this is war, my amour

writing sideblog stories tagged with "fanfic" :: random fandoms :: anime/manga/Vocaloid Ask box open for requests and whatever else. Masterlist of fic-fandoms. >talk to me! sometimes, I write

[sometimestxt]

I actually don't like finding out secondhand if someone was 'gushing' about one of my stories...

Because at that point I just don't understand why you won't leave a comment and let me know directly? If something resonates with you a lot, I don't understand why you won't let the person who created it know... And as per most writers are aware of, our creations get little appreciation so it means a lot to us.

[silvercistern-deactivated202307]

i’m going to say something that might make me seem ungrateful, but i think it’s true of many fic writers:

we want you to leave comments ON ao3.

we’re not angry or disappointed or anything like that when you leave qrts or lots of tags on our fic posts, not at all. we don’t NOT want you to message us to tell us how a fic touched you. but in addition to that, please consider just copying those words and posting them on ao3 as a comment.

why?

the reason is simple: leaving commentary in other places is ephemeral. story posts get pushed down. chats get pushed down in the list of chats, or worse, pushed up in lists of messages as the conversation continues. but comments on ao3 are easily accessible. and this is important because writers read and reread these comments regularly.

writing, especially writing longfics, is exhausting and drains your confidence over time. having a collection of people who enjoyed your past work at your fingertips is an excellent way to build yourself up when you’re feeling down. fic writers need this a lot.

i know over the past few years there’s this trend to be very descriptive with what is an “acceptable” comment. that’s all nonsense, as long as you’re not being an asshole, just say what’s on your heart.

but post it on ao3. please.

[eemamminy-art]

Also something I see a lot: people gushing to their friends in discord about a fic but not commenting on it to the author themselves. It's reassuring to find out secondhand that people gushed about your creation, but it's so much better when someone tells you directly! Reaching out directly on AO3 also helps to curb any lingering doubt of like... Is this something they'd only admit to in private but don't want their name connected to mine on AO3? Since there's a lot of weirdness around who someone associates with in fandom these days

[dsudis]

I will say also that some of my FAVORITE comments I have EVER gotten were copy-and-paste Discord conversations, like that is PURE! JOY!!! If you ever find yourself gushing about a fic in a server and everyone else in the conversation is cool with it, PLEASE copy and past that into an AO3 comment, you will make an author's YEAR.

[woodelf68]

If I'm reblogging a tumblr post of the fic, but the link goes to AO3, where would you rather I leave my comment, on the reblog or on AO3? Or copy paste and leave the same comment on both?

[silvercistern-deactivated202307]

ao3. as i said in my original post, comments are nice, but they become impossible to find after time. ao3 comments do not. if you also want to leave a comment on your tumblr post that’s fine, but ao3 comments benefit the author in the most direct way. 

[sometimestxt]

formatting on tumblr is a pain

i lowkey remember the other reason i started getting lazy posting my stories here because there is a lot of extra stuff i need to do (sobs)

[sometimestxt]

envy.

Fandom: Elsword Characters: Liberator, Celestia Summary: In another world, he walked a different path. A brighter path, lit by starlight. It was like looking into a distorted mirror.

Word Count: 8,349 Read on ao3.

note: formatting might be wonky on mobile/expand more. I recommend reading on ao3 (kudos appreciated) or at least opening up the entire post on browser.

—

A spark suddenly erupted in front of him, causing Noah to stumble backwards, stunned by the abrupt shock of power. The shadows following him promptly dissipated within the momentary brightness.

He winced, his eyes blinded by the unexpected burst of light. Once his vision adjusted, he took a moment to gather his bearings and re-examine his surroundings. It looked like the monsters he had been fighting were swiftly defeated and the few stragglers left behind were now retreating.

"What was that?" he muttered under his breath. Some sort of magic, he presumed, but where had it come from?

"Light magic, perhaps?" Clamor spoke up. "Maybe even celestial if I had to take a guess."

Celestial magic? He’d never heard of such a thing before.

Regardless, who had cast that spell?

As if on cue, Noah spotted an unknown figure approaching from the distance. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out their appearance.

Dark, wavy hair. Gold tassels and ornaments decorated his clothing, hardly something that could be considered discreet. A similarly flashy sword floated alongside him as he walked. The figure stopped shortly in front of Noah, eyes following him carefully.

“Who are you?” fell from Noah’s lips.

He felt the stranger’s curious gaze pierce into him. The boy raised a hand to his mouth, brow slightly furrowed, as though he was contemplating how to respond to his question. The gold jewellery that adorned his fingers shimmered in the dim moonlight, almost as if it was taunting him. After a moment, he said simply, “You don’t recognize me, Noah?”

He immediately stiffened at those words, his eyes narrowing. “How do you know my name?”

He lowered his hand from his face and spread his arms out wide. A smile formed on his lips and his eyes brightened. “Because I’m Noah. Noah Ebalon. Of course I’d recognize you—me.”

Noah stared.

That didn’t make sense. Why would he claim to be him? That simply wasn’t possible, not unless—

He felt his blood run cold.

Memories of his brother and the imposter from Henir’s Order flashed in his mind.

He raised his sickle, grip tightening around the handle. Shadows emerged from the ground and he shifted his feet, ready to—

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Clamor like that,” the stranger suddenly remarked, and Noah froze on the spot.

Dread immediately settled in the pit of his stomach as the words processed in his mind. How did the Order know about Clamor? Had they been keeping tabs on Clamor since the very beginning? Or were they really following him that closely? But, no, why would they send him then?

A pale imitation of himself.

Because when Noah looked at him, he saw a boy who stood several inches taller than him, a small flicker of gold in his eyes, and navy locks of hair that were nowhere similar to his own hue.

Yet he couldn’t deny that the shape of his face resembled his own. Moreover, he could make out the slight teardrop pupil unique only to his eyes.

But he didn’t see the tiredness of every repeated iteration in his gaze, nor the weight of each failure looming over his shoulders.

No, that person wasn’t him. There was no way that was him.

“I can explain,” he continued as though he could see the gears turning in Noah’s head. “I’m you, Noah, from another timeline. It seems I’ve accidentally ended up here after a little magical accident. Well, not so little, maybe.”

“Do you really think I would just believe that?” he scoffed. It was preposterous. Did the Order always use such flimsy reasons? As if such an idea would put him at ease?

Quietly, Noah adjusted his posture. If he examined his movements carefully, determined how he cast his spells, he could find an opening and catch him off guard.

“Hm, maybe not,” he hummed in response. “But maybe this could convince you.”

With those words, he raised his hand and the sword by his side followed his movements. It glowed faintly for a moment before exploding into a bright light. Noah winced, shielding his eyes with his arms. Once the glow faded, he lowered his arm and observed the aftermath.

Noah blinked, stunned at the sight before him. Faintly, he heard Clamor stammer out a few words in his own confusion.

The sword had transformed into a spirit, shimmering a luminous golden colour.

The spirit in front of them was familiar, yet not.

He looked vaguely like the scholar Noah had encountered within the Seven Tower. His robes were much more immaculate and his hair was parted differently in the front, but Noah recognized that face.

Everything about him—them—was familiar, yet not.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked after a moment, gesturing towards the floating figure next to him. “This is Clamor. Well, my Clamor, I suppose.”

No, everything in Noah’s mind screamed, his grip on his weapon tightening. Instinctively, he leapt forward, moving in on the imposter. In a split second, he closed the distance between them.

He swung his sickle forward and—

This time, Clamor’s voice stopped him.

“Noah, wait!” the scholar interjected. “I think he’s telling the truth. It… he feels like you. At the very least, I don’t think he wants to hurt us.”

Despite the blade of his weapon pressing dangerously close to his neck, the stranger didn’t move. Rather, he watched Noah closely, seemingly unfazed by his assault. Reluctantly, Noah had to admit that it didn’t seem like he nor the spirit next to him were going to retaliate.

Cautiously, Noah pulled back.

“I can sense that the spirit is similar to me, too,” Clamor continued. “Not exact—that boy over there isn’t exactly like you either—but similar enough to me that I don’t believe he’s lying. That’s not something that can be easily imitated, even with magic.”

“You should listen to Clamor,” the other boy said suddenly. “I’m not here to fight you, Noah.”

His eyes narrowed in response, trying to piece everything together.

He watched quietly as the figure before him adjusted the collar of his coat. Vaguely, Noah saw a small trail of blood stain the column of his throat. He must’ve touched him with Clamor after all.

A tense silence settled between them momentarily, before the golden spirit moved closer towards Noah. 

“We should have been clearer, obviously this would have been unexpected for you,” he spoke. “We don’t want to harm you. My Noah, here, had been experimenting with some magic and something went wrong in the process. We suddenly landed in another world—yours—a few days ago, and we’ve been travelling alone since. Noah was just excited to see someone he recognized, even if that someone was himself. We didn’t mean to alarm you so suddenly; this kid here just got a little carried away. All that being said, we’re still trying to figure out a way back to our own timeline. Would it be possible if we joined you temporarily until then?”

“Right!” The other boy nodded his head along, grinning. “How about we fight alongside each other for a bit, instead of against?”

Noah paused, attempting to assess the situation.

The entire idea was ludicrous.

But then again, was it really?

After all, his own time was repeating. What’s to say there wasn’t another him somewhere else, capable of travelling to alternate worlds, even if by mistake? Perhaps it wasn’t as preposterous as he had initially thought.

Still, a part of him was wary. But maybe if he kept him close by, kept a keen eye on him, he could gather some crucial information if he was truly hiding something.

“I don’t think it’ll hurt to let them tag along for a while,” he heard Clamor say.

He hesitated at those words. Clamor didn’t seem to think they were a threat, at the very least. Noah let out a brief sigh, then turned to face the other boy. “Just don’t get in my way.”

He brightened. “Oh, I won’t, Noah. You have nothing to worry about.”

Then, after a pause: “I’m Noah too, but that’s a little confusing, isn’t it? You can call me Celestia.”

Celestia.

Noah silently mouthed the syllables. It felt foreign to his tongue, not quite right. He let out a non-committal sound in acknowledgement, before walking away.

That person couldn’t be him, Noah repeated to himself. His gaze turned back towards Celestia, and Noah quietly watched as the other boy said something to the spirit by his side with a laugh.

After all, he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled like that.

Celestia was talkative. Just as much as Clamor, if not more so.

He would continuously chat away as they travelled together, even when Noah said little in return. Regardless, it was better to keep his distance.

Every little thing seemed to catch Celestia’s attention. There were small differences to his own world, barely noticeable, he had said. Still, he excitedly pointed them all out to his own Clamor.

He spoke a lot about magic as well and everything that he had learned under Clamor. It didn’t mean much to Noah; the terminology he used and explanations he provided went completely over his head—magic had never been his strength, after all. It quickly became evident to Noah that Celestia’s interests were primarily in magical research and experimentation, similar to Clamor.

Noah couldn’t see how he and Celestia were similar at all.

“The stars here are slightly different,” Celestia mused offhandedly as they came to a stop, taking a moment to rest. Noah stared at the boy next to him, shooting him a questioning look. Normally, he’d meander off with the golden spirit by his side—to discuss something relating to magic, Noah figured—however, he stayed with Noah this time. 

Seeing his expectant gaze, Celestia continued, “It makes things a bit more complicated for me. I wasn’t immediately able to read them at first, but I’m starting to figure it out now.”

Noah’s brow knit in response. Frankly, he had no idea what that meant.

Celestia let out a short laugh before elaborating further, “My magic is tied to the constellations. When Clamor and I first arrived here, I was immediately able to figure out that we were no longer in the same world because of the stars. My magic wasn’t resonating in the same way as usual—something about the world was not quite right. Though, just as the stars are tied to my abilities, I can influence the stars as well.”

“What does that mean?” he had to ask, the implications turning in his head.

Celestia paused for a moment. “Well, I don’t know for sure if this would happen… But you and I are not supposed to exist in the same world, at least not for very long. I think the stars might distort a bit, and the fates may drastically change in a direction they are not supposed to go.”

“Fate?” Noah echoed.

He nodded his head. “The fates are laid out in the stars. The past, the present, the future—it can all be read through the stars. I could even read your stars, Noah, once I get a better feel for the ones here.”

He flashed him a smile with those words but all Noah could think about was the so-called fate predetermined by the celestial bodies. Was it fated from the very beginning for his brother to die in such a horrendous way? Fated that they’d be ripped apart, that he would be left with a shattered world? 

What did he do to deserve this, to have to pick up the fallen pieces? To try again and again, and fail each and every time?

“And you follow these stars?” he eventually spat out. Night had not yet fallen, but he could still easily imagine the constellations twinkling across the dark horizon, mocking in their shine.

Celestia tilted his head to the side, confusion briefly washing over his features. Noah grit his teeth, his gaze turned away as he felt Celestia’s eyes bore into him. Then, quietly: “I never said the stars were just.”

“They aren’t,” Noah affirmed without missing a beat.

Celestia’s smile turned sardonic. “No, maybe they aren’t. But they still guide our paths forward. Regardless, I’m worried about how they will change if I stay here too long. It’s difficult to determine what could happen.”

“How much longer until you leave, then?” Noah asked next.

“Oh, I’m hurt. You want me gone that bad, Noah?” Celestia’s lips pursed into a playful pout.

“Yes,” he said simply with a roll of his eyes.

The other boy chuckled in return. “Hm, probably not until the next half moon? It was during a half moon that my experiment landed us here in the first place. Clamor and I have been discussing the situation and we’ve deduced that the next half moon would be when we can return to our own timeline.”

The full moon would be next, Noah mentally noted with a frown. It would still be a while until the next half moon.

“I guess you’re stuck with us a little longer then, huh?” Celestia teased, seemingly able to read his thoughts.

He rolled his eyes once more.

Still, his thoughts lingered on what Celestia had spoken of earlier.

A supposed fate, painted in the stars.

Somewhere, written in the stars was the image of his brother, brutally torn away from him. Blood and tears and nothing but a shattered heart remained. A young boy who would never amount to anything, who vainly hung onto a sliver of hope—a bright light that shone in the darkness of the night like a full moon. And now, now—

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He hated the idea of it.

The sun was rapidly setting, the horizon shifting from a warm gold into the darkened hues of dusk. Celestia approached him in the tranquility of the evening, a smile spread across his features. He beamed, “The stars are bright tonight.”

Noah glanced in his direction, an eyebrow raised in question.

“They feel more familiar now,” he continued. With those words, he procured a small set of cards from his jacket, fanning out several so that the back of the cards were facing Noah. An intricate golden pattern decorated the cards, something bright enough to still be seen in the twilight. The designs were as flashy as Celestia himself was.

“Tarot cards?” Noah guessed, confusion evident in his tone. He took a step back from the other boy, suddenly feeling wary. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Not tarot cards, no,” he hummed in response. “These cards represent the traditional astrological signs. The connection with the stars allows me to read the celestial bodies. I can read your stars with these, Noah.”

Vaguely, he remembered Celestia saying something similar to him not too long ago.

Noah twisted away, stating simply, “I’m not interested.”

“You’re not curious about what’s in your stars?” He sounded astounded at the very thought, as though the possibility had never crossed his mind. “Really? Why not?”

“Why do you care so much?” he asked instead, turning to face Celestia once more.

Celestia stared at him like the answer was obvious. “Because I want to know more about you—about me, who’s made different choices. This is a very rare opportunity, isn’t it?”

He frowned, because he still couldn’t reconcile the image of the boy before him with… himself. Because Celestia was talkative, bright, always smiling—

No, it was easier not to think about it. It was easier to keep him at a distance, to not let him any closer.

“You’re really not interested?” Celestia asked again.

Noah rolled his eyes. “Not interested in anything you would have to say, yes.”

“Surely our paths crossed for a reason, though?” Celestia pouted, then picked out a single card from his deck. “And that reason would be laid out in the stars.”

His eyes narrowed.

“The stars aren’t just,” Noah repeated back to him.

“Maybe not, but they guide our way,” Celestia echoed in return. “Though that’s not to say the future can’t be changed. Nothing is completely set in stone until it happens.” 

He paused for a moment, then shot Noah a meaningful look. “And even that’s not necessarily true, is it?”

He blinked at the insinuation.

Somehow, it seemed that Celestia knew.

He closed his eyes momentarily.

It was easier not to think about it—about him, them. He didn’t want to brood over what was written in the twisted stars. 

When he opened his eyes once more, he saw Celestia watching him with a bemused smile gracing his features.

He scowled. “Why are you looking at me like that?

“I don’t think many people would turn down the chance to see how the celestial bodies have lit their path,” he answered with a brief shrug of his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I be interested in you, then?

His frown deepened and he turned away from the other boy.

In the darkness, he would forge his own path.

“You haven’t really talked much about yourself, have you?” Celestia casually observed one quiet evening.

Noah turned to face Celestia and stared. “Why should I?”

“I’ve told you a lot about myself and Clamor,” he huffed.

“You just like to listen to yourself talk, don’t you? Because I never asked,” he answered simply.

“Well, I’m asking you now.” Celestia frowned. “You don’t trust me still?”

“How can I? When you’ve appeared out of nowhere, claiming to be me—using my name. Clamor doesn’t think you’re suspicious, so… I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt for now,” Noah muttered.

“I figured everything I’ve said and done by now should be enough proof,” he stated pointedly.

Noah couldn’t completely deny that. It was true that Celestia seemed to understand some things about him that no other person could. There was Clamor, too—his very existence couldn’t be a lie, could it?

And if Celestia really was sent by the Order, why didn’t they try to better replicate his appearance and mannerisms?

After all, they had been able to so easily fool the El Masters.

It just didn’t add up.

Perhaps Clamor was right.

Still, Noah couldn’t shake the queasy feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach.

“You claim to be me, but I can’t just trust you like that so easily—not when Harque was…”

Murdered by someone using his own face. 

“You think I would…?” Celestia blinked at the implication, and he took a step back.

His lips formed a thin line and he nodded briefly.

“… I’m not from the Order. I’d never associate with them, not after what they had done.” Celestia’s gaze hardened. “Though you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”

Noah faltered at his piercing stare.

Something about the look in Celestia’s eyes felt so real.

Like he was peering into a mirror.

“I said we should fight alongside each other, didn’t I?” Celestia continued. “I’ll fight with you, Noah, if that’s what you want. Like I said, I’m not here to fight you.”

He reached towards Noah with an outstretched hand, palm open. “But I can help you. What are you trying to accomplish? I know you’ve been collecting information recently, but what for?”

His gaze drifted towards Celestia’s open hand, but his own hands remained firmly by his side.

“I’m going to stop the Order,” eventually fell from his lips, his voice low. “But I don’t need your help.”

With those words, he turned away from the other boy and walked off, ignoring him as he called his name.

There was no reason to divulge any further information to Celestia—he was going to disappear soon anyway, fading away from his memory like stardust. From the very beginning, Noah never had any reason to believe in his words, to say any more than necessary—not when Celestia so nonchalantly borrowed his name and his face.

But he couldn’t deny it any longer now.

That look in Celestia’s eyes—that pain he was all too familiar with reflected in his gaze. 

It was true.

Celestia really was him.

“Clamor, do you want your body back?”

“Huh? What’s bringing this up again?” came the scholar’s response.

“Just answer my question,” Noah grumbled, shooting his companion a glare.

“Well, I mean, yeah. I can’t do too much as a weapon, after all,” he answered simply. Then, with a chuckle, he added, “Hey, kid, you think I could look as handsome as my other self there?”

Noah frowned. “I’m being serious here.”

“I know,” Clamor agreed, “but we’ve talked about this extensively before. Why are you asking again? Is it because of Celestia?”

He fidgeted with the handle of his sickle. “Celestia was able to figure it out—a way to get you out of this weapon. I know it’s possible now.”

“Right, it is. But it’s not simple magic—if it were, I would’ve already come up with the solution a long time ago,” Clamor stated. “Even if Celestia were to explain it to us, I don’t think I have the capability in this form to execute what would be needed.”

Clamor didn’t need to say it, but Noah knew he would never be able to either.

“Then I’ll just find another way,” he said instead.

“I appreciate the thought, kid, but we don’t even know where to start. And we’ve just established that I don’t have the magical abilities to do anything about it either.“ He paused. “Besides, you still want to stop the Order, don’t you?”

“I can do both at once,” he insisted. “I’m capable of it.”

“I’m not saying that you aren’t. It’s just—we should focus on your goal at hand first,” he returned simply. ”I mean, I’ve since long accepted that I’ll be like this anyway.”

“... That doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

“It also doesn’t mean that you need to worry yourself about this, Noah. You’ve already got enough to worry about without having to concern yourself with this problem too,” Clamor chided. “It’s fine, really. Hardly even an issue. I promise.”

His brows knit. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he repeated. “So cheer up! Frowning so much will only give you wrinkles at your young age.”

Noah rolled his eyes at that. Still, he couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his lips.

Maybe, maybe it was fine after all.

Maybe he really didn’t need to worry so much about it, even after all this time. Even after all these tries.

Yet whenever he looked at Celestia, all he could think about were the things he couldn’t and would never be able to do.

“Liberator,” Celestia stated suddenly and Noah stopped in his tracks, turning to face the other boy.

“I read it in the stars last night, something to call you. You’ll be Liberator.” He smiled. “It sounds nice, don’t you think?”

He didn’t know how to feel about it. He was just Noah. Noah Ebalon.

Nothing more than Noah, and he would never be anything more than Noah. He was never going to be good enough for any kind of title, after all.

Never going to be good enough.

“It sounds weird,” was all he said instead.

Celestia let out a laugh. “You don’t like it? Liberator. Or you’d rather I still call you ‘Noah’?”

That, too, was strange.

“‘Liberator’ is fine,” he eventually relented.

Because somehow, if he was Liberator and the boy in front of him was Celestia, they were both no longer Noah. Somehow, he wouldn’t be reminded that Celestia was him. Somehow, whenever he looked at Celestia it would feel less like he was peering into a distorted mirror.

Celestia beamed in response.

“Liberator,” he said once more, as though he were savouring the taste on his tongue. “Liberator. It will suit you, I think.”

He didn’t understand how, not when he was still trapped in this endless loop.

Celestia smiled, and he said nothing.

"This is a demon's nest," Celestia observed as he trailed behind Noah. He was surprisingly quiet for once—maybe taking in their new surroundings as they descended into the depths of the demon realm. The atmosphere was heavy and the air felt stiff. Each passing breath was more difficult than the one previous.

"It is," came his simple reply.

"Why are we here?" Celestia asked next.

“I’ve gathered enough information to determine that the Order is now operating in the demon realm,” he explained.

Silence settled between the two. Even Clamor was uncharacteristically mute as they continued walking further into the nest.

Eventually, Celestia spoke, "I don't think this is a good idea, Liberator."

He stopped at those words, turning to face him, eyes sharp. “You said you wouldn’t get in my way.”

“And I won’t,” he reiterated. “But I still think this is a bad idea.”

“I didn’t ask.” He shot the other boy a glare.

“Well, no, but it’s dangerous,” Celestia pressed on. “We should stop and head back.”

“I can’t,” he stated plainly.

“Why?”

Noah frowned, his irritation increasing by the second. “Because I know the Order is here, and they need to be stopped.”

“It doesn’t have to be now. You can still take some time to gather more information, can’t you?” Celestia tried to reason. “Because you… you don’t know for sure if that’s the case, do you?”

“I know enough,” he replied sharply.

“You’ll die out there,” he said in return. “You can sense it, can’t you? The demonic power here.”

For a second, he hesitated—because Celestia was correct about the demonic aura. He could already feel the overbearing dark energy in the distance suppressing his stamina; he could only imagine how much more suffocating it would be once they traversed further into the demon’s nest.

But he couldn’t back down now, either. 

“I have to do this,” he spat out instead, shooting a glare at Celestia.

He stared. “You don’t have to throw yourself head first into a swarm of demons.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered in response.

“Then tell me, Liberator, what am I not understanding?”

He asked the question as though it wasn’t evident, as though it meant nothing. To him, it probably did mean nothing after all, and that, that—

His hands balled into fists and his nails dug into his palms so hard they almost bled.

“The Order murdered our brother,” he continued, voice low. “I need to put an end to them, for Harque.”

“For Harque?” he echoed, tone incredulous.

“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” he hissed. “You gave up on vengeance long ago, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he uttered without missing a beat. “But I understand enough, Liberator—I understand that you’re being reckless.”

At those words, Noah unclenched his fists and grabbed the collar of Celestia’s jacket. A scowl formed on his lips as his glare hardened.

Celestia stared back, gaze unwavering.

“No, you don’t, Celestia. You haven’t—you haven’t done this over and over again. You haven’t tried countless times, only to fall short each and every loop! No, you just played around with magic instead!” Noah shouted. “How could you even understand? When all you’ve been doing is—is acting all… all—!”

Happy.

His grip tightened on the fabric of his clothing and he grit his teeth. Celestia’s eyes flickered between sapphire and a starry gold as he met Noah’s glare. The air between the two felt heavy, exacerbated by the demonic aura that surrounded them.

“That was the choice I made, and this is the choice you made, Liberator,” he stated, tone steely.

“And how could you choose to just forget about Harque!?” Noah yelled.

“Why do you think I forgot about him?” he returned swiftly, his voice raising in volume. “Harque meant everything to me.”

“All you talk about is Clamor and you don’t even care about avenging Harque anymore!” he shouted.

“And you think that’s what Harque would want? Vengeance?”

“If not vengeance, then what?” he sneered.

“Live,” Celestia declared. “Live, Noah. Harque gave us this second chance at life for a reason! Why are you throwing it away like this?”

Live.

Like it was that simple.

Because Harque was gone now and Harque was his world, his everything, what was he supposed to do with the broken pieces left behind?

What did he have to live for?

“Regardless, the Order needs to be stopped,” he eventually spat out, his voice coming out weaker than he had intended.

“And then what?” Celestia’s eyes softened. “… It’s not going to bring him back, Noah.”

I know, got caught in his throat. His grip on Celestia’s collar loosened and his arms dropped to his side weakly. I know, I know, I know, but what else is there?

Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed off.

Celestia didn’t follow.

“Noah? Are you okay?” he heard Clamor ask.

The boy slowed at those words, before eventually coming to a stop next to the decaying skeleton of a willow tree. He took a breath as he gathered his bearings.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered simply.

“Are you sure?” Clamor continued. “We can talk it out. I know it’s been difficult with Celestia ever since he’s arrived. I mean, it’s been weird to look at my alternate self too.” 

Noah squeezed his eyes shut, an uneasy feeling building up in his chest.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he repeated, his voice strained. “Let’s just go ahead—I think we’ll be able to find the Order, or some more information on where exactly they’re operating at the very least.”

And you think that’s what Harque would want?

The words echoed in his mind and somehow, he felt like he was suffocating.

The air tasted stale, heavy.

Still, he continued onward despite Clamor’s hesitance. His companion remained quiet as they travelled further into the demon’s nest, their surroundings darkening as sunlight no longer reached the depths of the realm. Perhaps Clamor was on guard just like he was—after all, they were traversing through unfamiliar territory. There was a strong likelihood of an ambush.

The sound of something snapping into two resounded in the distance.

He froze.

“Did you hear that?” Clamor whispered.

Noah gave a short nod, shifting his feet and readying his weapon. He took a moment to call forth his shadows in preparation for an unexpected attack.

Somehow, the darkness that followed him felt sluggish, slower than the norm.

The uneasy feeling in his stomach intensified.

Noah took another short breath, trying to focus on any potential threats. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to peer into the never-ending darkness surrounding him.

A beast suddenly hurtled in his direction, catching him by surprise.

He staggered backwards as he parried its claws with his sickle.

“Are you all right?!” Clamor exclaimed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught off guard,” he answered in a low voice. He narrowed his eyes briefly, examining the monster’s movements, before leaping forward to strike the beast. The creature’s skin was hard—almost armoured—easily deflecting Noah’s attack and knocking him to the side. He skid across the rough terrain, numerous gashes marking his body.

Noah grit his teeth as he rose to his feet, wiping away blood from the fresh cuts now on his face.

His eyes widened as he recognized several silhouettes before him.  

Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

There were numerous demons, much more than he had expected to encounter. Their eyes glowed in the darkness, piercing, tracking down each minute movement of his as though they were only focused on stopping him from proceeding any further. As though that was their sole purpose: to protect something.

Was he—was he closing in on the base of their operations?

“Noah, we should pull back!” Clamor insisted.

“No, we’re close,” he returned swiftly.

“But—”

Before Clamor could finish, a monster slammed into Noah, knocking him down to the ground. He felt his breath leave his body at the harsh impact.

Still, he rose to his feet once more.

He called forth more shadows to his side, sending them against the overwhelming mob of demons that were now approaching him. He immediately broke into a coughing fit, his lungs exploding with each shaky breath he took.

The pain tore through his body as he fought off blow after blow from the creatures, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he felt like he was closing in on his goal.

But despite his best efforts, the horde of monsters did not diminish in size. Rather, it felt like more and more demons were appearing. It wasn’t long until he was completely surrounded. His stamina was low and he felt the shadows by his feet gradually retreating.

He didn’t want to die, not yet. Not again.

And you think that’s what Harque would want?

His vision flickered between black and red as he fell to his knees. Distantly, he heard Clamor calling his name.

All of the sudden, something bright burst in front of him and he saw stars. He blinked rapidly, quickly recognizing the familiar figure of Celestia approaching from the distance. His magic lit up the surrounding area and for a moment, Noah felt frozen in his spot.

He swiftly cast another spell and a luminescent aura transcended high into the sky, sparkling. The monsters appeared to be distracted by the dazzling glow, many of which turned towards the flash of magic.

Noah, too, felt transfixed by the spell in front of him.

Belatedly, he felt a hand grasp his arm, attempting to pull him to his feet.

“Can you stand? We need to get out of here,” he heard Celestia say, the urgency in his voice evident. “I can’t fight all of these demons off, and I can’t stall them for much longer either.”

“Noah, we need to go,” Clamor reinforced.

He nodded his head shakily in response, allowing Celestia to assist him. He winced at the pain that seared through his limbs as he forced himself to stand up.

The rest was a blur.

He vaguely remembered running through mobs of demons—running, running, running until he felt like his lungs were going to collapse. They didn’t come to a stop until they were back to the edge of the demon realm. On the outskirts were the remains of a collapsing building, likely abandoned following a demon attack. He faintly heard Clamor utter that the decaying property would suffice as a temporary resting area.

Finally, Noah collapsed against Celestia once the adrenaline pushing his body to its limits wore off. A soft “whoa” escaped Celestia’s lips as he supported the other boy. Slowly, he helped him move into a sitting position, his back pressed against the deteriorated wall of the uninhabited building.

“I can only replenish some of your mana, so we’ll need to actually treat you properly,” Celestia muttered, crouching down to meet him at eye level. Noah felt his gaze all over, as though he were examining each and every injury he had endured.

Celestia himself was not unscathed either—Noah could see cuts and bruises marring his skin, alongside the rips and tears to his clothing. 

Regardless, he seemed more concerned about Noah than his own well-being.

Celestia placed a hand on his shoulder and he gradually felt the transfer of magic between them. Slowly, Noah felt some strength returning to his limbs and the crimson that stained his vision began to clear.

Several moments passed before Celestia pulled away. He flashed Noah a small smile. “There. That’s… all I can do for now until we safely get out of here.”

He said it so simply, as though he hadn’t just pulled him from death’s doorstep.

As though Noah himself wasn’t a fool, making mistake after mistake.

His cheeks felt wet, and he belatedly recognized the tears that had fallen from his eyes.

“You were right,” he blurted out.

Celestia’s eyes widened. “I… wouldn’t say it like that. There was no way to know that there’d be that many demons.”

“No, you were right,” Noah repeated, his voice cracking. “You were right, and I…”

His breath caught in his throat.

Slowly, he reached forward to grasp the front of Celestia’s jacket. Celestia paused, waiting for Noah’s next move, and somehow the air between them felt heavy once again. His grip on the fabric of his coat tightened momentarily before he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Celestia’s shoulder.

He felt Celestia stiffen against him.

Still, he didn’t move to push him away. Rather, his arms shifted around him to envelop him in a quiet embrace. A sob wracked Noah’s throat and he felt helplessly trapped under the weight of crushing realization.

Because Celestia’s time was moving forward, yet he was still stuck in the past. A past that shackled him to this seemingly hopeless objective, with no end in sight.

From the very beginning, his sole goal of avenging Harque’s death was frivolous.

And maybe he had always known.

But he just didn’t know what else to do without Harque, for Harque. If he could stop the Order and avenge his unjust death, then maybe, maybe he lived for a reason. Maybe he would finally have been able to do something for Harque, after everything he had done for him. Maybe he could prove himself and show everyone that once doubted him how he had grown into someone just as strong and hardworking and worthy of being an Ebalon.

Yet even now, he still felt like a little boy who would never amount to anything.

But despite it all, he still tried. Tried to be something more, tried to right the wrongs of his brother's unfair passing. 

All in vain.

And you think that’s what Harque would want?

No, echoed in his mind like an absolute truth.

What Harque would want was—

What Noah had always wanted for him.

To be happy.

Happy.

And the boy before him now, with his arms wrapped around him in a tentative embrace, was—

Another sob escaped his lips and he buried his face further into Celestia’s shoulder.

Eventually, the world faded to black.

Blearily, Noah opened his eyes.

His entire body felt sore, unsurprisingly. With a groan, he managed to sit up and observe his surroundings. He had been pulled out of the demon realm, he quickly ascertained as his breath came easily to him. Moreover, he felt grass beneath him and the air tasted fresh.

He shifted in his makeshift cot—something Celestia must have set up—and examined his injuries. He winced as he realized that his arms and torso were completely bandaged up. It was no wonder every limb of his felt sore.

To the side, he saw Clamor—Celestia’s Clamor. The spirit’s eyes widened as he noticed Noah’s awakening, before floating closer to the young boy.

“You’re awake,” he murmured and Noah nodded briefly, letting the quiet of the night settle between them.

Clamor was usually talkative, but Celestia’s Clamor wasn’t. Not with him, at least.

Noah’s gaze gradually drifted upwards and he recognized the waning of the moon in the night sky. Soon, he knew, it would be a half moon.

“Where’s Clamor?” he eventually spoke, turning to face the spirit by his side.

“I’m right here, kid,” he answered.

“Not you. My Clamor.”

“Ah, prickly as ever, huh? Celestia likes my jokes a bit better, you know. Though I can’t say that I don’t actually miss this,” Clamor mused. “Anyway, he’s with Celestia. They were waiting for you to wake up, but I wanted to speak with you first so I asked them to give us some time alone.”

Noah blinked. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, I’ve actually wanted to talk to you since the beginning. But I could tell that you were wary of us, so I didn’t want to scare you off or anything,” he started. “You’re not still skeptical of us, are you? Do you want to talk? How are you feeling?”

“... I’m fine now, we can talk.”

“Good.” The spirit smiled, then drifted closer towards where Noah sat. After a brief pause, he said, "Celestia is not wrong, but it doesn't mean that you were wrong."

His brow furrowed. 

“It feels like I’ve just been repeating the same mistake,” Noah muttered in response.

“I would have stopped you if that were the case,” Clamor returned simply.

“... You’ve tried. You’ve told me not to push myself so much.”

“Did I? Well, I suppose I would have. You’ve already been through so much, after all. Admittedly, even watching you now has been difficult for myself and Celestia. I can only imagine how your Clamor feels.” His gaze drifted momentarily towards the side, presumably in the direction of where the other two were waiting in the distance, before turning back to meet Noah’s eyes once more. “But if fighting the Order is what you’ve decided to do, then I’d help you regardless. It’s not a bad thing to want to do, after all. But you shouldn’t do it alone, Noah. I can be by your side. Well, I am by your side.”

“Yeah, you have been. And I’ve just made you worry.” His gaze fell to his hands and he picked at the bandage covering his wrist. “All of you.”

His eyes softened and he let out a small sigh. “Don’t blame yourself, Noah.”

He turned away at those words.

Clamor continued, "You’re in a difficult situation. It’s not easy to paint things so simply as ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. Besides, a child like you never should have gone through something like that in the first place, and you never should have been placed in a situation like this either."

He paused as he let the words settle in between them.

Noah remained silent, his body still twisted away from Clamor.

“Well, that’s all I really wanted to say to you,” he finished. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, kid. You may not have made the same decisions as Celestia, but it doesn’t mean that your decisions are any less valid. It doesn’t mean that what you have been fighting for up until now has been completely wrong. Anyway, I’ll leave you be for now and let you rest up.”

And, Noah reflected briefly, what should he be fighting for instead?

The soft golden glow in his peripheral slowly drifted away following those words. After a moment, Noah turned back to where the spirit had stood by his side, his gaze falling on the now empty space.

He felt tears well up in his eyes once again as he thought about the little boy of his past, torn away from his brother and used as nothing more than a simple pawn.

He thought about Celestia, too, and all of the other lost childhoods at the hands of the Order.

In the stillness of the night, Clamor’s words echoed in his mind.

It wasn’t long until Celestia approached Noah next, asking, “How are you, Liberator? You had a few nasty wounds back there.”

“I’m okay now. I’ve certainly been injured a lot worse in the past,” he answered. Fatally. The look of relief on Celestia’s face was palpable, and Noah let out an awkward cough. “Thanks… for healing me.”

His eyes drifted towards the side. “And thank you… for being there.”

A small laugh fell from Celestia’s lips, somewhat bashful. “Well, I couldn’t just let you die out there, could I?”

His lips formed a thin line at those words. It wouldn’t be anything new if he had.

A brief silence settled between the two following that. Celestia was uncharacteristically quiet, seemingly waiting for Noah to say something first instead.

“You were right, Celestia,” Noah eventually repeated, his gaze turning towards the other boy. “That vengeance wouldn’t change the past; Harque will always be… gone. Getting vengeance for him would be meaningless. Fighting the Order for such a reason is not what he would have wanted.”

He took a breath, and Celestia continued to wait patiently.

“I won’t throw away my life so carelessly, but I’m also not going to stop. I’m still going to put an end to the Order.”

“Oh?” Celestia’s head tilted to the side, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“Not because of Harque—but for me, and you,” he elaborated. “And anyone else like us. So that no one else has to get hurt like we had. I—we—already know how dangerous the Order is and the awful things they are capable of doing. They can’t be left as is. I could… I could help a lot of people this way.”

Celestia blinked as the words occupied the empty space in between them.

“We should never have gone through something like that in the first place, and no one else should either,” Noah echoed, each and every syllable filled with resolve.

It was quiet for a moment.

Their eyes met and for the first time, Noah finally felt like he was on equal grounds with the boy in front of him. Before him was no longer the reflection of a distorted mirror, but rather the depiction of a different path, different choices.

And he finally, finally understood.

Eventually, Celestia spoke, “... I think Harque would be happy.”

“Yeah.” Noah closed his eyes briefly before meeting his gaze once more. Celestia’s tear-shaped pupils stared back and he no longer felt uneasy at the sight. “Yeah, maybe. But I think I could be happy too.”

Celestia smiled.

“Besides, I’m not alone,” he added, the edges of his own lips quirking upwards in return.

Celestia beamed. “As long as the stars continue to shine above you, you will never be alone, Noah.”

Night had not yet fallen, but he could easily envision the constellations painting the darkened sky, illuminating the horizon with a warm glower.

Somewhere, written in the stars, he was taking a step forward.

The next few days passed by quietly.

There wasn’t much Noah could do while he was still recovering from his injuries. Clamor doted endlessly on him and kept him preoccupied, however Celestia spent most of his time with his own respective Clamor. From the few lingering conversations Noah was able to overhear, they were working tirelessly to ensure that they could return to their own world once the half moon rose.

In the back of his mind, he prepared the words he would say to the departing duo.

“This is it,” Celestia hummed, looking at Noah expectantly.

“Yeah,” he affirmed.

“We’ve set everything up, so as long as it all goes as planned, we’ll be leaving soon,” he stated. Celestia’s gaze drifted to the side momentarily. In the distance, the golden spirit held Noah’s sickle in his grasp, softly discussing something that neither boy could hear. “Well, once Clamor finishes up his talk over there.”

Noah nodded his head in acknowledgement. Knowing the scholar, it would still be a while longer.

“So I guess this is goodbye?” Celestia continued.

Somehow, it felt a little strange to think about: saying goodbye to Celestia and his Clamor, after everything that they had been through.

“A ‘goodbye for now’—maybe our fates will cross each other’s once more,” Celestia amended, almost as though he could sense what Noah was thinking. He flashed him a small smile.

The edges of his lips quirked up in response. “Maybe.”

In the stillness of the night, a hushed silence fell between them.

Somehow, it felt comfortable. Natural. Like this was how it should have been, from the very beginning.

"You know, I really admire you, Liberator," he said suddenly, breaking the calm.

He blinked.

“Why?” immediately fell from his lips.

He stared at him like the answer was obvious. “What isn’t admirable about you, Liberator? Your goal? The other day, when you said that you wanted to stop the Order for us, I was happy. Really happy.”

His brow knit. Dumbly, he repeated, “Why?”

“Because you care,” he said simply, “about me—about the little boy of our past.”

For a second, he didn’t know what to say.

Because wasn’t it obvious?

But then he recalled their shared past and he almost laughed at the fact that he hadn’t realized it immediately because Celestia really, truly was him. And all he ever wanted was someone to care about him, as Harque so dearly did.

“Not just us—anyone else, too,” he added softly.

“And isn’t that admirable?” he repeated. "I wish I could stay and help, I really do, but I don't think Clamor and I can be here for much longer.” 

A small sigh escaped Celestia’s lips next. “I can already feel the stars beginning to change, more than they should."

"You… you've already helped me, Celestia," Noah whispered.

"And I wish I could help you to the very end." His smile widened, and Noah could feel that he really meant it.

Celestia’s gaze shifted upwards then, towards the half moon in the sky and the stars surrounding.

“May your path be shaped by starlight,” Celestia murmured next. With those words, Celestia locked eyes with Noah and reached towards him, palm open. Tentatively, Noah grasped his hand in his own and Celestia beamed as he intertwined their fingers together.

Noah gently squeezed his hand in return. The gold rings decorating Celestia’s fingers shone like a familiar star. Then, softly: “... May the darkness light your path.”

He closed his eyes. Slowly, the warmth brushing against the cool fabric of his glove drifted away.

“Thank you, Noah,” he whispered into the dark.

In the distance, he heard a faint laugh.

It was quiet now, without him.

Clamor still chattered on endlessly—maybe more so than usual—so it was never truly silent as they travelled. But Noah couldn’t help but notice the distinct empty space left behind in the wake of starlight.

Unconsciously, he found his gaze drifting towards the night sky.

The sliver of a new moon hung high above his head. Stars glittered across the dark expanse, evoking an inexplicable warmth in the hushed chill of the night.

He smiled.

[sometimestxt]

ok but i really like how the recent meiryou chapters in kono oto tomare keep... emphasizing ousuke’s childhood flashbacks and particularly asano holding his hand

it was something i wrote into all of my stories for them too....

[sometimestxt]

should i start posting my stories here again? rubs chin

i kind of stopped bc it felt like less people were reading fics on tumblr but i know ppl are coming back to the site now

[sometimestxt]

Sits down

I've done terribly updating this blog

I just kinda feel like the stuff I've been writing more recently wouldn't do well on Tumblr tho (just.. dead fandom stuff u know)

[sometimestxt]

Damian × Anya fanfic? Pleaassseeeee😗😗😗

hi, thanks for reading & your request!

atm I don’t have any plans (or muse) to write for SxF anymore, but thanks for the interest.

[sometimestxt]

Five Times Loid and Yor Almost Kiss, and One Time They Actually Do

Fandom: SPY x FAMILY Pairings / Characters: Loid x Yor / Loid, Yor, Yuri, Frankie, Anya, Henry Henderson Summary: Or, the Forgers try their best to maintain the farce.

Word Count: 4,321 Read on ao3.

-

0001

Despite his recent demotion from housemaster to simple homeroom teacher, Henry Henderson was wholly dedicated to the success of Eden Academy. As such, he made an effort to continue his customary patrols around campus grounds to ensure that everything was in proper and elegant condition.

Henderson paused during his rounds as he spotted a familiar couple standing outside of the main building, alongside housemaster Murdoch Swan.

The Forgers, he quickly realized.

Henderson moved swiftly, finding a hiding place within earshot around the corner of the building. It was not a particularly regal action, he knew, but the teacher was curious as to how the Forgers would handle Swan this time.

“What brings you here?” he heard Swan sneer.

“We’re dropping off documents for our daughter’s enrollment,” came Mr Forger’s calm response.

“Oh, your daughter. The one who cried at the littlest thing—truly, a disgrace to Eden Academy.”

Henderson glanced around the corner at those words. He saw the way Ms Forger’s hands clenched and unclenched into fists, yet she remained silent. It had become increasingly obvious to Henderson that Swan was simply trying to rile up the couple as he prattled off more rude remarks—most likely in an attempt to cause a big enough scene to justify rescinding their daughter’s acceptance into the academy.

How inelegant.

The Forgers, however, seemed to be taking his comments in stride. They evidently had enough elegance to pick up on Swan’s scheming.

“And Ms Forger, it must be so difficult knowing that your daughter will always prefer her first mother over you,” Swan continued, his voice dripping in contempt. “The way she still cries over her.”

Henderson felt the sudden urge to punch Swan in the face once more.

“Master Swan,” Mr Forger cut in, steely, “we really must be on our way.”

Swan ignored his interjection, choosing to direct his attention to his wife instead. “Does your husband prefer her as well? He won’t even hold your hand—won’t even kiss you, will he?”

Swan laughed, a harsh sound.

“It’s really none of your business,” Ms Forger gritted out.

He laughed again. “Why won’t he just kiss you then? Then I won’t make it any more of my business.”

At that, Mr Forger took a step closer to his wife. His arm moved and he cupped her cheek with his right hand, then tilted her chin up towards him. He leaned in, close.

Henderson couldn’t stop the scandalized gasp that escaped his lips. Such a public display of affection, on school grounds? How inelegant!

Surely he couldn’t be wrong about the Forgers. They had proved themselves wonderfully on the day of their application interview, after all. He was willing to watch this through to the end, to give them the benefit of the doubt yet again. Surely they wouldn’t disappoint.

When Mr Forger pulled back, he raised his hand to display something. A handkerchief, Henderson quickly deduced. On it, a streak of ruby red marked the pure white of the fabric.

“Sorry, Yor, I had noticed that your lipstick smudged,” he apologized, tone soft. He elegantly pocketed the handkerchief, then turned to face Swan once again.

Though he couldn’t see his face clearly, Henderson was almost certain Mr Forger was shooting daggers at Swan with his eyes. His voice was cold as he stated, “I have no obligation to make my wife uncomfortable to appease you.”

Swan sputtered indignantly in response.

“Now, we really must be going.” Mr Forger ended the conversation there, grabbing his wife’s hand as they swiftly walked away.

Henderson couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips as he watched the couple depart.

Truly, the Forgers were the embodiment of elegance.

0010

If there was one thing that Yuri was certain about his sister, it was that she deserved the world. And so much more, to be completely honest.

She had, after all, done everything for him when they were children. She had worked hard to maintain normality in their fragmented family after everything had fallen apart. She picked up the pieces when they had nothing more than each other and their broken smiles. She was, frankly, everything he had, the only person who could still allow him to feel something as simplistic as childish joy—something he had since long thrown away for her.

Loid Forger, Yuri pointedly decided, was not the world. Sure, the man seemed to be smart, well-articulated, and well put together. Sure, he was also a talented cook, and he probably made a good amount of money too based off of their living space, and perhaps he was devilishly handsome as well (in a completely objective way; Yuri was objective like that)—but he was not good enough for Yor.

Yuri couldn’t help glaring at his sister’s husband as he sat in the living room of their shared home, nursing a bottle of wine. He was here to evaluate the man’s worthiness; likely a fruitless endeavor, because he settled on his conclusion within seconds.

His sister was incredibly kind and despite her monstrous strength, a delicate woman! She deserved someone who would look after and protect her, someone who had her best interests in mind, someone who would move heaven and earth for her. Loid struck him more as the type who would move just one or the other, not both. In his completely objective opinion.

Drunkenly, he demanded to see some intimacy between the couple, to prove that it was real. To prove that she was really, truly happy. It made perfect sense in his inebriated stupor.

Yuri quietly observed as the two sat near each other, whispering soft words to one another. They leaned in, their faces moving in for a kiss. Their lips were close, almost touching. He was filled with dread as he watched his sister—his family—being taken away from him in front of his very eyes.

He wasn’t ready, he realized. He was still just a little boy in a broken home clinging so dearly to his older sister

But the fact that she had been so clearly smitten with her husband, hurtling her own brother across their living room as he darted forward to pull them apart, just so she could kiss Loid, had his own world turning upside down. It became apparent that he hadn’t properly considered the extent of Yor’s feelings.

Maybe he wasn’t ready yet, but she was.

Nobody would be good enough for his sister, he knew.

He tainted his hands in blood for her, after all; gave up a life of innocence for her to live one of normalcy and happiness following their crooked childhood.

Maybe if Loid could give her even a semblance of the happy family that they were, that she so deserved, he would allow it.

Until then, he would continue to dye himself in red to protect her everyday life.

0011

“And that was all I was able to figure out, given the timing,” Frankie stated. Twilight was quiet, a contemplative look on his face. As they stood together in silence, outside a cafe in the city’s core downtown, the everyday bustle of the lunchtime rush continued around them. Sometimes it was easiest to hide in the open, when you could see everyone yet no one at the same time.

“Man, I thought you’d be more concerned, to be honest,” Frankie eventually remarked.

“Give me a moment. I’m just thinking. They’ve been stretching me thin with all this work lately, but I couldn’t turn down this project either,” Twilight answered. “Have you considered looking into—”

“—Loid?” a familiar voice interrupted. The two men stopped and turned towards the sound of the voice.

Frankie saw the way his friend’s entire posture flipped in a second and how his mouth quirked upwards into a fake smile at the sight of his fake wife. As expected of a high-class agent like Twilight.

“Hello, Yor,” Twilight greeted. “I wasn’t expecting to see you around here.”

“I was just passing by; my boss sent me on an errand,” she explained, an amicable (genuine, Frankie noted) smile on her face. She turned to Frankie next, the smile still on her lips. “Thank you for always lending us a hand with Anya.”

He cracked a grin. “No worries. Loid’s one of my best friends; I’m more than happy to lend him a helping hand. And Anya’s a lovely little girl too, so it’s always a pleasure.”

Twilight wasn’t the only one who could pull off a fake persona at the drop of a hat, he mused to himself.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Yor beamed. “Anyway, it was good seeing you again, but I should probably get going now.”

Twilight tipped his hat at her and Frankie noticed him say something, but he didn't hear what. Then he saw her lean in close, so close it almost looked like a kiss—until she turned her face away at the last second and instead, whispered something in her fake husband’s ear. Her own ears were flushed red as she pulled away and bid them both a quick goodbye before hurrying off.

Once she was out of earshot, Frankie turned to look at Twilight, an eyebrow raised questioningly as he asked, “What was all that about?”

“She told me that she likes cheese,” he deadpanned, evidently unfazed by her impromptu declaration.

“How romantic,” he snorted. “That was a terrible attempt at a goodbye kiss.”

“I suspect she’s become more conscious about how we’re perceived as a married couple due to some recent events, but actions like these aren’t necessary. Not that we need to prove anything to you, anyway.” He frowned. “Besides, I’m not trying to bring feelings into this—”

“You never do,” Frankie interjected.

“—But she might.”

He blinked. “And why would you care if she does?”

The spy took a second longer to reply than usual, but it was still a noticeable enough second for Frankie—”I don’t.”

“Oh, that’s a cold way to treat your wife,” he said wryly, then straightened up. “Well, that’s how it should be anyway—but just a heads up, acting like shy schoolkids as a supposedly married couple doesn’t do much for you guys.”

“I’m well aware, but she’s not trained for this.” Twilight let out a sigh; Frankie knew that partnering up with outsiders had been a pain point for the agent since the very start of the mission.

“Then is it really so bad if she feels something a little real for you? Isn’t that good for the story?” he inquired. “That’s how it’s always been for your other… ‘relationships.’”

“… No, you’re right; it’s all one-sided. It normally wouldn’t be a problem.” He raised a hand to his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’d certainly be more convincing, at the very least.”

Normally, Frankie wanted to repeat, but didn't.

He let out a sigh, reaching out to place a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. The agent moved, shrugging him off almost immediately. Frankie continued, “Well, you can’t say I didn’t say anything.”

“I know what I’m doing and how to approach this,” Twilight said, voice steely, “and I’ll see this through to the very end.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities, y’know,” Frankie replied, and left it at that.

Yet there was a part of him that still wondered.

0100

Yor entered the apartment at four in the morning as quietly as she could. She was thankful for the fact that she and Loid had separate bedrooms; it made slipping in and out of their home during the night so much easier for her job.

She tiptoed through the living room but abruptly stopped once she noticed Loid, fast asleep on their couch. She frowned.

Long hours again with his patients, she realized, belatedly remembering that he had yet to return home by the time she left for her own work—belatedly remembering how she had tucked Anya into bed earlier that evening and assured her that Loid would be back soon.

Again, it made things so much easier for her like this.

Still, she couldn’t help but admire how hard he worked for his clients—for Anya. It reminded her a bit of herself when she was younger, working herself to literal bone and blood for Yuri.

Her feet moved on their own, leading her further into the living room until she was squatted next to her sleeping partner. She watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, listened to his quiet breaths. He must have been exhausted if he couldn’t even make it to his bedroom. Their couch wasn’t nearly long enough for him to be comfortable; his feet were propped up awkwardly at the other end, and that atrocious sleeping posture would probably lead to a sore neck in the morning.

In the silence of the night, Yor found herself studying his features. It wasn’t often she had this opportunity; after all, their entire marriage wasn’t real. There was no reason to ever get so personal like this, not unless they were keeping up appearances in public.

There were bags under his eyes and his hair was unkempt, she noted, nothing like how it usually was during the day. He was fatigued, no doubt about it. Despite everything, Yor found herself smiling.

He was a good father to Anya. He worked tirelessly for his daughter, she could tell.

Yor wanted to do her best for Anya, too. She knew how hard it could be to lose a mother—to have a family of just one other. Even if it was for only a while, she wanted to give Anya a happy family. She wanted Anya to live the happy, normal life she never really had; the happy, normal life she worked so hard to give to Yuri.

A happy family with a happily in love mother and father.

She shifted slightly, her head tilting forward.

Loid stirred in his sleep then and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

Suddenly, she was acutely aware of how close she had gotten to him. She felt her face warm as she swiftly pulled away, almost stumbling on her feet.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

She was tired too—tired because it was four in the morning, tired because she just expended all of her energy on her latest assignment. She evidently wasn’t thinking clearly, and she definitely hadn’t just been leaning in to leave a kiss on his lips, not while he was asleep. And if she had been, it was only because she was tired from work!

Yor straightened her back.

Right. Her mission was done. She needed to go clean up now, needed to scrub off the dried blood from her hands before the sun rose. She hurried to her bedroom, quickly discarded her bloodied clothes and washed up before crawling into bed.

She tried not to dwell too much on what had almost just happened, tried not to think about what it would have felt like.

It wasn’t long until her exhaustion took over and she drifted to sleep, dreaming of a simple happy family.

0101

“Thanks for coming again, Loid,” said Yor as the couple walked into her latest corporate party.

“Of course,” was his simple reply.

“Honestly, it’s not like Yuri is watching over us this time, so I don’t think you needed to come for this one,” she murmured, voice low.

“If I hadn’t come, people would talk,” he answered in a similarly low tone. “They’d ask questions.”

Yor pursed her lips in contemplation. “Well, it’s probably fine for you to miss out on one or two of these parties. You’ve been pulling long hours at work, after all.”

“These aren’t frequent enough that it’d be something to worry about,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, briefly recalling the first work party they had attended together as part of their original arrangement. “It’s better to just avoid any questions outright if we can. It was my slip up in the first place, after all.”

She let out a light laugh. “I guess you’re right. You’ve really thought this through, Loid.”

He blinked. “Of course I have. Besides, it’s only fair I keep up my end of our agreement. You spend more time with Anya than I do at these kinds of events.”

He didn’t want a repeat of what had occurred with Yuri. No more questions, just a perfect couple. A perfect family.

“I like spending time with Anya,” she hummed.

His lips quirked upwards into a small smile. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“Anyway, let’s try to enjoy ourselves!” Yor beamed. The couple made their way around the party, exchanging greetings with each of Yor’s coworkers. Simple small talk was shared, and Twilight spoke vaguely of work as a psychiatrist. When Camilla arrived, she threw around a few pointed remarks before trotting off with her boyfriend in a huff. Time passed quickly despite all of the mundane conversations; he was accustomed to attending meaningless parties for the sake of his missions.

With the party now in full swing, Twilight made note of how the dance floor was filling up. Upon inspection, it appeared to be occupied primarily by couples in romantic relationships—so the next move was clear.

“Yor, would you like to dance?” he asked, holding up his hand to her.

A light blush dusted her cheeks at the suggestion. Still, she grasped his hand in hers. “I’m not much of a dancer, though.”

Twilight politely excused themselves from the small group of partygoers they had been speaking to. He offered Yor a reassuring smile as he led her onto the dance floor, saying, “Just follow my lead.”

She nodded and gave him an unsure smile of her own in return.

She was surprisingly good on her feet, however, able to match each of his steps. He, of course, had perfected multiple types of ballroom dancing over the years—from the waltz to the foxtrot to the quickstep. A good leader was key to ballroom dancing, but it was still imperative that the partner could skillfully follow.

Yor did as much, following every move with precision throughout the entire song.

On the final beat, Twilight leaned in close, his cheek pressed next to hers. He could feel her breath on his neck, warm.

This was when he would normally sweep his date off their feet, seduce them away into the quiet of the night and whisper sweet nothings into their ear until they started whispering everything—secrets, speculations, carefully concealed truths.

But this was Yor—his partner, unlike every other woman he used as a necessary pawn—so instead, he strategically angled their faces in such a way that he knew would make it look as though they were kissing. Yor let out a squeak as he shifted their posture, but still maintained the position.

After counting to five, they separated.

Twilight flashed her his most perfect smile—people were watching, after all—and she mumbled something incoherent in response, her face still glowing a soft pink.

He thought back to Frankie, thought about feelings. What feelings? There was nothing to worry about.

He was an expert.

And Yor was—

“—Wow,” she breathed, “wow. You’re a really good dancer, Loid.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “The waltz isn’t very difficult.”

“Still! It was impressive,” she reiterated. As if to prove her point, a coworker approached the two to compliment them on their dance. Soon they were dragged into another group conversation, and the rest of the night continued without a hitch.

Another successful task accomplished, Twilight concluded as they left the venue together, arm in arm; they were the perfect couple.

0110

“Becky told me that boys have cooties,” Anya declared as she and Yor sat at the dinner table, waiting for Loid to finish plating. Loid had pointedly removed Yor from any and all duties pertaining to dinner despite her protests and sulking, citing her most recent kitchen disaster as reason enough.

Loid let out a noncommittal grunt in response as he moved all of the food onto the table.

“She said that boys are stinky, too,” Anya continued as Loid pulled up a seat next to her and across from Yor. “Mama, is that why you don’t wanna kiss Papa? Because he’s stinky? Cooties?”

He coughed.

“Eh? Oh, no. No, Papa isn’t stinky!” Yor waved her hands around animatedly as though that somehow helped her point. Loid gave her a weary look.

Anya made a face. “Well, Papa and Mama still haven’t kissed yet! Is it cooties, then?”

“No, Anya, it’s not cooties.” He sighed.

“That’s what someone with cooties would say,” she huffed.

Yor let out a soft laugh and he sighed again.

“I’m not gonna do my homework until Papa and Mama kiss!” Anya suddenly exclaimed.

At that proclamation, something seemed to switch on within Loid. His back straightened and it was almost as though he was on high alert. “Anya. Anya, you need to do your homework. If you don’t, you’ll fall behind in class. We can’t have you falling behind in class, Anya.”

She pouted in response and defiantly shook her head.

“Anya,” he started, voice stern.

Yor coughed into her fist then, drawing his attention.

Her voice was low as she asked, “Well, should we…? I mean, it’s important for Anya to do her work. And it’s just… just a kiss. It’s something we should be able to do.”

Her cheeks flushed at the very suggestion.

He frowned. “We shouldn’t spoil her by following through with these kinds of silly demands.”

Yor paused as though she wanted to say something about his remark. She didn’t.

Eventually, she spoke, “You’re right. But Anya’s really pouting there.”

She tilted her head to the little girl in question, her cheeks puffed in rebellion.

“She can pout as much as she wants, but we don’t need to do this. She’ll drop it eventually, like she always does,” he reiterated.

A pause. His brow furrowed as though he was deep in thought. “Probably.”

He looked back at Anya then and saw her reaching across the table, her hands gesturing towards him.

“It’s rude to have your arms on the table, Anya,” he instinctively reprimanded.

“But this is important, Papa,” she stated confidently. She clenched and unclenched her hands in an opening motion, trying to get Loid to do the same. He eventually complied, opening up his fist. On his palm, Anya confidently traced the shape of a circle, then pressed her index finger into his skin a couple of times over.

“There, now you’re safe! Becky taught me how to do a cootie shoot, too. So Mama doesn’t need to worry anymore.” She pulled back, looking especially proud of herself.

“Wow, Anya! That’s amazing!” Yor clapped her hands together in praise.

She beamed, “Now Mama and Papa can kiss.”

Loid let out another sigh. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was promptly interrupted by a familiar theme song blaring loudly from the television in the living room. Anya whipped her head around at the sound, her eyes wide.

“Anya, you haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Loid reminded, his tone exasperated.

“Nooo, I don’t want to miss Spy Wars,” she whined in response.

He gave her a look.

“I’ll do my homework, Papa, I promise! After Spy Wars!”

Again, something seemed to switch on within Loid. He stood up from his seat then and moved to scoop Anya up into his arms. “Only for tonight. Then you’re doing your homework after dinner. No complaints, and no more cootie shots.”

“Promise!” Anya nodded her head rapidly, all worries about cooties and stinky boys suddenly forgotten.

He exchanged a glance with Yor then; she smiled knowingly.

Loid sighed for the umpteenth time that evening as he headed into the living room with Anya.

After Spy Wars, dinner, and another valiant attempt at fractions, Anya was tucked snugly into bed.

Standing in the hallway, their home felt a lot quieter now that Anya was asleep. Sometimes she truly felt like the life of their makeshift family, loud and playful and full of energy.

But the quiet was important, too. They needed their rest—deserved it, given how hectic it had been earlier in the evening.

Loid opened his mouth then, ready to wish Yor a good night.

“I don’t think you’re stinky, Loid,” Yor suddenly declared before he could speak.

He closed his mouth. Opened it again. “I don’t think you’re stinky either?”

“Good! I mean, thank you! I mean, that’s not what I actually mean!” she exclaimed.

He cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Yor?”

“I… I don’t think you’re stinky, and I don’t think you have cooties either,” she repeated.

He nodded his head, encouraging her to continue.

“So, this is…,” she trailed off, her cheeks warming. “This is… just how it is.”

She took a step closer, then another, until they stood almost touching.

“Yor, I really don’t know what you—”

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, she pulled him down towards her. Her mouth pressed against his, a gentle, brief kiss. Her lips were soft and she smelled sweet, Loid noticed with startling realization. His hand twitched, almost moving to rest on her hip until he consciously stopped himself.

Releasing her grip on his shirt, she took a step back. Her face was completely red and her eyes were directed at the floor with sudden interest.

He blinked once, twice.

Before he could say a word, Yor stuttered a high-pitched “good night!” and abruptly rushed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her with almost enough force to rip it off its hinges.

He stood there.

Looked at her bedroom door, then his.

Stood a bit longer.

The hardwood under his feet felt different as he eventually made his way into his own room.

That night as he laid in bed, he speculated over the 28 possible explanations for her actions.

[sometimestxt]

Have finally been sitting down to write again so hopefully I’ll be able to finish my WIPs from late last year soon.

[sometimestxt]

i normally don’t outline oneshots, but i usually write a couple lines for diff scenes and just order things.

was writing something recently and it was kinda funny that i wrote the ‘outline’, then i started fleshing out the scenes and ended up reordering most of them lol. but eyyy the result’s a lot better than what I originally planned out so it’s gr8

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I just realized I very rarely write in past tense anymore and idk how I feel about that.

[sometimestxt]

things I could be doing during lockdown: writing

things I’m actually doing: not that

[sometimestxt]

Monster

Fandom: Show By Rock!! Characters: Chuchu, Aion / Chuchu-centric Summary: She doesn't know what to do with the lingering turmoil in her heart. Notes: Follows anime (S1) canon, post-Dark Monster subplots (after ep10).

Word Count: 551 Read on ao3.

-

"Holy Ark."

His voice echoes in the silent studio. She jumps with a start and quickly realizes she is standing in front of the aforementioned guitar. Mumbling an apology, she moves aside. He walks past her slim figure and gathers up his instrument without another word, then turns to exit the room.

"Aion," she breathes.

He stops.

"Do you still feel it?" she asks, and her voice sounds hollow to herself. "The darkness, I mean."

Her chest constricts.

He turns to face her, covering his features with his left hand while carefully balancing his guitar with the other, before saying, "Darkness naturally courses through the veins of a Black Monster."

She flinches; how can he use the word "monster" so lightly still?

It's suffocating.

"I meant the time you almost quit Shingan," she corrects.

The atmosphere stiffens and she sees the tenseness in his eyes, yet she finds that she can actually breathe easier.

"Such feelings have dissipated," he answers eventually.

Of course. The boys had reconciled.

It was all fixed now; both herself and him.

"Why did you want to?" she continues. "If you don't mind me asking."

There's a pause. She tries to keep her own mind blank, away from darker thoughts.

He probably does mind, yet he still replies, "Even a God is not infallible. I will concede that it was a momentary lull in my resolve which allowed such a sacrilegious act. But I have since overcome such weakness."

He hesitates for a moment, then finishes, “... Crow’s impassioned prose—all of ShinganCrimsonZ, perhaps—had resonated deeply with my own machinations.”

She takes a moment to absorb his response, hidden beneath his superfluous vocabulary. It doesn’t take long for her to realize—he's already conquered all of his demons.

She feels like vomiting. Because her demons will sever bonds, extinguish dreams and in the end, Plasmagica will be nothing but a fragment of a memory.

She braces herself, ready for him to ask her why, why she had wanted to leave, why she had fallen so—

"The moon is full this hour," he says instead, "and the sun will rise soon thereafter."

She blinks. She glances out the window and absentmindedly realizes that he’s correct.

She swallows, throat dry.

With her gaze turned away from him, she tries to ignore the uneasiness and disappointment that settles at the pit of her stomach.

Because she thought that maybe she could find out what was behind his masked face, masked words, masked feelings. And behind those masks would be someone who understood, someone who still held onto the ghost of a sinful desire, but—

There is nothing masked.

There may be darkness in his blood, but none in his heart.

She looks at him then and forces a smile. "Yes, you're right. Good night, Aion."

He nods his head in response. "Until the sun rises."

With those parting words, he disappears into the hallway.

His feelings and her feelings were different, she realizes. Different from the very beginning. Still, a part of her—no, so much of her—wanted him to be just like her, wanted her selfishness to be his as well.

She inhales and the air is dry.

It was supposed to be fine now.

It is fine.

Yet beneath it all, she still feels like a monster.

-

a/n:

I started this in 2015, but -- new decade, new me, trying to finish old drafts. I wanted to draw some contrasts between Aion and Chuchu after they were both possessed in s1, how it was fundamentally different, and this is the result (I didn't actually go too far into it, did I? oops).

tbh I just like to explore how Chuchu wanted to have a solo career lol. I always wondered if she would have actually just given up on the dream.

thanks for reading!

[sometimestxt]

once more, with feeling

Fandom: Kono Oto Tomare! Characters / Pairings: Ousuke, Asano / Ousuke x Asano Summary: Everything about them is the same, yet different.

Word Count: 1,498 Read on ao3.

-

“Were you waiting long, Ousuke?” Asano asks as she exits the convenience store, a plastic bag in hand. He’s seated in the same place he was before she entered; on the pavement, a few feet away from the store entrance. He looks up at the sound of his name.

“Nope! You were only in there for a few minutes, I think.” He gives her one of his usual smiles and flashes his phone screen at her. She sees rows of notifications on the lock screen—not surprising. “Well, I kept busy.”

“That’s good. Anyway, I got this for you.” She rummages into her bag and pulls out something in a small wrapped package.

He blinks.

“It’s an ice pop—you didn’t have to come with me today,” she explains, holding the treat out towards him. “I was just running an errand for my mom.”

He looks at her wide-eyed, then accepts the sweet from her with a grin. “Well, why wouldn’t I want to come with you, Asa-chan?”

“Hm, I don’t know, maybe because you just sat outside the entire time?” she observes. She naturally finds herself taking a seat on the ground next to him. “You could’ve just went straight home, y’know.”

“Oh well,” he hums, bumping shoulders with her. She lets out a soft laugh. He unwraps the ice pop and snaps it in half, giving her the other portion. She hesitates for a moment before taking the stick from him. He beams, “Thanks, Asa-chan.”

The melon-flavoured ice pop is sweet on her lips, refreshing on a hot day after koto practice.

She bumps shoulders with him once again and he turns to look at her; she gives him a smile.

He smiles back, not like he usually does these days—something soft, real.

She feels her heart thump.

-

She can sense eyes on her all throughout club practice the day after. Not just her, though; she knows that people are looking next to her too, at Ousuke. That is usually the norm—he’s what ties the ensemble together, after all—but something about it today feels different. It’s a bit unnerving, but not distracting enough to break her concentration while she plays her koto. Still, it’s bothersome.

Once club activities wrap up and everyone starts to disperse, she turns to Ousuke. “Uh, don’t you think everyone’s acting kind of strange?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, his tone casual. She can see that his focus is on packing away his things and not the topic at hand.

“I don’t know, people have been looking at me—us—funny all practice.” Asano purses her lips into a frown as she removes her koto picks from her fingers. “And one of the third-years made me switch spots with her today for no reason. Said something about you—about having me sit next to you? What’s up with that?”

He looks at her then. “Huh. I guess you’re right. Don’t know the reason why, though. Does sitting next to me bother you, Asa-chan? I’m hurt.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She rolls her eyes. “Just, everything else. It feels off for some reason.”

“… Does it really bother you?” he asks again, and she hears the way his tone changes. Less playful, she realizes.

“No, not too much. It’s a bit weird, but it’s fine. Nothing to really be concerned about—”

“—Sorry to interrupt, but some of us were wondering…,” one of their clubmates suddenly steps into their conversation. Asano recognizes her as the third-year that asked to swap seats with her earlier. Next to her stands Kou, her gaze as stern as ever.

Ousuke’s face brightens when he sees the upperclassman approach. “What’s up?” he asks, his voice back to its typical chipper lilt.

“Ah, how do I say this…” She pauses for a moment. Asano makes note of the frown on Kou’s face as their clubmate speaks. “I’ll just get straight to it: are you two dating?”

“W-What?” Asano sputters immediately, suddenly feeling hyperfocused. “Why would you think that?”

People have teased them about their relationship for years, but the Meiryou koto club has always known that they are nothing more than childhood friends. Instinctively, Asano’s gaze moves towards Ousuke to gauge his reaction. He smiles, still, like it’s nothing.

Right, it’s nothing.

“Hmm, well a few of us saw you two after school yesterday, and it was like, you were really close together. Seemed like the inevitable,” she answers matter-of-factly. “And it felt like that kind of mood—”

Asano mutters, “—Just because we’ve been friends for a long time—”

“—Plus, you guys look good together,” she finishes.

The room falls silent for a second. For some reason, the words she wants to say are stuck in her throat and she can’t—she can’t look at him.

“Well, thanks, but Asa-chan and I are just friends,” Ousuke replies simply, cutting into the awkward atmosphere. As he always does, so naturally.

Asano tries not to think about the way his voice drops, just barely, when he says friends.

“Oh, well, I guess it was just our misunderstanding.” The third-year shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Sorry for bothering you two,” Kou finally speaks up. Her eyes follow Ousuke more than anyone else.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Asano assures the other girl, forcing a smile on her lips. “This happens sometimes, so it’s not a big deal. It’s definitely not the first time people have mistaken us for… well, more than just friends.”

“Regardless, I’ll make sure to correct the others; we shouldn’t have rumours like this spreading around the club,” Kou continues with a nod of her head. “See you both tomorrow.”

The two girls depart with those words, leaving Asano and Ousuke alone in the clubroom. She doesn’t know what to say then—what is there to say that they haven’t already said in the past? They’ve tread and retread over this enough times that she’s lost count. Instead, she directs her attention to putting away her instrument. Ousuke follows her lead, continuing where he left off before the conversation with their clubmates.

They finish in silence.

She moves to his side once everything is cleaned up. She doesn’t need to say a single word; he slings his backpack over his shoulder and gives her a quick nod. They head towards the exit together.

“Hm, remember when we were younger? Didn’t people used to make fun of us for being together?” Ousuke eventually speaks, taking a pause.

She stops next to him, unsure of where the conversation is heading. “Yeah, it was whatever. Dumb.”

“Now people are saying we look good together. Weird, huh,” he says with a smile that doesn’t look weirded out at all.

“I mean, we were kids back then. It was a long time ago,” she reasons. “Things are different now, anyway.”

He gives her a thoughtful look. “I don’t think things are that different now.”

“What do you mean?” She narrows her eyes pointedly. “You gotta admit, you’re not the innocent little Ousuke-kun you used to be; I don’t need to be holding your hand all the time anymore.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” He flashes her a cheeky grin, which she scoffs at, before he continues, “Anyway, I meant that we’re still neighbours, still friends. We’re still playing koto, Yocchan’s still our teacher, and we’re still walking to school together. It’s all kind of the same, isn’t it?”

“… I guess,” she relents. He’s not wrong, she can’t really disagree with any of those points—

“And I still love Asa-chan,” he proclaims, suddenly throwing his arms around her.

“Hey! Do you want me to beat you up?” she protests, wriggling in his grasp in an attempt to escape the impromptu hug. “Everyone’s gonna misunderstand again, y’know?”

“It’s fine; no one’s here anymore.” He laughs, but doesn’t move.

It  is different, she thinks, because he’s bigger than her now, taller. She fits into his arms and her head rests neatly against his chest.

Her body goes still.

“I love Asa-chan,” he says again, voice quieter.

She feels her heart thump.

“… I know.”

They stay like that for who knows how long; she’s not counting, she can’t keep track, she can’t think straight.

All she can think about is the way his arms envelop her, how he holds her close like a fleeting, whispered declaration. Like the way he holds her hand as though he doesn’t want to let go, as though they’re children again, as though they’re discovering koto for the first time.

He releases her then, abruptly turning his body away from her. She can’t see his face.

“We should probably leave now,” he says simply, “before it gets dark out.”

Her gaze falls onto his back, shoulders broader than she last remembers.

“Right,” she agrees, yet she thinks she wouldn’t mind.

Because in the dark, he won’t be able to see the blush that’s risen to her own face.

Maybe, she realizes, there are still things that can be said.

[sometimestxt]

Loid or Yor taking care of each other when they are sick! Ft. Our girl Anya of course.

thanks for the req, anon. :) If I can think of a story for this idea I might write it further down the line.

atm I’m currently working on the 5 times twilight & yor almost kiss fic, as well as another kono oto tomare story so they’re both higher priority. hopefully I’ll have them both finished soon (the KoT story is almost done at least! the SxF one is currently outlined)

[sometimestxt]

tfw you have a story plotted out but you’re too lazy to write it