#is this going to be lost under the tour announcement?

[goldieghoulie]

New Chapter! (13 of ?)

Isabel settles into court life, reconnecting with friends and family.

Story summary

Having fled the instability of Scotland when the Bruce declared himself king, Isabel has spent the past years living off the goodwill of her royal godmother, but that can’t go on forever. With no offers of marriage forthcoming, and no other abbeys willing to take her, Isabel hopes the Ministry at Linköping will at last offer her a home.

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or a snippet below the cut

 The bailey swarmed with people as their sleds pulled to a stop near the stables. The noise and hustle as people went about their business was both familiar and foreign. The more than five years since she had been in a castle, at a court, had been a reprieve and now she took in the goings on with fresh eyes.  

Servants hurried to and fro, arms or baskets filled with whatever materials for whatever task they had been set to. Isabel eyed the platter of fresh baked bread carried between two women as they backed out from the bakehouse and crossed to the main hall. Guards idled in groups or half-heartedly sparred with each other. A cluster of nobles, picked out by their fine clothes and the twinkle of jewelry stood in the last remaining patch of sun. Though it was still an hour or two before sunset, the high walls of the castle ensured that the bailey was already in shadow.  

Isabel took Ulf’s hand for help from the sled. It was an awkward task, having Secondo simply lift her into and out of the sled was the far more elegant solution, but such intimate touching was out of the question. Nevertheless, she managed it without compromising her decency too much. Under the guise of straightening her skirts, Isabel untucked her habit from her belt and let it fall to cover her blue kirtle. Then, inside her cloak, she pulled the habit sleeves down to her wrists as well. 

She then reached up and felt at her veil and wimple. As she tried to ascertain if they were still on correctly, her hair properly covered, she studied the nobles again. Though it had been years, and she was now in Sweden instead of Norway, she assumed she might now some of those gathered. But, as she scanned the group, she realized she might have assumed wrong. Ready to give up the task and seek the warmth of inside, her eye caught on one woman.  

She stood in profile, a little away from the main knot of people, and was the picture of a noble lady. Her gown billowed out behind her and the crispenette in her hair glinted in the sun. Isabel sighed at the sparkling reminder of her own drab state and tried to figure out why this woman especially had caught her attention. At first, she had assumed the glint was what snared her, but then she studied the woman more and something else she couldn’t quite place held her. The woman shifted, turning so she more fully faced Isabel and in doing so the sun no longer caught on her jewels. Finally, Isabel was able to see her head clearly and took in the orangey-red of the woman's hair. Her stomach lurched; it was a shade she hadn’t seen since the day she left Scotland. Her eyes shifted to study the woman’s face more closely, and her breath left her. She knew that face. It had changed, filled out, gained a few crinkles—it had been over a decade—but it was her sister.  

“Mary,” Isabel whispered at first, still unable to believe it. But then Mary turned back to the group and Isabel panicked. 

“Màiri!” she yelled across the bailey, slipping into the Gaelic pronunciation of the name, and startling a pack of pigeons nearby. Mary froze then slowly turned back to see who had been shouting at her. Isabel stood still, allowing Mary to look her fill, waiting for it to click. And when Mary’s confused scowl cleared she knew it had.  

“Iseabail,” Mary called back across the courtyard, disbelief coloring her voice. But then she was running towards Isabel and, decorum forgotten, Isabel ran to her. Tears were streaming down her face by the time Isabel wrapped her sister in her arms. Her warm body, firm, alive, and here pressed against her and they blubbered near nonsense to each other in Gaelic.  

[verstappensrealwife]

Silver Springs - Ex!Oscar Piastri x Singer!Reader

[oscar piastri masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... oscar goes to his ex girlfriends concert after cheating on her.

ʚɞ angst -> fluff? ending.  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 900 words + SMAU

ʚɞ warnings: NOT an oscar ending, cheating, oscar's sisters are made to be much younger (like under 10). lana del rey faceclaim.

ʚɞ poll at end of fic to decide who she dates next!

༻❁༺

When you and Oscar split up, it wasn’t amicable like he told the media. He broke up with you, and you were distraught. Going black out on social media for months before announcing a new single. It wasn’t long before writing the song that you found out the reason it all really ended. He had said, “Mclaren says no more distractions,” You soon found out that just meant “No more you.” 

This revelation came a few weeks later when he was seen posted up with a girl. The timelines of your relationships overlapping. Distraught was now the understatement of the year.

༻❁༺

༻❁༺

The release of the single marked a turning point in your narrative. The song, dripping with raw emotion, resonated deeply with listeners. The lyrics were painfully direct, a window into your heartbreak and the betrayal that followed. Fans dissected every line, piecing together the story and speculating about who it was written for. 

The album followed, a cohesive story of love lost and the journey back to self. While some songs still bore the weight of your pain, others hinted at healing, even defiance. Critics hailed it as your most vulnerable and mature work yet. Headlines shifted from speculations about your personal life to accolades about your artistry.

Meanwhile, Oscar stayed silent, perhaps believing the storm would pass. But the scrutiny on him intensified, especially as the timelines between his relationships were publicly examined. The girl he was seen with became a topic of conversation too, though you never once mentioned her. Your silence in interviews about him spoke volumes; you let the music say it all.

As the months passed, you began to flourish in ways that no longer revolved around heartbreak. 

By the time the album tour rolled around, you had fully embraced your own narrative. On stage, in sold-out venues, you exude confidence. The heartbreak that once defined your every move was now just one chapter in a bigger story—a story of resilience, transformation, and unapologetic self-love.

༻❁༺

༻❁༺

Oscar’s sisters sat on either side of him, laughing and chatting as they waited for the next song, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing on stage. To them, this was just another concert—a chance to see one of the biggest stars of the moment, someone they might have even admired from afar before all of this. They didn’t notice the way your gaze had frozen the moment you spotted him in the crowd. They didn’t feel the heat rising as you stared him down, the room suddenly smaller, suffocating.

The intro to Silver Springs started, and the audience quieted, the opening chords rippling through the venue like an unspoken promise of something extraordinary. As the spotlight shifted back to you, the weight of the moment settled. You gripped the mic tighter, your knuckles white, your shoulders tense. You knew the song would hurt to sing. What you didn’t expect was how much it would hurt him.

You began softly, your voice trembling with emotion

"You could be my silver springs...

Blue-green colors flashing..."

Your eyes found him immediately. The spotlight didn’t extend to his seat, but you didn’t need it. You could feel him, your gaze cutting through the crowd like a blade. For a moment, he looked back at you, then quickly away, shifting uncomfortably. His sisters kept chatting, oblivious, swaying gently to the melody.

But as the song built, so did your intensity.

"Time cast a spell on you,

But you won't forget me..."

You leaned into the words, your voice growing sharper, angrier, the crackling edge of your heartbreak evident in every syllable. You didn’t just sing the song—you lived it, every word a pointed accusation. Oscar shifted again, staring at the stage now, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable but tense. His sisters seemed utterly at ease, clapping politely during an instrumental break, their chatter not stopping for a moment.

And then the line came:

"I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you..."

You let the words hang in the air, staring directly at him. The audience roared, swept up in the passion of your performance, but you didn’t even register them. This was personal, a message delivered with precision and fury.

Oscar’s sisters finally caught on to the awkward tension between you and him, but they only exchanged confused looks, still clueless as to the weight of what was happening. They turned to him, whispering something, but he didn’t respond. He just sat there, staring at you with a mixture of regret and defiance.

As the song reached its emotional crescendo, you pushed through to the final verse, your voice soaring. By the time the last note faded into silence, you stood there, staring into the dark where he sat, breathing hard, your heart pounding.

The audience erupted into applause, breaking the moment. You straightened, taking a deep breath and allowing a small, almost imperceptible smile to cross your face. You turned and walked offstage for a brief interlude, leaving him there, knowing he’d felt every word.

༻❁༺

༻❁༺

༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

I hope this was good 🫣 I’ve not done an SMAU before

Click here to be added to the tags list ❤️ 

tags: @uhhvictoria @anamiad00msday

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ guitarist!hongjoong x f!reader

synopsis ✭ guitarist hongjoong fucks you in your hotel room

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI

word count ✭ 1.7k

warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

✭✭✭✭

Life on tour for Hongjoong was so much easier when he knew his baby in the crowd cheering him on. It was so much easier to show off to a crowd screaming his name, when he knew you were out there, too, watching him perform. He wanted to bring you up there with him, put you on display for all of the fans to see. He wanted them to see his girl. The only one he ever needed to scream his name.

He couldn’t do that of course, because your relationship was a well kept secret between the two of you. No one knew what happened between the two of you backstage after every show. No one knew of the way you snuck into his hotel room every night and left in the early hours of the morning to avoid being caught.

Why? Because you were the frontman’s little sister, and, if Seonghwa ever found out what the two of you got up to, he’d probably end up with a broken nose, no job and Ateez would need a new guitarist.

It wasn’t necessarily that your brother didn’t approve of you dating, but he made it abundantly clear that his bandmates were completely off limits. Of course, following the rules was never any fun.

Which is why when you got a call from Hongjoong at 2 in the morning, you were immediate with your pick up. Grabbing your phone off the nightstand in your hotel room. Falling back into your sheets. 

“Hey, baby,” he rasped out, voice tired from performing and partying subsequently. A party which you skipped out on, hoping to clean yourself up before you got this inevitable call. “I’m back at the hotel, can I swing by your room?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” you teased, and he could hear the smirk in your voice. “I’m kind of tired.”

“Too bad, sweetheart, I’m outside your door.” You jumped out of bed at that announcement. Discarding your phone on the bed. 

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror. Admiring the reflection of you wearing nothing more than an Ateez band tee and a pair of painties.

You only cracked the door a little bit, but he pushed into the room immediately at the sight of you. No words were exchanged before he backed you up against the same door, one arm over your head one around your waist. 

When you slid your hands up to the collar of his jacket, he let you pull him down to your lips. It was a hungry kiss. Making up for the lost time of not being able to kiss you on stage. Not being able to go down on you backstage before every concert. Not being able to bend you over the sink in some random bar take you from behind.

Though, that last one had happened before, but your brother had almost walked in on it. And you had to hide in a gross stall until he left.

His lips were slightly chapped, but you couldn’t care less because he was so close to you. He smelled faintly of alcohol but he didn’t taste like it so you could tell he hadn’t been drinking. Something you appreciated because it meant he had full control of himself when he hiked up one of your legs and gripped your thigh.

The whimper you let out when he rolled his hips into your clothed heat drove him crazy. When he finally pulled away from your lips, they were puffy and your hair was scattered from his hand in it. 

“Hello to you too,” you breathed out. 

He chuckled, and kissed down from your neck to your collarbone. It took everything in him not to mark up every inch of your neck. He’d just have to wait until he could leave one somewhere less visible. 

“You did good tonight,” you tangled a hand in his blonde hair. “I love watching you play.” You sighed as his hands slipped up your shirt. Thumbs softly caressing the skin under your breasts. 

“Yeah?” he met your gaze, “you have no idea how much I love knowing you’re in the crowd cheering for me. Especially in your skimpy little outfits.”

“I wear them for you,” that was the truth. You knew that he always went crazy for your tiny skirts and ripped tights. 

He pulled your shirt over your head. Leaving you just in your lacy black panties. He took a step back but kept a hold of your waist, “fuck, baby…you’re so fucking beautiful. You know that right?”

He gave you no time to respond, though because he was immediately on his knees. 

“Joong,” you moaned when he kissed your pussy over your panties, gently biting the fabric, “I have a bed.”

He left a kiss on your thigh, “we’ll get there. Just let me take care of you here, okay?”

He slid your bottoms down your legs and let you step out of them before throwing them behind him. As a man of his word, he took care of you. Not wasting any time at all. 

He licked a stripe through your folds before finding your clit and sucking on it. Hard. You cried out and gripped his hair. 

When his tongue pushed into you, you rolled your hips over his face, clit brushing his nose. “Joongie, oh fuck, Joo—,” you tried desperately to get your words out but coherent sentences were beyond impossible at this point. He’d brought his thumb up to your clit. 

He felt so good. Every move he made was so calculated and executed to give you the most pleasure. And it paid off because you were practically screaming his name. Every whimper and moan built up his confidence. Making him work harder and faster to please you with his mouth.

He moved his mouth back to your clit so he could push his fingers into you. God his fingers could send you to hell and back on their own. That was the reason you really liked to watch him play. Every time you saw him brush his fingers over the strings, you imagined them gripping your hair, pinching your nipples and fucking your needy cunt like they were doing now.

“Oh you’re so close. Aren’t you, angel?”

“Mhmm, yeahhhh,” you cried out, “I’m so close baby, please don’t stop!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh my—hah, fucking hell! I’m coming!” he groaned into your cunt as you finished all over his face. He took so much pleasure in licking you clean. Lapping at your both your thighs and the pussy he just fucked with his mouth and fingers.

When he stood back up, you were quick to grab at the jacket he still hadn’t taken off and to pull his shirt over his head. He kissed you again, and you could taste yourself on him. 

“You taste so fucking good, baby. I could do that for hours.” 

You pushed him back toward the bed in the middle of the room, “maybe another time. I really need you to fuck me right now, though.”

He chuckled and pulled you back towards the bed with him, “my baby’s so greedy. You can never get enough can you?”

✭✭✭✭

In his naked glory, he leaned back against the headboard. You crawled to him over top of the sheets and straddled his waist. He groaned when you grabbed his cock and slipped a condom from your purse onto it. Spitting in your hand and pumping it a couple times. 

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to hurry up,” he grunted when you slid over his length covering him in a mix of your own mess and his own spit from earlier. 

You positioned his tip at your entrance, and slowly teased it in. The moan you let out as you sunk down on his length almost made Hongjoong finish right then and there.

Everything was so fucking perfect. The way you looked at him through half-closed eyes. Fully engulfed in the pleasure he gave you. How your skin glowed because of your sweat and the low lighting of your hotel room. And your voice. God your voice. The alluring nature in which you cried out for him. Begging him to take you to your peak.

“Fu—” you threw your head back, “oh Joongie you're so big.”

“God, angel, your so fucking tight,” he grunted, “this needy little cunt is always so good to me.”

When you started to move yourself, he lost it. Gripping your hips and thrusting up into you over and over and over again. You had one hand tangled in his hair and one gripping at your own breast. Pinching the nipple and rolling it through your fingers. 

“Oh baby, God,” he groaned in your ear, “keep going.”

You moaned, “oh my god! Oh, oh–. Fuck, I’m close!”

As if on cue, he thrust up into you one last time and finished into the condom. He pulled out of you but kept a finger on your clit. Working at it so fast that your vision began to fog. 

“There! Oh my–,” you whimpered, “fucking hell!”

You reached your climax all over his hand.

Nothing could hold you back from collapsing in his chest. Your own chest heaving along with his. He ran his hand over your hair, “you good baby?”

“Mhm,” you sighed into his chest.

He sat up after a couple minutes, “let’s get cleaned up, ok?”

✭✭✭✭

In the warm water of the shower, he helped you wash your back. Massaging the hotel body wash into your skin and rinsing it off with the shower head. His fingers scratching at your scalp as he washed your hair was an incredible feeling. Especially when he leaned in to kiss your wet shoulders when the soap was cleared.

When you turned around to face him, you brushed a hand through his wet, blond hair.  “Do you wanna stay here tonight?” You asked him.

“Of course, baby,” he kissed you, “just let me go change.”

He grabbed a robe and wrapped it around himself. As he dried off his hair with a towel and slid into a pair of the hotel’s slippers, he reached for his phone which was discarded on your floor along with his clothes.

He was shocked to see he had 6 missed calls. All from your brother.

Shit. He ran hand through his hair.

There was a knock at the door.

Hongjoong looked down at his phone again when it buzzed. 

seonghwa: i know you’re in there open the fucking door.

Well fuck. 

✭✭✭✭

thank you for reading!! this one took a bit because i had an essay due this week. and i started crocheting a sweater and that's all i felt motivated to do in my free time 😅

anyways, if you are interested in joining my taglist you can now do so here, and my requests are now open if you feel so inclined.

as always, reblog, comment or message me to let me know what you thought! love you all 😙🫶💗

mwah~

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Synopsis: Tabito Karasu has been in love with you for almost as long as he can remember. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you have any intentions of reciprocating, considering you’ve only ever seen him as a child — and, more importantly, as your best friend’s little brother.

BLLK Masterlist | Part Two | Otoya Version

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Total Word Count: 41.6k

Content Warnings: reader is older than karasu (by like two years so it’s nbd but it exists), no blue lock au, bratty baby karasu, jealous karasu, slow burn, childhood friends, i have no idea how to write kids just deal w it, karasu’s older sister is given a name (look at that word count LMAO i’m not calling her ‘karasu’s older sister’ the entire time), reader gets drunk at one point, karasu the goat of pining, yukimiya and otoya mentions ⁉️

A/N: yes this is inspired by the song “best friend’s brother” from victorious but has barely anything to do with it. yes this is probably the longest karasu fic you will ever read as of its publishing date (word count is not a typo it fr is that long). yes reader and karasu are fuck ass little kids for half of the fic. i have nothing to say for myself except that i love karasu so much and i cannot be stopped…also tumblr is an opp so i had to split this into two parts EEK i’m sorry!!

In a sea of bright, patterned umbrellas, only one was dark and plain. It was wide, the practical sort, all but dwarfing the girl who held it as she hurried along to the covered entrance of the school, her shoulders hunched against the wind and her steps brisk. You thought that she seemed small for your age, like a particularly strong breeze might blow her away entirely, and strangely gloomy, though this might’ve been an effect of the weather and not her personality.

Your own umbrella was cheery, a pink-striped thing that announced its presence in a most domineering way and clashed with the shades of orange and teal and green around it. You had found it pretty when your parents had given it to you, but now you were much more taken with the sole matte black one that wove in and out of the crowd, the clear raindrops resting on it like diamonds.

By the time you were past the cherry trees lining the parking lot, you had lost the girl and her black umbrella alike. It should’ve been impossible, considering what an anomaly it was, but then again that color was like a shadow, blending in unless one looked for it very carefully, and sometimes even then.

You would’ve worried, but you had bigger problems to be preoccupied with — namely, it was your first day of elementary school, and you had no idea what to expect. Setting the girl out of your mind, you used your free hand to fiddle with the name tag on your breast pocket, ducking under the roof before closing your umbrella and shaking the excess water off of it. Then you scurried after an older student who seemed like they knew where they were going, following them until you found yourself in a corridor you recognized from the tour you had taken with your parents prior to the start of the year.

In the classroom, there was a shelf where you could put your wet umbrellas in neat rows. You didn’t see any rhyme or reason to how they had been arranged, except that everyone had avoided putting theirs beside the dull, dark umbrella that you had admired. Glancing around at the rest of your classmates, who had already grouped themselves into loose clusters based on their seats, you set your umbrella beside the black one. For some reason, the pink stripes at that angle resembled frowns; you found it suitable, then, that those two were the only ones on that shelf. They seemed to go together, depressed and angry in turn.

Although you had not seen the girl’s face, you recognized her immediately. She sat apart from everyone else, her spindly limbs held close to her body, her heart-shaped face dominated by a pair of sapphire eyes, hair like an oil spill pulled into a high ponytail that cascaded down her back like tail-feathers. At first glance, she was unassuming, and at second she was entirely off-putting, but you were contrarian enough to take a third, and it was only then that you realized she was actually magnetic in a way, her lips pulled into a serene smile, her irises lively and brows high with interest.

“Hello,” you said, taking the seat beside her. “I’m Y/N L/N.”

It was the radical thing, what you had done in willingly isolating yourself from the others, but you found that you had no interest in those shallow peers of yours, who had not bothered to look at a person three times and see the truth of their being. This girl, with her black umbrella and her keen gaze and her bird-like countenance, was the only one in the entire room you wanted to befriend.

“Are you talking to me?” she said. Her accent was more pronounced than yours, which resembled the one of your Tokyo-born parents’ far more than it did the rougher cadences that most people in the region spoke with. The boisterousness of her voice contrasted sharply with her frail appearance, though to charming effect, and it warmed you to her even more.

“Uh-huh,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

“Karasu,” she said. “Yayoi Karasu. Good to meet you, too, L/N.”

Karasu. She was a crow, and as pretty and sharp as one, too. It was more fitting of a name than it ought to be, and you nodded, because your childish mind liked when things made sense, could be categorized into labeled boxes. Black umbrella. Blue eyes. Crow-wing hair. Yayoi Karasu.

“Let’s be friends,” you said, and maybe it was a blunt, straightforward request, but she did not seem to mind it.

“You want to be friends with me?” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you said. She shrugged, bony shoulders brushing against her earlobes from the jerky motion.

“Don’t know. Just doesn’t seem like the others want to,” she said.

“The others are stupid. They’ll feel bad about it later, but by then we won’t need them,” you said.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s be friends, L/N.”

“If we’re friends, then you can call me Y/N,” you said.

She grinned, wide and gleaming. “Only if you call me Yayoi. Just Yayoi.”

When you got home that night, the first thing you did was race to the living room, where your mother was sitting, knitting needles stationary in her hands as she watched a drama.

“Mama!” you said, jumping onto the sofa beside her, tugging on her sleeve until she paused her show and looked at you. “Mama, I made a friend today.”

“Did you? How exciting! What’s their name?” she said.

“Yayoi Karasu, but she said I can just say Yayoi ’cause we’re friends,” you said.

“That’s wonderful,” your mother said. “Do you want to have Yayoi over sometime?”

“Hm, yes, I think so,” you said, already envisioning how fun it would be to play with her outside of school. You supposed you didn’t know much about what she liked to do, but you doubted it was anything you wouldn’t also enjoy, so there wouldn’t be a problem. There couldn’t be — the two of you were friends, and there were never problems between friends.

Within two weeks came an invitation, made before you could extend your own. The Karasu family wanted you to come over, and though your parents wished they had asked first, they did not mind that you were going, especially considering how elated you were when you relayed the news.

It was a short walk to Yayoi’s house, or perhaps it was that you were so excited which shortened the distance; either way, it hardly took any time at all before you and your mother were at their doorstep. You hid behind her leg when she knocked, suddenly timid, although you had no reason to be.

The woman who answered the door resembled Yayoi greatly, though she was fuller and taller and exuded an air of great confidence. She could only be Yayoi’s mother, and you wondered if this was the kind of person Yayoi would grow up to be.

“Are you Mrs. Karasu?” your mother said. The woman nodded, gesturing you into the home invitingly.

“Yes! You must be Mrs. L/N — Y/N’s mother?” she said.

“That’s right. Y/N, please say hello to Mrs. Karasu,” your mother said.

“Hello, Mrs. Karasu,” you said, your voice catching in the back of your throat. She had the same voice as Yayoi, the same exuberance to her words and geniality to her tone, but coming from her, it was almost intimidating.

“Yayoi should be in the playroom — down that hallway, the first door on your left. I’m surprised she didn’t come to the door to greet you; your visit is all she’s been able to talk about for the entire week,” Mrs. Karasu said.

“Y/N, too,” your mother said affectionately. You left them to speak in the kitchen, darting in the direction Mrs. Karasu had indicated, ducking into an appealingly decorated playroom.

The walls were painted pale yellow, and there were colorful bins stacked in the corners, labels written on them in black marker which detailed what their contents were. There was no sign of Yayoi, but in the center of the room, surrounded by a rainbow of blocks, was a little boy holding a model train in his hands.

He had the same hair as Yayoi, though while hers was sleek and flat, his stuck up every which way, a bitter warning to those who might’ve tried to tame it. His cheeks were rounder than hers, and his eyes were darker, the same deep shade as mulberry stains, but there was undeniably a resemblance between the two.

Though he was quite taken by the train he was playing with, he looked up when you opened the door to the room, and then he cocked his head, thick eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Do you know where Yayoi is?” you tried, hoping he could understand you. He was obviously younger than you and Yayoi, though you were unsure by how much — a year? Two?

“Ya-yi?” he repeated, stumbling over her name endearingly.

“Yes, Yayoi,” you said. “Where is she?”

He hummed in a whimsical way which clearly meant he had no clue, and then he raised his hand with the toy in it, beaming at you.

“D’you like my train?” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a cool color,” you said, not wanting to hurt his feelings. As an only child, this sort of interaction was out of your realm of expertise, but for some reason, you had an urge to try your best.

“My favorite,” he said. “Light blue.”

“That’s a good favorite,” you said. “So. Are you Yayoi’s little brother?”

“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I’m Tabito. Who are you? Ya-yi’s friend?”

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “Yayoi’s friend from school.”

“Y/N!” he said, like your name was the greatest word he had ever learned. “Let’s play trains! Can you play trains with me? Can we please play trains?”

You frowned. You needed to find Yayoi, but it wasn’t like you could wander around their house aimlessly, and Mrs. Karasu knew you were in the playroom, so your best course of action was staying put until your friend found you. Then, if that was the case, there was really no harm in obliging him, even if you weren’t an avid train enthusiast.

“Sure, alright,” you said, sitting down across from him and holding your hand out. “Give me one.”

He blinked at you. “Get your own.”

“I don’t know where you keep them, so I can’t,” you said.

“Then, um, then you can build, okay?” he said, piling blocks into your waiting hands. “Make a bridge. Do you know what a bridge is?”

“Yes?” you said. He seemed delighted by this, his entire face glowing from the simple affirmation; eager to keep his spirits high, you pointed at a point on the carpet. “Can I build it here?”

“Um…okay,” he said. It didn’t seem like he was particularly keen on the notion, but you were out of ideas at that point, so you just shrugged and began to stack the blocks into something resembling the bridges you had driven past on trips to your grandparents’ respective homes in Tokyo.

Tabito was too busy rolling the trains around the playroom to supervise your attempts at construction, so you were left to your own devices, designing it in the way you saw fit. Right when you had deemed the structure finished and turned to ask him if he liked it, the door to the playroom slammed open and Yayoi bounced in, hugging a hamper to her chest.

“Y/N! I’m sorry, I went to get all of my toys from my room, but then I had to go to the bathroom, so that’s why I’m late,” she said.

“It’s okay,” you said.

“Ya-yi!” Tabito said. “You’re playing with your upstairs toys? Can I also?”

“No way!” Yayoi said, hiding the hamper behind her. “Go somewhere else and leave Y/N and I alone!”

His lower lip trembled, and then, though he had been so happy only moments earlier, he broke into wailing sobs, causing Yayoi to groan and face-palm. Within seconds, Mrs. Karasu had burst into the room, looking around and only calming when she realized you were all alright, or at the least uninjured.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“I told Tabito to leave Y/N and I alone and he just started crying!” Yayoi said.

“You should be nicer to your younger brother,” her mother reprimanded her, hands on her hips. “He’s still little. It’s up to you to be the bigger person in these kinds of disagreements.”

“I don’t wanna! He’s annoying! Can’t you take him away? We want to play with our toys now!” Yayoi said.

Tabito cried harder at this, hiccuping as Mrs. Karasu swept him into her arms with a sigh.

“Now, now, Tabito, don’t be upset,” she said, using her sleeve to wipe his teary cheeks. “Let’s go watch TV and let your sister play with her friend.”

“Okay!” he said, the tantrum dissipating as quickly as it had come. He rested his chin on his mother’s shoulder, waving a small hand at you as he and Mrs. Karasu rounded the corner, leaving you and Yayoi to play on your own.

“Finally,” Yayoi said. “Little brothers are the worst.”

“He made me build a bridge for his trains,” you said, pointing at your attempt at architecture. Yayoi giggled.

“That looks nothing like a bridge,” she said.

“I did my best,” you said. “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” she said. “And a total pain.”

“Really?” you said. Setting aside the fit he had had when Yayoi had demanded he leave, he hadn’t seemed like anything but a typical and cute little kid.

“You don’t get it because you don’t have to live with him, but he’s the worst,” she said. “And my mom always takes his side, too! It’s super unfair.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Don’t you have any siblings?” she said.

“No, I’m an only child,” you said.

“Ah, that makes sense,” she said. “Anyways. Sorry you had to play with him.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you said. “I didn’t mind.”

“Huh. Whatever; do you want to see my favorite stuffed animals?” she said.

“Sure!” you said. She dumped the contents of the hamper on the floor, and thus began your playdate, which mostly consisted of her introducing her toys to you and you clapping appropriately.

You were fairly certain Yayoi was a good friend — in fact, you supposed you could even call her your best friend, though you didn’t have many others who could’ve taken the position, so it was as much by default as it was out of any perceived loyalty. Even still, it was true that she was someone you were genuinely fond of, and who was genuinely fond of you in return, so the title was earned and not just awarded at random.

It was nice being with Yayoi. As you came to learn, she was more practical than gloomy and more shy than off-putting. Once those initial guards came down, she was as affable as anyone, or maybe even more so. Your prediction came true in another sense; now that your classmates, too, saw the truth of yours and Yayoi’s personalities, they began to seek you out in droves, trying to befriend you both, to bring you into their folds and mix you into their exclusive groups.

The two of you entertained these attempts, of course — neither of you were loners at heart, and indeed felt quite at ease amidst throngs of people — but in the end, you never strayed far from each other. It was a known fact that you and her were best friends, that where one of you went, the other would not be far behind, and so your peers quickly decided to go for a sort of joint-befriending strategy.

“L/N, Karasu, do you guys want to come to the park with us this weekend? My mom’s bringing snacks and stuff,” one of your classmates asked you. You had advanced a grade since you had all met for the first time, so in theory all of you had known one another for at least a year at this point, but all you could recall of the short, stocky boy was that his name was something like Akamine or Arakawa.

Typically, Yayoi would glance at you for confirmation, but today she rapidly nodded her head at the boy. Akamine? Arakawa? You wished that he would introduce himself so you were spared the embarrassment of asking.

“We’d love to, Aoyama. Thank you for inviting us,” she said. Aoyama. You had been astoundingly off the mark; silently thanking Yayoi, who had no doubt picked up on your struggle if not your distaste, you grunted.

“Sure,” you said. You had no great desire to go, not when this Saturday was supposed to be the first fair day after a week of rain. You’d rather spend it doing something of your own choosing, not playing in a park with people you hardly knew. But Yayoi was going, so you would, too, dutifully and without much complaint. “Though we’ll have to ask our parents first.”

It was just a formality. Neither Yayoi’s parents nor yours ever denied you from frolicking about with your school-friends, as long as you had done everything you needed to at home. In Yayoi’s case, it was that they were happy that she was coming out of her shell so rapidly, and for you, it was because your parents found it difficult to say no to you when you were their only and most beloved child.

As your mother’s weather app had predicted, there was sunlight on Saturday — gray and watery, to be sure, but it held fast in its patch of sky, its small corner of periwinkle which contrasted with the silvery lavender of the looming thunderheads threatening another storm in the near future.

You arrived at the park before Yayoi, and so you pretended to be famished, looking through the snacks that Aoyama’s mother had brought while you waited for her to come.

When she did, it was with an expression not too dissimilar to the clouds on the horizon on her face and a set of small fingers squeezed in between hers, their owner struggling to keep up with her furious, stomping pace.

“You brought Tabito?” you said when she reached where you were waiting. Her younger brother stood at her side, wearing a dark blue raincoat and a pair of black mittens, though it wasn’t that cold out. Someone — you could only assume his mother — had attempted to comb his hair back into something resembling a neat style, but they had mostly been unsuccessful, for it had not been tamed any.

“It wasn’t my choice,” Yayoi said, shooting the oblivious boy a dark glare. “My mom made me. According to her, it’s good for siblings to play together.”

“Look, Y/N,” Tabito said, pulling on your sleeve to get your attention and then opening his mouth wide, revealing a gaping hole in the row of his pearly upper teeth. “I lost my first tooth!”

“Did you throw it in the air?” you said.

“Of course,” he said, very self-importantly and more than a little derisively, as if you had been a fool to suggest otherwise.

“Good job,” you said. He was in his last year of kindergarten, and so he would soon join you and Yayoi at your school, which meant he was eager to learn everything he could from you in order to prepare for the momentous leap. This meant that there was not a person in the world who was a better listener than him; given, of course, that one was prepared to entertain his multitude of questions and did not find the curiosity to be a nuisance.

“Yayoi, can we go on the swings?” he said. He had, in the time you had known the two of them, accustomed himself to saying her name properly, though this was only a small consolation to the irritable Yayoi, who would rather he not say her name at all.

“Maybe later,” she said. “Right now, Y/N and I are going to play with our friends, but after that, we can go on the swings, okay? You just sit here and don’t get into trouble for a bit.”

For a moment, it seemed like he would argue, but around Tabito, Yayoi became a much bossier and more tyrannical version of herself, a version whose commands were impossible to deny, and so he only nodded.

“Come back quickly so we can swing,” he said beseechingly. Yayoi ruffled his hair, undoing her mother’s efforts entirely, and then she jutted her chin out in the direction of your classmates.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” she said.

“Do you think he’ll be okay if we just leave him there?” you said as you both walked towards where everyone was gathering on the slides.

“Yes, it’s not an issue,” she said. “He’ll be mopey for a bit, but that’s just the way of things. It’s his fault for getting upset when I said he couldn’t come with me and involving our mom in it! If he wanted to swing, he should’ve just waited until tomorrow when I said the two of us could go by ourselves instead of insisting he wanted to come today and see all of my friends.”

“Aw,” you said. “It’s kind of sweet that he wanted to meet your friends.”

“Try stupid,” she said. “Do you think any of them, besides you, will really be nice to him? It would’ve been better if he just stayed at home, but I didn’t want my mom to get mad at me.”

“That’s true,” you said. “Well, you would know better, so don’t take me too seriously.”

“I wish we could swap places,” she said. “I’d love to be an only child, and obviously you want a younger brother, so it would make everyone happy if we could trade roles, don’t you think?”

“You’d be sad if you didn’t have a sibling,” you said. “It’s a little bit lonely sometimes.”

“Seriously, you can have Tabito if you want,” she scoffed. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

She got carried away in a conversation with Aoyama after that. He was only too happy to oblige, although a needling sensation on the back of your neck alerted you to the fact that he was gazing at you all the while. You paid him no mind, though, preferring to observe everyone as they mingled about, waiting to see if anyone you could manage to tolerate would manifest.

Aoyama and his ilk were the sort of boneheaded future sports players that you least preferred. Normally, you were more outgoing than this, but in a group where you were so glaringly out of place, you withdrew into yourself, shrinking like a violet away from their brashness, which lacked a necessary amiability that would’ve made them far more approachable.

At one point, in an attempt to avoid Aoyama and his frequent stares, you glanced over your shoulder, pretending like you were checking on Tabito out of some sisterly duty. As an extension of Yayoi, it only made sense that you’d feel that same protective instinct for him, so no one questioned it when you muttered a quick farewell and made a beeline for where he was sitting.

Somehow, he had managed to stay in one place on the bench, his hands folded in his lap and his legs kicking in the air as he looked out at Yayoi forlornly. For some reason, he reminded you of a kitten which had been abandoned by its owner, so you stopped before him and poked him on the forehead to get his attention.

“Tabito,” you said. “Do you still want to go on the swings?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Is Yayoi coming?”

“Not yet,” you said. “But we can go together if you want.”

“You don’t want to play with your friends?” he said, hopping down from the bench and following you towards the swings anyways.

“Not really,” you said. “I’m only close with Yayoi anyways, and she’s busy with Aoyama at the moment.”

“Oh,” he said. It was an utterance filled with wisdom, or maybe that was just the impression he was trying to give off. Yet you earnestly believed at that moment that, despite his age, he understood what you meant when you said that, so you chose to think that it was the former.

“Do you need help getting on the swing?” you said when you reached the swing set.

“No, I can do it!” he said. “Watch, watch!”

He executed an inexplicable series of maneuvers that you could neither replicate nor even fathom, but somehow it ended up with him sitting squarely on the swing, his pale-knuckled hands gripping the chains tightly.

“Wow,” you said. “That was cool. Are you ready?”

“Yup!” he said. You pushed his back lightly, sending him soaring into the air, and the two of you continued in that manner for a while. It was meditative in a way; your mind was blank and the world was silent, save for the whistling of the wind. You didn’t have to care about what your annoying classmates would say next, or whether they were named Akamine or Arakawa or Aoyama or whatever.

If Tabito was your little brother, you’d take him to the playground every single day, and you’d push him on the swing for as long as he wanted. You were overcome with a sickening wave of jealousy for Yayoi, who could’ve done that but never did, and you wondered if this was how she felt towards you. Was it really that no one could ever just be satisfied with what they had? If you had been born with a sibling, would you have detested them as surely as Yayoi did Tabito?

There was another roll of thunder, louder and nearer this time than the last. A fat droplet of rain landed on your nose, and when Tabito next came closer to you, you caught him so that he would stop.

“What happened?” he said. “I want to keep swinging.”

“It looks like it’s about to start raining earlier than we thought,” you said. There was another droplet of rain, and then another, and another, in quicker and quicker succession until there was a verifiable deluge coming down. Tabito slid off of the swing, his left hand in your right as he pulled the hood of his raincoat up.

“Tabito!” It was Yayoi, running towards you and shouting frantically. “Y/N!”

“Yayoi, we should go!” you said as she skidded to a stop in the mulch bed of the swing set. She nodded, her eyelashes already clumping together, water trickling down her forehead. Grabbing Tabito’s other hand, she used her arm to cover her head, and you mirrored her actions, though it didn’t do much in the way of keeping you dry.

“My house is closer!” she shouted over another crack of thunder. All of you took off at a sprint, splashing through rapidly forming puddles without abandon as you raced towards her house, dragging Tabito along with you.

There was a sort of euphoria to it, and indeed you were all laughing as you went, despite the terror you felt with every new stroke of lightning. Tabito made sure to bring down his feet extra hard in the puddles, much to yours and Yayoi’s collective chagrin, as you were continuously sprayed with mud from his actions, but it was hard to tell him to stop when he was enjoying himself so thoroughly.

The three of you collapsed in the Karasus’ foyer right before the drumming beat of the rain increased even more, locking the door behind you and gasping for breath as you recovered from the exhausting run, Tabito sprawled atop Yayoi and your head leaning against her shoulder.

“I’m glad we’re all alright,” Yayoi said, hugging her brother tightly. He squirmed in her embrace, which only prompted her to squeeze him tighter until he yelled in protest.

“You three are a mess!” Mrs. Karasu said. Either the shutting of the door or Tabito’s shout had summoned her; regardless, she looked down at the set of you in fond disapproval, tugging you all to your feet. “By the time I’m done calling Y/N’s parents and letting them know where she is, I expect all of you to be washed up and in fresh clothes!”

You all exchanged glances before running up the stairs, shoving each other out of the way as you went, none of you wanting to be the last one to follow her directives, leaving behind wet footprints on the carpet wherever you stepped.

The next year, Tabito started primary school. For the most part, he walked to and from the building with you and Yayoi, holding onto his sister’s hand and listening to your conversations, frequently peppering his own interjections in. Every Wednesday, though, Yayoi had badminton club meetings, and you had art club, so he was left to walk by himself. Conversely, on Thursdays, he had soccer club — he was one of the youngest members, but he had been playing for two years at that point and could not fathom not joining the school team — which meant that you and Yayoi could dawdle as you wanted, walking at your own paces instead of the erratic one that Tabito often set.

That Wednesday, you were approached by Aoyama, who was a fellow member of the art club. He had neither the skill nor the aptitude for it, his paintings messy, the strokes of his calligraphy thick and runny, but no one could say he wasn’t determined. More than anyone in the entire club, he really tried his hardest, which was likely the sole reason he hadn’t yet been kicked out.

“Hey, L/N,” he said, jamming himself in between you and Yayoi as you walked to your afternoon classes. You sighed, having never found him agreeable despite how persistent he was. Yayoi gave him a dirty look; whatever friendliness she had had for him last year had long since vanished, replaced with the same disdain you held.

“Yes, Aoyama?” you said.

“Did you see art club’s canceled today?” he said.

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t had the chance to check the bulletin board. Did it say why?” you said.

“The teacher’s sick,” he said.

“I hope she gets better soon,” you said.

“Me, too,” he said. “I love the art club.”

“You sure do,” Yayoi said under her breath, earning an appreciative snicker from you and a perplexed look from Aoyama. She was privy to everything that happened in the art club courtesy of you; in exchange, she kept you updated about the goings-on of the badminton club, though these stories were decidedly less amusing, owing to the fact that most of the badminton club members were too dedicated to the sport to waste time with anything foolish enough to be entertaining.

Aoyama was bad at telling when he was unwanted, but even he could not deny that his presence was not required, and furthermore was an active impediment to your day. With a mumbled goodbye, he sped up so that he could reach your classroom before you and Yayoi, finally leaving you be once more.

“He’s so weird,” you said.

“Right?” Yayoi said. “Totally crazy. At least he was kind of helpful this time and only let you know that you don’t have art club today.”

“True, I was kind of scared he’d try to invite us to hang out with him again,” you said with a shudder. The corners of her eyes crinkled in sympathy.

“I think his birthday’s coming up. Do you think we’ll get invited to the party?” she said.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Girls and boys don’t go to each other’s birthday parties,” you said. “He might, though. It seems like he thinks we’re friends.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she said. “Are you just going to go home after school, then?”

“Yeah, it’s not like I have anything else to do,” you said. “Want me to walk with Tabito?”

“He’ll be alright if you don’t, but if you want to go that way, then it wouldn’t hurt,” she said. There were two routes you could take to get home from the school; one passed by the Karasu house, and the other was slightly shorter but in a different direction. Technically, you could’ve taken the second route today, but you didn’t mind walking for an extra minute or so to help out.

“Sure, I can do that. Do you think he’ll wait in the usual spot?” you said.

“Probably not. It’s not like he knows your meeting was canceled,” she reasoned. “But you should be able to catch up to him pretty quickly. He’s kind of distractible.”

It was true. Though he was a quick walker, Tabito was prone to stopping and staring at things which only he noticed, so it was hard to actually get to places in a reasonable time with him. That fact, combined with your comparatively longer strides, meant that even if he didn’t explicitly wait for you, you’d almost surely be able to walk most of the way home with him.

Students rolled out like an orderly tide the moment the bell rang, a veritable ocean of pressed shirts and dark shoes and jostling bags. Without an agreed-upon meeting point, it was impossible to find a person in the throng, and indeed you did not even attempt it, merely weaving through until the crowd began to thin as everyone dispersed, heading in different directions towards their respective homes and after-school activities.

It took you longer than you expected to find Tabito. He was standing in a patch of grass along the side of the road, his chin tilted up as he stared at a bird in wonder; it was so quintessentially him that you did not realize at first that something was wrong.

“Tabito!” you said cheerfully, tapping on his shoulder to get his attention. “My art club meeting got canceled, so we can walk back — did something happen?”

The jewel-like shade of his irises threw the rosy rims around his eyes into further relief. His dark lashes were bunched together with wetness, and his cheeks were puffy. Though he fought it, his lower lip trembled, and he sniffed when he noticed you frowning.

“No,” he said.

“Obviously, something did,” you said matter-of-factly. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” he mumbled.

“You can tell me what’s bothering you. I won’t make fun of you or anything,” you said. He shrugged stubbornly, shifting from foot to foot, gripping the straps of his backpack in his fists. You tried to think of what could’ve upset him. “Did you get yelled at in class?”

“No,” he said.

“Did you get in a fight with one of your friends?” you said.

“No,” he said.

“Hm. Has someone been messing with you?” you said. He was silent, but you knew you must’ve hit the mark because his cool facade — which was already terribly maintained in the first place — crumbled away entirely, his face falling and a small hiccup escaping him. “Oh, I see. You should’ve said something to Yayoi and I. Who is it? I'll yell at them.”

“It won’t help if you do,” he said quietly. “It’s better to just ignore them. I mean, it’s an average problem, so don’t make a big deal about it. They’ll probably go away after a while.”

“But it isn’t fair for you to have to deal with that on your own,” you said. “It’s not like it’s your fault. People like that just pick on whoever they have the chance to pick on. There’s those kinds of kids in my grade, too. Like you said, it’s common, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept it.”

“If you say something, it’ll just be worse the next time,” he said. “They’ll go away if I don’t pay attention to them. It’s not like I even care what they say. It doesn’t matter to me.”

When you pretended to look at the road, he brought up his forearm, rubbing his sleeve against his eyes in the moment where there was no one to notice. You saw it, but you did not bring it up, recognizing that it was something he’d rather not discuss.

“Alright,” you said as you set out towards his house. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“But if you change your mind, or if you’re ever having another problem, I hope you know I don’t mind helping,” you said. “Think of me as another Yayoi.”

“You’re not like Yayoi,” he said.

“Well, no, of course not,” you said. “I can be like an older sister for you, though, the way she is. Do you get it now?”

“I don’t want you to be an older sister for me,” he said crossly, kicking a piece of stray gravel across the road. “And I won’t have any other problems.”

The only way to tame his unruly hair was with wax, which made it as stiff as a board and completely impossible for you and Yayoi to ruffle it the way you used to. You had to settle for poking him in the cheek; considering it irritated him no less, it was a worthy substitute.

“Are you trying to be all grown up just because you’re in elementary school now? You’re still a little kid, so no need to act tough,” you said.

“I’m not a little kid!” he whined.

“Sure,” you said.

“I’m not! I’m only two years younger than you, it’s not a lot!” he insisted. You grinned at him.

“It is a lot. You just started elementary school, and this is my third year here. That means I’m way more experienced than you, so you should look up to me,” you said.

He folded his arms across his chest, grumbling something to himself that he wouldn’t dare vocalize to you, all thoughts of whoever had been bothering him earlier vanished. Maybe it wasn’t the best method of cheering him up, but though his mood had not improved, at least it had changed. That was the best you could do, so as he held onto your hand while you crossed the street, you congratulated yourself on the small victory.

As Tabito continued through primary school, two things became evident: one, he was uncannily smart, his eerily observant nature lending itself to a genuine academic prowess that one could consider exceptional, and two, because of his pride in this ability, he refused to ask anyone for assistance, no matter how hard he was struggling.

“It’s so dumb,” Yayoi told you one day at recess, scrubbing at a graphite stain that someone else had left on her desk. “He’s totally lost with long division, but whenever my parents or I offer to help him, he gets super mad at us. Even my grandma tried! Although she doesn’t really remember much about mathematics, so I don’t know what the point was there…”

“He’s always been the independent type, though,” you said. “It’s not a surprise.”

“It’ll be a surprise when he does terribly on his next test,” she said. “Considering how things have been going as of late and how badly he’s been doing on his homework assignments.”

You swept stray eraser bits littering the floor into a neat pile and then gathered them in a dustpan, pouring them into the trashcan Yayoi had dragged over for your convenience, thinking this over.

“I can try helping him,” you said. “You have badminton club today, right? So it’ll just be us two walking home. I can ask him if he wants me to explain it.”

Unlike the previous year, when both of your clubs had met on the same day, Yayoi’s badminton club meetings were now held on Thursdays. This was because the previous club supervisor had stepped down, and the sole teacher willing to fill the vacancy was only free on that day.

“Good luck with that,” Yayoi said.

“Tabito’s my buddy,” you said. “I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

Likely due to your closeness with Yayoi — you had been each other’s best friends for going on four years now, after all — you had built up some kind of relationship with her little brother, who was usually present whenever you went to see her. Most of the time it felt like he was your sibling, too, and certainly he was one of the few kids his age that you could tolerate without looking down on too much.

“Yayoi mentioned you’ve been having some trouble with long division,” you said that afternoon. It was a pleasant day, the vast blue of the sky unmarred by clouds, except for a few which were so fleecy and eggshell-pale that almost no one could be offended by them. The season was spring, and soon it would be unbearably hot, but for now, it was lovely and breezy and you were content with things as they were.

“She’s making it up,” Tabito said.

“Really? That’s great,” you said. “I always found long division super difficult. I had to have my parents explain it to me a few times before I got it.”

He eyed you warily. “You did? I thought you were good at school. Yayoi always says you’re the smartest person in your class.”

“I don’t know about being the smartest person in the class or anything, but I’m pretty good at school, yeah,” you said. “I mean, I always get full marks on my exams, don’t I? That’s because I don’t feel shy about asking for help when I need it. Isn’t it better to deal with problems when they first happen? Because if you wait too long, you’ll only get more and more lost; then, you’ll need even more help than if you had just gotten it out of the way at the start.”

“That’s true,” he said.

“If you don’t want Yayoi or your parents to help you, then I don’t mind doing it. We finished cleaning early in recess, so we got our homework done then, and my parents won’t mind if I stay at your house for a little bit,” you said.

“Okay!” he said eagerly. You were taken aback; you had fully believed that he’d take more convincing than just that, but here he was, as excited as anything, all but rejuvenated at the prospect. Perhaps it really was that relieving to be given the permission to ask for help as well as a method to receive it. “After you help me, can we play together?”

You didn’t necessarily want to play with him, but he said it with such wide, shimmery eyes that you could not help nodding in agreement. You weren’t quite sure what playing with him entailed, but you doubted it would be anything difficult, and you supposed you didn’t have much else to do that afternoon, so it wasn’t as if it was some great sacrifice.

Tabito and Yayoi’s grandmother was the only other one who was home at that time, so you and Tabito spread out your things on the dining table without worry, taking out pencils and graph paper so that you could discuss the issue at hand.

“What part are you having difficulty with?” you said.

“Um,” he said. You waited, but he only twirled his pencil in one hand, training his gaze on the blank sheet of paper.

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t explain it,” you said. “I won’t make fun of you.”

“You promise?” he said.

“Yes, I promise,” you said.

“All of it,” he said. “The teacher explained it too quickly.”

“That’s okay,” you said kindly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Here, I’ll show you, and if it’s too fast, then tell me so I know to slow down.”

Thankfully, he was quick on the uptake, and within a few minutes, he was able to complete the practice problems on his homework without any hassle or intervention from you. You were glad to see the ease with which he approached the things he had been struggling with only moments previously, finding that his success was also yours, in a way.

He continued working until his entire sheet was filled out, and then he snapped the book shut and shoved it back in his bag. You did the same, clearing the table of the mess you had made and packing your own bag with your supplies.

“You didn’t forget that you’re going to play with me, right?” he said. You put your folder into the back pocket of your backpack and shook your head.

“No, but I don’t want the table to be disorderly if your parents come back from work early or if your grandmother needs it for something,” you said. He seemed suspicious, snatching your bag from you once he could tell that you were finished putting everything into it.

“I’ll put it with mine,” he informed you. “You can take it once we’re done playing.”

“Uh, okay,” you said, bemused. He ran up the stairs, a backpack hanging off of each arm, and returned with the same speed he had left with, a net in his hands. You gave him a confused look at the odd choice in toys. “What’s that for?”

“It’s springtime, so we can catch bugs,” he said, unlatching the back door. You made a face, having no interest in bugs, but you had said that you’d play with him already, so with a sigh, you traipsed out into the Karasus’ backyard with him.

Fortunately, Tabito was pretty flexible with his definition of playing. He wandered around, capturing bugs and bringing them to you so you could see, but for the most part he left you to sit under one of their flowering trees, leaning against the trunk and closing your eyes in something that was not quite sleep but was very close to it.

The blossoms perfumed the air so that it was sweet and fresh, and the shadows of the tree-boughs were lacy and delicate on your face. Petals fell into your hair and against your skin, and a soft wind murmured through the grass, swearing a million hushed things to you, things that you could only decipher at this edge of consciousness.

You realized dreamily that it had been quite some time since you had been jostled awake by Tabito, who up until that point had been quite steadily displaying his catches — which were mostly of the mundane, garden variety — to you with great flourish. Wondering what he was doing, you fluttered your eyes open, only to find him standing a few steps in front of you, his net loose at his side, wearing an expression of awe the likes of which you had never seen on anyone before, least of all him. When you opened your mouth to ask him what he was doing, he shook his head rapidly.

“Shh,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll scare it.”

“What?” you said. “Scare what?”

“Oh, no,” he said as his statement came true, the butterfly which had been resting on your nose taking wing at the sound of your voice. You gasped, for you had thought the brush of its legs to be nothing but flowers shaken loose from their branches, and your hand flew to your face, fingers grazing over where it had been sitting only moments previously.

The butterfly had wings the same blue-violet color as Tabito’s eyes, framed with black and interspersed with pale spots. It floated away lazily and easily, dipping back towards you once before disappearing into the sky for good, flying somewhere far out of your reach. You both watched it go in silence — for some reason, it didn’t feel right to speak in that moment, as if you would interrupt something very sacred and precious if you did.

“That was a great purple emperor,” he said after a while. “Sasakia Charonda. It’s the national butterfly of Japan.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” you said, your heart racing, though you had no clue why.

“They usually stay up high,” he said. “That’s what the book Yayoi gave me said. Apparently, they only come down if they’re looking for food.”

“What do they like to eat?” you said. Insects were his interest at the moment; he jumped from topic to topic, reading as much as he could about one subject and then moving on to another when he grew bored. Yayoi found it frustrating when he began to talk about whatever he was fixated on at the moment, but you liked to indulge him when you could. After all, you would give anything to have someone who would listen to you, but if you could not have that, then you would at least like to be that person for another. For him.

“Sap and nectar and fruit juice, I think,” he said. “They prefer sweet things.”

You smiled. “It must have found me sweet, then, for it to have stayed there for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why, but his cheeks turned pink like the flowers blooming overhead, and then he spun on his heel and stormed inside without further response, leaving you to look back up at the sky and wonder if you’d ever see that butterfly again.

At twelve years old, you and Yayoi graduated elementary school alongside the rest of your peers. It was the biggest moment of your lives up until that point, a cause of terror as much as celebration. Junior high would be an entirely different experience than the one you had grown accustomed to, and the only consolation was that you both were attending the same one, so you would have each other’s company through the transition and beyond.

The graduation ceremony was short, with the principal giving a speech and then leading the parents in a round of applause for your achievements. Your mother and father sat beside Yayoi’s; Tabito was there, too, in between his grandmother and a man who bore a resemblance to your classmate Aoyama.

Tabito was ten now, and he was entirely contrary, doing the exact opposite of whatever he was told. It was especially so when the one telling him to do something was a person he was related to — namely, Yayoi, who frequently gave up and begged you to boss him around for her instead. He was less reluctant to follow your commands, though this might’ve been because you phrased them more as requests than anything.

He had not mentioned it outright, but given his amenability as of late, you sensed that he’d miss you and Yayoi once you began to attend junior high. It’d mean he was left alone, after all, left alone where once he had had you two as his companions. He was old enough now that you did not worry as much — if anyone tried to bother him the way they had when he was younger, you were assured that he’d manage them without breaking a sweat, but still, just because he did not need you and did not acknowledge it did not mean that he did not want you there.

His bored expression vanished when he met your eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting as he raised his hand in a shy wave. You could not wave back, not when you were supposed to maintain your composure onstage, but you dipped your chin ever-so-slightly in acknowledgement, scrunching your nose at him when you were sure your teacher was not looking.

As soon as the ceremony was completed, you filed off of the stage to meet your families outside. The moment your principal dismissed you, you took off towards your parents, leaping into your mother’s arms with a squeal.

“You did it!” she said.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” your father said, the lines of his face deepening from the force of his grin. “We’re so proud of you.”

“I can’t believe it,” you said. “Yayoi and I are going to go to middle school next year.”

“Both of you are going to do amazing,” your mother said.

“That’s for certain,” your father agreed. “Did you want to go talk to the Karasus? I’m sure that boy of theirs wants to say hi.”

They exchanged one of those looks that you were frustratingly aware of but could never interpret, and then they ushered you towards where Yayoi was standing with her family.

“Y/N!” Mrs. Karasu said when she noticed you. “Wonderful job, honey. We’re all so happy that you and Yayoi are going to continue to go to school together!”

“It’s true, we were just talking about it,” Mr. Karasu said. “It’s a lucky thing.”

“Isn’t it? And lucky for us, too, I’d say,” your father said. Mr. Karasu chuckled, slapping your father on the back in agreement. Thanks to you and Yayoi, your parents had become close, and indeed your fathers often claimed that they were each other’s ‘only friends.’ They were as glad as you were that you would not be split apart. After all, you doubted they could handle meeting new people and befriending them after so long together.

Your parents began to reminisce over the days when you and Yayoi were younger, and when you looked for Yayoi, you saw that she was talking to her grandmother, who she had always been close with. This left you to glance around in search of someone else to speak with yourself, though unfortunately, you soon came to the realization that there were not so many options.

“Y/N.” It was Tabito standing in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the pavement periodically, far more interested in the plumes of dust it created than anything, his head inclined towards his feet instead of at you. “Good job.”

“Thanks!” you said, glad to have a conversation partner. “It’ll be you, soon. Just two years! Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to the same junior high school as you, though.”

“That’s okay,” you said. “Even if you did, it would only be for one year, and then we’d be graduating again. You should make the choice based on what’s right for you, not where Yayoi and I are.”

“What happens if you and Yayoi don’t go to high school together?” he said.

“Why are you already thinking about us going to high school? That’s so far away,” you said.

“I just wanna know,” he said. “Will you stop being friends with her?”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “I’d have no reason to. Besides, if that happens, we’ll already have been friends for over nine years. It’s hard to abandon someone you’ve known for that long. Why do you ask? Are you worried that you’ll lose your friends when you graduate? You shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t want you to stop being friends with Yayoi,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“You try to act all cool, but you’re actually a really caring little brother, you know,” you said. “It’s sweet of you to worry about her, but it’ll take a lot more than attending different schools to break us apart, and even if something like that happens, she’ll easily make more friends, so it’s no cause to stress.”

“That’s not—”

“L/N, hey!”

Whatever Tabito was going to say was cut off by the arrival of your fellow art club member, Aoyama. He grabbed you in a hug before you could react, squeezing you in a vice grip that was impossible to escape from. You patted him on the back awkwardly until he let you go, though his fingers remained on your upper arms and he stayed leaning close to you.

“Hey, Aoyama,” you said. “Congrats on graduating.”

“You, too,” he said. “Oh, who’s this?”

“Yayoi’s little brother,” you said. Aoyama squinted at Tabito before nodding.

“I can see it — there’s definitely a resemblance. Hi, little Karasu! I’m Aoyama. I’ve been in the same class as your older sister and L/N here for the past few years,” he said. The way he introduced himself made it seem as if the three of you were particularly close, but indeed, other than your weekly art club meetings, neither you nor Yayoi had interacted much with the boy in the past couple of years.

“Hi,” Tabito said stiffly.

“He’s two years younger than us,” you added, in an attempt to smooth over Tabito’s surliness.

“That’s it?” Aoyama said. “He looks so small.”

“I’m not small!” Tabito said, but considering how much shorter he was than you and Aoyama, it wasn’t that convincing. He must’ve realized this, as his face grew red and his shoulders dropped, his lips drawing into a childish pout.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” Aoyama said. “Yayoi’s pretty tiny, too.”

“Well, it was good to see you, Aoyama,” you said, sensing that the conversation might take a turn for the worse very soon. “We should probably get back to our families, so…”

“No problem! See you next year?” he said.

You had forgotten that Aoyama, too, would be attending the same junior high as you and Yayoi, along with a handful of your other classmates. Nodding slightly and placing a hand on Tabito’s shoulder to steer him towards Yayoi, you waved at Aoyama.

“See you next year! Let’s go, Tabito,” you said.

There was a sullen quality to the stomp of his feet, but until Aoyama was out of earshot, he did not say anything to explain it. The moment the boy was gone, though, Tabito was whirling to face you, looking up at you plaintively.

“Do you think I’m small?” he demanded. It seemed his pride, which he guarded so fiercely, had been wounded by Aoyama’s comment. Even if you found it silly, it wasn’t unreasonable when you thought about it, so you did not make fun of him.

“Of course, right now you are,” you said. “It’s only natural. Eventually, you’ll grow, and then you won’t be.”

“I’ll be super tall when I’m an adult,” he said. “Taller than that guy.”

“Aoyama?” you said.

“Whatever his name is,” he said. “I’ll be taller than him, and — and — and better at soccer, too!”

“He doesn’t play soccer, so you’re already better than him at it,” you said. “Even if he did, though, I bet you wouldn’t have to try to beat him. You’re really good.”

He grunted. “Thanks.”

Though he tried to disguise it, it was obvious that he was pleased by the compliment. There was a spring to his step and a sparkle to his eyes as you rejoined your families, and you knew that you had once again succeeded in cheering him up, as you often took it upon yourself to do.

During your next summer term break, Yayoi insisted on going to the pool with you. She had heard that the next unit in your Physical Education class was going to be swimming, so even though you had not been assigned the practice as a requirement, she wanted to take advantage of your natural aptitude at the activity and get some time in so that she wasn’t behind.

“What’s your secret?” she nagged you as you, she, and Tabito walked towards your junior high school’s main building. Because of the swimming club, the pool was left open year-round, and even outside of practices, members of the student body were allowed to utilize the pool for their own reasons. Tabito wasn’t a student, but since he was with you and Yayoi, there was a high likelihood that nobody would even notice; besides, hardly anyone ever used the pool at this hour, so all in all there wouldn’t be any issues.

“Secret to what?” you said.

“Being so good at swimming! I can’t believe you didn’t join the club,” she said.

“It’s just something I like doing for fun. If I had to do it for the school club, I’d probably end up hating it,” you said. “Anyways, I don’t know. There’s no secret to it. I just get in the water and do what the teachers tell us to.”

Even in elementary school, you had been given rudimentary swim lessons as a part of your Physical Education class, but middle school would take those lessons to a far more brutal extent, at least according to Yayoi’s sources from the badminton club. You weren’t worried, but whatever information she had heard from her upperclassmen had terrified her enough that she was convinced you needed to spend every spare minute you had in the water.

“That’s what I do, but it looks so much easier when you do it,” she said, scanning her student card and motioning for you and Tabito to follow her through the open door.

“I don’t know. Things always look easier when you’re watching another person do them,” you said. “I’m sure it’s just as hard for me as it is for you.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Do you like swimming, Tabito?” you said, taking off your shirt and pants, adjusting the straps of your bathing suit, which had twisted on the way to the pool. He had remained oddly quiet the entire time that you and Yayoi had been talking, which was out of character, considering he had been the one to insist on coming with you two.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I haven’t done it much before, so I don’t know.”

“Tabito’s afraid of the water,” Yayoi said. “He always cries when we go to the beach.”

“I don’t! Stop making things up, Yayoi,” he said. She snickered, already halfway down the stairs leading to the shallow end, the water licking around her thighs as she flopped backwards into the pool. As you had predicted, there was no one else there, so you had the entire area to yourselves, allowing you to be less focused in your efforts. Yayoi floated down the lane on her back, not even bothering to kick, her dark hair fanning out in a curtain around her waist, looking akin to a pair of unfurled wings fluttering in the wind.

“You so do,” she said. “I don’t know why you begged to come with us. I bet you won’t even go in the water, you chicken.”

“I am not a chicken!” he snapped, trailing after you like a shadow as you made your way over to the deep end.

“You definitely are,” Yayoi said. “Chicken, chicken!”

“Come on, Yayoi, that’s enough,” you said, stretching your arms and preparing to dive in. “It’s okay. He doesn’t have to swim if he doesn’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of the water, especially not given that he’s still in primary school.”

Tabito puffed his cheeks out. “I’m not scared of the water. Only babies are, and I’m not a baby. I’m gonna swim just like you.”

“How about we do it together, then?” you bargained. Although Yayoi liked to tease Tabito, she would not lie or make things up solely to bully him, which meant that he really was frightened of the water. And if that was the case, then it’d be foolish of you to leave him alone, especially if he couldn’t even swim, the way she had been hinting he could not.

“That sounds good,” he said. You took his hand in between yours, interlocking your fingers with his tightly, so there was no chance that he’d accidentally let go, and then you leapt into the pool, pulling him after you. He let out a shriek at the suddenness, but then you hit the water and he was cut off by the cold temperature and the tangy, burning taste of chlorine.

A rush of bubbles surrounded you, the coruscating clear-blue obscuring your vision, but even before they could burst away into nothingness, you were pushing off the pool floor, dragging Tabito behind you until you reached the surface and he could gasp for breath.

His legs wrapped around your waist as your own churned the water, treading it to keep the both of you afloat, and his fingers clawed at your shoulders, digging them into your skin hard enough to bruise. When he tucked his cheek to your pulse, you noticed that his breaths were coming in harsh, short pants, his entire frame trembling against yours.

“Tabito,” you said gently. “You’ll have to let go so I can swim to the shallow end.”

“I can’t,” he said. “If I let go, I’ll drown.”

“If you don’t let go, we’ll both drown,” you said. “I’m not strong enough to keep treading water forever, and I don’t think Yayoi could save us both if it came to it.”

You weren’t worried yet, but it was true that at some point, you’d get tired, and then you’d be in trouble. Yet you also knew you had to be soft, for it seemed his fear was far more paralyzing than you had anticipated, and if he began to genuinely panic, then he might accidentally drown you both.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his face hidden in the hollow of your collarbone. “I am scared.”

“I know,” you said, using one hand to stroke along his bony spine, the other swishing back and forth to assist your efforts in staying above the surface. “But sometimes, you still have to do things, even when you’re afraid.”

“I can’t do it, though,” he sniffed. “I can’t at all.”

“Is everything okay?” Yayoi shouted from the shallow end.

“It’s fine!” you called back, knowing that Tabito might rather drown than let her know of this weakness. “Tabito, listen, I’m not going to let you go. Even if you let go of me, I won’t do the same. Do you trust me when I say that?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“Then prove it and leave me,” you said.

Slowly, almost painstakingly, he removed his arms from around you and drew his legs back. For the briefest moment, he was floating by himself, but before he could begin to flail around out of fear, you grabbed his arm, taking him along beside you as you swam to the shallow end where Yayoi was waiting.

As soon as he was able to stand, Tabito sprinted out of the pool, splashing up the stairs, shivering as he made a beeline for where his towel was waiting. You and Yayoi watched as he flopped into one of the chairs, curling up and draping the towel over his shoulders.

“Well, I guess he spent more time in the water than I expected,” Yayoi allowed. “That was a surprise.”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders, which had tightened from the burden you had carried along the length of the pool. “He’s braver than you give him credit for.”

“Maybe around you,” Yayoi said. “I think he just wants to impress you, since you’re older and cooler.”

“It could be,” you said. “Though I doubt it. He’s known me for too long to think of me as worthy of impressing. It’s probably just because I’m nicer to him than you.”

“That’s just because you don’t see him every day. Trust me, if you did, you’d be even meaner than me. I’m told I’m quite patient,” she said. You flicked water at her.

“Our resident saint, Yayoi Karasu,” you said. She flicked water back at you with a mock-scowl.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and then it was an all out war as the two of you endeavored to soak the other, forgetting about anything more important than the newfound game and the happiness it brought you.

When it finally came time for Tabito to graduate elementary school, there was a sort of melancholy in the air, though by all rights it should’ve been an exciting time. You had been asked to come to the ceremony by Yayoi, though she had confessed that it had been her brother who had actually wanted you there but was too shy to ask directly, and almost as soon as you sat down, you were aware of that feeling settled over all of the Karasus, even Tabito himself, though he was so far away on the stage.

Perhaps for their parents and grandmother, it was because their youngest was at this milestone. Never again would they have a child in elementary school; now, both of the siblings were older, nearer to adulthood than anything, but you doubted that that fact was congruent with the images they held of them as helpless infants. Even for you, it was peculiar to see Tabito standing on that stage when you still at times thought of him as that four year old boy who played with trains, so you assumed the effect was tenfold for his parents and grandmother, who had raised him since birth.

You weren’t so sure that it was the same for Yayoi, who had a different sort of glumness about her. She was sad for another reason, and as the principal droned on about the class’s achievements, you leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“What’s got you down?” you said.

“I’m not down,” she muttered. She would’ve fooled any other person, but you were not any other person, so you only elbowed her in the side.

“Yayoi,” you said under your breath in a sing-song voice. “Are you sad about Tabito graduating?”

“Why would I be sad about that?” she said.

“You tell me,” you said.

“It’s just hard to wrap my head around,” she said. “I always complain about him following me around and bothering me, but it’s just hitting me now that he probably won’t do that very much anymore. He’s going to go to a different middle school and make friends and want nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t think he’d do that,” you reassured her. “He’ll be less annoying about it, but he won’t just abandon you, at least not before you do the same to him. He’s bad at letting go of things unless you force him to.”

“I’d never abandon him,” she said.

“It’s not that you’d abandon him, but just think about it. In four years we’ll be headed to university, and he’ll still be in high school. Isn’t that kind of like you leaving him first?” you said.

“I don’t want to think about that,” she said after a minute.

“I get it,” you said. “It’s weird for me as well. Not him, but what if you and I don’t go to the same high school or university? What will I do without you?”

The changing of the seasons was what weighed on Yayoi, and consequently, on you. Tabito’s graduation was a reminder that the years did not stop for anyone, that you were all growing older with every passing day, and that one day things would not be so simple, the way they were right now. Of course, that day was far away, but then again, there had been a time when the day that Tabito left primary school, too, had been far away, and yet here you were, arriving upon it so soon.

The end of the ceremony was familiar to you, but this time you were on the opposite side, standing amongst the parents as they waited for their children to join them. You stood on your tiptoes, peering over Mr. Karasu’s shoulder in an attempt to spot Tabito when he came out. There wasn’t anyone else in his class who you knew; you had gone solely for him, and so it was only he who you searched for, counting the heads until he appeared.

He was one of the last ones to come out, talking to a few of his friends, though they all peeled off in different directions as they grew closer to you. Finally, by the time he reached the area where you, his parents, grandmother, and Yayoi were waiting, he was by himself, his hands shoved in his pockets as he braced himself for your reactions.

“Come here, Tabito,” his grandmother said, embracing him as tightly as she could given her frail body. “You’ve worked so hard, my grandson. You deserve everything good that’s bound to come your way.”

“Thank you, grandmother,” he said. There was this one thing about him — no matter how he acted around his peers, no one could ever say that he disrespected his elders, which was not always the case with those his age.

“How do you feel? You’re officially a middle schooler now!” Mr. Karasu said once his grandmother had let him go.

“Good,” he said. He was obviously squirmy and embarrassed at everyone’s attention being focused on him, so his mother only kissed him atop the head before releasing him to speak with you and Yayoi.

“Good going, Tabito,” Yayoi said, offering him her hand. He shook it firmly, much more at ease now that it was just the three of you. It was so typical as to be normal, despite the less-than-ordinary circumstances of the meeting, so it was impossible for any of you to be awkward.

“Thanks, Yayoi,” he said. She scoffed, making a big show of wiping her hand against her pants, which Tabito only rolled his eyes at.

“Whatever. Don’t forget that I’m going to a better junior high school than you, okay?” she said.

“It’s not my fault that your school’s soccer club sucks!” he said. “I’d have gone there if I could’ve.”

“More like you couldn’t get in,” she said. “Because you’re super stupid. I can’t believe you even managed to graduate in the first place. In fact, I only even congratulated you because I was so surprised by that fact.”

“Stupid? You’re the stupid one!” Tabito said.

“Nuh-uh, you didn’t even understand long division until Y/N explained it to you!” Yayoi said.

“That’s the only thing I was ever confused by, and I understood it as soon as she told me how to!” he said.

“Well, that just means Y/N’s a good teacher. It has nothing to do with how smart you are,” she said. You laughed.

“To be sure, I’m a good teacher, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. It’s his graduation, so we should be nice to him for today, don’t you think, Yayoi?” you said. She pouted.

“Just for today, I guess,” she said. “Fine. You’re not that stupid, Tabito.”

“You’re not that stupid, either,” he said. Coming from them, this was actually a stunning declaration of fraternal love, and you were taken aback that you had inspired it. However, upon further consideration, you supposed everyone was feeling sentimental by that point, so it wasn’t too hard to tease out.

“How far is your new school?” you asked him in an attempt to change the subject.

“Pretty far,” he said. “They have the best soccer club in the area, though, so it only makes sense for me to go there.”

“Are you going to have to try out?” you said.

“Of course. It’s not a guarantee I’ll get to play at all, especially in my first year, but just the fact that the chance is there is enough,” he said.

“That’s intense,” you said. You had stayed with the art club all throughout middle school, and though it was conducted with the same stringency as the sports clubs, there wasn’t as much of a competitive aspect to it. Anyone who wanted to join was allowed to, as long as they abided by the rules and regulations of the club, and such concepts as ‘trying-out’ were foreign to you outside of the stories Yayoi told you about her misadventures with badminton.

“It’s how it is in all sports clubs,” he said.

“True,” Yayoi said. “Remember my first year in the badminton club? It’ll be like that, only to a greater extent, since his school is known for soccer, so the club will be way more popular.”

“I don’t know how you guys do it. I could never; having to try out and possibly being denied the chance to do something I love would stress me out way too much,” you said. “But hey, Tabito, when you do get in — because I’m sure you will — invite us to your games so we can cheer you on, alright?”

“You’d really want to watch me?” he said.

“Why not?” you said. “I’m sure it’d be fun.”

“Eh,” Yayoi said. “Don’t be too sure. The games are kinda boring, to tell you the truth.”

“Nobody said you had to come!” Tabito said, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

“It’s not like I’d leave Y/N to suffer on her own just because she wants to be a supportive older-sister-figure. Obviously, I’d go,” she said.

“Aw, you’re the best, Yayoi,” you said.

“I try,” she said.

“Although, it’s kind of crazy that you’d go to support me but not him, when he’s the one actually related to you,” you pointed out.

“That’s because I like you more,” she said. “Not too crazy.”

“What happened to being nice to him on his graduation day?” you reminded her.

“Sorry,” she said automatically. “It had to be said, though.”

“Whatever,” Tabito said. “I don’t care if you’re there or not.”

“Wow, I see how it is,” she said.

“Just keep me posted,” you said. “As long as I’m not busy, I’ll go for sure.”

“I’ll tell you the moment I make the team. You’ll be the first person to know,” he said.

“Not even our parents?” Yayoi said.

“Obviously I wasn’t counting them!”

Either he was more talented than he let on, or more determined than the rest of his classmates, but regardless, mere months after the next school year began, you picked up a phone call that came from Yayoi’s phone but was made by another person entirely.

“Hello?” you said.

“Hello, Y/N? It’s Tabito. I’m using Yayoi’s phone to call you because I don’t have one of my own,” he said.

“Hi, Tabito. What’s up?” you said, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you filled out a worksheet for your science class.

“I made it onto the soccer team,” he said. The tone was casual, but there was energy brimming behind it, so you knew he was likely rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement.

“No way! As just a first year?” you said.

“Yeah, I’m the youngest member of the team. The others are all second and third years,” he said.

“That’s amazing! I knew you could do it,” you said.

“I was pretty nervous, but I just did the best I could at tryouts, and I guess they thought I fit in well with the team,” he said.

“Of course you do,” you said.

“So,” he said. “Our first game is in two weeks. On Saturday. Are you busy that day?”

“I don’t think so. I’m usually free on Saturdays, especially if I’m good about doing my homework on time,” you said.

“Will you come?” he said, spitting it out like it was something boiling and acidic on his tongue.

“To your game? Yeah, I already promised I would, didn’t I? Just send me the address and I’ll be there,” you said.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “See you later. And seriously, you should be proud of yourself. Getting into the club at your age is awesome.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll have Yayoi send you the address so you can meet her there. Um, but only if you want to.”

“I do want to,” you assured him. “Promise. Bye, Tabito.”

The day of the game was brisk and windy, almost like winter but not quite as punishing — the kind of weather where you could still just as easily grow too hot as too cold. All of the trees lining the street were bursting with colors other than the typical viridian, their leaves glimmering in the afternoon sunlight like ruby-studded crowns of gold which cascaded through the air with every passing breeze. There was a hint of loneliness in the piles of browning foliage littering the sidewalk, which meant that, in short, it was Tabito’s favorite kind of day. You hoped that it was a good omen for his first game.

Yayoi was waiting for you by the bottom of the bleachers, playing with the frayed ends of the pale blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She was wearing a cable-knit sweater, a pair of jeans that were loose around her ankles, and once-white shoes which had long ago been ruined by purple ink and too much free time.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said. She glanced up at you and then smiled slightly in greeting.

“No worries, you’re not late at all. I just came early because I walked with Tabito and he had to be here in time to warm up,” she said.

“If you get here so early every time, then I can see why you get bored of watching his games,” you said.

“I guess maybe that’s on me,” she allowed. “Where do you want to sit? If we’re closer to the field, we can see better, but there’s a greater chance we’ll get hit by a stray ball.”

“How about three rows back? That should be enough of a buffer that we don’t get hurt, but we’ll be able to see everything that happens,” you said.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said.

The metal benches were icy when you first sat on them, and you pulled your cardigan tighter around you to ward away the chill which seeped through your entire body from the point of contact. Yayoi, who was nearly as observant as her brother, offered you her scarf when she noticed, but you shook your head in a silent rejection.

The two of you talked about random, mindless things while you waited for the game to begin — how your classes were going, the latest gossip at your school, which high schools you were planning to apply for, and other such topics. They were the same subjects you went over every time you hung out, and for a moment you forgot that you had another purpose for meeting beyond just enjoying one another’s company.

Then the referee blew the whistle, effectively cutting off your conversation and bringing the impending game back to your collective attention. The gathered spectators, who were mostly parents and other students that attended Tabito’s junior high school, broke into applause as the teams took the field for the kickoff. You did the same, though both you and Yayoi made sure to applaud extra hard when Tabito jogged up with the others.

“Do you know what position he plays?” you said.

“Back in elementary school, he was the striker, but I doubt they’d give that role to a first year,” she said. “He’ll have to work up to it, I’m sure. He’s probably in the midfield for now.”

“I don’t really know what that means,” you admittedly sheepishly.

“I guess you could think of midfielders as the in-between men? Before, he was on pure offense, so his job was to stay up and score whenever possible, and then of course there’s players who prefer to be on defense, which means they aim to stop the opposite team from making goals. Midfielders have to be fluid, though, since they’re responsible for the middle portion of the field — ah, hence the name. Depending on who has the ball, they have to either go on offense or stay back on defense, which means they need to be equally as skilled at both,” she said.

“But then why would they put an inexperienced player in such a spot?” you said.

“It’s a pretty forgiving position, surprisingly. If you mess up as a midfielder, you have a buffer of offensive and defensive players on either side of you, so it’s likely that someone will be able to recover for the error, but if you’re up on top at offense or near the goal on defense, then there’s no one beyond you, so mistakes are more costly,” she explained.

“I get it now,” you said. “Sorry if that was a dumb thing to be asking so many questions about.”

“Not at all,” she said. “It can be confusing, especially when you don’t know much about the game. You should ask Tabito to explain everything to you if you plan on becoming a soccer fan; he can go on and on about it. My knowledge is pretty surface level and also entirely dependent on whatever he’s told me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

“Ooh, look, they’re starting!” Yayoi said, pointing at the field, where indeed the game had exploded into action, players darting back and forth, shoving one another aside as they reached for the ball. As she had predicted, Tabito stayed towards the middle of the field, surveying the players fighting over the ball, and though he wasn’t anywhere near the thick of things, you found yourself far more interested in him than the others.

What did he see when he was on the field? It was something you’d never really get to understand. What was it like in the heat of a match, where every single movement was the difference between win or lose — in essence, between life or death? You wondered what kind of person he became when he played soccer, if it was the sort of experience that changed one’s character or if you were just ascribing fantastical aspects to it because you couldn’t live through it yourself.

The game went on at a breakneck speed, and frequently, by the time you asked Yayoi what was happening, the play had ended and a new strategy had already been implemented. It was difficult to keep up with but no less exciting for your lack of comprehension, and at least it was easy to keep track of the score, for the goals needed no explanation.

By the time that the second half was all but over, the score was tied. You thought about asking Yayoi what’d happen if it ended like that, but based on the way she was leaning forward in her seat and biting her nails, you doubted it was anything good.

Entirely by chance or perhaps by choice, the ball rolled to a stop at Tabito’s feet. For the entire game, he had been flitting around the action, never cutting in despite how he must’ve ached to, and now he was being given a chance to prove himself, a chance to change the course of the match entirely. Your heart pounded, though nowhere near as fiercely as his own must’ve, and somehow your hand sought out Yayoi’s, the racing pulse in your wrist crushing against hers, which was equally as quick.

In the moment that the side of Tabito’s foot brushed against the ball, there was a rebirth which occurred. He came alive in an instant, like a hawk which had finally swooped upon its prey, talons digging into a tender neck and rending through the soft flesh, wings spreading in an ominous shadow over the unassuming creature that he was bound to devour.

The other team did not stand a chance. He cut through them in a way that almost felt mocking, slamming his hands against their chests to push them away, keeping them at an arm’s length as he flew past, his eyes constantly scanning the area around him, trusting his feet to take care of the ball, which stayed by him with the loyalty of a hound. It was a terrible and yet beautiful thing to take in, the cruelty of his play-style; you could not reconcile it with the sweet boy you knew, yet neither could you tear your eyes away from that sly, vicious force as it darkened the field.

His goal was punctuated with the whistle of the game’s end. For a moment, he stood there alone, staring at the ball rolling out of the net, sending up sprays of turf when it bounced against the ground, and then he was tackled by his teammates, all of whom were shouting praises as they piled atop him.

“I can’t believe he scored the winning goal!” Yayoi said, tugging you to your feet. “Come on, let’s go congratulate him!”

“Are we allowed to?” you said.

“Mm, not if this was an actual game, but considering it was just a practice match between two middle schools, no one will care,” she said, vaulting over the short fence separating the field from the seating area and helping you do the same.

“If you say so,” you said.

All of the players were congregated by their coach, who was delivering an inspirational speech about their teamwork and how wonderful they were, so you and Yayoi hung back until they were dismissed. After that, you snuck up on Tabito, who was taking off his cleats, and Yayoi thumped him on the back.

“Boo!” she said. He squealed, and it was a high-pitched, girlish sound which had Yayoi cackling with laughter as she squished his cheeks together in one hand.

“Yayoi!” he said, though his voice was muffled, his mouth resembling a fish’s. “Let go of me!”

“I can’t bear to! My baby brother, the hero of the match,” Yayoi said. “It’s unbelievable. As exciting as if I was the one to score the winning goal.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t,” he said, using his shoulder to get her off of him so he could tie the laces of his sneakers.

“Wow, way to take away from my fun,” she said. “And here I was, trying to be proud of you.”

“Whatever,” he said. “What did you think, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, two of Tabito’s older teammates, one of whom was wearing a captain’s armband, appeared behind him. They were probably your age, towering over little Tabito, with handsome faces and the beginnings of sleek muscles swelling in their arms and legs.

“Hi,” the captain said to you. “You’re super pretty.”

You had never been approached so boldly, and certainly not by anyone so good-looking. Your cheeks warmed, and you fought back a smile.

“Hi,” you said. “Thanks. You played really well.”

You couldn’t quite remember how he had played, actually, for you had spent most of the game looking at Tabito, but you assumed it wouldn’t hurt for you to compliment him back, and mentioning the game was a safe enough way to do so. He seemed to appreciate it, laughing loudly, though you hadn’t said anything particularly funny.

“I’m glad you thought so!” he said. “We tried out a new strategy, and we weren’t sure it’d work, but thanks to Tabito here, it ended up for the best.”

“That’s great,” you said, directing your words to both of them, though the other teammate, who seemed to be less outgoing than his captain, was too busy staring at Yayoi to notice.

“How d’you know this shrimp, anyways?” the captain said, throwing an arm around the disgruntled Tabito’s shoulders. Tabito’s expression, which had already soured with the captain’s arrival, only warped more at the friendly display, his lip curling like he had tasted spoiled milk.

“He’s my little brother, and she’s my best friend,” Yayoi offered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“We came to support him at his first game!” you said. “He’s been super excited about getting the chance to play, so there was no way we couldn’t come.”

“As far as first years go, he’s definitely one of the best. I’m confident he’ll be taking my spot once he’s old enough for it,” the captain said. “I can’t name a single kid his age who’s as talented or hardworking.”

“He gets it from his older sister,” Yayoi joked. The captain grinned at her.

“I’m sure he does,” he said. “Look, I’m going to be plain with you: my friend and I were wondering if we could get your numbers and maybe—”

“We have to go now,” Tabito said, cutting off the captain, who gave him a surprised look. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he crossed his arms at you and Yayoi. “My mom will get mad at us if we’re late.”

“No, she won’t,” Yayoi said, furrowing her brow. “Since when has she cared about how late we are getting home?”

“Yes, she will!” he insisted. “She told me before we left that we have to be back before sunset or else we’ll be in big trouble.”

The captain raised his hands in the air. “No worries. Come to another game and we can catch up then, alright? There’s no point in risking getting in trouble.”

“Sure, that sounds cool,” you said.

“Nice meeting you,” he said.

“Yeah, nice meeting you,” the other teammate echoed, speaking for the first time, his face immediately turning bright red when Yayoi glanced at him.

“See you around,” she said. You thought that you heard the boy squeak, but you couldn’t quite tell. “Alright, Tabito, let’s go, then. Since apparently we’ll be in such big trouble if we’re not on time. Whatever that means.”

She didn’t roll her eyes, but it was implied in the rise and fall of her voice. Tabito ignored her, trotting off towards the exit, forcing you both to follow after him without further delay.

Once you were all on the road towards the Karasu household, Yayoi pulled out her phone, holding it out to her younger brother threateningly.

“I’m going to call mom, and if it turns out you were lying, I’m — I’m — I’m going to be really upset! You made us miss out on a chance to get dates, so if you were just making stuff up, then I’ll kill you for sure!” she said, speeding ahead of you so she could talk uninterrupted. Tabito shifted closer to you, a small frown on his face, not bothering to respond to Yayoi’s threat. You waited for him to say something; he confided in you often, expressing things to you which he dared not discuss with his sister, and you did not doubt that he would take advantage of the moment of solitude to speak his mind to you.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said after a moment of walking at your side.

“Tell you what?” you said.

“What you thought,” he said. “You told the captain he played well, but what about me?”

“I assumed it would be a given,” you said. “Of course, naturally I thought you were wonderful, Tabito. You were the best player out there.”

“Better than the captain?” he said. You beckoned him closer, cupping your hands around his ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whispered. He nodded eagerly. “I don’t really know how the captain played. I just said that he was good to be nice to him, as he was nice to me, but the truth is that even when you didn’t have the ball, I couldn’t help but watch you the entire time.”

“Really?” he said.

“Really,” you said, nodding at him quite seriously. “I came to support you, didn’t I? Why would I bother with the other players?”

Any traces of his earlier vexation vanished in an instant. As you had suspected, he had been upset that you and Yayoi had ignored him in favor of the charming older players when he had been the one to invite you in the first place. Thankfully, he was easy to read and easier to placate, and anyways he never held grudges for very long, so he quickly cheered as if he had never been angry at all.

“Y/N, can I ask you one more thing before Yayoi comes back?” he said, looking over at his sister, who was speaking quite furiously to who you could only imagine was their mother.

“You can always ask me anything,” you said. “Go ahead.”

“Your phone number,” he said.

“What about it?” you said, puzzled. He avoided your eyes, kicking apart a pile of leaves and gazing at them as they plumed into the air.

“I want it,” he said. You gave him an amused look.

“You don’t even have a phone, Tabito. What would you do with my number?” you said.

“I’ll remember it,” he said, picking up a leaf and tearing it apart into many small pieces.

“Is that so?” you said. It was a ridiculous request, and you doubted he’d be able to follow through on that kind of promise, but you figured there was no harm in telling him. So you listed off the digits of your phone number, slowly and carefully, as he nodded along and told you he really would never forget them.

“Tabito!” Yayoi shrieked, sprinting towards you two at full pace. Tabito yelped and hid behind you as his sister, who was hardly ever so intimidating, came closer and closer, her countenance dark and a malevolent aura rolling off of her in waves. “Explain yourself, punk! Why’d mom tell me she said nothing like the crap you were spouting earlier? What’s the big idea, huh?”

“Oh, it’s alright, Yayoi,” you said. “I’m sure it was weird for him to watch his own teammates flirting with his older sister and her friend. That has to be some kind of murky territory or something. What if it didn’t work out and then they bullied him because of that? I don’t blame him for trying to get out of the situation.”

She huffed. “You’re lucky Y/N’s here. One day she won’t be there to defend you, and then you’ll really be sorry!”

Tabito stood on his tiptoes to peek over your shoulder and stuck his tongue out at her. Scowling, she returned the gesture in kind, blowing a raspberry at him before grabbing your hand and yanking you away with her.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s leave this loser to walk by himself.”

You chuckled and freed your hand from her grasp, which was a Herculean feat given that she had a grip made of iron, and then you looped your arm through her own.

“Alright, Yayoi,” you said. “Let’s do that.”

Later that night, as you wrapped up the last of your homework for the weekend, your cell phone lit up with an incoming call. Setting down your pencil, you picked up the phone and saw it was from the Karasus’ home phone — which was odd, because ever since Yayoi had gotten a cellphone of her own, she had called you from that, so it had been quite some time since you had seen that particular contact pop up.

“Hi, Yayoi,” you said. “Did your phone die or something?”

There was a pause. Then: “This isn’t Yayoi. It’s Tabito. I told you I’d remember your number.”

“Tabito?” you said. “Well, good job with that.”

“I wrote it down as soon as I got home,” he said. “Once I get my own phone, I’ll make you my first contact.”

“Me? Not your parents or Yayoi? Or one of your other friends from school?” you said, snickering. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I want it to be you.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. Maybe in some way, your friendship with Yayoi had transferred to him; after all, you had been the first number she inputted once she got a new phone, and you were also the first person she gave her personal number to, so maybe that kind of tradition had stayed with him and, in a typical sibling manner, became something he wanted to replicate. “You do that, then. And you can text me directly when you have games so I can come to them.”

“Actually, I also wanted to tell you that you don’t have to watch any more games where I’m not doing anything. When I’m in high school and I’m the captain of a really good team, then you can come,” he said.

“I don’t mind if you’re not doing much. The game today was fun. I got to hang out with Yayoi and meet your teammates,” you said.

“I don’t want you there anymore, so don’t come!” he said.

“Goodness. I won’t, then,” you said. “But that means you really have to work hard, because even if you invite me, I’ll only attend if you’re the captain of the team.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll be a way better captain than the one I have right now.”

“Sure,” you said.

“Okay,” he said. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye,” you said, hanging up, finding a great humor in his competitive mindset, which even reared its head against his own captain, who he was meant to respect above all else.

Somehow, by chance or by fate, both you and Yayoi had the same top high school, and furthermore, you both received offers of admission despite how selective it was. The only other person from your middle school who was accepted was Aoyama, which you only knew because he told you one day during art club.

Both his artistic skills and his appearance had improved markedly since the two of you had first met; though he had never managed to master calligraphy or watercolor painting, he had discovered a talent for making scenes come alive with the use of a simple pencil. It was admirable, that with solely shades of gray he was able elicit images of color, and as he had grown older, he had also mellowed into someone you did not mind speaking to, so when you discovered that he was going to high school with you and Yayoi, you were surprised to find that you were actually a little happy about that fact.

Despite his obvious aptitude for sports — he was tall and sturdily built, with long limbs and a wide torso — he had denied every athletic club which attempted to recruit him, staying loyal to the art club despite how hard he had to work at keeping up with the rest of you. And because you and he had been in the same club for years upon years and the same school for longer, you supposed that it was inevitable for some kind of relationship to blossom between the two of you, which was why it was all but a foregone conclusion when he asked you out, the winter of your first year of high school.

It wasn’t the most romantic proposal. In fact, it was rushed and harried and fumbling, altogether messy and unplanned, but endearing in a way. You had been walking home from an art club meeting when you passed by the park where he had had a birthday party, so many years ago, and then he was pulling you over to the slides and sitting you down at the foot of one. You were motionless as he paced back and forth, trying to muster up the courage and the words to say to you, and then finally he just spat it out, all in a jumble. Will you go out with me?

You saw no reason to say no, so you said yes. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, and his lips were cold like the weather, but you did not complain, because he could not help it. And then he sprinted off and left you sitting there, at the edge of the red plastic slide in that desolate playground, the wind pushing the empty swings the way you had once pushed Tabito.

Aoyama was a fine boyfriend, or at least you thought he was; you had no experience with any others, so of course you could not say for certain, but in your opinion, he did as well of a job as he could be expected to. He held your hand when you walked together and took you on dates and kissed you in private — never in public, though, because you hated the idea, even if he would’ve liked to very much.

“I don’t get what your problem is,” you said, pressing a button on your controller to send a red shell flying. It connected with Yayoi’s character, and your own avatar, Princess Daisy, pumped her fist in celebration as you shot past the dismayed Rosalina.

“Don’t have one,” she said, shaking her remote in a futile effort to reawaken Rosalina. The character remained stunned for a second more before rejoining the race.

“Every time I bring up Aoyama, you stop talking and get all standoffish,” you said. “You obviously do have a problem. Is it because I keep talking about my boyfriend? I’m sorry if I’ve been doing that. I don’t want to be one of those people.”

“You don’t talk about him a ton,” she said, using a power up to speed through a shortcut, ramming your character out of the way to snag first place at the last minute.

“Okay, but something about him annoys you. What is it? I can’t fix a problem if I don’t even know it exists,” you said.

There was a set of thudding footsteps, and then Tabito, freshly showered from a game, peeked his head into the living room, batting his eyelashes at you in an attempt to seem sweet and innocent.

“Are you guys playing Mario Kart?” he said.

“What’s it to you?” Yayoi said.

“I want to, too,” he said. “Can I?”

“We were kind of talking about something,” you said. You weren’t sure if Yayoi would discuss the subject in front of her little brother, but it had been bothering you for long enough that you wanted to get things out in the open once and for all.

“It’s fine,” Yayoi said. “You can play with us. Just don’t be a pain.”

This was an absolute role reversal, and Tabito must’ve picked up on that, but he did not mention it, only plodding over to the TV and connecting his own set of controllers before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning back on your legs instead of attempting to squish between his sister and the armrest of the small couch.

“Are you seriously going to be Waluigi again?” you asked him with some disdain, wrinkling your nose as he selected his typical character.

“He’s my favorite,” he said.

“Gross,” you said. “But back to the original topic, Yayoi, don’t think you’re getting out of things just because Tabito’s here. You still have to explain what’s up.”

“Did something happen?” Tabito said as you selected a cup at random and the first race began.

“No,” Yayoi said.

“Yes,” you said, at exactly the same time.

“…Okay, then,” Tabito said.

“It’s about Aoyama,” Yayoi said. “Her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” he said.

“It feels like Yayoi has some issues with him, but she won’t tell me what those issues are, exactly,” you said.

“Is he a bad boyfriend?” Tabito said.

“I don’t think so,” you said. “No, he’s perfectly alright.”

“Look, I don’t have anything against Aoyama. I liked him, all of the way back in first grade, so obviously I don’t have a problem with him,” she said.

“Is that it?” you said. “I didn’t even realize you had a crush on him at all.”

“No, why would I care about a crush from when I was so young? To be honest, I just don’t think he deserves you,” she said.

“Why not?” you said.

“That’s my duty as your best friend,” she said. “To me, you’re the most amazing person ever, so how could someone like Aoyama ever be worthy of dating you? Besides, it doesn’t seem like you like him very much.”

“What are you talking about? Obviously, I like him, or I wouldn’t be going out with him,” you said.

“You should break up with him if you don’t like him,” Tabito suggested.

“I do like him, and I’m not breaking up with him,” you said. “Yayoi, why would you say something like that?”

“Dunno,” she said. “Forget about it. Maybe I was just seeing things. If you say that you like him, then you definitely do.”

“Right,” you said.

“What’s so great about him, anyways?” Tabito said, shifting so that he could be more comfortable. “For you to want to date him. Why do you like him? Does he even do anything of note?”

You snorted. “Not everyone’s a soccer ace like you, Tabito. Aoyama could’ve been an athlete, but he’s stayed in the art club with me since elementary school. That’s a long time; it would’ve been impossible for me not to grow fond of him over the years, and by the time he worked up the nerve to ask me out officially, I suppose I was fond enough to say yes.”

“That’s stupid,” Tabito said. For emphasis, he released a blue shell, which hit you right before you crossed the finish line. “Anyone could join the art club, and you’ve known other people longer than you’ve known him. That’s not enough of a reason to date somebody.”

“Rude,” you said, kneeing him in the head playfully, for you had come in fourth due to his intervention. “You know, you don’t really need a reason to date someone. You can date them just because. Maybe it’s true that hanging out with you two is more fun than being with Aoyama, but isn’t it normal to get along better with your friends? And especially when the relationship is so fresh. We’re still getting to know one another right now.”

“That’s fair,” Yayoi said. “Don’t expect me to be outright hospitable with him or anything, but for your sake, I’ll be polite. As long as he knows that I’ll make sure he regrets hurting you, if ever he does.”

“I’ll pass the message along,” you said.

“And you have to like me — us more,” Tabito added. “You’ve known us longer, so you have to like us better.”

“I’ll always like you better,” you said, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Already, his face was losing that round quality from his youth; you expected it’d be entirely gone soon, and you mourned the imminent loss of his doll-like appearance, vowing to adore it for as long as it remained.

Surprisingly, he did not slap your hand away. He only hummed in pleased agreement, and that was that. The conversation was finished, and it was the last any of you spoke about the matter for quite some time.

High school flew by faster than you had anticipated, certainly far faster than middle school had, though they were the exact same length. You divided your time between your club activities, studying for exams, hanging out with Yayoi as well as your other friends, and going on dates with Aoyama, so you hardly had a moment in which you could be bored. You almost missed the feeling of lethargy and inertia you had at least experienced once or twice in junior high, but yet you could not bear to give any of those aspects of your life up, so you managed the demanding schedule as best as you could and somehow made it work.

As he had attended a different middle school than you and Yayoi, so, too, did Tabito attend a separate high school. He chose it because their soccer club was well-known, but when he was in his first year, he was scouted to join the youth team of the prestigious J1 League football club Bambi Osaka, so it ended up mattering little. When he had reached such a point, why would he concern himself with school soccer clubs? There was no higher peak that he could reach with them than the one he already had achieved, especially not at his age.

It was rare for someone so young to consistently give such excellent performances. After all, he had been chosen as a starter for his junior high team as only a first year, albeit as a midfielder instead of his preferred position as a striker, and now, at the beginning of his high school career, he had already been selected to play for Bambi Osaka. Even Yayoi had to admit that her little brother had something to him — she claimed it to be an intrinsic talent, for that meant she had a chance at inheriting it as well, but Tabito was far more modest than she and always countered these declarations, arguing that it was nothing more than constant practice.

“Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m not that good,” he told you one day, when you were watching one of Yayoi’s badminton matches together. You were sitting on his black camping chair; he had offered to you and sat on the ground instead of making you do so, though you had never complained about it.

“There’s no way you’re not,” you said. “Ask anyone, and they’ll agree with me.”

“It’s true,” he said, shrugging like it was a fact he had accepted long ago and which consequently did not bother him anymore. “Some people are handed everything, but I’m not like that. I’m not a prodigy in any sense of the word. It’s easy to seem talented when you only pick on a person’s weak spots.”

You rested your hand on his shoulder. He was taller now, and growing more by the day, so you no longer had to lean down very far to do so, though he was on the ground and you were not. Exhaling through his nose, he bent his neck so his cheek could rest on your fingers, which were perpetually cold and must’ve felt nice in the summery heat of the midafternoon.

“If you seem like you’re talented, then you really must be,” you said. “I don’t think faking things like that is as simple as you believe it to be.”

“It’s simpler than you think,” he said. “Anyways, please don’t bring it up again. I just wanted one person to know the truth of who I am.”

“And it had to be me?” you said. You couldn’t see him smile, but you felt his cheeks grow fuller as his mouth curved into the wry smirk he donned more often than not nowadays.

“Of course, it had to be you,” he affirmed. “Who else would it be?”

Who, indeed? In some ways, you were as close with her little brother as you were with Yayoi herself, though it was a different kind of relationship there. As an only child, you supposed that all-consuming affection must’ve been what one felt for a younger sibling, so you put it down to that. After all, you had known Tabito for long enough that he could probably be considered your brother as well as Yayoi’s, so what else would it be? And the way he treated you was how he would’ve treated Yayoi if she were gentler with him, so although it was definitely preferential, you never saw anything wrong with it nor felt any need to correct his loving behavior.

The end of entrance exams, which was the culmination of the many months of hellish work that you had all put in, came with bittersweet news. For the first time, you, Yayoi, and Aoyama would split ways, each of you accepted to different universities. Those two, whose steady presences at your side you took all but for granted, had paths which diverged from yours, and you wondered if ever they would converge again.

Your path took you to Tokyo, to the exact university that your parents had met at. They wept when they found out, for though they loved where they were now, their hearts still beat for the bustling city where they had spent so much of their lives.

Your only consolation was that Yayoi, too, was going to the capital city. She would attend a different school, and thus would live in a different part of the megalopolis than you would, so the distance between you would not be small, exactly, but at least it was manageable. At least your paths would not be so separate. The same could not be said for Aoyama, who was going to Kyoto for university. You would be hours apart, and as the date of your graduation grew ever nearer, this took a toll on your relationship.

The ceremony itself was beautiful, exactly the kind of celebration that was shown in movies. The choir sang your school’s anthem and the president of the school board personally handed you each your diplomas; everyone was dressed in their best clothes, and the click-clack of heels against wood echoed around the hall as students and parents alike bustled about, congratulating one another and wiping away tears at another milestone crossed.

As always, as ever, your parents were sitting with the Karasus. You knew because you sought them out when it was your turn to receive your diploma. At first, they were impossible to find in the crowd, but then, like a miracle, you saw Tabito in the back, towards the left entrance, his pensive expression vanishing the moment he realized you were looking at him. Just as he had when you had graduated elementary school, he grinned at you, and then he waved, but unlike back then, he wasn’t at all shy about it. Also unlike then, you beamed at him with no care for propriety, cameras flashing in your eyes as you clutched your diploma in front of you with one hand and used the other to wave enthusiastically back.

“What a sweet photo,” your father said when all of you rendezvoused after the official ceremony, showing you his phone. The picture was of you on stage, your face radiant with delight, your arm raised mid-wave, the gold lettering on your diploma legible thanks to the power of the zoom on his camera. “You’re so beautiful, dear. I can’t believe you’re so grown up already.”

“She’ll always be our baby,” your mother said, not even attempting to disguise the tears wetting the shadows under her eyes.

“Can we get a picture with our two graduates?” Mrs. Karasu said.

“That’s a great idea,” your father said. “It’s so special that the two of you started school together, and now you’ve graduated side by side.”

“It only happens in the movies,” Mr. Karasu said, taking a pack of tissues out of his pocket and blowing his nose with a great honk. “And yet we have an example right here in front of us. Go on, girls, get together.”

You and Yayoi did not need to be told twice, pressing your shoulders together, so close that they rose and fell in tandem. You fancied that if one was to listen to your heartbeats at that moment, they would’ve been keeping the same rhythm, for you had lived more of your lives together than not, and so even your most basic systems were familiar with one another.

“How about one of Yayoi and Tabito?” Mr. Karasu said. “Let the L/Ns take a couple with Y/N, too.”

Your parents took turns posing with you and taking photos before your father flagged down a random classmate of yours, entreating the confused boy to take a picture of the three of you together. You could already envision exactly where they were going to hang that particular shot — in the living room, framed by something gaudy and likely near the vase of false, ever-blooming flowers your mother kept on one of the tables.

The Karasus were still taking family photos, for there were quite a few more of them than there were of you, so you decided to take the moment to look for Aoyama, who had been separated from you and Yayoi in the rush of people leaving the ceremony hall. It would be nice to take a picture or two with him, too, after all.

It was not hard to find him, not given how tall he was — in the crowd, there were few who were taller, and of those few, only the lanky Tabito was one you recognized. His mother greeted you exuberantly; she had always loved you, perhaps even more than her son did, and she immediately pushed the two of you together so that she could take a million photographs which she promised she would send to you at the earliest possible convenience.

“Do you ever think that this might be the last time we’re like this?” Aoyama said, his hand resting on your hip, a politician’s grin on his square face. You hummed in agreement.

“It is the last time we’ll be like this,” you said. “You’ll be off to Kyoto soon, and I’ll go to Tokyo sooner.”

“That’s true,” he said. “We should savor it, then. While we can.”

You knew what he was hinting at, but now was not the time to consider it. Now, you were meant to be happy, so you mirrored that smile of his and posed with him as if nothing was wrong, unsure of whether, in two weeks’ time, you’d be able to look at those particular photos at all.

At some point while you were you were with Aoyama, Tabito appeared, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood a respectful distance away from Aoyama’s mother, and it was only when you stepped away from your boyfriend and left him to his family that he hesitantly approached you.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” you said. “How’d you manage to find me? There’s so much going on.”

“You’re pretty hard to miss,” he said. You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t bother with explaining himself. “You’re probably all photographed-out, but if you don’t mind…can we also take one? I don’t want you to forget that I came, too.”

“You only came for Yayoi,” you teased him. “It’ll hurt my feelings less if I don’t remember you were here at all.”

“I came for you, too!” he said earnestly, showing you both of his hands to prove he wasn’t crossing his fingers behind his back. “Really, I did.”

“So you would’ve come even if Yayoi wasn’t graduating, too?” you said.

“If you invited me, I would’ve,” he said. “I’d even skip soccer practice for it.”

“Wow, you hold me in higher regard than soccer practice? I feel like you’ve bestowed some great honor upon me,” you said. “That’s worthy of a picture, I’d say.”

You handed your phone to a nearby classmate of yours, a pretty girl who you had sat by in your Maths class. She understood quickly what you were asking of her, accepting the phone and waiting for you to get in position.

“Say, L/N, I thought you were dating Aoyama?” she said as Tabito wrapped an arm around your waist and you leaned against his side.

“I am?” you said, confused at why she had brought it up. She furrowed her brow, taking a couple of photos before giving you your phone back to ensure you approved of them.

“Who’s this, then?” she said, nodding towards Tabito. “He’s awfully cute.”

“Huh? Oh, he’s just Yayoi’s brother, it’s not like that!” you said. “But he is so cute, isn’t he? He reminds me of a baby version of Yayoi. It makes me nostalgic sometimes.”

“Yayoi…ah, Karasu! I had Modern Literature with her,” she said, snapping her fingers in recognition. “Wow. I didn’t realize she had a brother. Sorry for making a weird assumption about the two of you! I guess you’ve known one another for a while, so it makes sense that you’d be close.”

“Exactly,” you said, confused about how she had even arrived at such a conclusion in the first place when there was nothing between the two of you to hint at a relationship that was anything but platonic or familial. “Hey, thanks so much! These are awesome.”

“Anytime!” she said. “So, Karasu’s little brother. How old are you, exactly?”

“Um…” Tabito glanced over at you for help, creeping imperceptibly closer as if you were some last line of defense between him and the curious girl.

“He just finished his first year,” you said, taking pity on him and answering. The girl wrinkled her nose.

“So you’re barely a second year? Ah, that’s a bit young for me at the moment. Maybe in a little while, yeah? Call me once you’re in college and then we can talk,” she said, winking at him and fluttering her fingers in a wave before vanishing in the crowd.

You tried very hard not to laugh, but when you turned and saw Tabito’s bewildered expression, you could not help it. When he realized you were laughing at him, he turned a vermillion shade that only he was capable of becoming.

“I’m — I’m sorry she said that. I wouldn’t have agreed with her if I knew she was calling you cute in that way,” you gasped out. “Oh, my poor Tabito. I really didn’t expect that at all, or I would’ve asked Aoyama to stay and take our photos instead.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’d like it — um, I’d like it better if you thought of me as cute like that instead of like a baby.”

“But you are a baby,” you cooed.

“I am not!” he said. It was another rendition of the same argument you both had had in the past, and though calling this particular example an argument was certainly a stretch, you did not want to sully the night with even a joking disagreement. So instead of refuting his childish rebuttal, you embraced him tightly.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you said. “You know I have no siblings of my own, but unlike most with that affliction, I am lucky enough to have met Yayoi, and through her gained a brother of my own.”

He shoved you off of him with a grumble. “I’m not your brother, either.”

“Alright,” you said, raising your hands in the air. “You’re not a baby, and you’re not my brother. Anything else?”

“No,” he said. “Let’s go back to our families. Your parents were looking for you. I think they all want to get dinner together.”

“Lead the way, then,” you said. “I call sitting next to you.”

He glanced at you shyly. “Okay. I don’t think you’ll have much competition there, though, so you don’t have to call it.”

“I just want to be certain. These are the final few weeks I’ll get to see you, aren’t they? I’ll miss you while I’m gone, so I have to stick to you like glue for as long as we have left,” you said, throwing a companionable arm around his shoulders for emphasis.

“Yes,” he said, bending his elbow so he could intertwine his fingers with yours, which dangled loosely by his collarbone. “Stick to me. Until the day you have to leave for good, stay by my side.”

The month in between graduation and the beginning of university was a whirlwind of receiving congratulations from random relatives, packing to move into your new apartment, and visiting your friends from high school, who you might not see for many months or perhaps ever again, now that you were all going in your separate directions.

More than anywhere else, you spent your hours at the Karasu residence. You never did anything particularly special, and neither did you bring up the ever-nearing date of yours and Yayoi’s departures; when the three of you were together — for Tabito insisted on accompanying you no matter how much Yayoi protested — you pretended like it was a normal break, like at the beginning of April you’d all once again return to your respective high schools and things would be exactly as they always had been.

You’d go to your favorite restaurants or run to ice cream shops late at night, laughing and teasing another as you licked at your cones and wandered around the streets. Sometimes you’d all go to the playground and pretend like you were children, sliding down slides that were only twice the length of your bodies and climbing across monkey bars with your feet brushing against the mulch. You’d sit on the swings and make Tabito push you as payback for the many times you had done so for him when he was younger, though he never viewed it as a punishment, and Yayoi would build castles in the sandpit, the grains digging into her skin and standing out in bright red patterns against her pale knees. Other days, if it was raining or any of you were particularly tired, you’d play video games, Tabito laying against your legs as he always did and Yayoi perched on the armrest like a gargoyle.

It was simple and wonderful and easy, but the same could not be said for your relationship with Aoyama. There was a tension between you both which had never been there before, and though he had claimed at graduation that he wanted to savor the last few weeks of your time together, you found yourself thinking more and more frequently that you wished you had ended things when you were still happy with one another.

You fought with him about random things, so irritable were you with one another. He accused you of spending all of your time with Yayoi, even though you’d be so close to her once the next year began, and ignoring him completely. You bit back with ten times the force, telling him plainly that you loved her first, and that even though you’d be nearer to her than him, the two of you would still be apart in a way you never had been, not since you both were six years old. And what of Tabito? What of the boy you had known since he was so young, that boy you had grown up alongside? You would leave him behind for good, and you could not bear the thought.

But in turn, this only angered him further. You like him, Aoyama accused you. You like him more than you like me. You weren’t sure how to respond to this. Of course you liked Tabito more than you liked Aoyama. You liked him more than you liked just about anybody, excepting his sister. Yet when Aoyama said it, it didn’t seem as innocuous as you knew it to be. It was the same thing that that girl from your math class had brought up, that there was something else between you and Tabito. You found it so distasteful that your words turned to poison.

You can’t say that, you’d snap, over and over, however fruitless it always was. He’s a kid. You can’t say that.

Aoyama would laugh bitterly, burying his face in his hands. Sometimes, he’d seem so tired and hollow and sick of it all that you’d regret it, regret whatever had happened between you two that had made you end up like this, but then he’d look up at you again and you’d know that this was the inevitable outcome.

It’s only two years. He’d remind you of that fact every time, and what could you say? It was the truth, and the same thing Tabito always insisted to your deaf ears. Two years or maybe less. 

It’s different, you’d huff when you could not think of anything else. Aoyama would sigh and then one of you would apologize: sometimes you, sometimes him. After that you’d kiss, and things would settle into a distorted version of your old comfort, but each time you ran through that fight or one that was similar, it became a little more difficult and your relationship fractured a little more.

There was no one great mistake. You couldn’t pick out a single moment when everything went wrong, when one of you committed a grave and unforgivable sin. It was just the accumulation of many small grievances, the stress of both of your impending moves as well as the knowledge that the end for you both was near, that blew up into an enormous fight, the kind of confrontation that was only frightening when it was finally over.

You both shouted about everything and yet nothing. The relationship, in its best days, had never had anything worth complaining about, and so it was difficult to find something to genuinely be upset over. He insisted you were cheating on him, or that, if you were not already, you soon would. You spat insults at him that you were not proud of, calling him controlling and cruel and stupid, even if he wasn’t really any of these things, and definitely not in the great quantity you insinuated he was.

I joined the art club for you. That was the last thing he said, when it was officially over and your fist was clenched around the doorknob. I could’ve been a national champion at any sport. Soccer or basketball or baseball or whatever. I could’ve been great, but I stayed in the goddamn art club because I wanted to be with you.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, stepping onto his doorstep, the rage leaving you in a minute, replaced by a deep sense of shame, but also, peculiarly, of freedom. Do you wish you had made a different choice now? Now that it’s come to this, I mean.

He laughed bitterly. Nah. Somehow, I can’t seem to regret it.

A lump formed in your throat, but bravely and surely, you swallowed it back. If you cried now, then you were afraid you’d never leave him. I see. Well, good luck in Kyoto.

Good luck with wherever your life takes you, he said. Tell Yayoi I said the same to her. 

I will, you promised.

Tell that brother of hers, too, he said. And tell him you love him while you’re at it.

There was no merit in responding to that final statement, which was as much an assertion of his perceived correctness as it was a heartfelt attempt at reconciliation. So you turned around, allowing your tears to fall when you heard the door shut behind you, the streetlights guiding your way home as you cried silently to yourself.

You never did see him again. It was probably for the best, anyways. A few days later, you were off to Tokyo, with an entire life ahead of you — a life that had no longer had a place for the dalliances of your past.

You and Yayoi, as well as your parents, took the train to Tokyo together. Tabito stayed at home with his grandmother, though he bemoaned the turn of events; he was about to start his second year of high school, though, so how could he justify tagging along? He did come to the station, however, pretending to be nonchalant and ever-so-cool, like he didn’t care one bit that you and Yayoi were leaving for good.

“I hope you’re not considering a career in the film industry, Tabito,” you said. The three of you were sitting on a bench together, yours and Yayoi’s suitcases at your feet, your parents waiting in line at the window to receive your tickets.

“Why not?” he said stiffly.

“You’re horrible at acting,” you said, your arms going around his firm bicep, your forehead pressing to the curve of his shoulder. “It’s okay for you to be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he said, his voice a dull, trained monotone.

“I am,” you said. “We’re not going to be like this again for a while. Not ever, in one sense of the word. I think it’s natural to be sad about that.”

“Hmph,” Yayoi said, from Tabito’s other side. She was like her brother, but with marginally more of an aptitude at theatrics. Still, there was a curious sheen to her eyes, a dampness to the typically fiery irises. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you said. “Things will be different no matter what. I don’t think it’s a bad development, but it’s a true one. We’ll — we’ll be apart, Yayoi, and we’ll have to take taxis to visit each other instead of being close enough to walk.”

“You’ll still be able to visit each other,” Tabito said, his face stoic but his voice trembling. “I won’t even get that. I’ll be hours away and all alone.”

“You have your friends and your soccer team,” you said.

“They’re not you,” he said. You weren’t sure if he meant it for the both of you or you alone. Selfishly, you wished for it to be the latter, though you could not say why and had no claim to him for it to be the case. “Nobody could ever be you.”

“If our mom got pregnant again, someone could be like us,” Yayoi offered with a wavering, half-hearted laugh. “You’ll have another sister then. Name her Ya-Y/N and it’ll be like we never left.”

“I’ll be older than her,” Tabito said. “She’ll be a crying, whiny baby.”

“Sounds like you’ll get along well, then,” Yayoi said. He scoffed and smacked her on the arm. She yelped in dismay and rubbed the sore spot, glaring at him all the while, which did inject some levity into the atmosphere.

Your spirits immediately plummeted once again when the train arrived with a rushing, roaring wind, coasting to a stop, the doors heaving open with a sigh. There was a looming emptiness in every car, mirroring the pit in your stomach and the jagged, frayed tears in your heart, which widened with every step you took towards the edge of the platform.

“See you around, bro,” Yayoi said, doing an elaborate handshake with Tabito. “Good luck with soccer. Call me if our parents are being annoying; I’ll talk to them. You can count on it.”

“Thanks, bro,” he said. “Stay safe in Tokyo. Maybe try to get a boyfriend or something, if you can manage it.”

“Shut up, you little twerp. I definitely can! I’m going to end up dating a model, just you wait and watch!” she said, punching him in the arm lightheartedly and then leaping onto the train without a backwards glance, leaving you and Tabito alone. Your parents were waiting inside with your luggage, and you knew Yayoi would probably be confused about why you hadn’t followed her, but for some reason, you found yourself hesitating.

“You’ll be able to get home from the station by yourself okay?” you fretted.

“Yes, of course,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving up in amusement. “Despite what you and Yayoi seem to believe, I’m not a baby, and besides, my house isn’t that far from here. It won’t be a long walk. I’ll be okay — I’ve had to do worse exercise in practice.”

“Okay, but just be careful,” you said, shifting from foot to foot uneasily, playing with your fingers. “You have people who can help you if something happens and we’re not there, right?”

“I do,” he said.

“And — and stay away from pools,” you instructed him firmly. “Because you suck at swimming and I won’t be there to look out for you anymore.”

“I would’ve done that even if you didn’t tell me to,” he said. “Quit nagging me, Y/N. It’s seriously annoying. Don’t you have to go? You’ll miss the train if you don’t hurry up.”

On cue, the train let out a warning whistle. You swallowed and then nodded, but you didn’t move. You didn’t want to leave him. That was what you realized in that very moment: it wasn’t your entire life that you cared about abandoning. There wasn’t anything much you’d miss about your hometown, and certainly nothing you’d miss more than him. Tabito, your Tabito — because he was yours in a way you were loath to share with even Yayoi, who was his actual sister, and you were suddenly so certain that it had always been so and you had just never discerned it.

“Go on,” he said after a second, nudging you towards the train. “Really, you’ll be in trouble soon.”

You thought that you should tell him, but there were not words enough to describe it, so you did not. You could not. You only forced a smile and then stepped onto the train, clutching the metal bar and facing the platform so that you could gaze at him one final time. The train whistled again, and then Tabito’s expression changed into something strict and determined as he raced forward, skidding to a stop on the painted yellow border right in front of you.

“Did something happen?” you said. He shook his head, motioning for you to come closer. Still holding onto the metal bar for balance, you brought your face to his, thinking he might want to whisper one final secret in your ear before he no longer could. Yet he did not; instead, he pressed his lips to your cheek, one of his hands holding the other carefully, so gentle despite the roughness of his calloused palms.

“Bye, Y/N,” he said. “Don’t forget me while you’re in Tokyo.”

The doors closed and the train shot off as you took a step back, too stunned to shout out a final farewell until it was too late and all you could do was watch as his waving form receded into the distance.

[mak-be-ghouled]

The Sound of the End of Day

2.1k Words of Angst/comfort

Mountain/Dew (and a bit of Aether)

Terzo, Copia, and other ghouls mentioned

A huge thank you to @nastylittleghouls and @divine-misfortune for their thoughts under this post:)

the tittle being from Monstrance Clock only felt right

When Copia is lifted by the Skeleton Dancers during Dance Macabre, Mountain and Dew are taken back to one of the worst days in their time topside. 

They had officially made it to the final leg of the Re-Imperatour.  

Unfathomable hours were poured into rehearsals long before the tour was even announced. Any one of the ghouls could've played the show forwards, backwards, and in their sleep. They knew the order by heart, had already performed it more times than they cared to count. 

But this one was special, Papa was adamant about how important the shows in LA would be, and the ghouls were determined to do their part for their Papa. Hell, they even had choreography coordinated with real dancers. 

And so, more rehearsals were called, plugging in the Chamber Ghoulettes and the Skeleton Dancers. Sure, the ghouls weren't exactly used to sharing the stage with so many others, but they couldn't deny the sheer talent of the new additions. They rehearsed until every moving part was perfect. Until they were certain there would be no surprises. 

But something about the crowd’s screaming, the blinding lights, the shadowy figures, the music, the lift.  

The fucking lift.  

Mountain and Dew hadn't made the connection until now.  

The audience screamed, their Papa was in the air, and the music was still going.  

But Mountain and Dew were back on that dammed stage. 

That Gothenburg stage where they were promised they’d never have to return to. That stage where they saw their former Papa for the last time. That stage where Terzo was ripped from them before they even processed what was going on. That stage that haunted their nightmares and the darkest corners of their minds.  

Papa was in the air and Mountain was stuck behind his kit. He was frozen, just like last time. Just like he had sworn he wouldn't allow himself to do ever again. It's a wonder he only stalled for a moment. Straining to focus on Rain’s base line, to keep up. His head was swimming and he was drowning. 

And yet, no one else seemed phased. Swiss was still singing, still dancing--well moving his hips in a way that could maybe be interpreted as dancing. Aurora and Cumulus were still singing and dancing together, mimicking the Skeletons from earlier. Phantom was still working the audience as always. Cirrus was still playing. Rain still stood strong, was still in time. 

But Dew.  

Dew saw it too. The moment Papa was in the air his eyes fled to Aether. But Aether wasn't there. Aether wasn't on tour. There wasn't anyone to run after Copia. Dew’s heart stutters as he scans the stage. 

Finally, his eyes land on Mountain. Just like they had that night.  

Dew was certain they’d lost another Papa. He turned to run backstage. To follow those shadowy figures this time. To do what he hadn't then. What he beats himself up for not doing. What fuels that nagging voice in his mind.  

Dew is in auto pilot. He’s straining to find tempo again. To find the right notes on his bass. Dew’s hands are shaking so hard he's not sure any of the notes he's played in the last minute have been even remotely correct. He doesn't recognize the song anymore; this isn't Monstrance Clock and his bass feel wrong. Too Small. Too Light. 

Dew sees the fear behind Mountains eyes. Knows it's the same fear that is clouding his vision too. Dew watches Mountain shake his head, desperately trying to clear the fog.  

After what feels like an eternity Mountain returns Dew's gaze. Mountain gives him a firm nod and a half smile. It's so incredibly forced but that doesn't matter. Not right now. Somehow it makes everything okay. Confirms that Mountain saw it too.  

That it's not real this time. Papa is okay this time. He won't have to watch Aether run after him this time. He won’t have to run after them both this time.  

Finally, Dew can feel his hands again and The Forum isn't spinning quite so fast. He looks down. He’s not holding a bass. Fucking of course he isn't, he's got his guitar in his hands. He thinks he might hear Dance Macabre echoing in his mind. But it's so distant. A dream maybe? This certainly wouldn't be the first dream Dew’s had of this moment. 

And then, everything goes quiet. Copia is back on the ground. He isn't shouting or fighting. He’s singing. The crowd isn't screaming in fear, they're cheering. Those shadowy figures have disappeared. The Skeleton Dancers are still surrounding Copia, but he's still there. Still standing. Copia isn't being dragged off the stage kicking and screaming. He’s safe. He’s alive. 

Mountain can barely hold his drumsticks and Dew is sure he would've dropped his guitar if it wasn't for the strap on his shoulder. They shoot each other a final glance before Square Hammer starts. Before they have to pretend like they didn't just watch their Papa get pulled from the stage, leaving them helpless.  

And yet, by the looks on everyone else's faces, they hadn't. No one seems to care.  

Dew’s stomach twists and he's positive he's going to throw up. 

Mountain’s not much better, swaying slightly behind his kit, dizzy. 

They want nothing more than for this fucking show to be over with. To know that their Papa is okay. That they didn't fail him again. To call Aether.  

As soon as Copia finishes his farewell speech, Mountain and Dew are flanking his sides. This isn't their normal spots for bows, but they have to be around Copia right now. To hold his hand. To know that he's alright. They don't want to overwhelm him. They don't want to do anything too drastic; they know how important this show is for him. But they have to know he’s okay. They pull Copia into a bone cracking hug, and while Copia appreciates their affection, something neither Dew nor Mountain are particularly fond of sharing in front of this many people, he can't help but wonder what has prompted it. 

The ride to the hotel is a blur. Mountain vaguely remembers Cirrus’s questioning glance and Swiss’s hand on his back, leading him towards the bus. 

Dew thinks he hears Rain’s voice send comments and compliments his way, the beginning of a call and response of sort, a habit they’d fallen into after Rain’s first ritual. But this time Dew’s response is just a nod, hardly even perceptible had Rain not been burning holes into him with his stare since he caught whiff of Dew’s distress during Dance Macabre.  

When they arrive at the hotel, Dew is a bit more present. Asking Copia to ensure he and Mountain room together. He reassures the pack that him and Mountain are okay. Drained, but okay.  

He tries his hardest to guide Mountain to their room. To be the life preserver he knows Mountain needs right now. But fuck does he need one too.  

He feels bad calling Aether without checking what time it is over there, but doesn't even have the time to consider anything else before his arms are moving on their own accord. Pulling out his phone and finding Aether’s contact. Mountain needs Aether right now. Dew needs Aether right now. 

Dew knew how much Mountain still thought about that night. Mountain had confided in Dew shortly after it.  

In The Pits, Mountain was ridiculed for being a plant-specialized Earth Giant. Others thought that made him soft, pointless. Earth Giants were meant to be geological, what good would a giant with a knack for plants be, that job was for the little ones. 

Mountain was paralyzed with fear. He was stuck behind his drum kit. Forced to watch as Terzo disappeared. He was helpless. Years of working on himself, his self-image, his confidence, flushed down the drain in that single moment. Again, Mountain began to wonder if they were correct. Maybe he really was soft. Useless. A sorry excuse for an Earth Giant.  

“Hi Sweet Thing. You with us?” 

Mountain is ripped from his thoughts as he hears Aether's voice. It’s crackly and a bit robotic through the speakers of Dew’s phone, but it is undeniably Aether.  

“Hmm?” 

Mountain hums, his eyes finally focusing on something for the first time in hours. 

Dew is holding his phone in front of his face, Aether is dimly lit on the other end, smiling softly at them. 

“There he is.” 

Aether's eyes light up as Mountain acknowledges him for the first time since he'd answered Dew's call.

“Wasn't right without you Aeth. Fuck. Kept looking around for you. Imagined you running after him”  

Dew laughs dryly to himself but tears fill his eyes. 

Aether wishes he could just crawl through the screen and hold his boys. He knows how much they love Copia, how much Terzo's death affected them. How much it affected himself. But he’s on the other side of the fucking world, so he just hopes his words and presence, even if though a phone screen, can provide them enough comfort to get some rest before they have to do this all over again tomorrow. Without him. Again.  

“I know baby, I'm so sorry. Wish I was there too”  

Aether smiles sadly though the phone. 

“Guess neither of us made too big a fool of ourselves though, maybe those pointless rehearsals weren't so pointless”  

Dew tries to joke, but Aether can see right through him. 

“Why didn't I see it?” 

Mountain mumbles into the space between Dew’s neck and shoulder that he’s crammed himself into. 

“What was that Hun?” 

Dew asks, rubbing the back of Mountain’s head where his hair had been tied back for the show. 

“The lift, I mean why didn’t I see it before. We practiced--Satan knows how many times-- just like you said, and I never once thought anything of it until tonight. Why'd it have to hit me in the middle of a fucking show. Probably made a dumbass of myself up there loosing time during the second to last song of the night... Was supposed to be perfect for Papa.”  

Mountain whispers the last part, but Dew and Aether are still able to catch it.  

Dew pulls Mountain closer to himself and Aether’s heart breaks, longing to reach out, to whisk those worries away. 

“Mountain, I didn't make the connection until tonight either. It was different. I dunno how, but it... was.”  

Dew silently curses himself for his lack of explanation, he knows that's what Mountain needs right now. Mountain needs logic. Something that tells him why something happened so he can avoid it next time. But truthfully Dew doesn't know. He doesn't know why tonight was different, but it was, and it fucked him up too. 

“I'm sure it had something to do with the crowd and the stage lights. I remember those helmets; you can't see shit in ‘em. Hearing people screaming, being blinded and burned by those lights, watching someone you care about, who holds the same title, in the same spot as one of the most traumatic events of your time topside. That’s probably why it was different. I know that doesn't change anything, but it does make a difference.”  

Aether adds.  

And logically Mountain knows Dew is right, that Aether is right. That it was different. But he still hates himself for faltering, even if no one else noticed.  

“Plus, I'm sure if you really did mess up, anything noticeably at least, we all would've gotten a smartass text from Swiss. I'm thinking something along the lines of ‘The All-Mighty Mountain Crumbles at the Sight of a Dangerously Handsome Multi's Hips"  

Aether jokes while drawing a rectangle in the air with his hands, mimicking a news headline, hoping to bring his mates back down to Earth.  

Dew giggles, a genuine giggle and Mountain huffs out a laugh. It isn't much, he knows that, but Aether has never been prouder of himself.  

They talk for a bit longer, until Mountain and Dew’s minds have cleared a bit and their eyes have returned to that deep forest green and the vibrant copper and ocean blue Aether had fallen so in love with, before any of this mattered.  

Mountain and Dew finally settle into their bed. Their position is awkward at best but they’re comfortable. They're Here. They have each other. Copia is alright. They're alright.  

And that's all that matters right now. 

All that can matter right now. 

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Not Another Time

ONE SHOT

[ or Part 2 of Could We Not ]

<< Request >> "I loved could we not. Can you maybe also write when that guy came running on stage and he maybe pushes reader out of the way or something like that😅" - anon

<< Request >> "Omg PLEASE could you do more parts or ‘could we not’ literally loved it!!!" - @loza--may

Summary: Harry is used to things getting crazy on tour. What he wasn't ready for is how much he misses YN during the Latin American leg of his tour. But at the Rio de Janeiro show, he needs to expect the unexpected.

AN: Highly requested part 2, which I wasn't expecting but am so honored to have written for you all. Sorry it took me FOREVER to write and post this. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Some explicit language, attempted attack by a fan, mild head injury

Not much can shake Harry when it comes to wild moments on tour, throughout his entire career. There once was a fan hiding in a trash bin, dildos thrown at his face, wedding proposals, canceled shows due to illness, and there was even a time when a girl tried to dolphin her way onto the stage, back in the early days. But he still loves it, loves it all. It's titled 'Love On Tour' for a reason.

Now, he's in Latin America. Any and every performance here has such a special place in Harry's heart. He has a 'brasil' tattoo on his thigh, after all. However, the time is a little different.

The horn players have not accompanied the band for these shows. No trombone, no saxophone, and no trumpets. Which means no YN. No sweet but subtle winks onstage, no flirtatious comments backstage, no seeing her bright smile, no hearing her pure laugh, or getting lost in her beautifully deep eyes. No gazing at her lips and wishing so desperately that he could kiss them again.

Unfortunately, their first kiss was their last. Harry hopes that's not forever. But after it happened, he got sick, putting a crimp in his plans to further things with her. When he recovered, their time was taken up by those last few shows in Los Angeles. Then he was off to Mexico. And she wasn't.

Needless to say, her absence is very apparent. To him, at least.

So, like he has done every show since Guadalajara, Harry checks his phone after getting dressed. He wants to make sure he hasn't missed any 'good luck' texts before going on stage, but a disappointed sigh releases as he sees that he has no new messages.

"Alright, H. Ten minutes." The stage assistant announces.

Harry nods, handing his phone over and grabbing his mic pack from the sound tech. The band gathers around for a little pre-show ritual and Harry feels the tug on his heart, wishing there were four more members in their huddle, so there could be one particular member tucked under his arm. But he commits to staying focused on his performance, to put on a good show for the people of Rio de Janeiro.

Despite a few fans fainting in Bogota, things have been relatively smooth so far, and this night should be no different. All he has to do is get out there and get through it.

"Do you know the words to this one Rio?" Harry shouts to the crowd as the band begins to play 'What Makes You Beautiful'.

Despite his efforts, this song always makes him miss YN. The trumpets in the backing track just don't do this song, or any of the songs, as much justice as when she is there, with him, playing live. The other three too, of course, but he has always been able to distinguish her trumpet from the other horns, and he would always dance near her while this song played. Without that, without her, it's just not nearly as exciting.

As he begins the second verse, Harry moves to his left, twisting around to tug on the mic cord that feels as if it's caught on something.

"I don't know why you're being shy…" Harry's eyes shoot up and then around as a security guard strides past him, settling his gaze on a figure charging towards him. "And you turn away when I look into your eyes."

It's like a flash. He is walking, then swiveling around, moving over, and then backing up into another security guard. All within a matter of a few seconds. It takes a moment for him to fully understand what's happening, as multiple crew members grab hold of the man.

Watching him be dragged offstage, Harry moves back to the center mic, still in shock of what happened but still wanting to continue the song.

He glances over to each side of the stage, shaking the disbelief away when he meets the gazes of a few of the band and crew. Each one reciprocates the sentiment, yet seem to keep their caution, as a few of them motion over that way. Harry turns back, just for a quick check, and notices a small group of people gathered in a huddle. He turns back to the crowd. He trusts his team, he knows they are handling whatever it is, and he won't let this one moment take away from the show. It can't stop him. It won't stop him.

As the song ends he takes a quick moment to gather himself and take a breath before turning to the crowd.

"Well that was different…" He states sarcastically, though truthfully. It's probably one of the more accurate ways to describe that moment, especially if he's trying to keep this a 'family show', as he always claims. "Is everybody okay?"

The fans laugh and cheer, seeming to answer his question with the same disbelief he feels.

"I'm shooketh… I'm shooketh!" He exclaims, receiving another laugh from the audience. At least they are recovering and feeling good. Now he can recover and feel good too. He twists around, looking from one side of the stage to another, meeting the gaze of a few security guards and crew as he does so. "Thank you, thank you. You saved me!"

That's when he catches it. The glimpse of a familiar face, of YN's face, off to the side of the stage, among the small group he had noticed earlier. However, her expression is not one he's seen before. Well, only once before. It's pained, again, but this time it looks worse, and Harry feels his stomach drop.

He transitions into a quick acknowledgement of his band members, his mind wanting to focus solely on the one who wasn't even scheduled to be there, but as soon as he's done, he takes advantage of what's next.

He uses the band mic to let everyone know he'll be off to the side while the extended introduction to 'Late Night Talking' plays on the screens, and once the lights dim he swiftly makes his way over.

"YN. What's-... what are you-… umm, hi." He fumbles, his thoughts racing with so many questions. He didn't even know she'd be in Brazil, or at the show, let alone on the side of the stage, and now she's standing there in front of him, with an ice pack on her head.

"Hi." She chuckles minimally, hurting Harry's heart with the lack of usual enthusiasm and joy. "I came… to surprise… everyone."

"Well, you did that!" He exclaims, managing as best of a smile as he can. His gaze travels from her eyes, to her lips, and then up to her head, and his expression immediately drops. "What happened?"

"It's nothing." She attempts to play off, much like the last time he saw her injured. "Don't worry about me."

"That's impossible." He retorts. "What happened?"

"The guy… the fan, just… knocked me down… on his way out with security." She shakes her head, scoffing, though Harry feels as if she's directing it towards herself more than anyone else.

"Okay. Umm… go backstage and get checked out." He states, his ears picking up on the music, knowing he'll have to return to center stage in just a few moments. "I'll… I'll see you after, yeah?"

"Harry, I'm fi-"

"Just do it!" He exclaims, immediately wincing as he watches her eyes widen with surprise. He's never talked to her like that, never even raised his voice even remotely in her direction without it being out of excitement or flirtation. But he cares about her, and now he will only worry more seeing her there in pain. "Please."

She nods, opening her mouth with a reply, but seemingly deciding against it.

Harry gives YN a quick kiss on the cheek and hustles back over to his mic stand, shooting his gaze to the side for one last glance of her as she walks out of sight.

It's not as if he's going to stop worrying, but maybe it'll be a little less than it would if she were still there watching him. He knows she'll be taken care of, and he'll see her when it's over. Right now, he needs to get through the rest of it, preferably without any other issues.

"... on a Summer evening, what is happening? An-... you're the end of… we are going to stop the song."

Technical difficulties. During 'Watermelon Sugar'. Of course. As if Harry's mind wasn't already somewhere else. He knows it's an easy fix, hopefully, but it's just another thing added to the existing thoughts already causing chaos in his mind. He's a professional, sure, but everyone has a limit and he just doesn't want to find out where his is.

Get through it. That's all he has to do, just get through the next song, the show, and the night. Just get through it and then get to YN.

'Love of My Life' is next. Thankfully it's a slow song, so he can calm his mind and body down, even just a little, before the break in the set. And at that point he can finally regroup.

It works, for a moment, until he notices that some fans need help, and despite making his team aware, they are still there struggling. He lifts the mic stand up and turns his head back, motioning with his finger, with some intensity, for someone to help them and get them out of there.

He feels himself spiraling, just a bit, and has never looked forward to the end of a song as much as he is tonight.

As Harry waves to the crowd, with a mouthful of water, he impatiently waits to spit it up in the air, thank the crowd, and get the hell off stage.

The crowd continues to applaud and cheer as he says goodbye, turning around and using the last bit of energy he has to run backstage.

He stops among the hustle of the crew, realizing he isn't sure where to go, or where to even start looking for YN. The most likely place is his dressing room, so he swiftly shuffles his way there, doing his best to acknowledge anyone he passes by that congratulates or compliments him. He feels bad, he usually takes time with each person, always grateful for their work and feedback. But not tonight. He only has one person on his mind. One person he wants and needs to see.

He swings the door open and takes a quick scan of the room, finding no one. Not anyone. Not her. He runs his fingers through his now very sweaty hair, inhaling deeper to catch his breath and figure out where to go next, where to look next.

He takes a seat on the couch, elbows resting in his knees, and glances over to the table in front of him to find a note that wasn't there before. He grabs it immediately, blinking the salty moisture out of his eyes as he looks over the words.

"Hey H.

Went back to the hotel.

Hope you had a great

rest of your show!

- YN"

"Fuck." He mumbles, suddenly remembering how he yelled for her to go backstage. Well, he could argue that he only raised his voice, but in that moment, that hectic moment, it didn't matter. He shouldn't have done it at all. And truth be told, it would've made the entire night better if she had stayed. But he yelled, and sent her away. Now all he wants to do is go to her and make it better, make her feel better.

After the fastest shower and outfit change of his life, Harry found Jeff and discovered that his manager helped YN get there, so he knew which hotel room was hers. At least Harry didn't have to spend countless hours searching all of Rio for her.

He stands in front of her door and takes a deep breath, nerves on edge as he knocks, and fully prepared for her to open the door and ask him to leave. Immediately.

"Harry?" He hears, causing his gaze to lift from his shoes to the woman in front of him. She's dressed in cotton shorts and a t-shirt, looking comfortable and yet more beautiful than he's ever seen her. He just wishes she wasn't also holding another ice pack to her temple.

"YN." He breathes out, unable to form any other words as he looks her over, hopefully more subtle than he fears it might be. "Are y-... how… I mean, umm…"

The sweetest sound grabs his attention and he watches her step aside as she lets out a small giggle.

"Come in."

He nods, and without hesitation steps into the room. The sound of the door closing causes him to swivel on his heel, and his eyes stay fixed on YN as she motions him over to the edge of the bed.

"What's up?" She asks, casually, removing the ice pack and placing it down beside her.

"I, umm, wanted to check on you." He answers, not convinced his volume was even loud enough to be heard. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." She swiftly responds, and he cringes at the lack of emotion with it. Even though it was only one word, he feels as if he knows her well enough to know that's not her normal tone. "Hit my head when the guy knocked me to the ground."

"I'm so sorry, YN. I didn't know you were there tonight, or I would've…" He pauses, looking down to where his nails pick at each other. "I don't know… I could've done… something…"

"No, Harry, I'm sorry." She states, causing his gaze to shoot back up to find hers filled with, what looks like, embarrassment. And maybe even regret. But definitely with insecurity, which is not something he's used to seeing from her. "I shouldn't have come."

"Oh." His heart drops.

"I feel like I may have been in the way. Well, I was for that fan…" She states, the smallest smile lifting the corners of her mouth, despite the roll of her eyes and shake of her head. "But I definitely didn't want to be in yours."

"No! I'm glad you're here!" He replies, without hesitation, and watches as her eyes widen, now allowing him to see the depths at which they usually take him to.

"You are? Because it seemed like…" YN clears her throat, confirming for Harry that she is in fact nervous. Not confident. And it seems to be his fault. "It seemed like you were upset when you saw me."

"No! Not at all." Harry replies, his frustration with himself appearing in the crease between his brows. "I wasn't upset seeing you there, I was upset seeing you hurt. Really upset. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, H. I'm alright."

"I know. I know that. I just… I was worried for the rest of the show, wondering if you were okay. It was torturing me."

"I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm really sorry." She lets out a sigh, and it almost breaks Harry's heart as she drops her gaze and squeezes her eyes shut.

"No, don't-... that's not-..." Harry lets out a low growl in frustration. He doesn't know how to express what he means, and if he even should. But at this point, he doesn't know if he can hold back. "It was torture because all I wanted to do was fix it for you. Like last time."

"Like last time?"

He hears her breath hitch, and his heart races more, feeling each beat thump against his chest. They had shared a kiss the last time she got hurt. They spent the rest of the night together, hanging out and talking until the sun was almost rising. But then nothing. Was that it? Was it just a one time thing, just a momentary thing after an adrenaline-raising show? No, it wasn't. Not for him. And she needs to know.

"I… like you, YN. A lot. And that night… meant a lot to me." He fully turns his body towards her, gaining a fraction of the confidence for himself that he has always seen in her, and since she is now there in Brazil, he won't waste another minute without sharing his heart. "We didn't really get to talk much afterwards, or see each other even, but I just need you to know that… I want to be with you. If… if that's something you want too."

Harry watches as she pulls her lips inward, hoping that the expression he sees underneath is pleasant. Pleasant for him. But he suddenly realizes that if she doesn't feel the same, he doesn't want to lose her. For the band.

"If it's not, no problem. We can move past it." He swallows the lump caught grasping against the walls of his throat. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and don't want you to leave the band over it. You're very talented, YN."

"Thank you." She replies, looking over at him with those gorgeous eyes and a tenderness she's never given him before, and despite him offering to move past his feelings, for the sake of his heart, he desperately hopes that she feels the same. He wants her to only look at him like that from now on. "And that night meant a lot to me as well."

"Yeah?" He responds, shifting in his spot at the edge of her bed, with all the giddiness of a lovesick school boy.

"I want to be with you too, H."

His palms fly up to her cheeks, receiving a warmth from them that flows right to his chest. His gaze flickers to her lips, yearning for them, desperate for them.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" She chuckles, and his heart swells from the self-assurance that she always expresses, that he has fallen for.

He grins, wider than he ever has, but only for a moment. He's not going to wait any longer. He leans closer, and her eyes close, pursing her soft lips to meet his in a gentle kiss.

Her hands run up his arms, applying pressure as they move over his shoulders, and connect behind his neck. She pulls him closer, and his tongue teases her lips before she parts them, each sighing as they deepen the kiss.

His chest tightens, this time out of need for air, so he pulls back, only leaving enough room for a breath, and smiles as he hears her release her own, happy exhale.

"How are you feeling now?" He asks, resting his forehead against hers as one hand strokes over the hair covering her temple.

"Much better. I do need to rest now, though." She whispers. "But, you know, I may have a concussion…"

"That's not funny."

"No, it's not. It's very serious." She pulls away more, hands still behind his head, and his mind fills with worry. Worry and confusion, as he watches her smile reappear through her solemn expression. "I should probably have someone stay with me tonight. To make sure I'm alright, of course."

"Of course." He smirks, feeling his heart burst, following as she scoots up the bed and rests her head on the pillow.

He does the same, laying down to face her, and sees her eyes begin to flutter shut. It's been an exhausting day for the both of them.

"Come here." He whispers, opening his arms for her to settle in, wrapping them around her body, and pulling her to his chest. "You doing okay?"

"More than okay." She utters, drowsiness now coating her words. "Thank you, for fixing things."

"Anytime." He replies, placing a tender kiss on top of her head. "I'll fix things for you anytime."

A silence falls between them, and as he hears her soft breaths leave her even softer lips, Harry hums in contentment, allowing his own body to succumb to the rest it now needs too. He shuts his eyes, and one last thought appears as he feels himself happily drift off to sleep.

Despite all the chaos, this night didn't turn out so bad after all. With YN, it's been the best one yet.

Main Masterlist

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[pinkslipxox]

hola mi amor!!! i was wondering if u could write a story where reader and miko have been friends for a while and they’re both crushing on each other? u can make it angsty, fluffy or honestly whatever u want. i love ur writing!!

Hola mami!!! Eeek yes ofc, hope you like it 💗

———————-———————————————————

Stars sparkle like a thousand diamonds across the night sky as the soft glow of the full moon illuminates everything around you. It’s a beautiful night, yet it hardly compares to the brown-haired beauty laying beside you, gazing up at the sky. All want to do is stay in this moment for life and forget about the world around you.

Oh, how you wish you could.

Miko was the only girl in the neighborhood until you arrived. The differences between you two were incredibly noticeable. She was— and still is— more bold and confident, while you’re more quiet and reserved. Yet as you grew up, you grew out out of your shell, with Miko by your side every step of the way. You didn’t speak Spanish as well as you do today, but you understood enough to get around, and it was Miko who took you under her wing and taught you everything you know now.

As teenagers, you two spent lots of time together. You even played soccer along side her in the same team during high school. And it was during that time when you realized that you saw Miko as more than just your best friend. Of course, there was no way you were going to tell her, especially when she was already sought out for by other girls. Many actually thought that you were her girlfriend since you were always by her side.

Not that you ever minded or anything.

And now as adults, your friendship has only blossomed, and your feelings for Miko have only grown deeper for her no matter how hard you’ve tried to get them out. There were many times where you considered confessing your feelings to her. When she got off from stage after performing with Bad Bunny, for example, was one of the many times where you had the opportunity to do so. Another time was when you were supporting her from the sidelines during an interview. And there was another time, just recently, where you wanted to tell her when she announced Trap Kitty, her first world tour. And despite the fact that she leaves tomorrow, Miko had insisted on spending her last day with you, which brings to the reason why you’re out here with her in the first place.

“What are you thinking about?” Miko’s voice breaks the silence between you two. She turns to her side and props her head up with her arm. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she says, “And don’t say nothing. You always say that.”

You giggle, turning your head towards her. “Nothing.”

“Carbona,” Miko chuckles as she flicks your forehead. “Come on. Dime que está pasando en tu mente.”

“Im thinking of you, actually. Us. And how we’ve known each other for as long as we can remember,” you hum as you think back to the little blonde haired girl that you met when you first moved to Puerto Rico. “Your dream of being a musician has come true… y no podría estar más orgullosa de ti.”

Miko blushes. “Ay, nena, me pusiste pachosa!”

“Sorry not sorry,” you tease and Miko sticks her tongue out at you. “Are you nervous at all?”

“A little bit,” Miko confesses. “But Im really excited. I can’t wait for you to come see me in Miami.”

“Me too.” You smile. “Lo vas a hacer genial.”

Miko has the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. They remind you of the clear, blue sky, and you can’t help but get lost in them sometimes. In your eyes, everything about Vicky is perfect.

After a beat of silence, Miko asks, “Y/N?” somewhat timidly, her voice soft and warm.

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever thought of being more than just friends?” Miko’s voice is barely above a whisper.

A shiver goes down your spine.

“What?” you breathe, your heart beating out of your chest as you slowly sit up. Miko sits up, too, her eyes looking at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before.

“I…” She clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot— mucho la verdad. Nunca puedo sacarte de mi mente. Y sería un pecado para irme sin decirte que… eres la persona más importante en mi vida. That’s…” Miko chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “That’s also the reason why I wanted to see you so badly. And to see if you feel the same way.”

You can’t think. Or breathe. The words replay in your ears as you try to process everything. You had a feeling there was something behind this meetup with Miko. But never in a million years did you think that this would be the motive. You never thought that she felt the same way for you as you did for her.

You want to pitch yourself.

“Carajo, Y/N, say something,” Miko chuckles nervously when you don’t answer right away, gently nudging you.

“P-perdón,” you squeak. “I do feel for you, Vicky. I have for a long time. Pero… no pienso que podemos estar juntas.”

Miko’s eyes go wide. Even you are surprised by your own response. Miko exhales deeply.

“Porqué, Y/N?” she pleads, her voice trembling.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you reassure her quickly. “I-I don’t want be a distraction for you while you’re out on tour. And I’ll be busy with school. We’ll both be so busy, and… it’s inevitable that things could change.”

“Y/N… mi amor,” Miko hums, taking your hands in hers, and you feel a warmth in your chest at the sound of the new term of endearment she’s given you. “Entiendo lo que dices pero pienso que vale la pena correr el riesgo. I’ve never felt this way towards anyone before. And I can’t picture myself being with anyone but you. I want you. But only if you want me, too.”

“Claro que te quiero, Vicky,” you respond immediately.

“Entonces intentemos ser una pareja. But we need to promise each other to do everything we can to make this work,” Miko says, her voice laced with determination as she searches your eyes for hesitation or doubt.

Your heart swells at how sweet and sincere Miko is being. Tears begin to swell up in your eyes. No one has ever made you feel this loved, this wanted before.

“I promise,” you vow with a reverent nod of your head.

“I promise, too,” Miko says solemnly and brings her hand up to her lips, kissing it.

Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you wrap your arms around your best friend— your lover— as the tears stream down your face. You melt into her touch, soaking in all her affection as she rubs your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ear in Spanish. When the both of you pull back slightly, your faces are merely inches apart, and you notice how Miko’s gaze lingers at your lips for a brief moment before quickly looking back into your eyes.

“Y/N, forgive me if what I’m about to ask you is too forward… pero puedo besarte?” Miko asks, gently caressing your cheek.

“Of course,” you murmur softly and let Miko’s soft touch guide you to her lips.

The kiss is tender, hesitant but it’s enough to feel the love Miko has for you. Time seems to stand still as the kiss becomes more passionate, Miko’s hold tightening around you, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips. You both lean your foreheads together when you pull away, smiling and giggling, before Miko steals another sweet kiss from you.

You’re not sure where this new journey will take you, but you are sure that this is but the beginning of something beautiful. Come what may, Miko will always be by your side. And you by here. No matter what happens, no matter where in the world you two are in.

And that’s enough for you.

[in-death-we-fall]

Brothers Beyond

Slipknot may never fully recover from the passing of Paul Gray, but their imminent return to the stage at UK’s Sonisphere is going to be an act of catharsis for fans and band alike. Shawn ‘Clown’ Crahan and Joey Jordison open up to Hammer exclusively.

Words: Dom Lawson Pics: Steve Brown

Metal Hammer 218 - June 2011 (drive link)

Editor’s note: The dark lord speaks…

16 Gigantic Balls.

That’s what Slipknot had to have to get back in the saddle after the inestimable loss of Paul Gray last year, and judging by our breathtakingly candid interview this month, their appearance at Sonisphere this summer is going to be one for the history books. Slipknot’s return is nothing short of heroic, and we hope you’ll love reading Dom Lawson’s piece as much as we did putting it together.

But then Hammer’s always been about getting under the skin of things to bring you a depth and breadth of metal coverage that you won’t find anywhere else, and this issue’s packed with the kind of chest-swelling bravado that makes real metal bands tick. From Biff Byford’s frankly inspiring quest to defy trends and stick to his guns, to Mastodon’s rise from the depths of obscurity to become one of the world’s foremost lords of the riff, to our first glimpse of Iron Maiden simply fucking killing it on a world-tour that’s more like a global victory lap, Hammer is all about the sorts of tales that make the musicians we love as inspiring as the music that they create. Oh, and metal in… Botswana? The metal empire is truly growing at a staggering pace – be the first to read and read about it.

And as we barrel ever-closer to this year’s positively thrilling Golden God awards, we hope you’ll take the time to add your votes to the hundreds of thousands we’ve already received. It’s also your chance to win tickets to what’s sure to be the most ridiculously metallic award show in history. I mean really, Devin and Twisted Sister on the same night? Whollee. Fucking. Shiiiit! Just head to www.metalhammer.co.uk/goldengods to cast your vote and take a part in heavy metal history.

Before we kick off these headbanging proceedings, let’s take a moment to spare a thought for the late, truly great Scott Columbus, erstwhile Manowar drummer and an inspiration to any metalhead who’s ever felt their pulse quicken to the sound of a mighty drum. Our thoughts are with his friends and family in this difficult time. Horns at half mast.

STAY METAL..

Brothers Beyond

Slipknot may never fully recover from the passing of Paul Gray, but their imminent return to the stage at UK’s Sonisphere is going to be an act of catharsis for fans and band alike. Shawn ‘Clown’ Crahan and Joey Jordison open up to Hammer exclusively.

Words: Dom Lawson Pics: Steve Brown

When the news broke last December, you could hear the cheers of elation and sighs of relief from the hot streets of Rio de Janeiro to the sun-blistered stone of the Parthenon. Despite having endured an horrific year that had seen them reduced from a seemingly invincible nine-man wrecking crew to a wounded but dignified band of brothers, following the tragic death of founder member and bassist Paul Gray back in May, Slipknot announced that (sic) were going to return, headlining the Sonisphere festival at Knebworth this July and playing a handful of other prestigious dates. The events of 2010 unquestionably pulled the rug from underneath this seemingly unyielding band’s feet and plunged them into a period of mourning and destabilising uncertainty; the endless and often witless speculation of pundits and fans on the internet only adding to the sense that the Iowans’ rudder had fallen off, leaving them lost and directionless. In the end, those who were predicting the end of the Slipknot story looked very foolish. The end of Slipknot? Don’t be fucking ridiculous.

Four months on from that announcement, drummer Joey Jordison and percussionist and visual king Shawn ‘Clown’ Crahan, the other two parts of the unholy trinity of Des Moines miscreants who put the band together in the first place, are in a far more buoyant and defiant mood than many may have predicted after watching the heartbreaking press conference that followed Paul’s death. Speaking to Hammer as the wheels of progress start to grind into action, both men have plenty to say about the past, present and future of their band and, despite having barely spoken to the press since the passing of their friend, both are happy to answer the questions that fans have been dying to ask during those months of sorrow. First and foremost, we have to ask what prompted them to stage their comeback in Europe rather than at home in the US.

“If we were gonna return, why would we not go to Europe first?” states Joey. “It was the right decision at the right time. Europe’s always been amazing to us, especially the UK. I still remember our first show there, on December 13, 1999; I still have dreams about it! It was one of the biggest landmarks of our career so why not go back now? Slipknot is not going to die. It’s a lifeforce, man. With all the feelings and emotions and the passion of one of the people who really helped to start our band pushing us forward, this is how we start again.”

You always seem to have had a strong relationship with the UK; ever since the self-titled album came out in 1999 and UK metal fans immediately embraced what you were doing, arguably more so than in any other territory. Is the show at Knebworth going to be the most important of all?

“The show at Knebworth is going to be heavy, man,” says Shawn. “We thought Download was fuckin’ heavy in 2009, but this’ll be something else. I don’t even know how to describe it, because the UK kids know us, man. I remember the first show at the Astoria in ‘99. I walked into the Astoria and there was a kid in an orange jumpsuit and a clown mask, and he’d paid £85 to have the mask made so he could be me. I couldn’t believe it. I thought I’d achieved everything when I got to the UK; the UK totally gets us. That show will be the heaviest show on the tour by far. There’ll be a lot of tears that day.”

“The feeling right now between all the bandmembers is the same feeling we had when we first came to the UK,” adds Joey. “This is a special event. It’s not like being on tour. We’re doing this out of our hearts and out of respect for our band and mostly out of respect for our fans. This isn’t contrived, some list of tour dates. This is speaking directly to the UK and to Europe. This is not bullshit. People will be pleasantly surprised by what we’re bringing.”

One of Slipknot’s strengths has always been that they’ve been adept at presenting a united front to the world. Even though it’s always been apparent that this is a band full of wildly differing personalities, the whole point of Slipknot has often seemed to be the expression of a single, focused purpose, uniting band and audience in a grand outpouring of righteous anger and joyous energy. As a result, the last year has been a little unsettling for those observing the band, not least because for the first time it has been made plain that not everyone in Slipknot has been reading from the same tight-lipped, thoughtful page. In particular, frontman Corey Taylor has been making frequent public pronouncements that have carried a faint air of pessimism and negativity.

“Part of me is ready [to carry on with the band] and there’s a part of me that’s not,” he stated back in March. “I have a lot of trepidation about it. I don’t know how to feel. I know a lot of the guys in the band are trying not to show that side, and I can’t.”

In light of the fact that Slipknot had already announced their intention to return, thus strongly implying that the band could well continue beyond these few shows and make another record too, Corey’s comments, seem, at best, a little unhelpful. Do his publicly expressed doubts about the future of the band run deeper or is this simply a case of one man’s emotions leading him away from the general consensus?

“Well, I would get into a lot of trouble if I try to speak for people, so it’s important that you print it like I say it, and I’m saying that I’m not speaking for anybody except myself,” states Shawn, firmly but diplomatically. “But in my opinion the majority of people in the band need Slipknot, want Slipknot, have no doubt that Slipknot will continue. There may be people in the band who may have a harder time feeling what they’re experiencing and only they can get over that and only they can make themselves feel that way. Hopefully their feelings will work out, and that’s exactly what we’re doing, getting together to celebrate Paul’s life, his love for music, his love for Slipknot, his love for his fans.”

The last few years have been upsetting for rock fans, with numerous major figures passing away, leaving huge gaps that can never be filled. The loss of Paul resonated as loudly and powerfully as any, partly because he was such a talented and revered figure within the metal world, but also because Slipknot have always seemed to be impervious to the hazards that cause most bands to noisily disintegrate or feebly fizzle out, whether they be as trivial as ‘musical differences’ or as monumental as mortality itself. And yet, despite having been temporarily stopped in their tracks, few would bet against Slipknot roaring back into action at full strength and with renewed vigour when they hit the road again this summer. As another band appearing at Sonisphere this July once sang, “You cannot kill what doesn’t die…”

“It’s always been that way,” agrees Joey. “Our first tour was Ozzfest in ‘99 and we fuckin’ blew every other band off the fuckin’ stage, every night. It was not even a competition. It’s not like we were trying to beat anyone; we were just being ourselves. We toured with Coal Chamber and some other bands that year too, and I recall my friend Dez Fafara telling me that one guy from one of the other bands had looked at him when we were playing and said, ‘Can you see what we got ourselves into here?’ They tried to kick us off the tour, every band did. One show in Oklahoma City we couldn’t fit anything on the stage and they kicked us off the show and we still outsold every other band’s merch! That’s the strength of what we are when we’re together as a band. That’s not ego talking, it’s the truth. It is what it is, and I’m so happy and so fulfilled with everything we’ve done and everything that we’re gonna do.”

“A lot of people won’t know that we were done with All Hope Is Gone, and we were going to take a break like we do after every record,” says Shawn. “That’s why people love our band; we’re not trying to get off our label and make a bunch of shitty records and try to shove ‘em down fans’ throats. We take time off to get physically and spiritually sound, then we get bored and take what we’ve learned from where we’ve been and we apply it to right now and we get busy with art and music, then we come and kick the living shit out of you. That’s what we do.”

Just as the trials of life can never kill a band with Slipknot’s fighting spirit, neither can you replace the irreplaceable; a fact that made the band’s decision to fight another day such a painful one. There from the beginning, Paul made such an invaluable contribution to every aspect of Slipknot’s music, methodology and rise to glory that the idea of someone else stepping into his jumpsuit and mask was simply unthinkable. But there are always ways a means to circumnavigate even the toughest problems, and so the news that Slipknot have recruited Donnie Steele, a member of a very early lineup of the band and a close friend and musical collaborator of Paul’s, to perform bass duties on these upcoming dates has removed a great deal of disquiet from conversations about the future.

“I’m glad you’re speaking with me today,” notes Joey. “You have called me on the first day that I play with my new bass player. I’m starting with Donnie tonight. I start working with him first and we have over 35 songs that we have to rehearse tonight! Ha ha ha! When we headline in the UK it’s gonna be a longer set, so we have to go over a bunch of stuff.”

What made you go with Donnie?

“It was an easy decision,” he says. “I don’t want to talk about my brother’s death, but once it happened, our phones all lit up with all these guys from other bands. I took it at a disrespect level. I was like, ‘No, no, no!’ and it just came to me one night. I woke up from a dream about the early Slipknot days, before it was even known as Slipknot. Donnie was our first guitar player. We only had one guitar player but we had three drummers. You couldn’t even hear the guitar before we hired Josh [Brainard, Slipknot guitarist from 1995-1999]. So I called Shawn and I said, ‘This is the only thing that makes sense…’ Slipknot is a family. It’s a brotherhood. When we started together, Donnie was there. The last time I saw Paul was when I was with Rob Zombie in Iowa; Donnie was there and he and Paul were writing a new record for [pre-Slipknot metal project] Body Pit. I said to Shawn, ‘He’s part of our family!’”

“The gentleman who’s filling in for Paul was very, very good friends with Paul,” Shawn adds. “They come from a school of death metal and black metal, both very technical players. Recently Paul had hooked up with him and they were finally going to do their side-project. Paul was a guitar player and he attacked the bass like he did the guitar, and that’s exactly what Donnie’s gonna do. So he’s bringing more integrity than any freakin’ person who ever thought they had a chance of playing bass in something as serious as Slipknot. I laughed in the face of anybody who thought they had a chance!”

There’s been a lot of speculation about whether Donnie will be performing alongside the rest of the band onstage or whether he will be behind the drum riser out of sight. Can you confirm or deny any of this?

“We still have to figure out what we wanna do,” says Joey. “Will he be behind me? Right now, yes. In the future, I don’t know. Right now, he’s behind me or right next to me and he’ll be watching my every move and I’ll be watching him but it’s not going to take away from my performance, because by the time we hit the stage it’s going to be easy.”

“I can’t predict the future, but I know right now there’s no new mask, no new coveralls, no new number,” says Shawn. “There’s eight guys on stage and the first guitar player we ever had filling in for Paul, because there’s always gonna be nine.”

Clearly there can be no upside to the loss of such a loved and respected figure, but the last year has at least enabled the music world to finally acknowledge Paul as the influential and inspirational creative dynamo buzzing tirelessly away at the heart of Slipknot. It has always been left primarily to Joey, Shawn and Corey to communicate with the press and although Paul was not averse to doing interviews, his relative anonymity within such a populous band meant that he was able to exert his vast influence on Slipknot’s music and ethos away from the media spotlight. Now, of course, it’s apparent that his death has left a chasm inside this band’s furious heart and that these forthcoming live performances present a huge emotional challenge to those who mourn him, both on the stage and in front of it. Joey and Shawn are clearly still coming to terms with the loss of their friend, both close to tears when his name inevitably comes up in our conversations. For Shawn in particular, Slipknot’s return to the stage is all about paying respects and doing what needs to be done.

“Slipknot is more dangerous now than ever and I have the fuel known as Paul Dedrick Gray in my blood,” he says. “I’ve been here from the beginning, when Paul recognized my ability as an artist and said, ‘Just do it, man! Let your thoughts out and don’t let anyone stop you from what you feel and what you think!’ So now I’ve got his blood boiling in my veins. I’m not just playing for Clown; I’m playing for him, for his wife and daughter, his legacy, his love for the band, his love for music. I’m not discrediting anybody. We wouldn’t be where we’re at without everybody. We wouldn’t be here without Corey, Sid, Jim, Craig, Mick, Chris, all of us. But in the beginning, there was this idea that was created by Paul and I. He wrote the kind of music with Joey that just made me want to put my face through glass. I helped start one of the biggest metal bands in the world and I’m not necessarily a metalhead. I’m an alternative dude or an indie dude, whatever the fuck that means. I was on my way to being like Andy Warhol or something! I gave it all up to be in this band called Slipknot and I love it and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Another major issue is whether or not Slipknot will ever make another studio album. Paul wrote a lot of the band’s music and was an integral part of the creative process on all four of their albums to date, but Slipknot have no shortage of creative brains to tap for fresh ideas. Corey added a dash of fuel to the fires of confusion when he stated recently that “there’s such a huge piece missing now, a piece that the fans can’t even understand. I mean, Paul always was that unconscious, almost lynchpin that held everything together. And he had such a great mind for the music that we created that without him, I don’t see it happening very soon, let’s put it that way.”

Given that it’s clear that at least one member of the band has doubts about the future, can fans truly be secure in the knowledge that their heroes will continue beyond these festival appearances and as far as a new album in the future?

“That’s the most important question you’ve asked so far,” says Joey. “We made this decision [to play shows this summer] out of respect for the music that we made and out of respect for our friend but mainly for our fans. Why would we not continue? It’s stupid to even think it. There are a lot of naysayers and all that shit. In the Slipknot world it’s blasphemy to say we might not continue.”

“Yes, I always knew we’d be back together,” insists Shawn. “Yes, I always thought we’d make another record. When? I don’t know. Is it being talked about? No, it is now. When would it ever be? I have no idea because I’m not a fortune teller, but in my heart of heart of hearts, and with Paul on my shoulder, kicking me in my face day after day, I absolutely believe there’ll be another record. How could there not be?”

Their unerring ability to sing from a single song sheet has been one of the biggest factors in Slipknot’s enduring appeal. From humble beginnings in Des Moines to their status as one of the biggest metal bands on the planet, these men prize collective focus above virtually anything else, and so it has been strange to see signs of hesitancy emerge in recent times. It’d be more than a little tacky to speculate whether Corey’s seemingly disruptive remarks about the future, and his bandmates’ self-evident but skilfully stifled testiness, are merely evidence that the grieving process affects different people in different ways, but it is also undeniably true that the internet age has made it more or less impossible for any high-profile rock band to conduct their affairs in private. The much-debated possibility that Corey is to be announced as Velvet Revolver’s new singer is a great example of this: what would normally be dismissed as idle gossip takes on a level of credibility far beyond what the known facts would seem to deserve. Social networking is the new grapevine, it seems, and Joey is not impressed.

“The internet can fuck off!” he barks. “I have an official MySpace and Facebook, but all that bullshit? I don’t use it. If you want to talk to me as a person, the internet is the worst thing possible. I do get it. Maybe it makes sense if you don’t have a life of your own. But that’s why i don’t use it. I have lovely people around me all the time and I’m blessed with everything I’ve been able to accomplish. I only have MySpace and Facebook to block people from imitating me. I don’t even have a Twitter account. But you know what? If I need to find where a good Mexican restaurant is, I can log on and find it. So the internet does have its uses, I guess! Ha ha!”

Bullshit and hyperbole will continue to make the world go round, but for now at least, all that remains is to get very, very excited indeed about seeing Slipknot again at Knebworth this summer. Anyone who witnessed the band tearing Download a collection of new arseholes in 2009 will be able to confirm that there are few bands more capable of commanding a festival headlining slot, and it goes without saying that the UK will welcome them back with open arms and pounding hearts, but our mounting excitement at the thought of Slipknot headlining a major UK festival again is undeniably tempered by a faint air of nervousness about the backdrop of grief and uncertainty that has coloured the band’s canvas over the last 12 months. One way or another, this is going to be extremely emotional, isn’t it?

“I don’t think any fan ever thought they were never gonna see Paul again,” says Shawn. “So it’s our duty to being it all together; when I walk on stage in tears, there’ll be 10,000 other people in tears with me and we’re going to celebrate in the salvation of music and what brings us together.”

“These gigs are not a job,” avows Joey. “This is more of a cleansing. All of us are going to have the most incredible shows of our career. That’s it. I’m not saying this to promote this. But this is going to be worth the wait. Of course there are gonna be teary eyes and maybe for some of us, behind the masks, but are they gonna be sad tears? No, they’ll be happy. We’re going to be there and we’re going to watch the audience explode and what better celebration could you ask for? That’s all it needs to be. Let’s just fucking rock!”

Slipknot play Sonisphere, July 8-10, 2011

“We’re gonna die for rock ‘n roll!”

Slipknot’s drummer was in Tokyo with his other band, Murderdolls, when the recent earthquake hit Japan, wreaking devastation and leading to many thousands of deaths. Here he recounts his experience for the first time…

“I was doing an interview and a photoshoot in this really rickety building when the quake started,” he recalls. “We’d already felt a smaller quake the day before, but when this one really hit it was throwing me against the walls. My tour manager Roger grabbed me saying, ‘Fuck this! We don’t need this…’ and he threw me over his shoulder and got me out of there! Everyone was trying to get out and we were the last band to leave Japan. We were like, ‘Fuck it!’ We were gonna stay and if we die, we’re gonna die for rock ‘n’ roll! That’s the Murderdolls’ mentality. We couldn’t get back to our hotel rooms because the elevators were completely fucked, so we went and stayed in the bar and got shitfaced. In the end we got evacuated. It was like, ‘If you want to make it back to the US, you need to go now otherwise you’re gonna be stuck here!’ So we finished our pints and got to the airport and, luckily, got on the airplane. Right after that is when the nuclear reactor was heating up. It was a big, intense experience. It was one for the books, I tell you…”

Shawn Crahan tells Hammer about his new band…

Black Dots Of Death

Describe your new band… “It’s a rebirth of Clown, a second coming, and it’s dangerous. It’s the next level. It’s a mix of many genres. I’m done making soft music and now I’m angry again and everything’s surrounded by death and the idea of ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ There’s a moral behind everything; it’s deep.”

What appeals to you about playing the drums? “I’ve played drums since I was eight years old, man. When you see me play drums, that’s the most personal me you’ll ever see. I don’t wear a mask. No one plays as hard as me, man.”

Do you have plans to take Black Dots Of Death out on the road? “The record is out now. Everything you need to know, you can find at www.theblackdotsofdeath.com. This is art, man, and it’s fuckin’ dangerous. But my biggest priority in 2011 is to get together with Slipknot. There will be Black Dots shows, but my biggest priority is to celebrate Paul’s life.”

Will he or won’t he?

The rumour mill has been working overtime as speculation mounts about Corey Taylor apparently becoming the new singer in Velvet Revolver. Or not. Here’s what’s been said so far…

“We recorded a bunch of songs with Corey. I think he’s fucking great – he’s the best voice of a new generation and I’d be proud to do anything with him.” [Duff McKagan, March 2011]

“He’s a guy we’ve had our eye on, but the timing wasn’t right. Weiland was available. He was out of Stone Temple Pilots. It wasn’t like we went and said, ‘Hey, dude…’ He came to us, like, ‘Hey, I’m out of my band. I’ve got time. Let’s do this.’ And it’s a similar situation with this individual.” [Sorum to billboard.com, December 2010]

“[The new singer is] a little younger, a little stronger, a little heavier rock’n’roll than we are.” [Sorum to Noisecreep, December 2010]

“A couple of people have said one thing or another, but it’s been blown out of proportion. I’ve made no comment on that one.” [Slash, February 2011]

“It’s gonna be interesting going into the third record because we’re gonna have a whole different personality as a vocalist. Chances are it’s gonna be a lot heavier than anything Velvet Revolver has done so far.” [Sorum to artistdirect.com, January 2011]

“As soon as we got off the road from the last tour and parted ways with [singer] Scott [Weiland], we got together and wrote half a dozen really great, sort of heavy metal pieces of music. It’s a lot heavier than what Velvet Revolver has put out [in the past], so I’m dying to put out the quintessential Velvet Revolver record.” [Slash to MTV News, June 2010]

“To be continued! Ha ha ha!” [Corey Taylor to billboard.com after being asked directly about whether or not he is joining Velvet Revolver, January 2011]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Cory Doctorow Humble Bundle

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then San Francisco (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

It's been 21 years and 29 days since Tor Books published my first novel, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom. In the years since, Tor has published every one of my novels, sending me around the USA and Canada to talk about them. Now, they've teamed up with Humble Bundle to sell 18 of my ebooks on a name-your-price basis, with part of the proceeds going to benefit EFF:

https://www.humblebundle.com/books/cory-doctorow-novel-collection-tor-books-books

I've been associated with EFF even longer than I've been published by Tor! My first novel came out while I was working EFF's first-ever booth at CES. I split my time between the booth and my motel room, where I paid $0.25/call to dial up to Earthlink's local number and manage the launch-day publicity. Over the years, I've benefited immensely from Tor's editorial and publicity departments, working with brilliant publishing people like Patrick Nielsen Hayden, Patty Garcia, Dot Lin, Laura Etzkorn, Elena Stokes, Sarah Reidy, Lucille Rettino, and of course, Tor founder Tom Doherty.

But I like to think that it was a two-way street. Tor and I have come a long way together on ebooks: most visibly, they allowed me to publish several novels under Creative Commons licenses (my first book was the first ever CC book, coming out just weeks after the licenses themselves launched). As my editor Patrick Nielsen Hayden said at the time, "Ebooks have the worst hours-in-meeting-to-dollars-in-revenue ratio of anything in my publishing career. Why not?"

https://craphound.com/down/download/

Just as important – but less visible – was Tor's willingness to let me insist that all my books be published without DRM, meaning that anything you buy on say, Amazon, can be moved to any reader program if you decide to start getting your ebooks elsewhere. This worked so well that in 2012, Tor became the first major publisher in the world to ban DRM on all its ebooks, flying me, John Scalzi and Charlie Stross to New York City to announce it this at a big, splashy event at Book Expo America:

https://web.archive.org/web/20130512022634/https://tor.com/blogs/2012/06/tor-books-announces-e-book-store-doctorow-scalzi-a-stross-talk-drm-free

Tor's unique status as the sole major DRM-free publisher in the world was well timed! That same year, I curated the very first Humble Ebook Bundle, which was very top-heavy with Tor titles, and raised more than $1,000,000 for the writers, publishers and charities associated with it:

https://web.archive.org/web/20121017215636/http://www.humblebundle.com/

That opened the floodgates to a series of Humble Bundles, tempting other major publishers to dabble with DRM-free, including Simon and Schuster:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-I5QyAfglU

And Harpercollins:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HHMLfeCrCrE

Now, 12 years after that inaugural Humble Ebook Bundle, I find myself honored by being the subject of a bundle of my own (it helps that I've written a hell of a lot of books in the intervening years). Included in the bundle are (nearly) all of my Tor novels and novellas: The Lost Cause; "The Canadian Miracle" (a Lost Cause story); Red Team Blues; Radicalized; Walkaway; "Party Discipline" (a Walkaway story); Pirate Cinema; Rapture of the Nerds (with Charlie Stross); For The Win; Makers; Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town; Eastern Standard Tribe, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, Little Brother, Homeland, Attack Surface, and "Lawful Interception" (a Little Brother story).

(The sole exclusion is The Bezzle, which came out two weeks ago and is already a USA Today national bestseller!)

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Also included in the bundle is Poesy the Monster Slayer, my 2020 picture book for the littlies:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627/poesythemonsterslayer

All these books are delivered as DRM-free epub files. The Bundle runs for the next three weeks, and the minimum buy-in is $18 – that's just $1/book (full retail value is $187). Of course, you can name a higher price, and, as with all Humble Bundles, you can adjust the final split to share out the money between me, EFF, and the Humble folks.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/03/humbly-bundled/#eff-too

[kzuhasgf]

late night worries

pairing — huh yunjin x 6th member!reader

it's late, and yunjin finds her way onto your bed. you soothe her worries.

tags — gn!reader (ethnicity friendly), idol!au, genre — fluff, hurt/comfort, romance word count — 1,574

notes — I couldn't sleep tonight, so I made this instead. reader is the same age as yunjin

busy schedules, busy dates. it's common for idols to have their days, weeks, and months booked and planned out, so it wasn't practice for you to maximize and make the most out of your free time.

you and the girls have been extremely busy, which has become even more exhausting in recent weeks as you prepare for your "Flame Rises" tour, which will take you and the girls to different parts of asia.

nothing could keep you and your bandmates from giving it your all and making your first tour as successful as possible. you didn't want to, but you have overworked yourself here and there, but not to the point where it seriously affected you.

hours of long practice later, you and the girls walked back into your dorm, eunchae's eyes drooping from how drained she was. sakura used the little energy she had left to reheat some homemade food she had made days prior, hoping everyone could still eat a meal before heading to bed.

after having a quiet dinner, you all sleepily waved to each other, "goodnight," retreating to your rooms after washing up and relaxing. everyone seemed to fall asleep once they climbed into their beds, but you and yunjin had other plans.

you had no idea she was even awake. you were still up because you enjoyed having skincare routines and dressing in your comfiest clothes before going to bed, but also because you wanted to pamper yourself before another day of exhaustion began.

you patted your cheeks and lightly washed your hands after you applied moisturizer to your face. you went through your closet, taking out your favorite pajamas and hoodie (unsurprisingly yunjin's), putting them on before stretching and plopping onto your bed.

you breathed a long sigh and curled up in your blanket, falling asleep, your eyes tired from being open for so long.

it had been at least thirty minutes, and you were still dozing off. you drifted to sleep, then slowly opened your eyes again, repeating the process. some things kept you awake at night for you to be this way, but it happens to everyone, so it was okay.

your lover seemed to be going through the same thing.

yunjin couldn't help but sit up from her sheets after an hour of tossing and turning, unable to sleep due to the worries that knawed at the back of her mind. she walked through the hallway, footsteps light, before stopping at your door and turning the knob.

she peeked her head in, noticing you left your night light on, and she smiled and adored you, eyes softening, before quietly stepping in and closing the door.

you heard someone enter during your light sleep, and you raised your head, not processing anything, until you saw your girlfriend kneeling beside you, looking adorably yet unusually lost.

"baby? what are you doing here?" You slurred.

"y/n," she fidgets with her fingers.

"oh, can't sleep? c'mere."

with a sleepy smile, you welcomed her, and she gladly crawled under the covers and into your loving arms.

she laid her head on your chest, and you ran a hand through her hair, humming and kissing the crown of her head.

"what's wrong, baby?"

yunjin felt hesitant.

"I'm... scared. and nervous." you hummed again, remaining silent so she could speak.

"I've never been so tense before. the last time I felt like this was when the rankings were announced during produce 48,"

hearing that made your head perk up. albeit sleepy, you still cared about your girlfriend and her well-being, so you tried your best to stay awake despite everything in your body telling you to shut down.

yunjin, your lover who knows you so well, noticed your eyes closing repeatedly and thought you were so cute that she smiled and took a second before kissing your lips.

"you don't have to stay awake, my love. I just need someone to listen."

you nodded at her and closed your eyes, listening to her open about her problems quietly.

"I'm scared for our tour because it's the first time we've ever had one, and it's also my first time experiencing one. sakura and chaewon unnie have done this before, so they might not relate to me. for kazuha and eunchae, I've found it difficult to talk about how I feel because I don't want to burden them."

"they're much newer to the industry than I am, and sometimes, it makes me think that I shouldn't feel this way."

hearing her concerns and what they were about made your ears perk up a little. because you knew yunjin, and hearing her this distressed jolted you awake to some extent.

she always looked forward to performing, and she always looked happiest when she was on stage. you knew this well, so her nervous and unsure demeanor made you slightly concerned.

"continue, baby."

"and sometimes I don't know what to do. you're the only person I want to turn to because I know you understand me, and you'd never judge me because you love me for who I am."

"you... love me."

"I love you, jennifer." you nodded in agreement.

"it's so difficult now that everything's sinking in. are we really going on tour in two weeks? am I even prepared for it? what if I don't satisfy the fans well enough, and what if they don't like our performances?"

"all our practices have also been so exhausting. and I'm so, so tired."

"but I have to fight through. I have to because I'm not the only one going through this. the other girls are doing this, you're doing this, and just because I'm feeling a little worse than the rest of us, does that really mean I have a say in... anything?"

you shook your head, not liking her words one single bit.

"baby, enough. you're just feeling sorry for yourself now. don't invalidate your feelings like that."

"I-" she paused, pressing her face closer to your chest, then quietly said, "I'm sorry, my love..."

you sighed and furrowed your brows, apologizing for being too direct. yunjin meant the world to you, and you both knew she valued herself more than this. everything that was going on was wearing her out and her emotions.

"you can tell me anything, baby. and you know what? I'm so glad you did."

"because I am here to tell you that you really are the greatest person I've ever met. whether you're on stage, doing random dances in the practice room, chopping fruits in the kitchen, strumming on your guitar, writing songs, or lying in this bed with me,"

"nothing will ever change my mind. you are the greatest, and everyone around you thinks the same."

"you've always put yourself and your enjoyment first, so why should it be different this time? just because it's our first tour? this is my first time experiencing this too, and even though I'm also tired from all the work we've been doing, it will all pay off in the end, trust me."

"we get to see all of our fans, who are so eager to cheer, support, and watch us strengthen our bond as a group. I'm worried about making mistakes, but instead of viewing it as something to bother me, I try to look past it and be positive about it."

"I'm also looking forward to the time we'll be spending together and the hardships we go through during it."

"and, most importantly, we should not forget that you are the huh yunjin. that is who you are. you have millions tripping over for you, baby. I am actually so lucky to have you. you always look and do your best when you're having fun, so when the time comes that we have to perform, try to look on the bright side of things and enjoy, okay?"

"you. are. amazing. I love you." you repeatedly poked her nose.

yunjin was rendered speechless. she had no words to say... and didn't even realize she was crying until you put your hands on her face and wiped her tears away. streaming down her cheeks, she exhaled before closing her eyes and resting her face in the crook of your neck.

you gently patted and stroked her back, humming one of the songs she made for you in return.

"It's okay, baby, I'm here."

she quietly sobbed, wrapping her arms around your neck, sniffling, and wetting your (her) hoodie with the emotions she'd been holding in for so long.

"I, I-"

"shh, it's okay, baby. breathe."

she began hyperventilating, all her worries crashing down on her, clouding her thoughts. but eventually, it faded, and you did nothing but the best of your ability to comfort her and help her calm down. she thanked you profusely, wondering how she had met someone like you in this lifetime and how happy she was to be your lover.

"and, one last thing. jen?"

"mhm?"

"you will never be a burden to us, okay?"

she just smiled and nodded through her tears, hugging you again tightly. "okay." she whispered and closed her eyes.

you had no idea how you ended up together and how your paths intertwined, but you didn't want it any other way.

actually, you would want it in any other way. as long as it was with her.

and as long as you could do this, you would always want it, time and time again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ending notes — OH MY GOD I'M A GENIUS I'm an actual genius

[zaynsalbumsficfest]

Here is the masterpost for round one of the zaynsalbumsficfest. We are happy to announce that we will be back later this year with round 2!

Thank you to all the wonderful writers who have joined our fest, we are so happy that so many of you were able to celebrate Zayn's music with us!

Fics and summaries under the cut.

⋆ and right from the start by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

It all started when Zayn ran into Aiden again.

Aiden. Liam hadn’t thought about him in years, if he’s honest. They’d been in highschool together, but that was ages ago, and they’d lost touch, as people do when you go to uni. Last thing Liam heard was that he’d gone off to London to study at ICMP. Liam and Zayn had stayed up North, going to Manchester together.

They’d done everything together, from the moment their mums had introduced them to one another. Liam had been the new neighbour, moving up from Wolverhampton, and Zayn had been all of three years old when he’d declared Liam his best friend. Liam had looked into those hazel eyes, framed by impossibly long eyelashes even then, and felt like he’d come home.

Even now, in their twenties, they still do everything together. They’d finished their degrees at the same time – Zayn the responsible one, making Liam study even when he didn’t feel like it – and had moved down to London together, finding a flat and jobs and building up a social circle that consisted of both Zayn and Liam’s friends.

It’s nice. It’s comfortable. And somehow Liam hadn’t expected it to end.

⋆ for the rest of my life (for the rest of yours) by @voulezloux

zayn and louis are exes. they still sleep together.

⋆ catching eyes across the room by @beardyboyzx

Zayn is nineteen when he gets his gift.

People say that when you get your gift, you can hear the Magic’s voice whisper what it will be to you the morning of your birthday: Zayn has always wondered what Magic sounded like — but most importantly: what will It say to him?

⋆ sipping pink lucozade by @zaynmaliksmiddlefinger

If Zayn had to describe his life for the past few years, “struggling musician” would be a massive understatement. The last thing he needs right now is a distraction from his last shot at a successful career.

Enter the most tempting distraction he could imagine in the form of Liam Payne, the irresistible—and deeply closeted—playboy and son of the owner of Zayn's label.

Liam Payne is used to getting everything he wants with a tap of his black card—but he isn’t used to wanting something money can’t buy.

Let alone something he shouldn't desire to begin with.

Both men know they shouldn't risk everything by giving in to temptation, but it just might be too late.

⋆ love me tonight by @1ds5directions

When they meet for the first time, Zayn is on set of a new music video for singer Liam Payne. Louis didn't tell him about the cross he did at the intimicy work agreement when filling out the papers for Zayn. So a (surprise) scene of clothed grinding turns into two orgasms later in Liam's changing room. The second time they meet is a coincidence but the third and fourth time are not.

⋆ my sleep was stolen, I'm searching for thieves by @yeahexactlyimnotreal

A lack of sleep leads to a chance of reconnection, with a whole lot of history written in dreams.

or

A series of hopes, dreams, and memories of Zayn as he rediscovers the most important people in his life.

⋆ like a sour diesel, she burns by @larry-hiatus

He’s just an exotic dancer—one whom Zayn enjoys more than the other girls at the club; one with whom he happens to share a complicated past; one who lets him blur the lines between what’s right and what’s wrong. All of that may be true, but Harry is still just a stripper to Zayn, and nothing more. Really.

⋆ can you feel where the wind is by @fallinglikethis

It had been a normal day, just like any other. He’d been doing a PR tour for his father’s election campaign, making appearances in marginalized communities to let them know that his father saw them, would work for them if elected. He’d always maintained that his father would make a bigger impact by showing up himself, proving that he meant to keep his promises and was not just sending his son to give lip service. Liam’s advice had fallen on deaf ears, but then it’s not like Liam had listened to his father’s advice either.

Liam still remembers the argument, still remembers the feelings of stubborn exasperation and eventual grudging acceptance, when his father had insisted that Liam needed a security detail while out doing his father’s bidding. He remembers arguing that he had no real power over anything, so no one would care about him, let alone try to hurt him. But that assessment had proven to be untrue today.

⋆ baby, i'm right here by @enchantedlandcoffee

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t stop us from dating, I’m way too irresistible for that,” Louis grinned, groaning when one of their throw pillows hit him in the face. “Knobhead.”

“Wanker,” Zayn retorted, sticking his tongue out at Louis. Louis stuck his out in retaliation, gently kicking at Zayn until the man grabbed his feet and held them still. They stayed there in silence for a while, Zayn reaching for the remote to turn the TV on as Louis focused on a weird patch of colour on their ceiling.

“Do you ever think that maybe we should date?” Louis asked, gaze staying firmly on the patch of colour even as Zayn turned to look at him.

Or

The one where Zayn and Louis are best friends and, after much prompting from their family members, try and give dating a go.

⋆ i'll knock on your door, it will save me from calling by @hl-obsessed

Louis hears "Good Years" for the first time. Harry is there to pick up the pieces.

or

Zayn makes some questionable choices. Louis makes some long awaited moves.

Sometimes heart broken all over again is the first step to healing and making everything right again.

⋆ skin on my skin by @laynefaire

Damn, I could get lost in a heartbeat Damn, I can't get over your body Can't take my eyes off you, baby Let me love you, baby

Let me touch you where you like it Let me do it for ya Give you all of my attention Dive into that ocean of your love, oh Let me show you just how much I want ya

⋆ i will die if i don't try by @lightwoodsmagic

It had started with an Instagram message this time.

Actually, it’d started with a comment, a simple ‘this sounds big already’ with clapping hands, one that Zayn had found easy to reply to with a casual ‘@liampayne appreciate it bro, thanks for the love’ and adding his own emoji. He’d sat and stared at his phone, watched as fans seemed to suddenly appear to like Zayn’s comment and show their excitement in capitals. He’d sat forward on his couch, leg bouncing as he’d chewed on his fingernail and waited for the message or call that was sure to come.

He’d been the one to reach out last time, after all.

It’d only taken Liam five minutes to send through a DM, something that surprised Zayn - he couldn’t remember ever speaking to Liam this way before.

Zaynie! How have you been? New song sounds sick.

And that’s all it had taken.

Or, Zayn and Liam used to be together in One Direction and they've been drawn back to each a handful of times over the last decade. This time though, with Zayn in Paris for Fashion Week, everything feels different.

Based on Common from Icarus Falls

⋆ love like this by @reminiscingintherain

A Zouiam RWRB AU, featuring Louis as the First Son, Liam as the Prince, and Zayn as Liam's friend and equerry. With appearances from Lottie as Louis' helpful sister, Harry as his best friend, and Niall as Liam's golf instructor (or gardener? or something else?).

⋆ i found the earth (not leaving now) by @zqua1d

Liam watches the ball of light as it traces the sky then starts to dip below the tree-line. It’s larger than any shooting star he has ever seen before.

He makes a wish. ☆☆☆ Alien Zayn + Human Liam | A love story inspired by the song “If I Got You”

[cirrus-grey]

It's that season again so fuck it, TMA Tour de France AU

Jon is a GC contender and the team leader for Ocula-Arachne, a well-funded, competitive team with several previous Tour winners to their name. He was the second-place finisher at the previous year's Tour, and is looking to bring home the yellow jersey this year. He placed well in the Spring Classics, but a bad crash and a fractured ankle have meant he missed the last several weeks of racing. It was uncertain whether he'd even compete in the Tour until the team roster was announced shortly beforehand, and he's coming into it feeling like he needs to prove himself.

Martin is a time trial specialist, but has been made team leader of Solus this year and is competing for the GC. It's his first time riding for yellow - he placed in the top ten at last year's Tour and has been absolutely killing it in the Classics, drawing media attention and pressure for the first time in his career. He seems to be getting better and better as the season goes on, but there are questions on if he's got the team to back him up - their tactics often leave him riding alone, hanging onto the wheels of his rivals rather than protected in the middle of his allies. Rumors of his rivalry with Jon are perhaps exaggerated - they touched wheels in one of the first races they were in together and both crashed out, but whatever grudge Jon held from that has faded as they've found themselves going head-to-head in recent races, and they are often seen chatting amicably as they wait for stages to start or bantering good-naturedly after they finish. Still, building on that early enmity makes for good tv.

Tim is Jon's right-hand-rider and an absolute powerhouse in the mountains, known for being able to drag him up the toughest climbs even when he's having a bad day. There's speculation that he could be a future GC contender himself - he placed fourth in the Tour last year, and possibly could have made the podium if he hadn't had to sacrifice his own race for Jon's. He probably would have been team leader this year if Jon's injuries had kept him from riding, and commentators love discussing if the team made the right decision not to bring him forward. If he harbors any private resentments about being passed over, he's done a very good job keeping them out of the public eye.

Sasha is a breakaway specialist and a former teammate of Jon and Tim. At the end of last season she transferred to team Drugoy-Tsirk - they've got a smaller budget, but they give her the opportunity to ride for herself for stage wins, rather than hanging back to support Jon. There's barely a breakaway attempt made where she isn't one of the riders in it, and she's won most aggressive rider several times already this season. There's no hard feelings toward her from Jon and Tim about the team switch, though they do find it disconcerting how they almost don't recognize her among the peloton in her new red and gold uniform...

Melanie is a sprint specialist for Nemesis-Lancraig, two-time winner of the green jersey and looking for a third. She's received criticism in the past for her aggressive riding style, and been relegated at least once under the accusation of elbowing another rider out of the way during a bunch sprint. She denies it, and the negative press only drives her harder to prove herself. She hates Jon, and it's mutual - in a race early in both their careers, his attempts to gain time in the GC got in the way of her attempts to win a stage via sprint, and vis versa. Both lost, and both still bear a grudge over it.

Georgie is Melanie's chief lead-out rider and recent girlfriend, though they're trying to keep that out of the press. She's got a knack for finding a good line through a bunch sprint to launch Melanie to the finish, and has been courted by several other teams looking to add her to their roster - but she's happy where she is. She tries not to get in the middle of the rivalry between Melanie and Jon - she and Jon rode together before turning professional and helped each other's careers a lot, and they're still on quite good terms when they meet.

Basira is the team leader for Everchase-Z, and the reigning champion from last year's Tour. An experienced professional, she's maintained cordial if distant relationships with her competitors and is well-respected by all. She's here to defend her title, and is favored to do so by all estimates - no injuries, no illness, and an ever-predictive win in the Critérium du Dauphiné mean that she's coming into this race as the rider to beat, and she doesn't intend to let anyone do so.

Daisy is Basira's right-hand-rider and has been so for the entirety of their professional careers. Ever-loyal, ever-dependable, she's pretty much unstoppable when it comes to catching breakaways - she's snatched several wins right out from under Sasha’s nose, bridging the gap from the peloton in a burst of speed and dragging them back to the group - or launching Basira ahead for a solo win. If she's on your tail, it's almost a guarantee that you're going to get caught: marked, paced, and hunted down with the precision of an expert.

I don't have plot for all 21 days of racing, but I do have the pivotal moment in week 2:

Basira has a lead of several minutes on Jon. He's in second, with Martin only 30 seconds behind him for third. Tim is in fourth, only about 20 seconds behind Martin, and he'd probably be ahead of him if he hadn't had to drop back from a breakaway in an early hilly stage to help Jon. Melanie has two stage wins to her name and feels like she's letting her team down. Sasha has one stage win, and is marking the entire Tour as an unequivocal success.

Halfway through week two, they're in the high mountains. Sasha tried for an early break but got brought back by Daisy; Melanie zipped ahead to snag a few sprint points in the foothills, and is spending the rest of the day in the gruppetto, hanging with the rest of the sprinters and chatting (flirting) with Georgie. Early on the penultimate climb Basira got away from the rest of the contenders and gained a devastating lead, putting more than a minute into them before they were even halfway up. Tim managed to hang with her for a bit before being called back to help Jon, who was struggling; Martin, with no teammates to help him, has been chugging along between the two, no chance of catching Basira but dangerously close to pulling into second place if Jon can't find his legs.

Tim drops behind Martin. He rendezvous with Jon, and starts the laborious process of trying to catch Martin again. After several arduous minutes of effort, they do. Tim is beat and has no more to give, so Jon swaps over to Martin’s wheel, hanging with him as Tim falls behind and trying to ignore the throbbing in his still-not-fully-healed ankle. He could just stay here, pace Martin, keep his second place and leave first for another day, but-

Basira reaches the top of the climb and begins the long, fast descent. She's not taking any chances, playing it safe, and Elias (the Ocula team director) is on the team radio shouting at Jon that this is his chance, he's a good descender, if he can get over the top of this climb first not only can he leave Martin in his dust but he can scrape some time back on Basira too, he's still got a chance at yellow-

Jon gathers all his reserves of strength into a burst of speed, passing Martin and charging for the top of the climb. Martin sticks out his tongue as Jon passes, trying and failing to keep up, and Jon grins at him over his shoulder as a gap grows between them. There's enough distance to the top that he pulls that gap to almost 20 seconds before he gets there, and it stretches, elastic, as he starts the descent at full speed and Martin is left still slogging up the uphill behind him.

It's a tricky descent. Lots of sharp corners, narrow roads, pavement slightly damp from a recent rain. Elias is in Jon's earpiece, telling him to push it faster, take more chances, this isn't the time to play it safe, Basira's almost at the bottom but you can catch her-

Jon takes a corner too fast. He doesn't see the paint on the road until it's too late. His wheel loses traction; slips.

The camera on the motorbike ahead of him only sees him start to tip sideways before it's around the curve and out of view. Jon doesn't follow, and every commentator on every TV outlet across the world starts freaking out, asking if they can get a camera in there, what happened, did he crash?? The motorbike can't go backward, though, it would clog up the whole race, so they holster the camera and keep going. They'll slow down if they're needed to track riders coming up from behind, or speed up if the producers want more eyes on Basira. Finding out what happened to Jon will have to be a job for someone else.

Martin makes it to the top of the climb and starts the descent with a sigh of relief. He's alone; for some reason the motorbikes never seem to follow the Solus riders, even if they are in the top three. His earpiece is pretty quiet, too, since Peter (team director) takes a pretty hands-off approach to the whole "directing" thing. He knows his two competitors are ahead of him, though, so he takes a few more risks than he normally would on a descent like this, getting as much speed as he can without losing control of his bike.

Heading into a turn, he sees a bike tangled in the weeds on the outside edge of the road, mangled and broken. He eases up on the speed so as not to repeat the crash, not thinking too much about it.

He's ten feet away when he spots the radio on the ground and realizes the crashed rider can't call in for help.

He's five feet away when he recognizes Jon's bike, and realizes Jon himself is nowhere to be seen.

He's off his bike and running before he even thinks about it.

There's a sharp drop off at the edge of the road, a steep slope covered in thick-growing trees and underbrush. Martin skids down it, cleats digging ruts in the grass as he tries not to lose his balance. One hand finds his radio, he shouts for the medical car, and then all his focus is on the trees around him, searching desperately for a flash of Jon's jersey, calling his name.

It can only be a few seconds before he spots him. His team confirms later, it's a very short time between his first call through the radio and his second. But it feels like an eternity of crashing around through those trees, desperate, panicking, race entirely forgotten on the road behind him, before he finally finds Jon.

He's sprawled on the forest floor in a dip between two trees, his jersey torn to shreds, his helmet cracked in two, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood wells up from a deep gash in his side, and his eyelids are flickering, unfocused, barely-conscious.

"Jon!"

Martin drops to his knees, hands fluttering around, not sure where to begin. Jon's mouth moves, an exhale of breath that sounds almost like Martin’s name.

("I'm fine, Martin." Later, Jon remembers saying the words with absolute confidence, the concussed certainty that he only needed a minute to rest before he'd be back on his bike. "Keep racing, I'll be up again soon.")

Then his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps to the ground, unconscious.

Martin's brain kicks back into gear. With one hand, he presses down on the wound in Jon's side, trying to staunch the blood flow (Oh god, there's so much blood, he must be cut deep-) and with the other he fumbles for his radio again, finally tuning in to the fact that Peter has been yelling in his ear this whole time.

"-crash? Can you get back on your bike? The car's going to take some time, can you keep riding?"

"Medic!" Martin snaps again, not listening.

"Martin!" Peter sounds more exasperated than relieved. "Where’d you crash? Can you keep riding?"

"Not me," Martin manages. "It's Jon, he- Jon Sims, from Ocula, he's- he crashed ahead of me."

"Sims?" Peter sounds baffled. "You're fine, then? Get back on the bike, we've got a chance at second!"

Martin doesn't move. "He's hurt bad. Where's the medical car?"

"A few minutes out, they're behind a few groups on the climb. Look, I've called in the crash, they're on their way, you don't need to worry. Just get back on your bike and keep riding, this is your chance!"

"I can't leave him!" Martin protests. He doesn't know a lot about medical science, but he can see the amount of blood on the leaves around them and how pale Jon's face has gone. He doesn't dare take his hand off the wound.

"Martin-"

He rips the radio from his ear, drops his other hand to Jon's side, and applies more pressure.

(News of the crash spreads over the race radio. In the Ocula car, Elias curses, slamming his hand into the dashboard hard enough to bruise. Then he picks up the radio again, flicking over to the team channel.

"Tim," he barks. "Jon crashed out, we're riding for you now. Try to get as much time back as you can before the finish, we'll reevaluate our strategy tonight."

"What?" Tim claps a hand to his radio - he's been soft-pedaling, waiting for the group behind to catch up so he can have an easier ride to the finish, but now he digs down for reserves of strength he didn't know he had and picks up the tempo. "Is Jon-"

"He's fine," Elias spits, motivation rather than truth. "Ride like a man and you might pull second over Blackwood."

Tim rolls his eyes and removes the radio - he's never envied Jon the kind of pressure Elias puts on the team leader - crests the top of the climb, and starts the descent. When he passes the crash he pays it no mind - Elias said Jon was fine, and he has a race to focus on.)

The minutes drag by with agonizing slowness for Martin. His eyes are glued to Jon's face; his hands shaking where he presses them to his side. He doesn't think he's imagining the way Jon's breathing is growing shallow and uneven, and there's an unspoken terror in his heart as he counts down the seconds until the medical car arrives.

The sound of an engine. A shout in French. "Here!" Martin yells back, whipping his head around. "Er- ici! Nous sommes ici!"

Everything is movement and noise from there. A few paramedics come hurrying down the slope toward them, faces turning worried as they spot Jon. One gently pushes Martin out of the way, taking his place to apply pressure to the wound; the other runs back to the car, shouting something Martin can't understand.

He finds himself standing on the sidelines, leaning against a tree, watching in a state of numb shock as they bring bandages down, start carefully trying to cover the worst of the wounds. He thinks a few minutes pass, but it feels like only seconds before there's the shrill sound of an ambulance siren on the road above and then more people are rushing around, they're loading Jon onto a stretcher, and Martin is following them back up the slope, trailing slowly behind as they carry Jon away.

The vehicles are pulled as far to the edge of the road as they can be to give riders room to pass. A few groups zip by as Jon is lifted into the ambulance and hooked to an IV. A motorbike has parked a little way up the road, and the camera is fixed on the scene, capturing every detail.

One of the paramedics tosses a blanket over Martin’s shoulders and makes sure he's leaning safely against a tree. He barely even notices, eyes locked on the doors of the ambulance as they close behind Jon.

The Solus team car pulls up as the ambulance drives away. Peter gets out, gestures for Martin's spare bike to be taken off the roof and gotten ready. Then he approaches Martin.

"Okay, we've lost a lot of time," he says briskly. "Ocula sent Stoker ahead and he's probably going to take second, but you've got a chance to hang onto third if you get moving now."

Martin turns to look at him slowly. The words aren't really registering, but when the new bike is rolled in front of him he grabs the handlebars and climbs on.

The camera watches as his team director helps him balance, gives him a hearty push to get him going again. He pedals once, twice. The bike slowly wobbles forward, veers to the side, and gently bumps into a tree. Martin tips sideways, not doing anything to break his fall, and is caught by one of the doctors from the medical car, which had stayed behind after the ambulance left.

Peter looks at the doctor, and the doctor shakes their head. He gives a deep, resigned sigh.

"Okay." Peter walks over, helps Martin off his bike, hands him back the shock blanket. "Come on, then."

He's ushered into the team car. A few more minutes are spent clearing the debris from the crash scene, removing the bits of bicycle that are scattered over the road. Then the medical car leaves, and the Solus team car soon after, and finally the motorbike drives off after them.

----

When Jon wakes in the hospital that night, he finds his whole team gathered around his bed, with Martin sitting closest to him and holding his hand. He's flattered that they'd take time out of their recovery for him like this; horrified when he learns that Martin actually dropped out of the race to help him; shocked to realize how bad his injuries are. He thanks Martin profusely, congratulates Tim on moving into second, and falls asleep again soon after.

It's not until the next morning, when he wakes to an empty room, that the doctors tell him he probably would have died if Martin hadn't stayed with him to help minimize the blood loss.

----

A few days later, he's cleared for transport, and they fly him back to London so he can finish his recovery in a hospital closer to home.

Martin books a flight back the same day.

----

They watch the last week of the race together on the tiny television in Jon's room. Sasha pulls one more win from the breakaway; Tim holds onto second by his fingernails, going toe-to-toe against the third place rider on the final mountain stage and winning by the width of a wheel. Basira runs away with first, pulling her lead to almost six minutes, and there's no doubt in anyone's mind that she would have gone home with yellow even if Jon and Martin had stayed in the race.

Melanie sews up the green jersey competition and pulls a final stage win on the Champs-Élysées, outsprinting everyone in a spectacular finish. She yanks Georgie into a celebratory kiss in front of all the cameras, and suddenly no one is talking about Jon's crash at all anymore as news of their relationship goes public in spectacular style.

----

Jon and Martin’s first kiss is a quieter thing, a private moment shared some weeks later on the day Jon is told he'll be able to go home soon.

----

It's when he's relearning how to walk on a slowly-healing leg that they start talking about their futures: what their careers mean to them, what they mean to each other, what they're willing to risk for both.

The news that the two rising stars have quit racing doesn't break until the next season has almost begun, but with the way their teams are clearly prepared to ride without them, it's clear the decision was made much earlier.

----

The television coverage of the next Tour does a little "behind the scenes" package to fill time on the long, uneventful sprint stages. They get team interviews, fan reactions, local color... they catch up with Jon and Martin on holiday by the coast, taking advantage of the lovely beach weather and cheering on the passing racers from among the crowd. They talk honestly about how they reassessed their priorities after the crash, how much respect they hold for riders who can come back from something like that and keep racing, but how the risk of further injury just wasn't worth it for them. When they're asked what their plans are now, they just smile.

"Well, we've got our hands full with wedding planning at the moment," they say, holding up their hands to show off the matching engagement rings. "But we're glad to be taking some time away to cheer on our old teams..."

They drop out of public awareness soon after that, with no regrets. They still enjoy watching the race together every year, and traveling to see some of it in person when they can, but they're more than happy to leave their own racing careers well in the past.

[yrthr]

☾ DANCE ROOM 7 ; HAN YUJIN

yujin masterlist / zb1 masterlist ; wc 1.327k

➛ genre / trope ; idol au , friends to lovers 🎧 — so sorry that this took so long , my writers block is unreal , if y’all can’t already guess my fav girl group..

“ y/n ! “

you turned around , seeing yujin sprinting down the sleek grey hallways owned by hybe entertainment.

“ what are you doing here ? “

you asked , the boy let out a small huff of exhaustion as he stood in front of you with a small sweet smile.

“ wakeone is under renovation sooo we’re going to be colleagues for a while ! “

his smile became bigger as he looked down at the floor while swaying his feet back and forth. you raised an eyebrow at him finding his attitude quite odd. well… maybe he’s just excited to explore hybe. yeah , probably.

“ well have fun , my breaks over i need to head back to the dance room. “

“ oh… uhm are you free later on today ? maybe you could show me around ? “

“ i’m quite busy , you know preparing for a comeback and all that. “

you tip-toed and ruffled his hair , which made his face scrunch up in annoyance , playfully swatting your hand away.

“ see you whenever i see you. “

as you were about to turn around to continue your journey , you felt his fingers gently slid around your wrist with a small tug.

“ uhm… could you show me to dance room 7 ? i can’t find it… haha. “

yujin sheepishly admitted , his other hand wrapped the back of his neck as a pinkish blush coated his cheeks. he lets out embarrassed laughs which made you roll your eyes.

“ i charge high prices for my tours. “

“ i’ll pay you in bubble tea. “

“ alright deal , follow me. “

you lead the way towards the lifts. he looked down and noticed that his hands were still wrapped around your wrist. he stared at your hands together , unable to hide the smile growing onto his face.

while walking together you rambled about whatever while occasionally looking up at him in which he was always looking at you.

oh and you definitely noticed both of your hands together but decided not to say anything , deciding to let him enjoy the moment as you found out about his crush on you long ago.

yujin was arguably quite good at hiding his crush in the beginning but as time went on the facade faded.

some examples , after winning awards he would always be the first one to congratulate you and you insisting on being your personal photographer and bringing you snacks or ordering you food right to your dorms doorstep.

or during your weverse lives he would always tune in and call you to annoy you while seeing your reactions.

theres many more situations during your friendship in which it hinted towards his feelings. while you did reciprocate those feelings you decided to see how far he would go before finally confessing.

“ we’re here. “

you announced looking back up at him once more.

“ you remember the path we walked here right ? “

“ uh… yeah sure. “

“ i swear.. “

he giggled , opening the door for you.

“ where’s the rest of your group ? “

you stood with your arms crossed , looking around at the dance room not being in here before as it was one of the spares.

“ lunch break. “

“ why didn’t you follow them ? “

yujin walked up to you.

“ well i… needed to tell you something actually. “

he looked down and fiddled with his hands. his mouth opened and closed again and again seemingly not finding the right words to express himself.

“ i like you. “

“ i know. “

yujin’s eyes widened giving you a confused look.

“ you what. “

“ yeah i mean… i kinda found out after a while. “

his mouth formed into an ‘ o ‘ shape and his ears turned red.

“ i like you too though sooo “

he smiled for the millionth time that day and giggled uncontrollably.

“ also you’re really bad at lying. “

he hummed in response.

“ if you were lost why are your things in the room. “

he laughed , burying his face into the crook of your neck in embarrassment and his arms snuck around your waist.

“ i just wanted to talk to you. “

the stadium roared with screams and cheers , the dim venue being lit up by spots of white light making it look like stars in the sky. overwhelmingly bright stage lights being the main attraction with equally ear blasting speakers.

your group walked around the extended stage , periodically holding up their microphones to sing their part in the serotonin boosting song and interacting with fans as well.

you walked over to the pit squatting down and waving at the thousands in front of you which made them go absolutely crazy.

winking and giggling made them go even more feral. the power you had over them was insane.

a few fans a few rows behind the barricade were jumping up and down , furiously screaming and waving their hands in the air , which peeked your curiosity.

you stood back up giving them a confused look while trying your best to scream ‘ what ‘ at them.

“ .. AT THE BACK .. “

“ …THERE… “

“ …HERE..THERE “

the loud music accompanied with the never ending cheers were way too loud for you to hear their full sentences. but they were pointing at the back of the pit which made you squint your eyes , trying to find what they were possibly hinting at.

you didn’t get far in your search before the music stopped and shuhua swung her arm around your shoulders with full force , causing you to stumble a little bit.

“ our dear y/n forgot to sing their part. “

she said into the microphone causing the stadium to , once again , erupt.

you simply gave her a playful eye roll as everyone gathered back onto the main stage.

“ now that everyones back we’re going to play the whisper game ! “

[ im not sure if its called that , but its that game where you stand in a row with everyone wearing headphones so they cant hear , only the first person not having any and they have to try to let the next person guess the word by screaming / mouthing it out. then it keeps going and going till the last person and if they guess it correctly the group gets a point. ] side note : my explaining sucks but if y’all watch like kpop reality shows then i think you’ll know what this game is

“ y/n will be the guesser ! “

soyeon announced immediately placing the headphones on you and turning you around so you face the opposite side of them.

“ can you hearrr me ?? “

you gave her a confused look as the music from the headphones had already started playing making you basically deaf.

all you could do was stand there awkwardly while waiting for your turn. to cure your boredom you and some fans in the crowd and a conversation through hand signs or trying to read each others lips.

someone tapped your shoulder.

‘ finally ‘ you thought.

yujin ?

he stood there with a big smile on his face and a rose in his hand and a flush of pink on his face.

you took off your headphones and made eye contact which almost immediately resulted in both of you bursting out in embarrassed laughter.

the big screen was once again set on both of you and the stadium roared with the loudest set of screams that night.

yujin gently took your microphone and spoke , “ you almost ruined the surprise , you were like this close to spotting me at the back of the pit. “

“ i just wanted to give you this. “

he held out the rose , “ it reminded me of you. “

“ i would’ve bought you the world but you’re priceless. “

“ wow yujin. “ you paused , “ well , i would’ve flew to the moon and back but that means i’d just need to walk towards you. “

both of you burst out into a fit of giggles and covering your red faces in embarrassment and yet your hands still managed to find each other once more.

🎧— ngl i rlly don’t like this one but i’m too lazy to come up with another plot and shit so yeah

divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

©️ yrthr 2023

[legacygirlingreen]

A New Era…

See what I did there… because it’s the eras tour… and the start of a new era for me fandom wise… I’ll let myself out 😭

Hi friends,

I know it’s definitely been a while since we had a little fireside chat of sorts. I never wanted to be that person who posted this big long rant with nasty call outs or annoyed remarks. But, I have to be honest. I am really, really growing to find writing for Hogwarts Legacy to be a chore. It used to come by so naturally and I’ve lost a lot of the enjoyment due to fandom fighting, the lack of a real update with the recent announcements and just some honestly, nasty anon asks I’ve received over the last few weeks.

I have a lot going on in my personal life right now and with that, it’s caused this fandom to feel more like a burden than an escape. I have surgery coming up and it just doesn’t feel like the supportive, loving, atmosphere it once did in so many ways… So for a while I think I’m going to shift gears until I find the energy to return to my works.

Having been on tumblr for a long time, I’m sick of starting over with every shift in fandom interest so I have decided to leave this tumblr, add to it and let it be a hybrid of my interests. I will return to working on my HL content, I just don’t have a set date for it.

To those who will likely depart this blog due to this announcement, thank you for the support. I hope life treats you well. To those willing to jump to a side project I’ve been working on, I’m excited to bring you all along. And to those who may soon find this blog from other spaces, welcome.

I just really need a break from what I’ve been doing and I’ve found inspiration elsewhere in the meantime.

Thank you all for being understanding and know that I have truly enjoyed the ride with this blog so far and hope to continue to do so as I post a project that I’ve been inspired by the finale season of the Bad Batch to write. I won’t give way too much, but I’ve got 50k words on my hard drive so far and I’m still going for our favorite mechanical engineer, pilot, riot racing, definitely not dead in my delulu: Tech

(If anyone actually is interested in a teaser I would love to share)

Once again, I hope this can be a discourse. Let me know your thoughts, opinions, etc. if you are willing to give other content a try and aren’t so familiar with the animated side of Star Wars I will gladly send you a guide I made for my best friend to aid. She has no knowledge of the animated series, and as someone who went to film school purely for my love of the clone wars, this return to the universe in many ways has felt like coming home. It’s where I have always felt the most safe. It’s where I always felt the most inspired. I am just overall so thankful to have found joy in writing once again as I feel like I lost it for a while there.

I am sorry if I have disappointed anyone, I just really need a break from HL creating until I sort out my life. I’ll still lurk on my lovely mutuals since I do love you all so dearly. @eternalremorse @writing-intheundercroft to name a few. I also owe this wonderful fandom for my best friend in the whole world. It’s a love of mine, right now I think we would be better on a break… if that makes sense…

That being said, I am so, so, SO thankful for the last year (plus a few months but who’s counting) with you all. I really do look forward to eventually coming back. Right now, I just would love to explore other avenues while I’m feeling so drained.

That’s all for now but I hope to post new content soon,

- M 💚

PS : to anyone who’s found this under TBB tags… I’m a bit nervous to dive back in to the Star Wars realm since I deleted all my old ST fics but I’m ready to try again…

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today - May 13th, 1977 - Queen Story!

Queen played Congresscentrum, Hamburg, Germany

'A Day At The Races' Tour

🔸Record Mirror, May 21, 1977

A NIGHT at the Congress Centrum Hamburg, where escalators take you to the concert hall and the bouncers wear suits and ties.

It's been three years since Queen played Hamburg, but it's a near sell-out in a hall which looks like a giant lecture theatre with rows and rows of cushioned, spotless white seats. The stage is tiny but somehow the roadies have managed to squeeze on the batteries of lights.

It's a late start. Backstage, a giant roadie paces up and One week down like an expectant father outside the dressing room. Classical music floats gently over the audience.

Then darkness, lights, action and The Queen Machine rolls into action. Lights explode through the gloom and Mercury stands like Rudolph Nureyev.

He's dressed in a white jumpsuit and May, in wandering minstrel gear, blasts out the opening chords to 'Tie Your Mother Down'. For a guy who shows comparatively little emotion when he plays, the effect is still stunning. The number finishes with a drum solo and tarticle

g bass rising to the top of the sound mix. The Congress Centrum has great acoustics. You could have been sitting in a recording studio.

Most of the audience are caught like a fish on the end of a hook. It's the old Queen policy of 'grab 'em by the scruff of the neck and don't let go for a second'. The lights dim again, there are same tailed some taped sounds and spotlights shine out from the stage. May's knife - like guitar announces 'Ogre Battle'.

Explonding

Mercury makes an-other grand entrance in a chequered cut suit, pointing his mike stand at the audience like a gun. At the end he's lost in a mass of exploding smoke bombs. • The band's speeches are embarrassing. They always sound so self-conscious. "Thank you every-body and welcome to the party," says Freddie —like an embarrassed scoutmaster addressing his troop. It's 'White Queen' and the dynamic duo of Mercury and May are caught under criss-cross spotlights. Mercury tosses his head back as if he's in agony and sings the mystical lyrics before leaping around like a bizarre ballet dancer. Spotlights play on a crystal ball and May stands in the corner, framed in the half light like a Renaissance portrait. He takes to the catwalk at the front of the stage for a riveting solo. Considering the rapid-fire notes he's turning out, he always looks so relaxed. Mercury returns to the stage and the number taste-fully ends as he hits a high note and a solitary spotlight plays on his head and shoulders. "It's really nice to be here in Hamburg," he announces before 'Somebody To Love'. His playing misses the light opening touches of the record. The band try to make the tune more funky — maybe trying to keep the live excitement going, but it sounds cheap.

Half the German crowd are start their British Jubilee tour, ROBIN SMITH went to Germany and found that the Hamburgers were well pleased. Yes, they played a . . .

Good Old Fashioned . . singing along but the remainder keep their seats, showing no emotion. Eventually Taylor's drumming gets the crowd going. The reserve is breaking . . . May walks across to the microphone and clicks his fingers. Mercury's piano chords announce 'Killer Queen'. This time the playing is more laid back, capturing the true sensuous feel of perhaps the most subtle and skilful song Queen have ever produced. Mercury even managed to work in a line about Hamburg.

RAGTIME

The numbers followed by the gloriously ragtime 'Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy' and Mercury's voice is showing no signs of strain. In times gone by, especially at one concert at the Rainbow, he seemed to have been lisping and struggling, but no complaints this time.

The party atmosphere is continued with 'Bring Back That Leroy Brown'. May strumming away on banjo.

It's back to Queen at their most sinister with 'Death On Two Legs', Freddie spitting out the lyrics backed by cold guitar, rumbling drums and bass.

He sounds like Christopher Lee.

"Queen would like to drink a special toast to all of you here," says F'reddie. He sips champagne delicately but - tut, tut - it's not a proper champagne glass - the real thing is tulip shaped. He passes the booze down to the audience.

FRENZIED

Time for 'Brighton Rock' - frenzied riffs stab out and May indulges in some feedback before strutting around che stage. He indulges in a deluge of rising and falling notes and then the nagging riff start, again, bouncing off your eardrums.

Source article ➡️ queenconcerts.com

[heybaetae]

Why am I crying over someone who I’ve never mets dog who I also have never met 😩

yeontan was a big part of taehyung’s life and since taehyung is a part of yours, it’s natural to feel sad and empathetic for his loss. this is a special case because it’s a loss for everyone who adored yeontan, personally or not. it feels heavier compared to other bts’ family pets who’ve passed away because he was solely taehyung’s and he shared so much of yeontan’s life with us from the time he got him and we watched him grow up under taehyung’s care.

he incorporated yeontan into his art and included him in bts content like tour vcrs and vlives. we also saw how the other members cared for him. we know he was very well taken care of by taehyung’s parents when he was busy. yeontan was very lucky. not many celeb dogs are so publicly beloved the way he was, not just by people in taehyung’s life, but by strangers all around the world. he was taehyung’s companion, so he made him the king he deserved to be.

taehyung’s post didn’t read sad to me, rather it sounded optimistic and hopeful. i think this may be because yeontan likely passed a couple months ago, so he’s had some time to grieve privately, which i think is a good thing. losing a pet is very overwhelming and earth shattering. i can’t imagine going though that and having to announce it publicly right away when you know millions of people’s sadness will pile onto your own when it’s so fresh. this way, tae has given himself some time to accept the change and look at yeontan’s loss from a lighter perspective before letting everyone know. taehyung is very sensitive and conscious about things like that.

he seemed to be in good spirits last week when we saw him dancing and attending an event. he posted that he was happy at the end of his three day vacation. i know people are worried about how he’s doing and wondering if he’s okay, but i don’t think he wants people to be worried and that’s why he waited. he knows he gave yeontan an incredible life, but he has to navigate this in his own way and i believe that’s what he’s doing.

i am really sad this had to happen during taehyung’s time away. we don’t know how often they were able to see each other and it breaks my heart that they were separated during yeontan’s last year. i just hope he got to say goodbye. when i lost my dog five months ago, it felt like an entire half of me died with him. i still struggle without him around, so please keep taehyung in your thoughts and remember yeontan warmly like he asked 💜