#i need to lock in and write instead

[sc0rpain]

I WANNA HEAR ABT UR SCARIAN TANGLED AU

HEHE HI!!!!! sorry this is so late as it took me forever to write all this up-- it is a pretty huge AU with a lot of parts, so i'll split this post into premise/background info, characters, and plot :3 it does deviate a little bit from tangled just to make it make sense w/ life series, but the plot stays mostly the same. yapping commences under the cut!!!

also @insomnya777 ik u wanted to see it too hehe so here you go!!!

BACKGROUND:

the kingdom is ruled by a dynasty of avian hybrids, and the populace is mostly made up of avian hybrids + average humans. obviously there are people who settle down there from other kingdoms, but demographically, it's mostly those two parties. the neighboring kingdoms each have their own specialties, like merfolk, blazes, and magic... wink wink nudge. not SUPER relevant to the story, but is important to know for some of the characters later.

a very secret and powerful cult known as "the watchers" operate within the avian kingdom. little is known about them, and those who come in contact with them are rarely seen again. they keep their chokehold on the kingdom by targeting the royal family-- every few generations, when there's a firstborn, their symbol will be left somewhere in the nursery. within the next few days, the child will be gone, despite every effort of the royal family to keep them safe. all they can do is appease the watchers by leaving them alone, and mourn the loss of generations of children. it's a tradition to release lanterns for the first 18 years of that child's life-- it began as a way to guide them home, but is mostly ceremonial now.

in the time we're in, grian is obviously the firstborn who gets kidnapped. however, two siblings follow him-- pearl and jimmy. their parents die when pearl is 13 and jimmy 10, and the pressure is on the two of them to maintain the kingdom. because of their youth, and the sheer power the watchers hold over the royal family, there's whispers of whether the royal family's authority really holds any meaning.

the watchers are a resourceful cult, and find "uses" for the children they kidnap. they perform ceremonies to invoke certain powers in them, and then station them at their outposts to be called upon when needed. they take great measures to make sure those children have no chance of escaping-- their wings are magically bound, and forcefields are placed around every outpost. since they view the children more as "resources" than people, all they're provided with are basic necessities, usually by trainee or low-ranking watchers. no child has ever escaped.

CHARACTERS:

grian: the kidnapped firstborn of this time. his power is healing, accessed via his long, unnaturally blond hair. he's trapped in a tower originally used for storage, so he spends a lot of time reading the books there when no one's around. the watchers named him "xelqua", but he chooses the name "grian" from a book he's read. like rapunzel, he has no idea he's the firstborn heir to the throne. unlike rapunzel, grian has learned to be skeptical and distrustful of the world, and rebellious whenever he can be. he desperately, desperately wants to escape-- he just needs a way out.

scar: the charming rogue/thief from the magical kingdom. he operates on whims-- his wit can usually get him out of any tough situations, and failing that, his collection of magical crystals will do the trick. he's on the run from the palace because of a little bit of thievery... wonder how that one's gonna turn out.

the watchers: the mysterious cult holding grian captive. unlike mother gothel, they do not even try the "parental" approach-- the children are given necessities by trainee watchers, and trained by more experienced ones. once their training is complete, they're left in the outposts until needed. as of right now, grian is their only captive, but a very valuable one to them. despite his rebellious nature, they have hope that they can mold him, and maybe even invite him to join someday. i count them as one character here as they mostly operate under the same mentality.

professor beak (pesky bird): basically our fill-in for pascal. grian found him on the windowsill after slamming into the glass, and after nursing him back to health, professor beak chose to stay with him. grian names him after a book character, and affectionately calls him "pesky bird". he envies his wings, and the fact that the bird could choose to leave if he wanted.

pluto: our fill-in for maximus!! unlike maximus, though, he hates pretty much everyone. scar is the only one who can get him to be tolerable.

pearl: the middle-child forced to be eldest-sibling, who took the crown at 18 years old. she faces a lot of pressure from advisors, regents, and her own people, and is doing her best to hold everything down. she puts on a brave face, but secretly, she mourns the lost older brother she never had. she wonders how it would be if he hadn't been taken-- and wonders if she has a right to this throne at all.

jimmy: the youngest, and always desperate to prove himself. the whispers and rumors get to him, too, so he fights back wherever he can: whether it's speaking out of turn at meetings or chasing petty criminals into the woods. he holds his unknown older brother as a role model-- the guards can catch him whispering to the air, asking for advice, asking for forgiveness.

joel: jimmy's best friend and royal knight. his father was an advisor before his retirement, so he and jimmy grew up together in the castle. he mocks jimmy at every turn, but the second anyone else speaks badly about him, joel's on their case. he always has jimmy's back, through thick and thin-- even if it means chasing petty criminals into the woods on his lunch break.

gem: pearl's royal knight, and the only one who knows how badly she struggles. she was knighted when pearl took the crown, but the two of them quickly became closen. she and joel are best friends through the guard program, and keep tabs on anyone threatening pearl or jimmy's safety. her brother, etho, is a dishboy.

etho: the world's most pathetic dishboy.

bdubs, cleo, impulse, and tango: the rogues who frequent the shady bar that grian and scar end up at. they are petty criminals, like scar, but have ambitions of their own!!

i'm getting rid of the stabbington brothers here because a) the watchers wouldn't be making deals with anyone and b) .....i'm too lazy to find anyone to fill that role. plus we can work around them anyways. it's my AU okay leave me alone.

PLOT:

i will not explain a lot of this because a) this post is already huge and b) i may write this someday so,,, hehe,,, spoilers >:)

it follows the plot of tangled pretty similarly, though. the real differences are in how the characters sort of change it. grian is more skeptical and calculated than rapunzel, and does not trust scar in the slightest. scar is immediately intrigued by grian, but is also just going with his whims. the two of them learn to be friends-- and more-- through journeying together. since the watchers don't have the parental manipulation going on, that element is kinda gone too. they just have cult manipulation instead!!!

but yeah, similar plot. grian spends his days alone until watchers check on him, use his healing powers, and let him know they'll be gone for a few days. scar is chased by jimmy and joel for stealing the heir's crown, and gets through the forcefield with a magic crystal. seeing his chance, grian lets down his hair for scar to climb up-- and promptly knocks him out with the frying pan.

scar wakes up, and they come to a deal-- grian will let him go if scar frees him and shows him the kingdom. grian is very skeptical of scar's competence, but knows he needs SOMEONE'S help to show him the world-- even if it's this idiot. scar accepts too... mostly because he has no choice. grian keeps the crown on him, to test scar's loyalty.

they get out, and grian is overwhelmed at seeing the world for the first time. he tries to hide it from scar, but scar picks up on it, and points out elements of the forest as they head through. they break the forcefield with no problems, and grian's heart is about to beat out of his chest.

they get to the tavern, where the rogues are none too happy to see them. scar turns on the old charm, asking them about their dreams and ambitions (which works on bdubs, and mollifies the rest of them). grian is a little stunned seeing how witty scar truly is-- he's not the bumbling idiot grian had assumed him to be. while the rogues squabble, he sneaks bread and water from the bar, motioning for grian to follow his lead.

jimmy and joel have caught up, though, and the rogues cover for them while they escape. they get caught in the cave, and grian reveals the properties of his hair to get them out. later, when they're making camp, he heals scar's wounds-- figures that if he knows it can glow, he might as well know the rest.

grian is very particular about having a plan, while scar just does whatever he wants. they bicker about it over dinner, and agree to compromise-- scar will take grian to town, but whatever they do from there is up in the air.

they head to town the next day, and grian is a bit overwhelmed seeing all of these people. some children ask to braid his huge, huge hair, and he's hesitant at first-- until scar gently pats his shoulder, says he'll show them how. grian doesn't know why, but he trusts it-- and the braid is the most practical hairstyle he's ever had.

the lantern festival is today-- unbeknownst to them, grian's 18th. the palace is still and mourning, but the town is lively with the festival. grian and scar sneak food from vendors, walk the streets, watch the parade. they dance a little bit, and it's hard for grian to ignore the tugging in his chest whenever he looks into scar's eyes.

they come across the mural of the infant, taken by the watchers. they stop and stare, and scar casually points out how similar in color the infant's baby wings are to grian's.

grian stiffens, suddenly struck by an empty feeling-- a memory that should exist, but doesn't. he shakes his head, terse, and walks off with scar in tow.

that night, they get on a boat, releasing lanterns for a prince who's already home. but on the boat, it's just grian, watching the sky with wide eyes. his wings ache against their restraints-- he wants to fly into it, dance through those lights, go anywhere without anyone in his way.

scar's observing him, a smile on his face. when grian looks back at him, he's struck by how the light dances in his eyes.

they discuss dreams, fears. grian thanks scar for being such a good guide. scar thanks grian for being a great companion. they make a good team, they both know-- and when scar suggests they stick together for a while, grian barely hesitates to agree.

but their peace can't last. when they come to shore, cloaked figures emerge from the clearing-- the watchers.

scar tries to cover for them, tossing his crystals at their feet. it's no use. they encroach on them, and backed against the lake, they can't get away. they knock out scar, and grian barely has time to scream before there's a cloth over his mouth.

when he comes to, he's back in his tower, bound to a post. watchers stand in the room, silent sentinels. the one who trained grian leans over him, unimpressed, waiting for him to wake up.

grian twists against his bonds, looking around. desperately asking what they could possibly want from him.

the head watcher says, despite his betrayal, they're impressed with grian's talent and cunning. he has the power to go far, to do good-- and his healing powers make him a very useful asset. his status as the prince is useful, too-- confirming his suspicion.

grian grits his teeth, looking around-- and he finally sees scar, barely stirring, in the corner.

he cries out, straining towards him, and the head watcher rolls his eyes. he gestures towards the others, and they drag scar towards grian, his body flopping across grian's lap. his green eyes finally opening all the way as grian looks back up.

the head watcher finally makes the offer: grian should join them. if grian joins, scar can be healed and go peacefully, and all betrayal will be forgiven.

grian knows there's no choice. there's never been one, not with the watchers. tears fog up his eyes as he looks back down at scar, whispering how sorry he is that scar got here in the first place.

scar looks up at him with all the tenderness, all the love in the world.

and then there's a flash of silver.

scar puils a knife from his sleeve, and severs grian's hair clean off.

the watchers scream, clutching their bodies. they've been reliant on grian's healing for so long, and now, the ache of a thousand old wounds rips through them. they stumble for the exits, screeching-- some disintegrate on the spot, the first being the watcher who trained grian.

grian doesn't care. he howls, clutching scar, locks of hair thumping dead on the ground around them. he begs scar, asks him why he did that when grian could've healed him, could've fixed everything.

scar smiles. he doesn't need to explain, he knows. "you were my new dream."

grian closes his eyes, unable to handle the look in scar's. "and you were mine."

tears pour from his eyes, and with their leftover magic, scar is healed.

they stay there for a while, clutching each other, whispering apologies and threats and sweet nothings. they don't know who kisses who first, but they melt into each other like it's the most natural thing in the world. the binding on grian's wings dissolves, and he wraps scar in the red, feathery blanket of them.

the next day, scar takes him to the palace to meet his siblings. joel almost arrests them on site, but when he sees grian's wings, his eyes go wide. he shows them to the throne room, standing aside as grian goes in.

jimmy and pearl stand on the dais, whispering to themselves-- both turn around as grian enters. for a second, there's nothing but stunned silence, wide eyes as the siblings finally take each other in.

grian opens his mouth, but can't get a word in before they both fly down to hug him.

it's a mess of limbs and feathers and crying. hiccuping apologies and reassurances. scar stands to the side, quietly observing, but it's jimmy who reaches to pull him into it as well.

jimmy and pearl don't have any suspicions. those bright, red wings can only belong to a royal-- their brother-- the first to ever come home.

the end!!!

um. so that was WAYYY longer than i ever anticipated. i am so sorry. i hope you enjoyed hearing about it though :D

[ceruark]

what the cat dragged in

[yan! michael kaiser x fem! reader, childhood friends au.] synopsis: your grandfather once cautioned you against feeding strays. it’s a lesson you wouldn’t fully learn until many years later. words: 4.6k cw: yandere themes - obsession, possessiveness, implied stalking, slight dubcon (no nsfw). a/n: [head in hands] this was supposed to be a drabble

“You be careful with that, now.”

At the sound of your grandfather’s voice, you glance over your shoulder, fixing your attention on the man standing in the doorway, propped up against his cane. Your knees and face are smeared with mud, as any seven year-old’s would be. 

You turn back around, cooing gently at the scraggly kitten that eats the canned tuna out of the palm of your hand. You lift your free hand to scratch at its head, smiling as it nuzzles into your hand before going back to the food.

“Why?” You ask innocently. “It’s so cute.”

“It’s a stray,” your grandfather says, voice dripping with disgust on the last word. “If you feed it, it’ll keep coming back.”

You frown. Would such a thing be so bad? If the poor little guy was hungry, you would happily indulge it; after all, withholding such a vital thing to its survival would be cruel.

“But it’s hungry,” you whine. The kitten polishes off the rest of the tuna before looking up at you and meowing loudly, bumping its head against your palm. Your heart soars at the endearing action.

“I’m serious,” your grandfather snaps at you in the tone that tells you you’ll be in trouble if you don’t listen. You give the kitten one last pet before reluctantly retracting your hand. You bite down on your warbling lip and blink away tears when it meows at your sudden absence in confusion and protest.

You walk over to your grandfather, and he takes your small wrist into his hand. He takes in your crestfallen expression and sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s for the best,” he says softly. “You don’t want strays getting attached to you.”

You look up at him with big, watery eyes. “Why not?”

“Because no matter how much you feed them, they’ll always be hungry, and then they’ll never leave you alone.”

Despite your grandfather’s warning, you continue to feed the kitten.

You’re careful to do it somewhere he won’t catch you, though. It’s summer, so you’ve been spending a lot of your time in the park that’s only around the block from your house. Turns out the kitten has been spending lots of time sunbathing there, too, so you make sure to start sneaking out some canned tuna with your packed lunch.

You walk past the swingset and toward the large, twisting slide that you’ve gotten used to finding the kitten under this time of day. Your small purple lunch bag bounces against your leg as you skip happily, swinging your arms animatedly. The tune you’re humming gets stuck in your throat and dies as you duck under the play structure and find a small figure already huddled beneath the slide.

A boy in a black hoodie two sizes too big for his frail body sits criss-cross on the floor. Bruised hands gently pet the kitten, which is curled up in his lap and purring softly. He can’t be that much younger than you— probably only by a year— but he seems far smaller than the kids in the grade below you at school, concerningly so.

His head snaps up as your feet come into his line of his vision, wide, impossibly blue eyes locking onto yours. He flinches so hard that the kitten yowls and jumps out of his lap, startled. He curls in on himself defensively and his breathing becomes labored, yet his wide eyes never leave you, tracking your every movement.

You blink in confusion at his reaction. “Um,” you start to say, but you’re cut off by a loud meow cutting through the air.

You turn to the kitten, which has now settled at your side and is pawing at your lunch bag. You giggle— of course, it’s already come to know where its next meal is coming from. You pick up the bag and unzip it, producing the canned tuna from inside it. You grunt as you tug at the tab a few times, but finally it gives way and comes off cleanly. You place it down, and the kitten eagerly prances up to it and starts eating out of it.

After a long moment of watching it eat, your eyes drift back to the boy across from you. His eyes are locked onto the kitten with such focus that it’s concerning.

Then, you realize he’s not looking at the kitten— he’s looking at the tuna sitting on the floor.

You reach back into your bag and take out a sandwich secured tightly in saran wrap. You unwrap it then split it in half, extending your arm out to offer it to the boy.

His eyes dart down to the sandwich and back to you, but he doesn’t make any move to take it.

“Here,” you say, waving your arm up and down in emphasis. “You can have some, if you want. Mom always packs too much for me, so I’m okay sharing with you!”

He glances back down at the sandwich and hesitates for just a moment more before his hand shoots out, snatching it out of your own and quickly bringing it to his mouth. You avert your eyes back to the kitten as he eats it, slowly working through your own half of your lunch.

When you’re done, you peek into the bag to see what else your mom packed for you. There’s a small bag of chips, an orange, and a banana. Maybe it’s a little selfish to keep the chips for yourself, but the boy seems to be just as eager when you set the fruits in front of him, so it’s probably fine.

He finishes eating before you do, and slowly, he inches closer toward you and the cat. He begins petting it again, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. 

Finished with your snack, you crumple the bag up and throw it into your lunch bag before zipping it back up. You brush your hand off on your pants, leaving a smatter of chip dust behind that your mom will probably chide you for later. 

You look up at the boy, who is already staring at you. He flushes red and is about to look away when you hold your hand to him and introduce yourself.

You tilt your head toward him with a warm smile. “What’s your name?”

Michael waits for you under the slide the next day, and the next, and the one after that.

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. You become permanent fixtures in each other’s lives. You bring snacks and books, bandages and a gentle touch and an unspoken oath to never ask, never pry. He brings nothing but himself, but for you, that is enough.

Your mother never asks why you pack extra food, or where it’s ending up. She likely just chalks it up to you being a growing girl, and for that, you are grateful.

There are some days, though, where you’re being looked after by your father, who chides you for taking more than you need and makes you put the extras back in the pantry. On those days, you apologize to Michael for the smaller portions you both have, but he simply brushes it off. He says he couldn’t care less if you show up with no food at all, so long as you show up.

At some point, it stops being about the food, you just fail to realize it. Michael never breaks his habit of trailing behind you like your own shadow, and he’s not exactly a sociable person (in fact, his glare alone scares off any other kids your age who try to approach you two), so you figure there’s still something he wants from you. And because of your upbringing, hand-holding and leaning against each other and hugging is something so normal to you that you cannot even begin to suspect that there is something much different he’s actually after.

You’re fourteen and he’s thirteen the first time he kisses you.

It’s a sunny day, but not too hot; there’s a nice breeze in the air that keeps you cool as you sit in the grass, idly popping grapes into your mouth as you watch Michael kick a ball into a wall over and over again, as is customary for you two these days. As always, he eventually wears himself out and finds his way over to you, collapsing beside you and leaning his full body weight against your side as you complain and futilely try to push him off.

“Micha, get off,” you whine, shoving at his shoulder. He doesn’t budge, and instead sighs in irritation and wraps his arms around yours to stop your attempts. “You’re heavy!”

“Your fault for feeding me so much,” he mumbles into your shoulder, prompting you to roll your eyes. “Seems like oversight on your part.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d grow up to be this annoying.” Your words lack heat, of course— you don’t really mean it, and even if it wasn’t evident by your tone, it’s evident in the way you relax into his embrace. “Seriously, though. You’re all sweaty. It’s gross.”

Michael gives one last aggrieved sigh before releasing you. He reaches for the water bottle set beside you and drinks from it, and you go back to your grapes.

A comfortable silence settles between you two as you observe the other people in the park. It’s summer, so it’s busier than usual, which means Michael will probably leave sooner rather than later.

You turn to look at him, but as always, he’s already looking down at you. 

You tilt your head to the side. “Do you need something?” You ask playfully.

Michael stares at you a moment longer, the wind rustling his hair into his face. Then, he leans down so quickly that you can’t react before he presses his lips to yours.

It’s soft, gentle. It’s barely there, his desire contained by a hesitation you haven’t seen within him in so long. 

When you don’t respond, he pulls back, his face carefully smoothed over into a blank canvas, but you know him better than that. Fear dances in his eyes, fear that he’s overstepped and swung a sledgehammer straight into your friendship.

You blink rapidly, trying to pull yourself together. “Oh,” you say, smartly, and then feel yourself flush red as you fully process what just happened. 

“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath. It sounds wrong coming from him, and you reach out to grab his arm just as he starts to withdraw into himself.

“Hey, look, it’s fine. I just— you just caught me by surprise. That’s all.”

He looks back at you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His blue eyes are shining, but there’s something dark in them that you haven’t seen before, something you can’t quite place.

“It’s fine?” He echoes in question.

You feel your face grow hotter.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, “it’s fine.”

When he leans down this time, you respond in kind.

You’re always the one to break off the kisses shared between you two.

At this point, you’re convinced he’s not human, given the way that lack of air never seems to be a problem for him. If anything, he seems more annoyed by the fact that you’ve stopped kissing him than the fact that he’s nearly panting from how long he’s gone without taking a proper breath. 

He’s insatiable, you quickly find out. Shockingly, for a few weeks following your first kiss, he spends more of his time kissing you under the slide than playing football. When you get tired or want to take a break, he just opts to hold you in a tight embrace until you’re ready to kiss again or have to leave. 

Eventually, his initial enthusiasm dies down, but his way of kissing you never changes. Shallow, rapid kisses swapped between inexperienced middle schoolers, but he never lets up, always eager to meet your lips again and take in your breath in place of oxygen.

You never put a name to whatever’s happening between you two. You’re not friends anymore, that much is clear, but you two don’t have the means of going out on dates, either.

Regardless of what you are, he becomes clingier than ever following the shift in your relationship, and a small part of you can’t help but feel like you’re suffocating.

“Micha.”

He looks up from the ball at his feet, skillfully dribbling it despite the fact that his focus is elsewhere. It’s impressive; hopefully, one day, you’ll be able to see him play professionally.

Your heart sinks to your stomach and sits there heavily. Would that be the next time you see him? On some screen, miles away from him, years from this moment in this time?

You’re moving out of Berlin. Your father’s being suddenly transferred to an office in Cologne, and you have just five days to get all your stuff packed up and ready to go for the train ride on Sunday. You have a shitty starter phone— your parents aren’t keen on you having a smartphone, yet— but Micha has nothing. You suppose you could write to him, but that would put him at risk if his father got to the mail before he did.

When he catches the look on your face, he settles the ball at his feet and locks his full attention on you. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow, averting your gaze to the ground. “I’m moving,” you mumble.

A thick silence settles between you two. The soft breeze is sharp in your ears, like deafening static reverberating through your head.

His voice comes out sharp, digging in a way you’ve never heard it before. “What?”

“I’m moving,” you repeat. “I’m leaving. Dad’s job— we’ve got to go to Cologne.”

He doesn’t respond for so long that you finally force yourself to look up at him. His face has gone completely blank, and there’s only something dark in his eyes, something completely unreadable to you.

His voice is tight when he asks, “When are you coming back?”

“I—” You sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t think I am. I think the transfer’s permanent.”

He looks down, seemingly mulling over your words. When he looks up again, his gaze goes is cold, and he hums, straightening out. “No.”

You blink, confused. “No?”

“You’re not leaving.”

You furrow your brows. “What?”

He looks down at you derisively, seemingly irritated that he has to repeat himself. “I said you’re not leaving.”

“I can’t just not leave,” you spit out. He’s starting to be ridiculous, and his condescension has never been something that bodes well with you, having only been on the receiving end of it so few times. “I’m not gonna have any family here.”

He jostles the ball between his feet as if this is another one your shared mundane conversations. “So we’ll just run away together.”

You narrow your eyes at him in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He slants a side look at you. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, voice getting higher with each word, “just two teenagers running away and figuring out how to make ends meet. Can you please take this seriously?”

His foot comes down on top of the ball, hard. He flicks a finger between you two. “I am the only one taking this seriously.”

“This,” you echo, incredulous. “A stupid relationship.”

He kicks the ball to the side and turns to face you fully, and that’s how you know you fucked up. Each word bites as he asks, “Is that all this is to you?”

“You know I care about you, Micha,” you say carefully, “but asking me to throw away my family to stay with you is insane.”

Something shutters in his expression, but it’s gone before you can even register it. “I knew it,” he spits, “you’ve never cared about me as much as you’ve led me to believe.”

You grit your teeth. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “You obviously don’t value me as much as I value you.”

“Oh my god,” you snap, “you are fourteen. Get the fuck over yourself.”

“You think this is meaningless because we’re young?”

“I think,” you hiss, “that we have our whole lives ahead of us. I wouldn’t ask you to stay by my side if you had bigger and better things ahead of you.”

He continues to stare at you in icy silence. You sigh, frustrated.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll work itself out,” you say.

Michael tilts his head, as if considering this. His eyes wander your face, committing every bit to memory. Then, he walks over to you, seizing your wrist in his hand. You step back, a bit thrown off, but he lightly tugs on your arm, pulling you back toward him. 

“It will work out,” he says, eyes boring into yours. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He leans down and presses a familiar, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Then you won’t have to leave me ever again.”

This time, when you pull away, he lets you go. Seemingly without a care in the world, he turns around and picks up the ball, heading toward the trail that he takes home.

You return to the park the day before you leave, but you don’t see him. You wait for hours, but he never shows.

The unease twisting in your gut doesn’t unravel until the train speeds away from the station, leaving Berlin behind you.

You’re about to turn eighteen when you see him again.

Not in person, but on a screen like you expected. The name Michael Kaiser sits in a scrolling bar across the bottom of the screen which plays footage of him playing on Bastard München’s youth team, his long golden hair flowing behind him beautifully. The news anchor says something about him being one of the most promising players of the new generation— not that that’s something you need to be told.

Your friend says something from across the table, ripping your attention from the screen. You don’t notice how tense you’ve gotten until you relax again.

Despite the lingering feeling of unease his memory leaves you with, you’re still glad he made it, after all.

“Who’s this?”

You’re back home for the holidays during your second year in university. Your studies have taken you back to Berlin, albeit a part you hadn’t grown up near and is still new and fresh to you. “Home” might not be the right word, though— you’re spending Christmas Eve at your grandmother’s house. She’s been hosting your entire family the past couple years since your grandfather’s passing forced her to relocate to a smaller house, an attempt to fill the empty home with warm presences.

Currently, she’s playing with a small, bedraggled dog that has wandered onto her porch. It’s wheezy and staggers when it walks, indicative of its old age.

“Oh, just a sweet little thing,” your grandmother replies as she pets its back. “You know, your grandfather always hated it when I would feed the strays. I did it a lot back at the old house on the other side of town, but there’s not too many animals on this side, so I don’t really do it anymore.”

You consider the dog. Its fur is matted, but nonetheless, its tail wags so hard from your grandmother’s attention that its whole body shakes with it. It sneezes pathetically.

You shove your hands into your coat pockets. “So this is a new one, then?”

“Well, not quite.” Your grandmother chuckles. “I first met this little guy back at the old house. I’ve been feeding him since he was a puppy! Seems he found his way back home on his own.”

“Huh.” Your eyes snap back to her. “I didn’t think they could actually do that.”

She laughs some more. “The most determined and loved ones can.”

You retreat back into the house. Your younger cousins jump on you immediately, demanding you play whatever nonsensical game they’ve thought up this time. You shed your coat, and with it, your lingering distress at your grandmother’s words.

“Oh my god, do you have a secret admirer?”

Your roommate’s voice pulls you out of your shocked state. The dread freezing your veins gradually thaws out, and you kneel down to pick the bouquet of flowers off the floor in front of the entrance to your shared apartment.

Blue forget-me-nots, with some blue roses interspersed throughout.

It’s October now. Just under a year has passed since Christmas, but your grandmother’s words are fresh in your mind, as if you’d heard them just yesterday.

You fumble around with the bouquet, movements becoming more frantic when you can’t find what you’re looking for. “There’s no card attached to this.”

“Well, duh,” your roommate says. “That would defeat the purpose of a secret admirer.”

Except, it’s not a secret who sent you these. You might have been able to brush it off if it was just the forget-me-nots, but the roses speak for themselves.

You flick your wrist out to the side, shoving the bouquet into your roommate’s chest. She grabs onto them, so you let them go in favor of getting the door unlocked.

“Figure out what to do with them,” you say as you enter the apartment.

She trails in after you, hot on your heels in incredulity. “Wait, you’re seriously not going to keep them?”

“You know I’m not interested in a relationship right now,” you say breezily, feigning a calmness that contradicts your racing heart. “It’s a sweet gesture, but I don’t want them.”

“I mean—” Your roommate stammers a bit before her words peter out. She sighs, then starts rummaging in the cabinet beneath the sink. “Alright, whatever you say.”

She ends up arranging them in a nice glass vase you weren’t aware you two even own and sets them in the center of the dining table. They mock you until they wither and die, and you can finally dispose of them.

By the time February rolls around without any further incidents, your guard has lowered significantly, which is, of course, your first mistake.

You’re lounging on the couch in the common space when there’s light knocking at your apartment door. There’s mostly college students renting in this unit, so it’s not uncommon for someone to stop by and invite you to some party or other, and with Valentine’s around the corner, there’s sure to be plenty.

You set your laptop down on the coffee table and get to your feet, sliding your feet into your slippers and crossing the room to get to the apartment entrance. You reach up and begin to undo the locks without checking the peephole, which is your second mistake.

You pull the door open, and immediately, everything freezes in place.

His eyes are as blue as the day you met him, only his gaze is far sharper than they were even on the day you left. 

The television and billboards really don’t do him justice. He’s fully grown into his figure now, the diet and training regimen of a professional athlete filling him out in ways that the portioned-out food fed to him from your hands could not. His hair is choppy, but a face that gorgeous can make anything work. It’s pulled up into a messy bun made to look regal by the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The blue rose on his neck is stark against his skin, and you eye the thorny vines that trail down and disappear beneath his shirt.

You meet his eyes again, apprehensive. His face is impassive, but the intensity of his gaze betrays him and keeps you pinned in place.

You clutch the doorknob so tightly your knuckles go white.

“Michael,” you say softly, and he frowns slightly at that. “What are you doing here?”

How did you find me? The unasked question hangs in the air between you two, but neither of you reach for it.

“Who’s Michael?” He asks airily. He steps forward, and hooks a finger under your chin before you get the chance to move away from him. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your Micha already.”

You swallow thickly. “I haven’t,” you mumble.

He hums. His thumb brushes against your chin lightly as his gaze trails over your body. When it lands on you again, his eyes swallow you whole. “You look good.”

Heat floods your cheeks in spite of the dread settling in your stomach, and you look to the floor again. “Thanks.”

You attempt to step back, but there’s a hand that finds its way to the small of your back before you can. The hand on your chin tilts your head up, up, until you’re forced to look at him again.

“I spent so long waiting for you, liebling,” he says. “Is this how you greet your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You sputter. “I don’t—”

His thumb presses firmly against your lips, quieting your protests. “Friends don’t make out, do they?” When you don’t respond, he adds, “We never did break up, you know. I’m glad to see you haven’t cheated on me in my absence.”

You finally reach your breaking point, all the agitation and unease within you spilling over. You shove at him as hard as you can, but if he didn’t budge all those years ago, he certainly wasn’t budging now. You shove at him again, this time trying to use the movement to push yourself away rather than push him, but he swiftly grabs hold of both your wrists and tugs you back toward him. Caught off guard, you careen forward and crash into his chest. His arms snake around your waist, an iron cage holding you firmly against him.

“Micha,” you hiss, “let me go.”

“Now, liebe,” he coos, releasing his hold on you just enough for you to shift and properly look up at him. “You know what that will cost you.”

You glare up at him, but to your chagrin, he seems perfectly content to simply hold you and gaze down at you. As seconds bleed into minutes trapped in his hold, you crack under the pressure. 

You tilt your head up fully, and Michael lowers his head just enough to be within your reach. You close the distance between you two, intending for the kiss to be short, shallow, and sweet, just like your first.

You honestly should know better at this point. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of your head, and he pulls you back in just as you’re about to get away. 

The next kiss is deep, far more passion behind it than anything you two shared before you left. He bites at your bottom lip, and forces his tongue in when you startle. A whimper leaves your throat as he continues to lick into your mouth. You reach up to try to shove at his chest, but he places his other hand over it, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a mockery of a soothing gesture.

You gasp out when he finally breaks for air. Your lips sting from the sudden release of pressure, and a thin trail of saliva lines your bottom lip. You stumble back, but firm arms are there to catch you again.

You look up, and his pupil-blown eyes cause that unease to settle over you once more.

Gently, he brings your hand up to his lips and ghosts your knuckles over them.

There’s a glint in his eye as he asks, “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

Never satisfied. Insatiable, and now, somehow finding his way back to you.

You should have listened to your grandfather when you had the chance.

[onceonafullmoon]

Saris and Suffering

Rin x Fem! Reader

No warnings!! Just fluff and Rin's jealous ass, inspired by me and my friend talking about how we think Rin would absolutely be dying at a desi wedding (we are both desi) lmao

Rin honestly didn’t think you could get any prettier, but when you came back after a few hours, late at night, with dark red patterns of red swirling across your dark skin, he stood corrected. For the first time it was a struggle to listen to you speak when all he wanted to do was trace the patterns on your skin leaving shivers in his reverent worship.

It’s so loud.

That’s the only thing that Rin can really think about right now, but once his other senses catch up to him he feels the exhaustion settle in.

There’s a cacophony of voices, a visual assault of color from the glaring lights reflecting off all the jewelry and colorful clothes, (his own clothes, kurta pajama, they’re scratching against his skin as he stands there) and there’s a distinct smell of curry and spice in the air lingering from the dinner (ridiculously spicy, to his dismay his nose started running after he took more than 3 bites. you didn’t even bat an eye as you cleared your plate.)

All this to say, he’s (begrudgingly) out of his element here. 

But you dragged him along anyway, a smile on your face as you excitedly chatted about your cousin's wedding, describing how much you missed your native cooked food and wearing Saris. He paid attention of course, (he always did, he wasn’t so lukewarm that he’d ignore you despite how much you talked) but he didn’t really consider how much this whole ordeal would take out of him. 

Of course, overstimulation was one thing, he could deal with a few nosy relatives of yours (at least he thinks they’re relatives, he isn’t sure who here you’re related to and who here is a family friend, you address them the same) asking about his job and his income and other annoying things that he couldn’t bother to waste anymore brain cells on, the real issue he was having here had more to do with the person he was dating.

He didn’t think he’d be so affected by it. But seeing you surrounded by your culture is… new. You seem happy in a way he’s never seen you before, not that you're ever a particularly unhappy person, but he can see a difference.

You light up when you eat your gulab jamun and your barfi, your lips wrapping around the sweets before smiling in a way that makes him pause for a moment. You focus so intensely on applying your kohl with a spark in your eyes, carefully drawing out the lines. And you speak your mother tongue so melodically, he finds himself riding the rhythm subconsciously.

And that’s hardly mentioning how you look.

He remembers the way you practically skipped down the stairs a few nights ago, excited for some sort of traditional event. (He remembers you explaining to him distantly. “It’s basically a mehndi party.”) He heard your footsteps, along with the jangling of jewelry, and looked up from his phone where he was mindlessly scrolling only to lose his breath for a moment.

Beauty has never been a concern to Rin. You always looked like you, which is to say, you always looked like the person he wanted to spend his life with. But seeing you then, your kohl lining your eyes and making them more intense, your bottu on your forehead, your hair pinned up in an intricate style, your green sari draped over you leaving a tantalizing sliver of skin exposed, your dangling jhumkas on your ears, glittering bangles on your arms and necklaces dropping over your chest… you looked heaven sent.

He almost didn’t want you to leave him then, filled with an annoyingly common surge of jealousy at the thought of anyone else getting the chance to see you, but he managed to give you a small complement instead, though a muttered “you look nice” could hardly explain the way he felt about seeing you.

Rin honestly didn’t think you could get any prettier, but when you came back after a few hours, late at night, with dark red patterns of red swirling across your dark skin, he stood corrected. For the first time it was a struggle to listen to you speak when all he wanted to do was trace the patterns on your skin leaving shivers in his reverent worship.

It was only the fact that you seemed exhausted that helped him stave off on his thoughts, but the fact that Desi weddings are so long is doing something awful to his self control. It’s like every day is a new form of torture for him, especially the dancing.

Rin wasn’t exactly unknowledgeable about other cultures, he knew that dance and music were big parts of the culture, but seeing you dance with colorful cloth swirling around you, and your anklets giving off a soft chime on every step is another thing. Safe to say the whole Sangeet was a nightmare, and he didn’t even bother to fight the urge of glaring at every person that looked your way. At least, when he wasn’t being dragged by you to the dance floor (it was miserable, the music was so loud he could feel it in his heart, and he felt like an awkward chicken next to your smooth moves, but then you smiled at him and well… he supposed he could survive one dance).

The wedding ceremony wasn’t so bad for Rin at least, all he had to do was sit there and watch the puja taking place, with you occasionally explaining the significance of each step to him while he nodded along. (Occasionally, his thoughts would stray though, because when they dropped the veil separating the bride and the groom he couldn’t help but imagine seeing you on the other side. Rin could feel his face heating up, though he tried his best to move past it.)

It’s the reception now though, and he thinks he can make it through this tiring ordeal with his wits still about him, when you sidle up to him in your pink sari, a smile on your lips.

“Tired?” You ask, looking at him somewhat amusedly.

He just lets out a soft huff in affirmation, tugging at the sleeves of his garment.

“Don’t worry, only a few more hours to go.” You laugh, and he can’t help the eye roll that escapes him at your words.

“That’s hardly any encouragement.” Rin mutters.

“You’re such a baby.” You say, your bangles clattering as you move to cup his cheek. “What are you gonna do if I want a desi wedding?”

He thinks about it for a moment. The uncomfortable clothes, the loud noises and the food that has him tearing up before looking at you, and your lips stained with red curling up beautifully.

“I’ll do it.” Rin responds.

You raise a brow at him letting out a disbelieving huff of laughter as you pull your hand away, and he doesn’t think you’ll really get it. You don’t understand the effect you have on him, the blinding devotion he feels for you, but when you find yourselves at whatever proverbial altar, he’ll make sure you understand, if even only a fraction of it.

[f1artuntil-i-getnoticed]

I am sorry i drew this 😔

[lunaviee]

CAFFEINE — ft. rin itoshi

⨳ cw; reader shakes, mentions of not eating, dialogue heavy

⨳ not proofread

⨳ heavily based off of me bc i shake so bad when i have caffeine LMAOO

“you’re shaking.” rin states, giving you a side glare while you’re writing an essay.

“oh. i am.” you stare at your hands for a few seconds, watching as they twitch when you stop typing. your eyes flick back to the screen and continue clicking away.

rin’s frown deepens a bit and he cant help but stare at you as you ignore the trembles. he sighs heavily in annoyance and grabs the coffee cup sitting in front of you.

“you got this caffeinated…” he mumbles, “you’re not supposed to be having caffeine. it’s what makes you shake.” he places the cup down continues to look at you, watching your every move.

rin’s always been observant. he notices the small twinkle in your eyes when you realize your favorite pastry is in stock. he notices the forced smile you give people when you’re far past your social limit for the day. the way you pout a bit when you’re focused.

and the way the you tremble after you realize you forgot to tell the barista you’d like your coffee decaf because it makes you incredibly shaky.

“well….i need the caffeine this time.” you mutter, trying to excuse your forgetfulness.

“need it? for what?” he inquires, raising an eyebrow at you.

“so i don’t fall asleep while writing my essay”

“uh huh….right” he doesn’t believe you. and you know he doesn’t. and he knows that you know that. “did you eat before you got your coffee?”

you pause your typing, watching as your tremors get worse. “um….yes” you glance at him, though he cuts you off. “one macaron we bought at that new bakery doesn’t count.” he’s put his phone down and is now completely focused on you.

“it’s better than nothing” you sigh, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “well it might as well have been nothing, you’re shaking worse than normal” you couldn’t even argue with that because you were in fact shaking a lot more. you sat in silence and your computer screen started going dim. “just take a break and eat something.” he deadpans, reaching for your laptop.

rin was always very supportive of how you treated your body as long as you were happy and healthy. he’s always been like that, making sure you make the right decisions fit for your body. but drinking caffeine with no food was growing to be a bad habit of yours. and he had to stop it.

“but i-”

“don’t argue, your essay can wait and we both know you hate the shaking.” he holds his hand out, waiting for you to place the laptop in his hand. you stay still, hands slowly gripping onto the keyboard tighter.

rin sighs, knowing there’s one thing that would get you off of the couch. he’s looking at you with his signature blank expression, “if you stop, we can go to the cat cafe you saw last week…” his heart swells a bit at the sight of your eyes regaining their signature twinkle.

“really?” you grin, immediately shutting off your laptop and placing it on the floor. rin nods, trying not to smile at your reaction. “okay, let’s go!” and just like that, you’re off of the couch and shuffling to your shared bedroom to change.

rin stays on the couch for a few moments, now mentally preparing for the amount of “we should get a cat” comments he’s about to receive from you. but it’s worth it, he thinks, as long as you’re happy and healthy.

soon, you’re both ready to leave and you’re still shaking. though this time, it’s mostly from excitement <3

ִ ࣪𖤐 omg…hey guys…..okay this was sitting in my drafts for WEEKS and i needed to post it🤞anyways i was never here i’m back on break kay bye love youuu

[theygender]

I've been having more Symptoms than usual lately but that's probably fine and cool right

[valiantwolf]

it is honestly a crime that i have to do my laundry every week for the rest of my life

[ssouverain]

fun fact : when i'm writing i'm always listening to this

[hiswrlds]

god i need to lock in

[shorlinesorrows]

just got the time to start the sunshine court and I'm Vibrating out of my skin

[ibrokeeverything]

Please go watch Flow (2024), also known as Straume, at your earliest convenience. It is one of the single most beautiful movies I've ever seen in my life, yes visually, but especially emotionally, and I can't recommend it highly enough. It may not be everyone's cup of tea, but if it's your type of movie, it will absolutely be worth your time.

[frostfall-matches]

Blue Lock officially added to my fandom list!

Reminder that I currently only do exchanges! I've been exchange-only for about a year now since my schedule is busy. There have been a handful of regular requests in my inbox over the last couple months even though I have some variation of "exchange only" in both my pinned post and bio. (I might work on them if I have free time and no other exchanges lined up, but no guarantees).

[lattehearted]

me: i don't really feel compelled to make a 3h oc, there are so many lovely characters in the main cast already--

npc I'm making for a fanfic: you sure, bestie?

me:

[mydetheturk]

while it is still sunday, instead of six sentences, have a couple of scrapped paragraphs from a fic that might tentatively go up tomorrow

~~

The waitress brings Vash his coffee and says something about family.

Domina looks at her and smiles, and she knows how unsettling she must look with her too-pale eyes and thin smile when she says, “Oh, this is my brother in law.”

Stampede’s eyes go wide in shock and Knives goes speechless with how hard he’s laughing up against Domina’s spinal column. The waitress congratulates them – for what, Domina’s not a hundred percent sure, but it was fine.

“What the hell was that?” Vash hisses as soon as she’s out of earshot.

Domina’s smile drops. “Oh please. What your brother and I did is far more intimate than human marriage.”

[bluntforcefem]

been rolling around the idea for a few months of a fusion mechanic for interstitial that isnt amalgam-based (pure self-indulgence for when me and my friends do a campaign) which is not... too entirely far off from what about pacrim would be interesting to me as interstitial-based mechanics (read: the drift)

[ceramicbeetle]

my new notetaking system is too new for anything like this yet, but in my head i live in a future where i have an actual file cabinet i can store old notes in, organized in file folders by topic, and it's a wonder <3