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[sparrowmzz]

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Fun and safety !! A brain must have a place for all it's thoughts to go !!

[michaelnordeman]

Eurasian Tree Sparrow/pilfink. Värmland, Sweden (29 June 2025).

[sparrowmzz]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ Blue Lock Masterlist ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

Rin Itoshi !

❀ Neurodivergent Headcanons!

Sae Itoshi !

❀ Spain Headcanons!

[sparrowmzz]

"It's okay, it's okay, you're okay!"

⤷ Rin Itoshi angsty headcanons mixed with a drabble...

(a/n: another itoshi brothers post!! rin is such an interesting character, there's a lot to consider with him!!)

Rin had always been different.

He saw it in the way his parents glared at him after the teachers recommended counseling because of his lack of friends. He saw it in the way other children looked at him when he talked about his interests. How his classmates avoided him, even as he got older. But to him, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, other than getting better at soccer and being a striker with Sae.

And soon, even with his two oh so simple requests placed in the hands of destiny, one was crushed in the goddesses cold fist.

The night after Sae returned from Spain, Rin cried more than he ever had in his life. He desperately tried to convince himself his feelings were stemmed purely from anger at his brother— that his animosity was directed solely at his sibling for giving up on their dream, for becoming a pathetic shell of himself. He kept telling himself that the real Sae, his Sae, would hate who he’s become.

That’s what he tells himself. What he wants to be true. But he knows in his heart, with whatever of it is left, that he’s angry with himself. He hates himself. If he had just been better, trained harder, maybe, just maybe he would’ve been him. Maybe he would’ve stayed. Maybe if Rin just hadn't been so fucking different.

———

“Dude, have you seen him recently?”

“Yeah, weird. I hear his grades dropped and stuff.”

“The only time I see him is on the soccer field.”

Words fly around him like snowflakes in the breeze, insignificant but continuous. The lights buzz above him, unrelenting as they burn into his retinas. Bodies press down around him as he fights through the end of school crowd to the front door. His skin crawls where people touch him. It’s too stuffy in the hallway, too bright, and too loud. The feelings close around him, dulling yet sharpening his senses as he tries to maneuver through the crowd.

The cool air as he steps out the door greets him lovingly, and he doesn’t even realize he was panting until his stride evens out into a steady, unhurried pace as he walks home. To him, the whole notion of school is ridiculous. Why would he need anything else when he has soccer? When he has this burning desire for revenge perpetually pooling in his stomach?

His house is quiet as he unlocks the door, the silence only broken by the door clicking shut behind him. A note lies on the table, unread and addressed from his parents. He learned a long time ago to stop reading them and to spare himself the disappointment that comes with yet another instance of his parents leaving him home alone for the week. Their work trips, once sparingly scattered throughout the year increased when Sae left. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him why. He knows that the only reason they continue to stand him is because they barely see each other. He isn’t their golden child. He’s the broken one. The defective product. The one only tolerated by Sae.

At least, tolerated once.

He can remember vividly throwing a tantrum as a six year old when his mother switched him to a new school after another bad report from his teachers. He remembers the terror, how he shut down at the terrifying idea of an entirely new schedule, an entirely new social ecosystem to learn. He remembers breaking his mothers favorite vase while screaming and running around, and most of all, he remembers that the only reason the fury directed at him ceased was because Sae had come home from practice, swept him up in his arms and taken him to his room to color. But he could still hear the sound of his parents screaming, their words echoing even from rooms away.

———

Different. Strange. Abnormal. The words meant nothing to him. The diagnosis 'autism' had been loosely thrown around by teachers and counselors alike, but his parents had refused to get him officially tested. No son of mine, his father had screamed at him one night when they returned home after another lackluster parent teacher conference. His mother had avoided his eyes as the words ripped through the air.

"Why couldn't you just be normal?"

But he remembers that oddly enough, he didn't care. Why did he have to be normal when he had Sae, who loved him for all his quirks and differences?

The reason had become astoundingly clear in the weeks after the night that changed his life. People avoided him, cast sidelong glances at him in the halls, whispered about him as he walked by. He was isolated from social groups, and he worked alone in class. He drowned himself and soccer. Training before school. Training after school. Training during lunch. An endless motor of obsession perpetually whirred inside him, reminding him to focus, to not get distracted from his goal. He didn't need people. People were unnecessary and difficult. He needed results. It was the only way to beat Sae.

And perhaps his obsession was the reason he didn't notice the smaller things. He lost weight-- his skin began to cling to his muscles and bones too tightly, and he started feeling lightheaded at practice. Dark circles appeared under his eyes from a lack of sleep he didn't even remember. His hands shook when taking notes during class. He began to lash out when people touched him even slightly, cursing the crawling of his skin whenever anyone got close. The world slowed to a blur around him as life began to feel like an obligation rather than a purpose with a goal.

On a morning when his parents were out of town, he awoke late. It was 4pm, and yet his body felt like lead. His phone buzzed beside him, alarms and messages flooding the screen, but he didn't reach over. His eyes were sore as the evening light flooded the room, and the unstoppable force that had been pulling him out of bed and forcing him out onto the soccer field every day was gone with an aching void left in it's wake.

He didn't want to do anything. Be anything. Feel anything. He was just so, so tired.

Welcoming darkness enveloped him again as he closed his eyes, and the world felt blissfully still, the endless cascade of expectations and thoughts silencing as he considered going to sleep again. This isn't so bad, he thought. I'm just going to stay here for a while.

He laid in his bed for days. Lost count of the hours. Slept, and slept more with no desire to do anything else, and when the restless force of hunger in his stomach became too much to ignore, he finally slipped out of bed, dressed, and ate. Nothing had changed, he kept telling himself. It was rest, a deserved one too. It wouldn't become anything major. School went on. The field felt the same beneath his feet every day. It was a one time thing. It meant nothing.

But he knew, as the familiar feeling of exhaustion, of hollowness tugged at his bones, that it did. He had a taste of the tempting, comforting arms of nothingness, of living yet existing as a shell, and he knew, deep down, that he would return back into the embrace again.

It was an addiction. A dangerous one. One that could ruin everything he'd worked for, yet some tired, childish, different part of him, didn't care anymore.

you've lived a million years, you'll make it through the day!

considering turning this into an ongoing ff about sae returning? saw a real good one on ao3 and now i yearn for them to reconcile...

[sparrowmzz]

"Flawless is all I need to be!"

⤷ a sae itoshi character analysis and possible headcanons about spain...

(a/n: first post!! i find the itoshi brothers very complex, so i thought this being my first real post would be fitting!)

Everybody knows it. Sae Itoshi's dream-- the dream he once shared with his younger brother-- was crushed in Spain. Soccer in Japan simply cannot compare with the sheer pressure of the wide array of international talents all fighting for their place at the top, so as expected, even the prodigy of Japan would struggle to keep his head above water. Not to mention the expectations from everyone back home.

But hope isn't crushed all at once. It's systematic, constant, and devastating. A slow squeezing of the heart till it bursts, and the only thing that's left in its wake is an aching emptiness.

--------

The Spanish sun beats down in merciless waves upon the turf, heat that absorbs into the ground and crawls up through Sae's cleats. He grips the strap of his bag tighter as the coach's eyes flick down to the clipboard, then at him, then back down again.

"You're Sae Itoshi? The Japanese transfer?"

Irritation tugs at the back of his mind, but he steels himself. That's the third time he's been asked that since he arrived.

"Yes, I am. My name should be on the list.

The man's eyebrows practically disappear into his hat, and Sae can't help but allow something akin to a scowl creep onto his face. He consults the clipboard one more time, and after shaking his head, points to a field in the back.

"Alright then. You'll be with group six, rightmost corner. Have fun."

Sae almost scoffs at his words. Fun? We'll see if any of these strikers are even in my league.

He can feel eyes on him as he sets his bag down and begins his stretching and warmup routine. Spanish players, no doubt. Whispers emanate from the corner where they've grouped up and are passing the ball. He ignores them. There are better things to do. By the time the coach for their group has lined them up and divided them for scrimmages, he can practically feel their stares burning holes in the back of his head. Whats their deal?

As their team meets up to discuss positions, Sae begins to speak. But his voice is only met with overlapping Spanish, and nobody even glances his way. Right, language barriers. He clears his throat, and tries out a phrase he learned in Spanish a few weeks ago.

"¿Puedo... jugar d-de delantero?"

The team quiets, then breaks out into laughter. He doesn't understand what their saying, but his face burns nonetheless as he hears clear imitation of his broken Spanish. A boy with white hair says nothing, but smiles at his teammates. Sae's face burns furiously, and he desperately tries to continue, to clarify with simply phrases and a steadier voice, but nobody is listening.

He ends up sitting on the bench first.

--------

After weeks of late night studying Spanish and relentless training, Sae finally manages to argue himself a spot into a game. It's a 6v6, and the boy with the white hair stands opposite him, smiling softly as they wait for kickoff. He wants to punch that damn smirk off his face. He's striker every game. The artificial grass slides beneath his feet as he adjusts his stance, and the sound of the whistle breaks the air.

Inhale, exhale.

Analysis, positioning.

The game is a book. It simply must be read, interpreted. He shifts as a winger makes a drive down the line. The boys feet are fast, but the defense is faster. Sae runs downfield, calling out for a pass as the defender wins the ball.

He's wide open-- a pass to the center back, who passes it to midfield? He huffs, and runs back downfield to get open, but to no avail, they pass it to the other side. He sprints towards the goal, ready for a cross, but instead, the winger shoots. It clangs off the crossbar, and rolls out as he sits there dumbfounded. He was right there. He wants to rip his hair out and scream, tell them he's open, he's good enough, but he knows his words would fall on deaf ears.

Finally, 87 minutes in, Sae finds the spot. He gets a clean, perfect pass from a fullback, and he dribbles up field. The boy with the white hair stands in his way, still smiling. Whatever, he snarls. Getting past him won't take long.

He doesn't even realize the ball has been taken off his feet, before it's dribbled through his legs.

'Ah... maybe that isn't the position, compañero.'

He stands there dumbfounded for a moment before his brain catches up and he begins to sprint back, panicked. But it's too late. The boy jumps, and the ball nestles itself in the net. Goal. Loss. Because of him. Red eyes meet his, and Sae is filled with a sinking feeling of dread in his heart.

--------

He hasn't played striker since that day. All his personal training has focused more on passing rather than shooting nowadays, and now, over halfway into the game, he can see way. All game, he's played midfield. And all game, he's been feeding passes to the boy up top, whose name he has learned to be Bunny. Fitting, he thinks monotonously as he positions himself to receive another another perfect pass, to send another perfect pass, to be perfect. Otherwise, he won't play anymore. And playing as a hollow version of who he used to be is better than not playing at all.

When the match finally ends, Sae feels like he's barely done a thing. He's assisted plenty of goals, yes, but that's all he's done. A cycle of positioning and passing. It's the only thing he's good at among these geniuses. A hand lands on his shoulder, and he wants to snap it's fingers. A head leans over next to him, parallel with his. He doesn't make eye contact.

'Excellent job, amigo. I told you that you'd be better in midfield. Such a good passing machine.'

Sae scoffs.

'Don't touch me, you lukewarm striker.'

Bunny laughs, but doesn't remove his hand just yet. Sae can smell the sickening scent of blood, and maybe roses on his jersey, and with a final squeeze, Bunny walks off with the other Spain players, and Sae's tempted to break his arm the next time he's in proximity.

That week, someone writes a racist word on his bedclothes with tomato sauce from the cafeteria. The week before that all the money from his bag was stolen. The Spanish players heckled his background of Rin pretending to eat that stupid rainbow, and he changed it the morning after.

When he returns to his bunk bed that night, he notices the picture of Rin and him holding their trophy together, the one he usually keeps tucked beneath the mattress above him, is gone. He's is struck with a genuine heart wrenching panic. Where is it? Did someone find it? Did it fall? He rips up his sheet, moves his mattress, checks under his bed, and finally, when he slides open his drawer, he's met with the sight of the photo of him and Rin, his last remaining hope, his solemn reminder and pillar of light, ripped to shreds. He can see their smiling faces between the jagged tears, and something in him finally breaks. He sinks to the floor, tilting his head beneath his knees.

For the first time since he's come to Spain, Sae Itoshi cries. Tears roll to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Rin. Nii-Chan isn't the strongest anymore."

Well, what do you guys think?? Yes, the ending quote is a reference to an animatic i saw lol!! I like to think that what really crushed his dreams in Spain was the hate, so thats why he was so hard on Rin, to prepare him for that...Anyways, let me know!!!