your face, “That?”

“Huh?” Dumbly, Kisaki stared down at you, unsure of how to respond.

He couldn’t stand you, almost wanting to punt you across the room every time you toddled up to him, but he knew that would be a sure-proof way to get massacred, so he at least tried to be polite.

Ran’s burning and obvious hatred of both him and Hanma seemed to be infectious.

“Your face, I mean. Was it some kind of accident?”

Kisaki felt his eye twitch as Hanma started wheezing next to him.

“That is quite rude, y/n.”

“Nuh-uh! Brothers say it’s okay to ask men why they’re ugly, but not women, because there are no ugly women! Only men! They also say men are trash!”

Kisaki looked up and glared at the two men, hard, who merely smirked in amusement, focused on their game of cards.

“How the hell are you raising her?!”

Ran didn’t even spare him a glance as he spoke.

“We’re currently hoping for a raging misandrist.”

“Yeah,” Rindou nodded, fixing his glasses, “Though, just a regular amount of hatred towards men would be okay too, don’t wanna put too much pressure on her, ya know?”

Kisaki considered shooting them both on sight.

. . . next

🔖Taglist:

@dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @rinsie @kisekihany @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @graythecoffeebean @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @crybabylisa @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @xashiui @bontens-whore @nqctre @lumi-does-some-stuff @hana-patata @hxked @erza-uzumaki @sh4nn @sisnot @soushswag @kneeapartman @anahryal @reiners-milkbiddies @satsuri3su @aretheea @bluerskiees @luvjiro

#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #haitani brothers #haitani brothers x reader #rindou haitani x you #ran haitani x you #rindou haitani x y/n #tenjiku #izana kurokawa #kakucho hitto #haruchiyo sanzu #mucho tokyo revengers #kanji mochizuki #kisaki tetta

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fmaot · 16 days

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Hey. FMA Fandom. I freaking did it ok.

Lan Fan's *FULL* automail design from the manga? Yeah. It now finally exists.

Please accept this humble offering as fanon:

NOW EVERYONE DRAW HER!!!

ARAKAWA I HOPE YOU'RE PROUD!!!!!!!

Edit: I thought I'd leave some manga panels to point out a few things I don't have the skills to successfully translate in this ref sheet!

Explanations under the cut!

The armor plates on the shoulder are bigger than what I drew (I tried to put them at an angle but they just look smaller lol) I recommend just enlarging the top plate from the middle! It's supposed to hide most of the upper arm.

If you draw her in full uniform, she of course has bandages and that cool spiky leather strand around her wrist. The spiky knuckles appear to be a separate accessory as well.

The automail isn't all open right on top of the forearm, but on its side, as you'll see in the manga panels. I should've drawn the hand seen from the side but I wanted to show the screw on top of it beheheh.

The thought process behind Lan Fan's automail appears to focus on being as light as possible so that she can keep fighting with speed. Compared to Ed's very solid and armored automail to be as enduring as possible, Lan Fan's trades durability for lightness!

The mechanism for the hidden blade is basically just rings inside the fingers, to which are attached wires that are tethered close to a tiny hook. My thought process behind this is that we most likely want to avoid accidentally unsheathing the blade, so LF has to literally reach for it! It's a safety measure, but I also like that it makes her do a hand move kinda similar to Scar's whenever he's about to use his alchemy/alkahestry destruction for an attack!

For the port, have fun with it! I tried my best to give it an interesting look but I struggled with giving it a 3D metal feel. I focused more instead on where the support would be since the port can't be drilled on most of the chest. Drilled on the back it is!

Finally, if you notice the tiny lock I inserted in the simplified design, no it's not made to render the arm immovable; rather it's just there to secure the automail in the port. You know, during the process to connect the nerves. You attach the little wires, screw the bolts, and lock it all in neatly!

With this, I hope everyone will have fun drawing Lan Fan's full automail! It may not be canon, but it's at least better than nothing! So many art pieces just hide her automail because of that lack of reference, so I hope I helped change that!

(Note: the scars I gave LF on her right shoulder and left side aren't canon either. I saw an art piece way back when and somehow convinced myself that I just had never noticed in the show lol. But you can't tell me the bodyguard to a prince that canonically survived a bunch of assassination attempts wouldn't have a scar or two!!)

NOW DRAW YOUR HEARTS AWAY!!!

#everyone draw this #save this as a reference #if you draw using this use the following tag so I can see #altans design #there is no reason to hide her shoulder anymore #lan fan #lanfan #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetalchemist #fma #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #fma brotherhood #fmab #fma fanart #fanart #reference

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altiores · 8 months

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we have caterators, but what about lizarderators? some thoughts below about what this would be like as an AU

Set before the mass ascension. Most of them are first-generation purposed beings. I imagine the ancients used them much like we use dogs, having a variety of reasons they might create them. Moon & Pebbles: Pebbles has the rot, Hunter-style, but it is triggered later in life and isn't as aggressive as Hunters. Moon and Pebbles are created by an iterator, and Moon looked after Pebbles after his creation. Moon could be either cyan or blue, but wouldn't change her storyline much. There's an incident that causes them to run away and make their way down towards the surface. During the incident, or as they are on their Journey, Pebbles and Moon get split up and Moon gets hurt, and it was Pebbles' fault. Suns: I couldn't decide between yellow or red. Yellow!Suns, for some reason or other, have lost their pack. Finds Pebbles and eventually helps him find Moon and NSH, they end up becoming 'pack'. Similarly to canon, becomes close to FP, and also accidentally triggers his rot. For Red!Suns, it's very similar, but instead of a 'looking for pack' storyline, it focuses more on trying to overcome their red-lizard violent instincts. NSH helps a lot with that, after they meet him.

NSH: He's a green lizard and was kept for company. His ancient would dress him up (not included in the picture, but he does have his purple bow!). After meeting Moon, he is convinced to follow her down to the surface and helps her find her brother.

UI: They are a show-lizard (which is pretty taboo) and their ancient takes them to underground shows to show them off. They pretend to be pedigree, but they are actually a stray - but their appearance tends to convince people. Somehow involved in the incident that causes Pebbles and Moon to run away, and reluctantly follows their path afterwards. Wind: I just really wanted to draw a train lizard and it fit Wind the best. I made them leucistic to fit their "grey" name. White, however, might be the more typical type for them. Not much thought on their history yet. Perhaps they live on the surface already and help the 'house-lizards' survive? SOS: Again, not really developed right now. Perhaps created by the same iterator as Moon and Pebbles, either for the same purpose as they were or to hunt down and retrieve them?

#I would love to hear peoples thoughts #esp which lizard you prefer for Moon Suns and Wind #rain world #rw lizard #iterator #rw iterator #five pebbles #looks to the moon #no significant harassment #seven red suns #unparalleled innocence #grey wind #chasing wind #sliver of straw #rw #nsh #lttm #rw spoilers

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autismprotocol · 7 days

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TMAG Theory Board Update (EP 11-12)

Hi guys sorry about the late posting I've just started a new quarter of college and its been pretty hectic. also got into my school design BFA program so pretty stoked about that! Anyways lets get into the Episode Breakdowns because even though not a lot of lore related things happened I still have a lot to talk about

For the breakdown I'll separate each by episode in sequential order

What Happened in Episode 11: Marked

Celias Rude Awakening- we jump right into the weirdness straight away with Celia waking up on the side of the interstate. she indicates that this is not a weird occurrence and ends the scene by telling someone named Jack that she's "on her way." If you remember episode 8 after Celia and Sam talk to Gerry and Gertrude, she mentions stuff about wanting help with her own mystery. When Sam asks about it she says she's looking into Time travel, other dimentions and teleportation. Many people have theorized that maybe Celia is just a super heavy sleepwalker, but I think the she teleports random places out of nowhere. This could be a side effect of her reality hopping if this Celia is originally from The archives universe.

As for the identity of Jack I'm not quite sure about that yet. I cross referenced the name Jack with past episodes of TMA. The only thing that came up was Jack Barnabas from the statement about dating Agnes Montague (aka an avatar of the desolation and Jesus-like figure for the cult of the lightless flame) So Unless Celia is secretly Agnes of Agnes reincarnated , I can't find any way to link Barnabas to Celia. (if anyone has a theory feel free to send it my way.)

Sam Lore- this one is pretty minor story-wise but I thought it was interesting. Before the statement for the episode is presented we get some classic Sam and Alice Banter ™ most of it is pretty lighthearted but I noticed Sam mention something that could indicate he might be an amputee.

These could not mean anything and I find it weird that it hasn't been mentioned until now but thought it was kind of cool and I will probably be drawing sam with a prothetic leg in the future cause I really like this head-canon. It also begs to question if he is missing a leg. it might have anything to do with his past as a Magnus institute test subject but then again could just be a fun character detail added by Jonny and/or Alex .

The Statement- Getting into the statement we get another Ink5oul appearance. Also possible Ink5oul identifying as she/they. (and lets be honest being a fear avatar is pretty non binary core). I found this Episode gave me a feeling of a hybrid between the Vast, Buried and the Flesh some people are theorizing that is might be a new entity called the Deep but I think that the fear of the ocean could easily apply to the vast or buried. Not much to say about this story though pretty standard Magnus horror that also gave us a hint to what Ink5oul's goal could be/which entity they serve.

Post Bonzo- Gwen has a debrief with Lena after her first Externals Liason assignment and her meeting with Mr. Bonzo. Undoubtedly Gwen is still pretty shaken from her encounter, even arriving late to work due to sleeplessness. Gwen is able to ask Lena a few questions mainly she wanted to know who's name was written on the letter given to Bonzo

Lena is largely unhelpful but tells Gwen she should have worked it out by now and if not to pay close attention to the case load for the next couple of days. before the latest episode my guess was Klaus because that is the only person mentioned so far that the OIAR intends to kill. but more on that later

Marked- Now were getting to my favorite thing about this episode. This episode title can have two meanings. The first is the more literal interpretation. Tattoos are marking of the body and the case this episode was all about tattoos so easily a good name would be marked. But I believe this is a red herring meant to misguide listeners who have not consumed all 200 episodes of TMA because if you know the world of Magnus Archives the term Marked takes on a entirely different meaning.

In TMA the term marked is used to indicate that somebody has been influenced by one or more or the fears and are one their way to becoming an Avatar. I think this could be a coded way to tell the audience someone in the OIAR has been marked. I have two potential candidates

Alice Dyer- Alice has been having dreams about the Institute after her and Sam's adventure into the ruins. also she mentions feeling like someone's watching her (common to people influenced or fed upon by the Ceaseless Watcher/The Eye) My guess if she is marked it would be by the Eye.

Gwendolyn Bouchard: Probably the most likely culprit. The main way an entitly tends to mark people is through encounters with other avatars. Gwen has just had an encounter with Mr Bonzo last episode who I strongly believe must be an avatar of some sort.

What Happened in Episode 12: Getting Off

Aww Sam!!- Sam asked Celia out and it was adorably awkward. not much to say I just loved this interaction and I'm longing for a new Magnus brand office romance hopefully is wont be an agonizing slowburn that ends tragically like a certain pair of morons from Archives (I love you Jon and Martin but Jesus christ)

It's Bonzo time bitches!!- Probably one of the most gruesome Magnus statement I've ever listened to (good work Alex) Mr Bonzo completely annihilated some poor dude at his bachelor party. Based on the date of the Incident the I can confidently say that whoever Baz (the groom) was he was our mystery person the OIAR sent Mr Bonzo to get rid of. Along with some of the bloodiest imagery we learned a few things about Bonzo. The most interesting detail is that Bonzo has to be summoned by playing his theme song I think the CD of his theme song acts somewhat like the tapes did in TMA by materialising out of nowhere. Also fun fact you know that torn seam that is right down Bonzo's middle? that is actually is his mouth lined with rows sharp teeth so I guess I know that now (so fun) Moral of the story dont f*ck with Mr. Bonzo

Alice knows something: Theres been this recurring audio glitch throughout TMAGP thatnks to a few extremly observent fans we have started to relize that these glitches are not at all random and are actually letting the audience know when a character is lying (i actually reposted somones deepdive into all the istances of this glitch so far if you guys are intrested in knowing more) why i bring this up now is becuase since we know when any charater is lying we also know when they are being truthful if there is no glitch when they say somthing and at the end of this episode this interaction occurs

Alice goes ahead and makes a joke about this to annoy Gwen but the fact theres no audio glitch when she says "I know" means she does actually know who is behind the OIAR and is activly refusing to share it with Gwen or the others. What do you know Alice!?

and that's about it im already loving these next batch of episodes and am so excited to learn more (ERROR has to show up somtime )

thanks to everyone who resonded the poll on the last update I will continue to include drawings into the breakdown even if it takes me a little bit of time to post. anyways I wrote this all in one sitting and I'm about ready to pass out so thanks again and the ask box and comments are always open for discussion and theory crafting.

-Echo

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oshiawaseni · 1 year

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Trails of Love Hori's been paving down in the build up for the series' ending

Part I: The Shape of an Eternal Bond

Romantic Love. Falling in love. When we break it down, what really is it, but a deep emotional connection formed with someone, an overpowering instinct that screams at you to protect that person, and the vulnerability you allow yourself to succumb to when your logical 'self-preserving' mind and it's hurt-proof walls is completely overrun by your heart's most based need to be close with them, the object of your affection.

And who shows these feelings for each other the most in BNHA? Bakudeku, right? Of course it's them.

It's something so obvious and yet this somehow feels overlooked by almost everyone in the fandom: I’ve never actually seen Izuku feeling happy or excited about his relationship with Ochaco, nor elated about getting to spend more time with her. But Izuku and Kacchan? The feelings they both have of longing to be closer to the other and every single action they took for that, chaotically and passionately smashes the "stable pleasantness" of IzuOcha right out of the park.

Izuku views getting to speak 'normally(?)' with Kacchan as a miracle on the exact same level of importance as being mentored by the greatest hero of their generation (and his U.A. room looks like what it looks like). This scene gave the cutest 'Work life: check. Love life: check' vibe.

Is it really all that surprising that BKDK have had plenty of development in this area while IzuOcha has had almost none? In fact, as BkDk became closer, the "expected end game" pair has gone in the opposite direction. And why does this not strike odd to "bkdk canon" doubters or the fans that ship IzuOcha? It really is no coincidence how many moments we’ve accrued about this mutual feeling and attraction that exists only between Izuku and Katsuki.

I want to be closer to you. I can't imagine life without you. vs Why are you so confused when I show you I care about you, too?

It's so simple - but maybe it being so simple is why this is not something we really stop and take a minute to think about specifically. About how this 'obvious' concept of two people desiring to become closer is one often shared between lovers and those who are falling in love.

And how that fits with bkdk because this longing for deeper connection has existed between them almost since the beginning... and we haven't been talking enough about it.

I want you to think about the true feelings and meaning lying behind these moments that have inspired the writings of many fic and meta:

Izuku's desperation and suffering at Kacchan being taken away...

the hurt and loneliness that pools within Katsuki's heart from his fear of being left behind (and alone) by Izuku...

the regret they both felt in not using their own hand to reach out and connect to each other (believing their hand 'wouldn't be enough') and putting those feelings aside to prioritise their boy's rescue and safety...

the distress Katsuki felt in facing his biggest fear of all - losing Izuku for good - forcing him to become a true hero, for his sake...

and the total overwhelming despair Izuku felt in realising he didn't make it in time and he had lost his hero.

This is it, this cover was Hori locking them in. Holding his Kacchan so precious, placing his hand gently over his heart, trying to somehow connect to it. The appearance of an enraged and protective alpha ready to strike down the monster who did this to his mate. This is the vision Hori wanted to draw for bkdk and it cemented the deep romantic love and bond that's been growing between them, rewarding those of us who have picked up on their trails of love and causing meltdowns baked in confusion for the rest.

They've had many scenes like these throughout MHA. Scratch a little at their surface and what lies underneath every single one of them is the pining desire Izuku and Katsuki both share of wanting to be together. The need for the other to be by their side and within reach.

And they don’t share this feeling with anybody else.

It’s always been this way exclusively for them and I think this aspect of their relationship was established by Hori to tell us they will stay feeling this way forever.

If Izuku is right and he takes back everything and the course of their future gets put on track again, then maybe the idea of them holding onto each other and never letting go isn’t all that far from reality.

After they graduate, I can't imagine these two not choosing each other every single time, until the very end of their days: becoming a hero wonder duo, moving in together, living their best domestic life complete with their adorable husbands banter (but repackaged into something so much more loving and soft which befits them), nurturing their relationship... letting themselves fall deeper in love...

It's so easy to imagine this all happening, simply because of their desperate need for closeness to one another in the manga.

They can’t imagine their life without the other.

Their love is a multi-threaded story that's been told to us over, and over, and over again. Through Izuku and Katsuki's every action and by the mouths of others (which I'll be covering in my next post).

I honestly believe that since the beginning, Hori has been carefully leaving trails of their passion for each other, simply to say this: While this series may be coming to a close, Izuku and Katsuki’s bond, that brings them only closer and binds them tightly together, will transcend the very last of their inked pages and never end. ❤️

Part Two -> Intro & Compress

#bakudeku #bnha meta #op #bkdk canon #hori trails #the good stuff dream ships are made of #he's basically made them this romantic to immortalise them #this was about the love and affection they've displayed for each other - next one will go into depth about the many outsourced displays!#and there will be alot to cover #and why is tumblr for mobile so buggy and awful x.x

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ultravhasart · 2 months

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here are my animate-able redesigns for Saiki Kusuo and Teruhashi Kokomi! Lots of talking about design below the cut:

Designing for animation has been a bit tricky since it's less of a fun redesign and way more practical 😂 You want the least amount to draw possible, so all the details need a lot of impact. I was relying a lot on shapes, including the lines "lean" (like inwards, outwards, straight) to communicate character. This was easy enough with Saiki, but Teruhashi is supposed to be really pretty and she kept looking plain, so she took a bit (especially her hair).

SAIKI:

Saiki is designed to look fairly boring, if not for the stuff he can't control, like limiters, glasses, and hair colour. His limiters are also more boring than canon, although they're still designed to cover his vision from all angles.

His hair is a bit stringy because he doesn't know how to take care of it. It's also a bit long since he can't go to the barbers, he cuts it himself. (he also does NOT wash his hair enough. wash your hair saiki)

Overall, he has a lot of sharp angles (i.e. his hair and his side profile nose), because he can be a bit bristly, but it's not overwhelming since he's just a loser struggling teenager, he's not actually mean. Think of him as a wet cat.

TERUHASHI:

Since I don't think I'll draw a Teruhashi headturn, note that her bow is supposed to be visible and on the side no matter her head angle. same with all three tufts of hair (I did the same thing with saiki's tufts).

she has little hearts on her cheeks because I thought they were cute! They're not stickers, they're an artistic representation of blush lol. She has a third heart as the tuft on the top of her head, and a fourth (if you squint) as her bow.

the two hair tufts on the side represent devil horns. My Teruhashi designs will ALWAYS have lil angel / devil themes in her design (because shes awesome).

Teruhashi would also be the only character to have coloured lines in her design, to show she's "prettier" and more special even in the art style of the show.

Her eyes are also unique and have a really high contrast. It looks a bit uncanny compared to the rest of her, and she has an insanely intense glare, though she doesn't use it often.

I didn't include a glow, But I think it'd still appear at certain times (or maybe a halo). I think the coloured lines make her look unique enough as is, and couldn't find an easy way to create a pretty-looking glowing effect.

Overall, she has a lot of rounded edges and lines, because that's how she presents herself. There are still some sharp lines, like in her devil horns, to hint at a more full personality behind her public face.

BOTH:

Saiki's and Teruhashi's eye colour are actually quite close (both are shades of purpley-blue, and in-universe is considered really pretty, which is why Teruhashi has them. It's also why Saiki hides them with his glasses tint.)

After that, Saiki's limiter stems and Teruhashi's iris outline are the same colour. Same with Teruhashi's bow and Saiki's hair.

Their designs are closely linked because they're my favourite narrative foils <33

#fanart #image id in alt text #described #saiki k #saiki kusuo no psi nan #saiki kusuo #the disastrous life of saiki k #teruhashi kokomi #redesign

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diientedegato · 3 months

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I'm curious if you have any thoughts on what Ben Paul would look like if he was alive years after S1 of TWDG :> I honestly prefer to imagine both him & Kenny going off on their own adventures after S1, because Idk if I'd've had Kenny as part of S2, it felt like when he returned it became less Clem's story & more his. That might be controversial among fans but it's how I feel :s I like to imagine Ben, Kenny & Sarita forming their own little family in fact <3 I'd expect Ben would end up with shaggier hair after a while but I wouldn't mind knowing what he'd look like with short, spiked up hair ;>

IM SORRY BOTH THE ASK AND DRAWING ARE OLD- but I came across the sketch I had eugeugeh. I do not have many headcanons but behind the cut is just a rant about. Kenny mostly. Too much should I warn? But yah I'm sorry it took me like 5 months lol

The only headcanon (regarding Ben's appearance) is that he'd keep his school jacket for as long as possible. Until it thorns apart. Or until he dies.

I'm big fan of Ben lives possibility btw I've gotta draw sum about that sometime (I say, about every twdg character i like,)

And dude, do I agree about Kenny. Man doesn't belong in season 2. The character they made him to be in the second season is not Kenny, it's just a nostalgia element. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy, I'm biased as hell, I break that hug choice every time. But it made the character development in the first season just.... pointless. "For some reason, I saved that piece of shit Ben", man, that quote just disappoints me. Kenny lost everything. Father and husband of none no more, which was pretty much the arc of Kenny on the first season?? I think? . Everything he loved and he had he lost, and he killed the person responsible for it. But not as revenge, he killed a kid out of mercy. He saved the boy from suffering a painful death, and that was forgiveness, to the reason he hadn't any. He took a decision he would be fully responsible of, when it was time for him to go. And he was perfect.

Hell, if he had appeared during season 2, I do prefer the Kenny as Carver idea. Clementine wasn't even that close to Kenny in the past, the player was, so even then it feels... off, off to be forced to care about a man that says so much he wants to protect you. (They're not really family, but is as if Kenny tries to protect and have Clem on his side, to have Clem's loyalty through and through. Though he does let her go and is proud of her on her individuality... hm.) But still, I mean, second season Kenny is not first season Kenny, and it isn't even a change that made sense. If he had been antagonist (which pretty much feels like it in the Canon story already), he should have had some other background story, no Sarita or company. Maybe then the cynical view he has would have mattered. The violence and anger and whatever else. For him to change that way was a consequence of him losing what he represented, protection of family? Wasn't failure and grief and acceptance meant to be important after all?

But otherwise yea I think it would've been pretty cool if Ben survived :3 I am a sucker for tales of redemption, forgiveness, and found family. And I hadn't thought about Kenny, Ben, and Sarita, but hell yeah. Man, even if they appeared in the second season, it would've been interesting if the choice wasn't between two individuals, but between two families. Ben already had a relationship with Clem! He appreciated her and calls her his only friend during season 1, he did leave her behind during that scene, -but the point of Ben was that- He was a coward all the season, until when he wasn't. He wanted to help Lee help Clem. They would've had an interesting sibling relationship-? also Ben had a young sister before the apocalypse so ooooh projection and parallels and shi. And if Ben had lived, he would've completed his development to something close to bravery-?

Well, I don't know, at least I think that'd be one interesting way to bring back old characters. Otherwise, Kenny should only be mentioned on dialogue maximum. The way I see it.

(I repeat the same thing over and over when I talk about something I'm sorry

(I've developed no language skills whatsoever in my life

(Yippee

#twdg #twdg fanart #twdg s1 #ben paul twdg #ben twdg #digital art #digital illustration #my art

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alavestineneas · 3 months

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The star reborn

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader summary: But most importantly, her eyes. Bloodshot. Sharp. Intelligent. The eyes he tried so hard to ignore, the eyes he will undoubtedly try as hard to forget—they are his eyes, even if the colour is different. Inside them, there's nothing of the person he painted or conditioned her to be—those eyes are neither of prey nor of a sheep. No, the dreamy, unblinking orbs are the curved mirrors reflecting the truth he fears to control. warnings: canon-typical violence, narcissism, character death, implied sex, implied/referenced suicide word count: 3,5K

PART 1 IS HERE

author's note: hiiii! chapter 2 is finally here!! please let me know what you think of it in the comments - I did leave my comfort zone a little with this one. also, it is kinda angsty - be sure to be in a right headspace before reading it. Love you - enjoy!!

The lights above her head shine with dull, warm colours, casting their heavy shadows on the green, heavily painted walls. The silver lining of the ceiling opposes almost sickening stuffiness. YN's eyes follow it through half-opened lids: hot and cold, the contrast so vibrant it hurts already irritated senses. Was it alcohol? The half-full bottle of sugary liquor stood as if trying to hide, beside the gigantic bed. It couldn't be; her body was long used to the fire spreading through its small canals. The feeling, although equally unpleasant, was different—like a hidden bruise she took too long to notice, its purple hands stretching down her abdomen.

It was supposed to be just a one-time thing, a job she could handle without any complaints—like she did every time. Maybe it was, but soon one time turned into twice a week, then whenever he felt like it. It was good, sensing the want, and need every time his figure appeared at the doorframe—almost too good. Staining her lips with taste, his taste, sending her head round and spinning. A twisted carousel with countless bed sheets, counters, and extravagant salons of the latest cars instead of smiling animal figures.

Coriolanus's breath was hot on her skin; his whispers marked it with unreadable praises that YN knew he didn't mean—they still landed right on her chest, sinking their way into her lungs and clouding the air her brain desperately needed. He curses and swears, so far from the professional persona he puts on every time he finishes. The feeling of cold, long fingers on her hips pulling YN's body closer turned into electric-like impulses, crashing into her flesh and mixing with the rhythm of her poor, booming heart.

It's easy to guess the patterns of his movements, his broad shoulders covering almost the entire room from her eyesight—a minute more, and all of YN's vision would be taken by the knitted blonde brows and silk-like lips. Coriolanus's eyes draw motifs on her bare body, drinking everything down to the slight twitches of her legs, but never meeting her own. She almost feels sad about the fact; after all, she deserves to see how they grow dark, changing from sky-like blue to almost sapphire, heaving along with his breathing.

His hand changes its position, clasping YN's throat instead of the bedframe. It's brutal and animalistic to feel him holding onto the last bits of self-control to not let his guard down completely, in an attempt to regain the power back. YN closes her eyes—the sensation of his trembling limb is poisoning her insides with the sweetest taste of fear. The heartbeat in her temples, echoing in the empty chamber of her chest—the tempo of prey running from its hunter, the pace of the chase of an illusive prize. She feels Coriolanus twitch, the grip tightening along with her before finally relaxing. Caught. Eaten.

She doesn't mind the feeling of heaviness his body seems to plant in her own; he lays his head near, chest rising and falling, the smug, satisfied ghost of a smirk lingering on his swollen lips. YN doesn't remember when exactly she became content with it; it seems something inside of her has always craved him. Coriolanus squints his eyes under the light of the ceiling lamps, but all she sees is a wolf. A hunter sizing up the sheep before sinking his white, pearly teeth in the soft waves of flesh. Now, he is full, although no one knows for how long. YN guesses the hunger never entirely goes away.

Hers doesn't. She devours until she's sick, and does it again, again and again. His touch is too much, and YN wants to leave, hide, and scrub it off until her fingers bleed—and at the same time, she craves it more than anything. If he is a hunter, what does that make her? Prey. Deer. But does the prey have teeth as sharp as she does? Does she bite as often, tearing her way to survival? Maybe, and maybe not—YN is never in the habit of putting a label on her head and eating at it until there is nothing left of her but a hollow shell.

''Is there something wrong?''

YN almost cringes at the sound of her voice; its sound travels the room, circling the bed she was lucky to call her escape before finally landing on the tip of Coriolanus's tongue. He doesn't turn to her, taking in the ball of nerves she called a question before answering.

''The reviews of Games become more and more disappointing—game makers, although they change each other quickly, don't bring anything new. People don't want to watch.''

The hum of understanding escapes YN's dried lips before she can think twice about it. Coriolanus leaves her mind a dessert, an arena she thought she left behind, left as a victor, making her fight for existence once more. His next words prove it.

''You gave a show with all the weaponry skills, especially because they aren't typical for your district. How?''

She shouldn't feel pride in what sounded more like an interrogation, but YN never liked to do as she should've—that's why her naked body is now interwoven with his, the rising heartbeat in her ribcage sending waves to his fingertips. ''I trained with stones and butter knives. When you learn how to kill a bird with them, the human body is nothing.''

Coriolanus chuckles, the deep vibration resonating against her head on his chest. ''Impressive. But why risk getting caught preparing for something that might never happen to you?''

Maybe it's the way his hands draw circles around the lines of her neck, or maybe it's the way the lights flicker, but the slumped words from YN's mouth become more difficult to pronounce. ''You see the games as punishment, but the real punishment is life outside them—the arena is a golden ticket, and to compete is a privilege. Once more people get that into their heads, they will fight to even have a chance to put on a show for you. Of course, if you turn a blind eye to the preparations: can't impress with excessive knowledge of gemstones or fabrics, can you?''

His silence could've meant a lot to people who didn't know better, but the slight, almost invisible nod of the blonde-crowned head suggested understanding. If YN had been a little more attentive, she would've noticed the subtle shift in his pose. That way, the voice booming into her ear wouldn't have caught her by surprise.

''Turn on your stomach.'' Coriolanus only commands, and never asks. His pale cheeks are not yet free from colour, and the glimmer in his eyes reeks of determination.

YN wants to refuse; she wants to open her mouth and bite him right where a vital vein pulsates on his neck, draining the life force mixed with the scent of his bitter cologne. She doesn't; she hides her teeth in the silk pillowcase, its soft fabric making a home in her opened mouth. It wasn't the closure she craved, but YN knew better. You take what you can get, and with Coriolanus, you take what he gives. She needs to be adored, to be worshipped—he turns a blind eye to her every time he gets what he wants. Maybe that's what she gets for loving a man like him—he knows she is just a woman and tolerates her despite that. In the end, it doesn't really matter; he is still a god, and she is still on her knees, begging until they grow raw.

It was harmless fun at first to have her around. In addition to his small collection, a limited edition of the human she was—the whole world underneath her pretty heel, her eyes only on him. It fed his ego; Coriolanus will admit that much. Like a golden watch on his left hand or a new-tinted car, YN revolved around him. An ode to status, a testament to his power. But all things have to end—the lights are turned off after the long day of work, and the plates are cleaned after dinner.

He watches the buildings change rapidly, their warm windows mixing with tall structures of concrete. Even now, in a silent car, he finds their ever-changing looks captivating—the city jungle is never asleep, its loud voices covering the streets with a thick coat of isolation. Among men, he still stood alone. Undefeated. Victorious. Coriolanus doesn't bother to turn to the woman beside him. He played this conversation in his head too many times; now, there is nothing of the initial curiosity that used to sparkle. ''I think it would be better if we stopped seeing each other; the press is too relentless, and it's becoming dangerous for our image.''

He doesn't even have to come up with something plausible—rumours are circling of a ''new mysterious man" who was seeing the Panem's favourite star. But no one suspected it was him, and even if they did, who would dare to question him? The reason behind his decision is less poetic—the one he is somewhat reluctant to admit, even to himself.

''What?''

Her voice cuts the air, pulling Coriolanus out of his thoughts. He almost feels her figure tense up, her manicured hand gripping a stunning purse with all the power she has. It looks like claws, which he notices with humour. He imagines the same nails digging into the skin on his back, just like they did a few nights ago; the feeling sends a pleasant wave down his spine. ''You will continue with modelling and photoshoots, just like before. It even might be better—there are a couple of new projects I want you to take on.''

''Do these ''projects'' include other men that you promised to keep me safe from?''

She is mad. Coriolanus, it seems, tastes the venom dripping from her painted lips on his tongue, its bitter acids burning his throat. Maybe it's that lingering sensation, or maybe it's the air conditioning in the car—his body grows a little hot, and his head turns a lot more annoyed. He swallows; the car is almost at the mansion's driveway. A few more minutes and a starch of fresh air will get to his lungs.

YN doesn't wait for the car to fully stop; she opens the door abruptly and closes it right in his face, her boots stomping on the expensive lawn, leaving small holes in the green scenery. Her long coat flies as she walks, ignoring the shouts he throws her way. The wind, or him, leaves her eyes watery; the thick black mascara is already smudging and creasing under her beautiful lashes.

''YN! YN, wait! Woman, why won't you stop for just a fucking second?''

She doesn't answer, pushing through the buttler into the huge hall and throwing the leather bag onto the grand staircase. Fleeing, escaping—the actions stir something in Coriolanus—a mixture of anger and strange excitement. He grabs her by the shoulder, showing her back, but YN twists away, turning to face him instead.

''Why won't I stop? You are planning on leaving me, on selling me like a used car, and you have the audacity to ask me to stop?''

''YN, darling, let's just quit shouting for a second; you are overreacting.''

''Me?'' Her eyes are mad, maniac—nothing of the stoic beauty he is so used to enjoying. She yells, backing her way into the living room and throwing anything that gets under her hand at him. Coriolanus watches as the books, vases, and small statues fly over and into him, crashing against the walls and crashing into small pieces. ''I am overreacting, asshole? I have given you everything I had, every fucking piece of me that you wanted, and now you demand that I stop?''

He only plants his feet and abandons chasing her when the coffee table is in her hands, its golden lining matching the buttons on her blouse. Coriolanus lifts his hands in surrender; they both know she is not above launching it at him. So, he leaves her be.

YN's figure slides down the wall, her body trembling with anger and cries. They echo inside his head, a strange melody of defeat and desperation. Coriolanus watches her from a safe distance on the sofa, his head resting against the soft pillows. He can wait—this is likely the last time he gets to admire the beauty the world has graced her with.

The carefully styled hair that now resembled nothing of its original form, the freshly applied makeup that now streaked across her face. Even the way her neck bends to allow her a better view of him. YN's gaze follows his every move—it seems one wrong step—and the newly bestowed stillness will flee from his grasp again.

But most importantly, her eyes. Bloodshot. Sharp. Intelligent. The eyes he tried so hard to ignore, the eyes he will undoubtedly try as hard to forget—they are his eyes, even if the colour is different. Inside them, there's nothing of the person he painted or conditioned her to be—those eyes are neither of prey nor of a sheep. No, the dreamy, unblinking orbs are the curved mirrors reflecting the truth he fears to control. Coriolanus desires her; Coriolanus requires her; and if there is a want, there is a need. That's why he doesn't wish to see her anymore; if he does, she will eat him alive.

''Don't leave me,'' YN's voice is a siren's call, softer than any other sound. She crawls to him, carefully placing her head on his lap, searching for something, anything, on his face.

''You should get help, darling, for a little bit. What do you say? A nice place near the mountains—just a few months to wait for the press out.''

YN looks up at him, her face deprived of any emotion. ''Promise you will have me back?''

Coriolanus just nods, his large hand running down her back. The matter is already decided. He is not safe just because he owns her. If YN feels like it, she will stain her mouth with his blood, too.

''Hi Maggie!''

YN's voice booms through the speaker of the phone Mags holds tightly to her ear; finally, her friend is allowed to answer her calls. ''Hi! How are you? Are they feeding you well?''

That's probably not true—the mental health institutions have a history of underfunding, but Mags hopes Mr President was kind enough to choose a better place for his ex-mistress. She wasn't shocked when she heard of YN's mental breakdown; on the contrary, Mags thinks the hospital is just what her friend might need—the life of a victor isn't all glamour.

''Good enough! You know I can't put on too much weight; the designers won't forgive me for that!''

She sounds happy over the phone like this—if she is, Mags is too, no matter how much she wants to cry at the sound of her voice.

''Did he say something about me?''

Mags knows who she is asking about but hesitates to answer. She doesn't have the heart to tell her that the Snow family just announced the pregnancy of his wife, so she does what any good friend would do—Mags lies. ''I don't think so. But! The new law was just put in place—1, 2, and 4 are allowed to train their tributes from now on!''

''Oh, that is wonderful! Maggie, I am so sorry, but I have to go now. I promised I would help with books in the library. But I will call you as soon as I can!''

''I'll be waiting, YN. Be on your best behaviour; I would like to see my best friend soon!''

YN laughs. It's not very clear, but the warmth radiating from it translates definitely. ''I would never leave you, Maggie. Even as a ghost, you will never get rid of me—not for a moment.''

Mags hopes it's true. It's hard being YN's friend sometimes, but no one deserves to be alone in this cruel world. The phone call ends before she can answer; all that is left are long beeps.

The same beeps she is left with after the next call. It is answered by a different voice; this one is more mature and not as lively at all.

''We are sorry to inform you that Miss YLN lost her battle to depression on Friday, the 25th, at…''

Mags doesn't listen after that; she throws the phone across the room, bringing yet another death to delicate machinery. She has no point in keeping it in her house now for a simple, mundane reason: there is no one left to call. That is when the feeling she tried so hard to escape all her life finally nestled in her stomach, swallowing her from the inside. Hatred.

She hates the games, Panem, the Capitol, and the people who live there. Hates newspapers, hates tabloids, and hates interviewers—the people flooding the centre where the funeral is held. She doesn't want to see any of them—to see them cry and hug, whisper and tell long speeches about a person they murdered—YN didn't know any of their names, yet somehow all of them ''grieve with the world at the loss of their dearest friend''. But most of all, she hated the one who didn't even bother to show up, the one who had caused all of this.

Mags doesn't even bother remembering her own pain; it is greatly overshadowed by the cold body of her friend in a coffin she would've hated—nothing bored YN more than simple colours and ''refined tastes''. If Mags could, she would've filled the room with clashy patterns and as many shiny things as possible and served the cheapest burgers one could find in Capitol—just how she liked it. But all she can do is stare at the cold ground and a freshly planted bush of pearly-white roses on top of it. Her hands itch to dig it up, to stomp on it and replace it with something else—she doesn't. YN would've wanted them to stay.

She told her that one time, a year or two after her death—every time she appeared at its anniversary, exactly a month before the reaping. The first time Mags saw her, she thought she was going insane, but then the fear adjusted to never-changing grief. YN was harmless, even kind, although she communicated only with hand gestures—those are the rules, she told her, and rules should be followed.

The sky already grows dark, but YN hasn't shown up yet - Mags is too tired of a long day of teaching in the academy to ponder why. Maybe, after the fifty years that passed since, her friend finally found her peace. If so, Mags is happy for her. She can't wait anymore—the old woman picks up a coat from the locker and puts it on, closing the classroom before starting her journey to the exit.

The halls of the training grounds are empty; all of the children have already gone home. It pains Mags to remember who inspired the careers, and it fills her heart with immense pride at the same time. YN, to this day, is the golden standard of tribute; she is forgotten, neither by the people of Capitol nor by her own. Mags can't even count how many times the young victors of one hesitantly came to her with an old magazine in hand, asking to share something about their idol's life. She would often only smile; those children learned it by themselves sooner than she would like them to, most suffering the exact fate at the hands of the same man. The only thing that brought hope to Mags's heart was her declining health; she was getting older, and so was Coriolanus Snow. And as much as he would like, no one was immortal; he would pay for all the deaths on his hands, she would make sure of that.

''Excuse me, Miss?''

''Yes?'' Mags thinks that she heard it wrong and that her hearing is getting worse. But no—a boy, not younger than fourteen—leaves his spot at the bench near the gates and stands up, coming closer.

''Are you Maggie?'' The childish voice contrasts with the muscular build; the boy is definitely a student. ''I was just practising knots when Miss came up to me and said Maggie could help with that.''

The air leaves her lungs suddenly. Mags grips onto the coat, her hands desperatly in search of the headache pills. It all must just be her imagination, right? But the boy looks real, studying her face in curiosity. ''What woman?'' she finally breathes out.

''I don't know,'' the boy shrugs. ''Not from here. In a pretty white dress with stars on it. I asked her where she bought it, but she just laughed.''

Mags smiles weakly—that does sound like something YN would do. ''Did she say anything else?''

''Yeah!'' The boy beams excitedly, showing a missing-tooth grin. ''She said I will be the brightest star there ever was if I work hard enough!''

''That sounds about right," Mags says, her voice filled with nostalgia. "You know what? Find me tomorrow after your classes - I'll help you with knots. What was your name again?''

''Finnick, Miss. And thank you!'' The boy turns on his feet, not listening to whatever she has to say, and hurries home. ''Bye Miss Maggie!'' he shouts on his way before disappearing in the maze of brick buildings.

An impulse to correct him and remind him that her name is ''Mags'' crosses her mind, but she decides against it. After all, the name was too special to forget. The stillness of the evening lands on Mags' shoulders, and she continues the way to the victor's village. She has a lot to do - the 65th games are starting in a month, and then she will have a chance to finally rest.

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