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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

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Stars Die (But We Don’t)

What is up everybody?! I’ve brought you more anxceit! This is the next story in my Space and Everything In It Series, which if you missed the first installment of, you can find it [here]!

Summary: Janus and Virgil have a talk about Scars, Death, and Names. Space is still a really big place.

Word Count: 7178

TW: talk of scars, survivors guilt, death

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

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“What am I supposed to say?” Janus said indignantly. Virgil hadn’t thought it was possible to miss the sound of something so annoying, but here he was, somehow grateful to hear the way that Janus’s tone conveyed absolutely no remorse for his actions. Condescending, patronizing, and snooty.

Apparently, very little about him had changed at all in the three years he had been declared dead, funneled through space, and ended up a very loyal member of Remus Prince’s Sucky Space Crew Extravaganza. The warmth in Virgil’s chest seemed spread, until he couldn’t quite place if it was an emotion or just part of being close to Janus again, like the way that Roman’s tail wagged the more Erefrens he was around.

“You could start with “Hey Patton, sorry for almost shoving a knife in your eye”.” Virgil suggested as he pressed the alien aloe to the cuts on Janus’s face as lightly as he could. Janus still hissed out a curse-- one of the many he seemed to know. Virgil thought that maybe that was his specialty because he had lost count of the scraps of languages that Janus had spouted.

“Sorry, Sorry,” Virgil muttered, “This is the last one.”

“That shit burns,” Janus whined because he was still the untouchable golden boy who had never even skinned his knees before he met Virgil.

“Sorry,” Virgil said because he was still the stupid kid who hated seeing others in pain.

Janus pulled back slightly, just an inch or two out of Virgil’s reach. His eyes danced with a mischievous light, as he fluttered his eyelashes ever so innocently. “Kiss it better for me, Vee?”

“Kissing?” Virgil repeated, pretending like he wasn’t already leaning forward just a bit, like he hadn’t been eyeing the soft pick of Janus’s lips through their entire previous discussion, like the fact that Janus’s shirt was not his own through this whole thing was entirely coincidence and not by both their designs. “I don’t know, Jan…. on my Christian Minecraft server?”

Janus laughed, and Virgil was almost certain that sound alone added seventeen years to his lifespan. It felt a bit like serotonin being directly injected into his bloodstream, making him absolutely stupid happy. Or perhaps that was just part of being near him, like the warmth in his chest. Maybe somewhere in the three years they had been apart Janus had developed a superpower, like an off brand power ranger who had a really pretty smile.

“Oh, chastity,” Janus said, “Thou art my biggest foe!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, scooped a glob of the aloe on two fingers, and swiped up to catch the bottom of his chin. Janus tossed his head back hissing.

“Betrayal!” He whined scooting away.

“Janus!” Virgil laughed, “Come on, stop being a child!”

“My own best friend!” Janus continued, “Betraying me!”

“Is that what this is?” Virgil muttered chasing after Janus with the aloe, “Trying to take care of you is a betrayal, now?”

Janus hissed again as Virgil made contact and the aloe did its job accelerating the speed at which the scars on his face were healing. It had only been two days since the incident-- two days since they had come face to face on that Pol’turian ship, two days since Janus had nearly killed Patton with a knife, two days since their very close call in the teleporting room and just barely managing to get back to their own ship. But even so the cuts on his face already looked several weeks old. The new scar tissue was pale and light and looked hella cool in Virgil’s opinion.

He just wished that the way that Janus had gotten said scars wasn’t because he had nearly been dismembered and literally sold for parts.

“How will I ever recover?” Janus playfully batted Virgil’s hand away again. “Oh Brutus! My brother! What have I done to incur a wrath like this?” He swung off the medical cot and fell to the floor in an over dramatic heap. He rolled over to stare up at Virgil, languidly draping his arm above his head, and smiled. Virgil who had seen galaxies, had seen suns and stars, had seen distant moons and auroras and nebulas, still thought that he was the prettiest site.

“Et tu, Brute?” Janus whispered.

“Oh my god,” Virgil snorted. “Please stop being a dramatic whiny bitch, will you?”

“Ah, but my dear Virge,” Janus kicked his foot up to tap Virgil’s own swinging feet, “Dramatic whiny bitch is my defining character trait.”

Virgil had a response, he did. But like every other instance where he ended up staring up at Janus for an extended amount of time, all his rational thought evaporated. It was definitely some sort of superpower and Virgil would defend that theory until the end of his days. There was something about his eyes that were so hypnotizing, something about his lips that were mesmerizing, something about the softness of his skin and the twitch of his nose that made the whole world melt away. Virgil could stare at him forever if Janus let him; could drink in the sight of him and live on just the glimpse of his brown curls bouncing to the tune of his voice.

Even when he was lying on the floor there was a way that he held himself that was so undeniably Janus-like, Virgil couldn’t really explain it. He was smooth as silk, with a tongue sharper than a knife and twice as cutting. With just a word or expression he could change the atmosphere of the entities around himself, befriend a foe, slaughter a friend, raze the world and all its inhabitants. Janus Ekans had always been something that very few people could look away from.

But so very few people had been able to actually see him. In light of empty words and pretty promises and cheshire smiles, Janus had become a master of the English language (and Spanish and Japanese too) and then used those syllables to build the facade around him.

Virgil had taken a sledgehammer to that facade once and no one had forgiven him for it.

“Are you even listening to me?” Janus cried out from the floor, pitifully whiny and offended and all those things that rich white boys were when they weren’t the focus of attention. “Virgil! How can I complain about the state of your betrayal when you aren’t even paying attention to me?! This is an outrage! The disrespect!”

He tossed his other arm up and over his head letting them both sit on the pristine floor and the sliver of his stomach peeked from under his borrowed shirt. (It was Virgil’s shirt, the cleanest one he had and it fit him well all things considered.) Virgil’s eyes were drawn to the pale skin like a moth to a flame, drawn in and frozen in place.

Janus’s laugh died, “...Virgil?”

Virgil placed the open container of aloe on the medical bed and hopped down to the floor, so he was right next to Janus, his fingers hovering lightly over where the shirt had been moved and the pale skin that was marked by a crisscross of healed flesh. It was an old scar, but it wasn’t an old scar.

Because Virgil had seen Janus before, shirtless, like that time they had snuck out of Janus’s Mansion to go for a dip in the pool on a dare from one of them and Janus had tossed his shirt to the side right before doing a subpar cannonball. Or that time that they had gym and been forced to play some bastardized version of kickball and Janus had sweated his team's way to victory and peeled off his shirt halfway back to the locker rooms. Or that time that they had been hiding from the sweltering heat in the library during the summer and Janus had striped in front of about seven different people and made one girl faint.

Virgil had seen Janus shirtless before.

He had not seen that scar before.

So it was new, despite how old it looked.

“Oh,” Janus said chuckling, and lying back down with his eyes closed, “That’s from a Sblorp attack.”

“A what.” Virgil repeated because there was no way that Janus had said that so casually.

Janus waves a hand up in the air in a flippant dismissive movement. “A Sblorp attack. You know Sblorps? I’m sure you’ve seen them before: Feathers? Fangs? An adoration for fresh flesh? I’m running out of words that start with F, here.”

Virgil carefully pressed up the lip of Janus’s shirt higher, hesitating in case Janus was about to smack his hands away. But all the other boy did was breathe deeply and sigh through his nose, watching him the way that he might have watched saturday cartoons (if Janus had ever had time to watch Saturday cartoons between his extra studying and being stupidly perfect).

The scar was a criss-cross, matching Virgil’s memory of the pointed teeth shape of a Sblorp. The jaw of it had definitely needed to unhinge in order to make the marks, digging in and gripping with the barbed notches. Sblorps were known for consuming flesh raw, for surprise attacks of unhinging their jaws to catch creatures wriggling on the ground, for latching on and never letting go.

Virgil’s fingers ghosted over the old wounds, touching as featherlight as he could.

There had to have been a lot of blood, a lot of pain. And yet somehow Janus was still holding on to that passive smile, as if the memory was more fond than agonizing.

“It was my fault,” Janus said in lieu of explaining, “You know how Sblorps are afraid of anything bigger than them, right? Well Remus neglected to inform me that their fight-or-flight instincts are more like freeze-and-bite. I didn’t even see the thing until it was two inches from tearing out my large intestine.” He chuckled softly in a way that caused Virgil’s hovering fingers to make contact with his skin again.

“Ooh, cold,” Janus hummed, reaching down to catch his hands and weave their fingers together. “It took them forever to get that thing off me. Remus was laughing so hard he started oozing his goo or whatever it is.”

“Toxin,” Virgil managed, “They… its a poison, that ignites all the pain receptors in the body.”

“Yeah that,” Janus squeezed his palm, then squinted and turned Virgil’s willing palm, “What’s this?”

At first Virgil wasn’t sure what had caught his eye. His hands were slender, but they had always been that way, more for the steady grace of piecing together electronics than for getting into fist fights, despite what the teachers at school always thought. He had calluses from work around the ship and a few scrapes on his knuckles from where he slammed it on the doorway yesterday while talking to Janus. His nails were bitten down to the quick from nineteen plus years of anxiety and three years of a miserable, directionless void when Janus had been dead and gone and past and Virgil was missing the company of his ghost.

But Janus tilted his hand and revealed the faded red line along the side of his palm that ran from the base of his pinky to the heel of his hand. Janus rubbed his thumb along it, as if Virgil was delicate and breakable and fragile.

It almost made him want to snort: the idea that of the two of them, Virgil was the one that needed to be protected. Like Janus hadn’t been placed on that pedestal for all to see and never to be touched, like Janus hadn’t been the one who had chunks of his face carved into by an alien, like Janus hadn’t been declared dead by everyone back on Earth.

Janus looked at the mark, scarcely a scar and more of a reminder, and tutted softly. “What happened?”

“It was nothing,” Virgil said.

“You are a terrible liar still.”

Virgil blew out a breath, somewhere between annoyed and comforted by the way that he was so easily read by the other human.

“Come on, I shared about mine,” Janus sat up as he spoke until they were sitting only a hair's breadth away from each other and their hands linked between them.

Virgil stuck his tongue in his cheek and glanced around the rest of the medical bay. It was empty except for the two of them, although it really shouldn’t have been. With the amount of damage Remus had taken he shouldn’t have been up and walking for weeks, but Remus wouldn’t let a simple thing like his own personal health and wellbeing stop him from terrorizing Roman. Virgil wasn’t sure where he had snuck off too, but after two days and dozens of escape attempts, Virgil had just stopped caring. Remus was Roman’s problem now.

Janus leaned forward. “Virrrrrgil!” He sang. “You can tell me anything!”

“Oh, can I?” Virgil said, also leaning forward. “Anything at all?”

“Absolutely! I’m a great secret keeper!”

Virgil leaned in, leaned in so close he could feel Janus’s breath on his cheeks, leaned in and squeezed their fingers together. “Hmmm…. Okay, how about this: I am in love with this boy.”

“No way,” Janus faux-gasped. “You’re gay?”

Virgil struggled to keep the smile off his face. “I am in love with this boy and he’s really pretty. Like super pretty.”

“Just pretty?”

“Oh no, He’s pretty and he’s a smartass.”

“You think my ass is smart?”

“Who said it was you? I was talking about Roman.”

Janus squawked, reeling back, like the words were a physical blow to his ego but he was laughing all the way. He tried to separate their hands but Virgil held tight and Janus yanked him forward. Before Virgil knew what had happened, he was lying on top of Janus, his forearm framing Janus’s head, and pressing his stomach to Janus’s chest.

“Hey,” Janus said in that same soft tone had that haunted Virgil’s most cherished memories: the late nights in Janus’s room, the early mornings when Virgil was trying to sneak out before the Mayor's security caught him, the quick greetings in the library before a study session.

“Hey yourself,” Virgil said, his own breaths tickling the wisps of his own hair falling over his eyes. He gently brushed his fingers through Janus’s own hair strands, teasing a lock or two between them.

“So you really don’t want to tell me?” He asked, “After I shared my silly story?”

“I’d hardly call getting eaten by a Sblorp a silly story, Jan.”

“Perhaps you just lack imagination.”

“Perhaps you’ve spent too much time with Remus.”

Janus paused for a moment, offered a half shrug, and then conceded the point because he was such a good person. He smiled again, a bit of a crooked thing, craning his neck so that they bumped noses.

“What if I said please?” He offered.

Virgil sighed, although he guessed it was really more of a laugh after all. How had he forgotten how stubborn Janus could be? How he could latch onto a concept (such as how a golden boy and a rebel punk could be friends) and simply will it into being with nothing but his determination?

“You can’t laugh about it,” Virgil said. “I’m serious.”

Janus happily squirmed under Virgil’s body weight, part of a victory dance that made Virgil want to kiss away that smug expression again. Instead he leveled a look down at his face-- a mistake if he had ever made one. His eyes were almost impossible to look away from once he started looking that deep. They were black holes, dilating when he looked at Virgil until they sucked him right in and promised to never let him go. His left eye was gold, like the summer sun rays through the tree branches back on Earth, his right eye was brown, like fresh chocolate chips ready to become ammo in an impromptu food fight, and staring at them both reminded him of the best days of his life.

“The truth is….” Virgil sighed, “I fell down a flight of stairs.”

Janus laughed anyway, because he’s a liar at heart and for some reason Virgil found that very attractive and liked him anyway.

“Wait, really?” He giggled-- honest to god, giggled. Virgil shook his head, but laughter like that was contagious and it had him swallowing back a smile.

“Yes, really,” Virgil pursed his lips, “We were on this little planet, uh, K3-450-something, and I had caught this cold from some Dreyfel that we were ferrying across the sector and Patton had regulated me to the medical bay, but in my lovely sick haze I thought that it was some sort of virtual reality escape video game where the damage didn’t translate over--Oh god please shut up.”

Janus laughed so hard he actually dislodged Virgil from on top of him. “I can’t-- I can’t--!! Oh my god, a game?”

Virgil hid his face in his sweatshirt sleeves. “You said you wouldn’t laugh, asshole!”

“I--I’m s-sorry!” He did not sound sorry at all, Virgil noted. He sounded like he was taking immense pleasure in making Virgil’s ears turn brick red with embarrassment. “But I said... no such t-thing. A game? Did you have a health bar too?”

“I think you're due for a date with the airlock.”

“S-sorry can’t... hear you!” Janus wheezed. “Over the...sound of-- fucking video game!”

Virgil groaned folding his arms over his head and hiding as much of his face as he could. “See this is why I didn't want to tell you!”

Janus’s laugh filled the air, his gasping breaths, making Virgil’s heart do some type of improvised dance routine without his permission. He peeked, because of course Virgil wasn’t going to miss a chance to see the mirth adorning Janus’s face. He peeked and sucked in a breath at the way Janus laughed with his whole body, kicking his feet and curling around his abdomen as he imagined the 99 million ways that sickly Virgil had managed to toss himself down a flight of stairs and gain a scar for his troubles.

“Are you done yet?” Virgil said breathlessly. He had to keep a reputation after all, didn’t he? He didn’t want Roman or Logan glancing by and assuming that he was anything other than a grumpy, nervous disaster human, after all. What would they do if either of them realized Virgil was soft and weak for Janus’s smile?

“No- No!” Janus gasped. He rocked back on his spine and lifted his leg in the air so he could roll up his pant leg, and showed off a series of two slashes on his lower calf. “Okay! You see this?”

He waited for Virgil to drop his sleeves from covering his face, waited until he could see Virgil’s beat red embarrassed face himself, waited with a grin and tried to catch his breath against the threat of giggling forever at Virgil’s stupidity.

“Yes.” Virgil said.

“This,” Janus traced his calf muscle, circling the very clear mark, “This I got from a little old lady on T7-365 who was selling these bad luck charms in a market place, except that she was an undercover police force or something and when she saw that I was a Deathworlder she leapt the goddamn table--I’m not joking! This lady had to be like 400 years old and you know that Shylans rarely live past 200, right? I thought if I defended myself she was gonna shatter!”

Virgil poked his leg, “She did that?”

“Yes! Those claws….” He shook his head, quirking his lips upward. “Remus tackled the lady off me. I swear he nearly crushed her entirely. And the entire police force chased us all back to the ship. I thought we were gonna die. Almost left behind Bowers and Kyle in the frenzy and--”

Janus stopped. Virgil felt his own stomach hollow out and his breath catch in his throat in an insurmountable lump. The words had left Janus’s mouth so suddenly they had bowled over the others and reality had locked back in place around them.

The medical bay, the cuts on Janus’s face, the death of the rest of his and Remus’s crew.

The friends and family that they had lost and that everyone had done their best to tiptoe around and not bring up. Virgil knew that it had been wrong, to just pretend like none of it had happened to him, but at the same time… he was watching Janus's spark of happiness drain from his body and leave an empty coldness in its place.

And Virgil had always been a bit of a coward.

If he still had nightmares about the strangers he had been forced to fight in the Welsor fighting rings, of the dust and the pain and the terror, of the bloodlust and the memories that were so obscured by his need to forget that he could not remember the faces of those that he killed….

If Virgil was still haunted by ghosts without names, he couldn’t imagine the horror of being haunted by those that had them.

Janus curled up slightly, the same way he had done once upon a time when they were strangers who thought they knew each other and Virgil’s parents refused to be proud of him for anything and Janus’s refused to be disappointed in him for everything.

He forced a laugh. “Its stupid, you know?” He said in a way that made Virgil think that it was absolutely not stupid at all in any way shape or form.

“I keep…” Janus huffed, “I keep thinking...if we had just... God, Virgil there were so many times…if we had just been a few minutes slower and gotten caught by the police, or just hung out longer on any one of the moon bases... maybe they would-- they would--”

He sucked in a breath and let it back out, long and slow and painful in a way that was beyond physical.

(Compared to Remus, he had very little damage done to him. No lasting bruises, no broken bones, no head injuries. Virgil hadn’t had to ask why; they all knew that Pol’turs like their merchandise to be as undamaged as possible.)

Virgil wanted to say something, wanted to say anything to bring back that smile to his face, wanted to tell him it was okay but even twelve years of school could not have prepared him for this type of bullshitting. It wasn’t okay, and he didn’t need to force Janus to call him on that lie too.

“It was bad, Virgil.” Janus said, with his eyes closed and voice so soft it could have been drowned out by the silence of space.

He sucked in a shaky breath, one that caused his entire body to tremble, one that made Virgil want to reach out and hold him tight and make himself a human shield between Janus and the pain of memories.

"I wasn't even close to any of them." Janus admitted, "I mean Remus picked me up off a dwarf planet, and you know being a human and all...no one wanted to get too close." He laughed humorless, "They thought I was gonna rip their throats out in their sleep for a while."

"Deathworlder perks," Virgil whispered.

Janus snorted, nodding, "Perks, yeah right." He sighed into his hands.

Virgil watched him, watched him as he ground the heel of his palms into his eyes, watched as those hands trailed upwards and hooked on his bangs, watched as he tugged on his hair the way he used to when they were studying chemistry and Virgil understood it immediately when Janus couldn't figure out the differences between intermolecular and intermolecular forces.

"I should've…" Janus started. "I should've--"

"Hey," Virgil cut in. Because his heart was twisting, because his chest was aching, because his eyes were burning. Because Janus was in front of him and he was doing a song and dance that Virgil had done three years ago when that detective showed up at his house and asked what Virgil had been doing on the fourteenth of the month and if he had anyone to collaborate his alibi.

He reached out and tapped on Janus's hands and slipped his fingers under the palms and wedged open the tight holds.

"Hey," Virgil said, waiting until Janus looked at him, "It wasn't your fault."

"I should have--! Virgil! I should have--!" He floundered, flubbed, scrambled for words in a way he was completely unpracticed in. He yanked at his hands but Virgil was stronger and held him, "I could have...done something!"

"Like what?"

"What?"

Virgil moved so he was directly in front of Janus, so that there was no missing him, so that there was no mistaking him. He squeezed Janus's hands tight and ground and pressed their knees together. "Like. What.” He repeated, “What could you have done, Janus?"

He was shaking, or maybe that was Virgil. Maybe it was both of them. Shaking together, shaking apart, shaking.

"I--"

"Tell me what you could have done," Virgil said lowly, "that wouldn't have cost you your life in the process?"

It was a selfish thing to say, but Virgil was a selfish creature. He hadn’t meant to be, hadn’t grown up being taught that way at all. If his parents had caught wind of how selfish and stupid and mean he had become they surely would have both had strokes.

No, this was a type of selfishness that Virgil had learned and learned and then learned again. It was the selfishness that had reared its ugly head that night that Janus had caught up to him and begged to know how Virgil had known--known-- when the dirty little truth had been Virgil just being an awful person. It was a selfishness that had snuck into his heart when his feet had dangling off the fenced balcony and his lips had tasted like “Blackberry Breezer” and Janus’s had tasted like “Bahama Mama” and Virgil couldn’t decided if he liked the taste of them together or not. It was a selfishness that had torn him to pieces when he couldn’t tear his eyes off the empty desk next to him in Spanish III, when the police would show up at his house four days of the week and follow him around the town whenever he left, when he’d been told that he was not invited to the funeral and he said he refused to go anyway because Janus had not been dead, couldn’t be dead, he wasn’t dead, damnit!

It was a selfishness that Virgil hadn’t remembered he had until the moment that he had seen Janus again on that Pol’tur ship, alive and breathing and real--

He squeezed Janus’s hands, held him tight, held him here in this moment.

Because he was selfish enough to want to tear Janus away from the past. Because he was selfish enough to be grateful. Because Virgil was a terrible, awful person and he was happy that Remus and Janus’s crew had been torn apart because it had meant that Janus hadn’t been.

It had been two days since everything, since the escape from the mercenary ship since they had recovered Remus and Janus, since Virgil’s entire world had been desperately turned upside down.

Two days since Virgil had been gifted back a part of himself he thought he had lost forever.

Janus had been an ingrained part of him. The Ying to his Yang, the inverse of himself, the funhouse mirror reflection at the world's crappiest funfair. When he had disappeared, Virgil had spent a year searching, waiting, hoping, praying. And it had gotten him nothing.

Virgil had seen first hand how big the universe was, seen the most distant stars, escaped from the galaxy police, visited breathtaking moons-- Virgil had seen how massive Space With a Capital “S” really was.

And Virgil could have been on a distant moon. He could have been in space jail. He could have been back on Earth. He could have been anywhere in that massive amount of Space.

And Roman, Logan, and Patton could have been a few hours slower, a few days slower, they didn’t have to have gone after Remus at all, or Roman and Logan could have gotten Remus and then decided it was too big of a risk to go track down the mysterious last crew member--

And Janus could have died.

And he would have been just another nameless corpse.

And Virgil never would have known what had happened to the boy with two different colored eyes who had looked at him like he was something worth remembering.

Virgil leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Janus’s, rubbing his thumb over Janus’s fingers, mixing their breaths together in a warm series of exhales and inhales and something else Virgil was too afraid to put a name too even after all this time.

“What could you have done?” He asked again, possibly a little desperately, possibly a little harsh, possibly a little mean and selfish and bad, “That wouldn’t have ended with you dead?”

Janus was shaking his head, moving it back and forth. There were words, incoherent and empty and Virgil heard them and felt his chest compress with every syllable.

“Jan…” He said, dropping his hands to cup Janus’s face. His fingers haunted the marks on the cheek, reading the raised, healing scars like he was an expert in braille, trying to ignore the memory of blood where those cuts were.

“If I had just been faster...” Janus said brokenly. “They wouldn’t have been… I couldn’t...It should have been me, Virgil. I should have been--”

“Listen to me,” Virgil whispered, “Listen to me real well, Janus. Are you listening?”

Virgil brushed back a lock of Janus’s hair, brushed away the strands so he could stare into those nebulas he called eyes, brushed away the falling tears that reminded him of falling stars. It made his chest ache and heave with something distant and awful, made the words on his tongue feel meaningless and worthless. He wanted to understand, wanted to make Janus understand-- How could he not understand?

“I should have--” Janus said.

“No.” Virgil told him, “There’s no should haves or should have nots, okay? It happened, Jan. It happened and it was bad, but you can’t change it. If you keep thinking of things that should have happened, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

But no that’s not right, Virgil thought even as he said it. Because the should-have-been-theres hadn’t driven him crazy. It had made him doubt himself,yeah, made him talk and beg deities he didn’t believe in, made him hate himself and the world and everything in it, but it never once made him crazy.

Empty, though.

Empty was an entirely different story.

Janus had disappeared and Virgil had laid awake at night feeling like someone had removed the lungs right from his chest cavity and sold them to some Quitans on the black market.

And Virgil wouldn’t wish that feeling on Janus’s crappy parents, much less Janus himself.

“I keep thinking…” Janus whispered, “I wish it had been me. Instead of them. Why didn’t they take me first? Aliens don’t adhere to “best for last”! I don’t even adhere to “best for last”! I wish-- I wish--!”

Virgil’s throat went dry, too dry. “A very smart man once told me that wishing on stars is a stupid and pointless thing to do,” Virgil breathed softly. “Remember that?”

Janus huffed out a harsh laugh, a sarcastic, angry laugh that told Virgil that he was well aware of that sort of advice and who it had come from.

“The stars don’t give a fuck about us.” He quoted, parroted, mimicked a version of himself that was four years younger, four years stupider, and four years a memory and nothing more. “I guess... I was right... about one thing, huh?”

The words he was going to say, all of the billions of them, got wedged in his esophagus, leaving barely enough room for him to breathe. He wheezed after Janus’s voice breaking, after the whimpering tone, after the crystal tears.

How could he explain that Janus was always right? That Virgil would trust Janus over himself every time?

He hoped that he could convey the message through telepathy or through his touch or something. Because if he had to say them out loud he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from crying too.

Time passed, and Virgil didn’t think either of them really noticed. The lights in the medical bay didn’t change or dim and the door never opened. The halls of the rest of Roman’s ship were a respectful quiet that Virgil knew had nothing to do with either of them as much as Patton was reorganizing the cargo hold and doing an inventory check while Logan went through the communications they had missed and decided what job requests they should adhere to, and Roman and Remus were up on Bridge several floors away probably arguing because they had yet to stop really.

Time passed, and Janus didn’t say anything more, lapsing into that silent crying that he had perfected in the bathroom at their middle school because god forbid someone find out that Janus was fucking miserable being the center of attention every second of his life. Virgil kissed his temple featherlight and softly pressed their foreheads together. He didn’t move, even after his knees started to ache and both his feet started to fall asleep and Janus’s tears soaked through the sleeves of his sweatshirt and left his wrists feeling cold and uncomfortable.

Time passed, and Virgil counted Janus’s breaths the way he used to count the stars, back before he had ever thought about the possibility of actually going into space and the concept of alien life was as debatable as the idea of meeting Mothman one day.

“I…” Janus sniffled. Virgil waited patiently for him to finish, but he must have changed his mind because he just burrowed his head into Virgil’s shoulder, and breathed out shakily.

Janus fell into him like he was a blackhole, and Virgil did his best to hold them both up and keep his heart rate low and even and calming. He restarted his mental count of Janus’s breaths, feeling each inhale and exhale through his fingers that were rubbing circles on Janus’s shoulders.

Somewhere around a sleepy, soundless three thousand, Janus stirred back into himself. He inhaled deeper and pulled back from Virgil’s shoulder wiping away the leftover tear tracks with his pale and clammy hands.

“You said,” He started, with a measure of exhaustion that Virgil felt deep in his soul, “You said...back when you first saw me….Did my parents really declare me dead?”

Their Pride and Joy, they had called Janus once, twice, a billion times. If Virgil closed his eyes he could see them there: Janus’s mother who still looked to be in her late twenties despite nearing fifty now, with long blond hair that curled in perfect rings and so much glittering diamond jewelry that she was hard to look at in in the flash of paparazzi cameras, and Janus’s Dad, the Mayor, who’s dark brown hair and charismatic smile had been plastered across the city every election year. They had shown up to every event that Janus had been in, and had turned it into a showcase about how great and fantastic Janus was. Every award ceremony, every spelling bee, every sports game, Chess club, Robotics, Art shows--

Perfect, flawless Janus Ekans, they called him. Gonna grow up to be the finest President of the entire United States, whether he wanted to or not.

With a life like his, no one had ever really considered the idea that he might have run away. And two weeks without a ransom note had led everyone to assume that he had been murdered. According to the lead detective, kidnapped teenagers rarely made it past the first twenty four hours, no matter how much people loved him.

Virgil’s expression must have given him away because Janus blinked hard again and furiously scrubbed away a new wave of tears.

“They…” Virgil swallowed hard, “They waited. A whole eight months. But there was no note, no ransom call, nothing. The detective wanted to close the case.”

Virgil didn’t tell him that he had been barred from the service, that Janus’s parents who had always hated the bad influence that was Virgil hadn’t stopped glaring at him, that the media had picked up on the cold exchanges and crafted their own story on what happened. Virgil did not tell him that everyone had eaten up that story, including Janus’s parents, and the rumors had spiraled into a noose strategically wrapped around Virgil’s neck.

Virgil didn’t tell him anything about the last four months he had spent on Earth, and definitely didn’t tell him that sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat wondering if the Weslor Fighting Rings were really worse than life back on Earth.

“Virgil I…” Janus’s hands reached forward suddenly, twisting around the edges of his hoodie and tightening. “Virgil, I’m dead, right? They killed me.”

And Virgil was ready for the sadness, ready for the harrowing realization that his parents had turned their backs on him, ready for Janus to realize that he had lost something important again.

Virgil was not ready for the blissed out relief on his face.

“I’m dead,” He whispered again in the silence Virgil left behind. “Virgil, I am dead.” He inhaled sharply. “I don’t ever have to go….” He tugged on Virgil’s jacket again, then let go quickly and smoothed out the fabric over his chest, as if he was afraid of offending Virgil somehow.

(As if Virgil wasn’t fully prepared to give him anything he asked for already.)

“Do you,” Janus asked, “Do you want to go back?”

His tone was entirely too level, too even, too emotionless for a guy who was overflowing with negative emotions. It pricked at a memory Virgil once had of a night far too long ago and buried in a Janus sized coffin: it was the voice he used to use in public when his parents were bragging and Janus was praying that they would stop putting him in the spotlight but knew deep down they would never knock it off.

It was the tone, the voice, the expression he used when he was afraid of the answer, but resigned to the fate of it.

“Do you?” Virgil asked back, because even if he knew the answer he needed to hear him say it. Out loud.

To make it real.

Because if Virgil had read him wrong, if Janus wasn’t drowning in relief, if this wasn’t hope of never needing to go back to Earth-- Virgil would-- He would--

He would ask Logan and Roman and Patton to take them back, if that’s what Janus wanted, if that was what made Janus happy. Virgil would leave all of the cosmos, all the distant planets, all the alien races, all the dying stars to follow him back to Earth. He would forget all about the great, huge, endless expanse of Space and stay with Janus on their tiny, little deathworlder planet in their tiny, little hateful city.

“My parents buried an empty coffin,” Janus said. “I think...that’s the only good thing they ever did for me.”

Virgil’s heart did a pitter-patter in a way he wasn’t sure it was supposed to do.

Janus scooted towards his side with a great amount of effort. Virgil watched him, cataloguing the sudden weakness in his arms, the tiredness of his expression, the fatigue that clung to the very essence of him. All that just to flop his head on Virgil’s shoulder. When he exhaled again, it sounded a lot like him letting go of a billion more unsaid words.

“I want to let Janus Ethan Ekans stay dead,” He admitted.

Virgil tilted his own head so his cheek pressed against Janus’s and breathed in deep. He smelled like the alien flower shampoo that Roman liked to use. Virgil hadn’t hated it, but he also hadn’t adored it all that much. Now though, he thought he might be okay if that was the only thing he smelled for the rest of his life.

“I’ll have to find a new name to go by, I think,” Janus continued, his tone dripping with exhaustion.

“Oh?” Virgil humored him, like he was prone to do.

“Yeah,” Janus smiled a little as his eyes fluttered closed. “I got...a few ideas already. Had them for a while.”

“Do I get a hint?” Virgil asked, settling back so that he could rest against the leg of the cot for support. He shifted a bit to get a good adjustment, and Janus very patiently whined while he did because he was still a brat.

“I was thinkin’,” Janus said, “maybe Janus Storm, instead.”

Virgil’s heart fluttered, like a butterfly’s wings on a billion butterflies that he could feel bumbling around in his chest all at once. For an absurd moment he flashed back to all those times in his Chemistry class where he scribbled “Virgil Ekans” in the margins of his notes enough times for him to be too embarrassed to bring them out after Janus had asked him for help studying.

Janus Storm. Janus Storm. Janus Storm.

It made his chest feel light, but his stomach feel hollow. He hadn’t called himself Storm in two years, not since the Yurinks picked him off of Earth, not since the whole world had determined that Virgil Storm was a cold blooded killer, not since the detective had asked him to confirm for the record that he was indeed Virgil Storm, seventeen, male, son of--

“Nah,” Virgil said softly. “We should make our own. Something different from either of our families, you know?”

Janus breathed out part of a sleepy laugh, “Like Johnson?”

“Janus and Virgil Johnson?” Virgil tested.

They made twin faces of dislike.

“Smith? Hernadez?” Janus offered. “Miller?”

“Let's make a list,” Virgil suggested tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “I’ve always wanted... to be an Anderson.”

“Ugh, like Kyle Anderson?” Janus muttered. “He used to cheat off my Spanish homework.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah, but you’re cute.”

Virgil snorted. “What ‘bout….Davis?”

“Jones?”

“Janus Jones? You really want to be a JJ? ”

Janus made a noise of recognition, something disagreeable and agreeable at the same time. Virgil hummed in his own chest as he listened to it. The soft huffs of air from Janus’s lips lulled him into a calmness, of quietness, of peacefulness. By the time he realizes that Janus hadn’t responded, his own eyes felt too heavy to bother trying to open again.

Janus and Virgil. Virgil and Janus.

“We’ll think of something,” Virgil murmured and let himself fall asleep as well.

[Next Installment: Happy Little Stars]

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #Janus Sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic deceit #Alien Au #17 pages of Virgil finding increasingly complicated similies to say how gay he is for Janus #humans are space orcs #mentions of poor parenting #survivors guilt #janus needs a hug #Virgil's happy to give it to him #Hurt/comfort #this is so gay guys #anxceit #i'm going to amass an army of anxceit lovers if its the last thing i do okay

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turnaboutyandere · 3 years

Note

YALL I LOVED THE COP MEETING THATS DOPE AF ✨🦊✨- Wocky Anon seal of approval

So here are some potential darling meet ups, and a little backstory (so sorry that it’s this long 😅😅)

Eldoon’s daughter back from college

-Eldoon’s college age daughter comes home for a break and runs into Wocky, still raw from the whole trial. Unlike her age-wisened father, y/n is far more naive and sweet, and her kindness is an addictive balm to Wocky still fresh emotional wounds. She’s eager to help her new friend cope with his trauma unaware that he’s beginning to latch on to her. He uses her kindness and easily manipulated personality to try to get her to stay with him rather than go back to college.

Part of Apollo’s team during the trial

-Wright Anything Agency had a single young secretary to help schedule Trucy’s shows and Nick’s job. During the trial, she tried to help Wocky see that Alita was taking advantage of him. After the trial, he starts trying to make it up her kindness and gets VERY attached; showing up to the agency, following her and Apollo/Trucy to trials and investigations, etc. She and the rest of Wright Co. think Wocky is hanging around because he wants to be friends, not aware that he’s gunning to woo the secretary

Meraktis’s Daughter trying to make peace

-Meraktis’s estranged daughter who hasn’t been home in years comes to settle his will and wants to make up what her father’s negligence has done to Wocky and the rest of the Kitaki Clan. With her help they find a surgeon to do the needed operation, and Wocky sees her as an angel swooping in to save him. She stuck around after his surgery, still feeling guilty about her father’s actions, and Wocky uses this guilt to keep her around him.

Alita’s sister to help settle her affairs

-Alita’s step sister comes to help settle her shit after her arrest and during her trial. She is extremely different from Alita from how she presents herself and how she acts, and openly admonishes her step sister’s actions and feels terrible for how Alita treated Wocky. Wocky wants to hate her but they bond over their mutual betrayal from Alita, and Wocky falls for another Talia girl because he’s desperate for healing

Works at Wonder bar with Trucy

-A singer who works at the Wonder Bar with Trucy catches Wocky’s eye when he goes to watch Trucy’s act after Apollo invited him. He starts showing up more and more to her performances and uses his connection to Apollo to introduce himself and befriend her (and hopefully seduce her)

Detective helping the Kitakis

-someone broke into the Kitaki Bakery in the middle of the night and a fresh face detective is assigned to find the intruder and why. Rather than assume the worse of the Kitaki’s, the way many do, she’s open and understanding. Post-surgery and calmed down Wocky who is trying to stick to being a good reformed baker is very taken by the very understanding detective and is more than willing to help her investigation. Even when the case is solved, she still visits often and Wocky is very pleased that a law enforcer is intrigued by an ex-mobster (corruption link anyone?)

Rivales member trying to reform

-the Kitaki’s aren’t the only mobsters trying to reform their lives. A member of the gang the shot Wocky, the Rivales, wants to quit the crime life and go straight. However, the only place she feels like would be safe for her to go is the Kitaki’s, as she’s trying to hide from her old gang. Wocky is kinda a bully to her at first since her gang played a part in him getting shot and sort of started his whole bullshit with Alita; but the new girl is wide eyed and desperate for a chance at redemption and Wocky is more than willing to play into her guilty conscious to not only keep her loyal to his family but to also keep her on the straight and narrow. Anything for a second chance, right?

And for fun! I headcannon that “Wocky” is actually a nickname. His full name is Takita Kitaki (his name in the original Japanese translation), but he goes by Wocky to distinguish himself from the rest of his family and because no teachers in America could say his name right the first try and it annoyed him to hell and back.

XOXO- Wocky anon

😭 I GOT THE WOCKY ANON SEAL OF APPROVAL THAT’S ALL I’VE EVER WANTED IN LIFE-

Ahem, anyway- I think all of these are pretty solid! I think my favorites have got to be Eldoon’s daughter s/o and Wonder Bar singer s/o.

I’ve never been a fan of the “college sweetheart and bad boy” trope before but after reading this... Wocky Anon, you may have just changed my mind! Making the story yandere-themed and adding Wocky to the mix is a recipe for perfection! It honestly sounds like it’d be a really fun read!

As for the Wonder Bar singer s/o one- HOLY HELL YOU HIT THE NAIL ON THE HEAD WITH THIS ONE. I absolutely adore this trope. I love those stories where the mobster falls for the down-on-their-luck singer at some bar, especially if it’s yandere-themed! I don’t care how overdone it is at this point, it will always remain a favorite of mine.

I also really like the Detective s/o one because I’m a slut for really into those criminal x law enforcement stories. I know Wocky is supposed to be reformed in this, but like... Detective x Yakuza leader (oyabun, I think it was called) could be the set-up for a great yandere fic (which I could never write because I don’t have the skill for it but uh, Wocky Anon 👀)

Overall, I’d say all of these ideas are great! You’ve a real knack for writing stories, Wocky Anon.

(also, I am now accepting that headcanon as canon. It’s too late, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s canon now.)

______

- Mod Dollie

#wocky anon #letters to the mod #i love how wocky is a clingy little shit in all of these

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tineechi · 4 years

Text

Kono Oto Tomare Chapter 93 English Summary

https://raw.senmanga.com/Kono-Oto-Tomare!/093

Sooo... Sorry for the delay. The Japanese raw chapter was released a few days before in Baidu but I was so busy and lazy at the same time. T_T

Standard non-native Japanese speaker disclaimers apply.

The chapter is entitled 'Anxious/worried child' and starts off with Keishi cooking in the Doujima house's kitchen. He tastes his dish, declares it delicious and calls for Akira and their grandmother.

On the table, Akira says that the miso soup is delicious. Keishi happily tells them that he tried changing the dashi stock and checks with Akira if she likes this taste. Akira says "Yes. I like it." He asks "Grandma?" and Grandma seriously answers with "A little bit dark..." (I think she meant the color of the soup. Miso soup is usually clear but I think Keishi's dish may be more opaque than usual. Correct me if I'm wrong.)

Akira changes the topic and asks how Sakai-kun is doing. He tells her that he is doing good and trying his best. Keishi also says that Mittsu can now concentrate better than when her mother was not yet discharged from the hospital (She's still in rehabilitation though).

The scene shows their past practice where Keishi points out that Mittsu needs more volume on a specific part and Mittsu says that Akira-sensei has also pointed that out. He then continues on to say that his fingers (not having enough strength) is why he still couldn't play it.

Keishi tries to assure him by saying that he firmly has the basics in him but Mittsu is still a little unsure. Keishi sits beside him and "borrows" his hand. Keishi tries to show Mittsu how to do it by placing his hand over Mittsu's and showing him the movements. He explains that "You might get it if you experience it once". Keishi holds Mittsu's finger and shows him the direction to pluck the strings while saying "My way of playing it..."

Mittsu is surprised and enlightened. Mittsu says "Oh. It is like this?" Keishi clarifies that their posture is a bit different (because Keishi is sitting beside Mittsu and not sitting like he is actually playing the Koto) but the direction is kind of like that. Mittsu is astounded and says "Amazing!"

Mittsu continues to be super happy and amazed. He says that a wonderful sound came out and that he's using the same koto and nails as before but with this motion, the sound came out beautifully. Mittsu also says that he wouldn't forget the feeling just now and tries to copy the motion again and again. Keishi looks touched by Mittsu's genuine happiness.

Keishi finishes recounting that experience to Akira while saying "I was about to cry that time." Akira smiles and says that Sakai-kun's sound has really been improving lately. Keishi energetically agrees with her like a proud brother. HAHAHAHA. Akira tells Keishi that "After all, I am very glad that I asked older brother for this." Keishi is surprised and drops bits of rice from his chopsticks. Tears just falling from his eyes like a waterfall. XD

Keishi asks "Can I squeeze/hug you?" and Akira says "No!" :D

Grandma stubbornly makes a sound like "Hmph!" and stands up after eating her meal. Keishi asks if she is already done and Grandma says that she did not return to this house to hear them talk like that/talk about those things. Grandma tells Akira that she returned because she was worried when Akira said that she wants to rebuild the Tsubaki group. She asks them "What are you two doing? Taking care/looking after such amateurs (Tokise kids)?"

Akira and Keishi look at each other and Keishi jokingly says "Grandma also...would you like to come and teach?" Grandma shows an angry and scary face and Keishi takes it back immediately and apologizes.

Grandma resignedly says "Jeez...from a long time ago, you two..." She turns her back on them, and says "If you can afford to teach other people, why not try playing a song at a concert?" and leaves the room.

Keishi asks "Just now... was that referring to me?" Akira answers with "It's only about big brother, right?" (Because Keishi's the only one who stopped performing with the Koto. Hahaha)

Akira laughs and says that Grandma really isn't honest. She says that it looks like somehow big brother got involved in the Koto again and that makes her happy. Keishi smiles at her and jokes about the miso soup.

Keishi becomes serious for a moment, asks about the club and if it’s going smoothly. Akira tries to explain that it is a challenging song and that they're really having a bit of a difficult time. Keishi agrees but tries to say "but other than that..." but Akira interrupts by saying that there's still a bit of anxiousness and worry (As far as I understand, she mentions that there is still an anxious child. But I might be wrong. It might be an idiom or a common expression but I just assume that some club members are still unsure how to play their parts. Please correct me Native speaker-san.)

The scene changes to Momoya and Atsumu in the classroom. Atsumu is super excited in telling Momoya about what Kudou-senpai has said. Momoya looks a little bored listening but Atsumu continues with "And then... after that...". Momoya interrupts and tries to say "Yoshinaga...you don't need to report everything to me." Atsumu is shocked, feels a bit embarrassed and looks down while saying "Ahhh... I..It was annoying huh?" Momoya looks a bit guilty and tries to rein it in by saying something along the lines of "It's hard to do that, right?" (Meaning it might be hard for Atsumu to do that for him.)

Atsumu becomes excited again and says "Not at all!/It's defintely okay!" HAHAHAHA. (The interaction between these two will kill me. XD) Atsumu continues by showing Momoya a notebook that he writes on about what happens in the club and what every one has been talking about. (Talk about diligence and passion. Sheeesh this Atsumu boy! :D) Momoya reacts with "Uwa!"

Atsumu says that if Momoya wants to ask anything about the club, he can ask him. Momoya says "Well... Thanks..." then thinks to himself that Atsumu has bad handwriting. LOL

Momoya is a bit astonished because there was an entry written in the notebook about Momoya saying that they need to play more in the classic style. Atsumu writes in the first person perspective and notes that only his sound is 'floating'. Also, Momoya saying that playing according to the musical score is the start line (meaning... every one needs to know how to play the correct way as a basic skill. Then they have to improve their playing from that point on.)

Atsumu says that he didn't think before that music can be that deep but he thinks that Momoya is great because he knew about that. Momoya tries to disagree and says that he does not know about it that much. Atsumu insists otherwise and says that he was listening to music everyday and then it was like he suddenly understood (I think he meant about how Chika had an epiphany and explained how to play music from the last chapter. Atsumu uses a phrase I'm not sure about. 目からウロコ - I think it's scales from the eyes falling suddenly or kind of like genuinely understanding/seeing something. Correct me if I'm wrong.)

Momoya thinks for a few seconds and asks "You listen to music every day?". Atsumu smiles and says that "Yes, I do." and that he likes his grandfather's music very much. He also listens to anime songs, special effect songs and character songs too. Momoya says "Character songs..." and Atsumu embarrassingly says "Umm.. right... Momoya-kun doesn't listen to those kind of songs..." Momoya answers with "Well... I don't know much about it..."

Then Momoya says "If you have any performances/songs that you recommend, send the titles to me through LINE." Atsumu is surprised and clarifies "My recommendations?" and Momoya answers with "Who else's?"

Atsumu looks super happy, pulls out his phone and says "I'll send them. I'll send them right away." Hahaha. Momoya tries to say "It's okay if you don't send it right away."

While typing, Atsumu's hands are shaking and he keeps thinking that it's the first time that he's sending recommendations to Momoya. He is a bit teary-eyed and he says that "Looks like a friend." (Feels like a conversation between friends) out loud. Momoya is a little shocked and Atsumu covers his mouth, thinking "Oh no! I said that out loud/my voice came out." Atsumu tries to say sorry in a very panicked way and thinks to himself that Momoya definitely thinks that what he said was annoying.

They are interrupted because the class is about to start and Momoya turns to face the blackboard (with his back to Atsumu). Atsumu is still a bit troubled by the situation and Momoya is thinking to himself that this is a bit troublesome. He is thinking that it's not just about making it sound classical when they play. He thinks that when they play as an ensemble, Yoshinaga's sound is usually 'floating' and no one tells him that it is that way. Because no one calls him out for it, it becomes normal and he keeps playing the same way.

Momoya pulls out his phone and reads the Line message from Atsumu saying that he'll send the recommended titles.

Momoya continues to think that he can't say anything even if he notices. It is probably a sound quality issue and maybe Atsumu (he refers to him as Yoshinaga here) is not skilled/dexterous enough to make changes to his sound even if he informs him.

The scene changes to the practice and the four of them are playing as an ensemble. Momoya hears Atsumu's sound and notices the difference immediately. They finish the parts and Kota is happily asking Atsumu if he felt that it was good that time. Atsumu also happily says that he feels the same way.

Chika doesn't really look happy and says that it was "their best so far but..."

Kota asks "But?..." and Chika says that it's like it's not refreshing enough. It feels like it's not good enough.

Seriously, Momoya says "Mizuhara-senpai and Yoshinaga are still cheating a bit." Both of them react with "Eh?!" Kota says "I'm not cheating though." Atsumu also say "I also am not doing something like that."

Momoya, with a funny face, says that that means more problem for him.

Kota asks about the part that he did wrong and Momoya answers with "Well.. No.. it's not like it's a mistake specifically."

The he tries to explain something along the lines of "the best place for the pauses/places without the sounds". (Hihihi, it's very technical so I'm not too sure but I think he is referring to the way you put the pauses when you play the song. It has to have meaning to make it more evocative. Correct me if I'm wrong.)

Momoya continues on to explain that Mizuhara-senpai is probably listening to the other’s sounds too much. Because of that, his timing is delayed. On the other hand, Yoshinaga's issue is his basic impatience. He is usually staying ahead/ in front in terms of timing.

They're all surprised and Kota is panicking a bit. Hihihi. Chika asks if that is all. Momoya asks "Eh?" and Chika tries to explain that "Well.. No.. I can't say it properly... but the atmosphere/mood of the sound, is jerky/bouncy/shaky...It is not just about the timing gaps/differences only." Momoya is surprised and Chika looks at him seriously and asks "You understand what I'm saying, right?" Momoya thinks about it, then peeks at Atsumu for a bit (Atsumu notices this. I think he understands that the issue is with his playing.) and Momoya thinks "This is bad..." to himself.

Atsumu asks him directly "Is it me?" and Momoya tries to say no but he remembers Kota saying that it is okay to not hesitate and tell them things honestly. Atsumu seriously tells him "Say it." Momoya is shocked and Atsumu continues to say "If there is anything, say it/tell me." Momoya tells him "Yoshinaga's sound is floating. The sound quality doesn't match the surroundings/other sounds. It's probably the reason why the atmosphere/mood of the sound is jerky/shaky." (referring to how Chika described it before.)

Kota asks how exactly can you match sound quality and Momoya answers that it is not really simple/easy to match sound quality that's why he didn't want to say something. If it was a strength or technical problem, you could do something about it. But, sound quality is more fundamental.

Chika asks "Why is Yoshinaga the only one with a different sound quality? What if he changes/replaces his Koto?" Chika and Kota continue on talking about this matter but as they are discussing, Atsumu is not really listening. In his mind, he is thinking "Why is that? Why am I the only one different from the others?" He looks at his hand wearing the rounded nails. He remembers Takezou-senpai saying "We are from the Ikuta style. We use this kind of square nails." Then he remembers his Grandpa's smiling face and him saying his name "Atsumu!"

Atsumu looks really sad after that. The closing remarks are "The only bond with my late grandfather..."

So basically, Atsumu's style of playing and sound is a bit different from everyone else's. But he loves his grandpa and his music so it'll be hard to make changes to that. I say that they should ask Suzuka and Akira-sensei about this. I'm not really musically talented so I don't know how to fix it (even Momoya doesn't know and he's super talented) but I doubt that Suzuka-sensei will ask Atsumu to change his playing style. He probably knows a thing or two about incorporating different styles to make it better.

Shout out to our boy Momoya for being honest this time (though he needed a lot of convincing. His hesitation comes from a place of caring. T_T)

No romantic moments for the main couples this chapter. Boohooo! (Oh! Well... There was a lot from Momoya and Atsumu! ^_^)

Onto the next chapter... Thanks.

#Kono Oto Tomare!#KOT #Kono Oto Tomare #Kono Oto Tomare Summary #この音とまれ #この音とまれ！

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tisfan · 7 years

Text

Holiday Spending

All I Buy For Christmas - Renting in the New Year - Will you Steal My Valentine - Up for (Mardi) Grabs - Hopping Down the Money Trail - (In) Memorial Day Sale - (Folding) Paper Anniversary - (Financial) Independence Day - Back to School (Fundraiser) - Fruit of our Labors

A/N: Contains unbelievable amounts of sap. Sorry.

Chapter 12: (Giving) Thanks

“Yaaaaaaasha!” Nat was yelling as she pounded up the stairs and into the little flat. For someone who was a dancer and supposedly graceful, Nat often sounded like a herd of very small brontosauruses. “Yaaaaaaasha!”

She stopped dead two steps into the living room, scowling. “You’re not Yasha.”

Tony laughed, cynical. “How observant of you, dear sister.”

“You’re not my brother-in-law yet,” Nat said, hands on her hips. “Where’s Yasha?”

Tony flipped the channel on the television. Oh, look, something with a gun fight. Flip. Something with a man forcing a woman into a kiss to shut her up. Flip. More gun fighting. Flip. Tony sighed. It’d be nice to watch some television some time without feeling like he was being personally attacked in high definition. Oh, cooking show. That might be okay.

“He went out to get some take-away,” Tony said.

And Tony was doing his best not to panic about everything. It’d been a bad day for both of them, starting out with a stupid argument about whose turn it was to do the dishes (for the record, it was Bucky’s turn and Tony was feeling both petty and guilty about feeling petty) and then they’d attempted to have some make-up sex that had gone terribly wrong when they discovered someone (Tony that time) had left half a bottle of juice on the bed and it spilled, soaking the comforter and sheets with orange juice. They’d had to put sexy times on hold to wash the linens, and by the time they were done with that, neither of them were in the mood to do more than try to be decent human beings another day.

Logically, Tony knew that Bucky wasn’t going to leave him over stupid fights. Logically, he knew the people on the television weren’t going to shoot him, either. Didn’t help with the stupid brain.

And the more stupid things happened, the snappier and uglier and prone to picking a fight Tony got until Bucky had grabbed his smokes and headed out to get dinner, rather than dealing with Tony and his attitude any longer. Tony wasn’t going to admit that his first reaction to that was “and stay out.”

“Hmph,” Nat said, flouncing into the kitchen. She pulled the vodka bottle out from under the sink. “I hope he brings enough for me. We have a celebration, tonight.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, mister pouty-pout face,” Nat said. She poured two shots and handed him one. “Drink with me.”

(more below the cut, or read the whole thing at A03)

“What are we celebrating?” A little good news might help get Tony and Bucky out of their funk.

“Wait,” Nat said. She knocked back the shot and licked the droplets from the side of her glass. “I will not tell you first. Yasha would be cross with me.”

“We could form a team,” Tony said, a touch bitter. He drank down the vodka she poured for him. “People that your brother is pissed with.”

Nat gave him a sharp look, refilled the shot glasses. “You are arguing?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not even important, you know. Just…”

“The pain of a dozen blisters,” Nat said.

God, Tony hoped not; he’d seen Nat’s feet after some of her bad rehearsals, nights where the director made them do it again, and again, and again and she would drag herself home, feet bleeding and heels red and raw.

“I’m not that bad,” Tony protested.

“You are not,” Nat agreed. She poured them more shots.

“Just feel… shitty,” Tony admitted. “That I’m pissed at him about stupid shit.”

“Make a gratitude list,” Nat said. “My therapist tells me to do this every day, but that is ridiculous. If I must make a list every night, it becomes work, and I am not grateful for the things I have and love, I resent making the damn list. But sometimes, especially when I am feeling out of sorts, I sit down and make the list.”

“Coffee,” Tony said. That was easy.

“No, no,” Nat said. “We will make a written list.”

“You expect me to write after you dumped four shots of vodka into me?”

Nat’s look was so flat it could have served as a level. “Yes.”

Nat fetched notepads and ridiculously colored gel pens -- Tony’s was brilliant emerald green, hers was eggplant purple -- and an old-fashioned hour glass, the kind that actually had sand in it. Tony hadn’t seen anything like it in… well, maybe even ever, except on television and Nat actually slapped his hand when he tried to inspect it.

“Make your list.”

Nat’s ridiculousness Coffee Waking up before the alarm goes off and being able to go back to sleep Bucky loves me

A small wince there, because Tony hadn’t exactly been loveable recently, but he supposed that was what unconditionally meant. I still love him, even when I’m mad.

loving Bucky Believing both of those things are true The money

Another flinch, because he also felt guilty about the Stark fortune; he hadn’t done anything to earn it except being born to the right parents. And having those same parents die unexpectedly. Because of the fucking money. He resented it even as he was grateful for the comfort it provided, for the fact that he didn’t have to worry. That he could pay Bucky’s hospital bills. All the things that the money could purchase, without consideration for all the things the money was. He made a mental note to get with his accountants and look at the current charity donations. Surely there were things he could do to even the score a little bit.

The ability to make other people’s lives easier

People, yes, he had some people in his life that he was grateful for. Rhodey Pepper Jan Bruce

Tony made a note to call them all and get together for a lunch or dinner or something. He’d been neglecting his friendships. He wasn’t quite sure why, maybe something to do with Jan’s party and not wanting to look at his friends and remember that they’d seen him in the aftermath and fucking resenting that they’d seen him that way. You won’t get past it unless you deal with it.

He was grateful for his mom, much as he missed her.

Mom teaching me to play piano. The times she took me to the ballet.

Maria had loved the ballet; she was thrilled when she found out that Bucky’s sister was a dancer. They’d gone to the Nutcracker every year until Tony went off to college, and even then, she’d asked him every year if he wanted to go. He nursed a small regret that he’d said no last year, too eager to avoid questions about his lack of significant other. On the other hand, that had lead him to grabbing Bucky’s advertisement.

Bucky’s ridiculousness Bucky’s patience Bucky’s terrible bedhead

That had given him a bright spurt, first thing in the morning, on so many days. Bucky’s hair was shoulder length, thick and silky-soft, prone to curling up if it was humid or drizzly, and after sleeping on it, the whole thing had a mind and life of its own. Tony was almost convinced that Bucky’s hair was what lead to tales of the medusa with her crown of snakes.

Bubblewrap

Tony was prone to abusing his Amazon Now account and the last batch of stuff he needed without bothering to get the fuck off the sofa had come wrapped in yards of it. Tony’d put the widget aside without even playing with it, just so he could snap a few dozen air pockets.

Doughnuts. Grapes. Peppermint frappuccinos. Good beer. Bad vodka. Really terrible marshmallow flavored vodka. Cold pizza for breakfast. Bucky’s tomato soup out of a mug when I’m not feeling well.

Cheese.

Cheese whiz.

Stop judging me from across the living room Nat, I can feel the judgement here.

Roller skates.

Bucky’s kisses. Blow jobs. Sleepy morning sex.

There were a lot of other sex things to be grateful for, but he wasn’t sure if he and Nat were going to be exchanging lists, and Nat had made it perfectly clear that while she didn’t care that her brother was having sex, she really didn’t want to hear about it (or hear it) in any great detail.

Metallica. AC/DC. Black Sabbath.

Baby Metal.

Guilty pleasure that, and he was sure there were hundreds of hard-core metal fans that were going to come for his head-banging card for admitting it, but the Japanese jpop/heavy metal group were weirdly… cute, for lack of a better word. Like shiny, sparkly vampires, he couldn’t help but love it, even if people with sense, taste, and dignity thought they were awful.

Tony thought dignity was over-rated anyway.

Bucky’s eyes. The way he looks at me The way he looks at kitten videos The fact that he shares stupid kitten videos with me Because he knows I won’t look at them on my own

Bucky. Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

November was a good time to take a cool down walk.

First, it was cool -- cold, even. Walking angrily while bundled up in sweatshirts and a hoodie and a coat and a scarf, with gloves and hands shoved in your pockets was oddly satisfying.

Sweat formed and dried against Bucky’s throat, keeping him mostly comfortable. His chest ached as he dragged in cold air and expelled it in a puff of steamy condensation. Like being a dragon.

All he needed was claws and the ability to fly away from his problems for a while.

Which just got him feeling weirdly guilty because there were so many people who would commit murder (not funny, brain) to have the kinds of problems that Bucky had. Smokin’ hot boyfriend who was smart, funny, and rich? What was there to complain about?

The fucking dishes and who left their trash around the house?

Like, what even was that?

Of course, Tony’s desire to throw money at problems was a bit annoying. Bucky’d taken the phone away from him at one point in the middle of calling a plumber for a loose flap in the tank that had taken Bucky all of fifteen minutes to fix.

Except Bucky could kinda see Tony’s point.

The kind of money Tony had, the kind he made just existing, it seemed a little silly to waste his time putting in new toilet guts and saving a hundred dollars on a plumber fee. Bucky wasn’t even sure why they still lived in Bucky’s tiny, overcrowded flat. Tony’d never even brought it up, but after seeing where Tony had grown up, it was strange that Tony didn’t seem stifled in his place.

Didn’t really make Bucky feel better about the situation. It was a little easier, back when he was bodyguarding for Tony, but that had gone over like a lead balloon. Epic fail.

Bucky didn’t like feeling useless. It bent back to the times when his father had yelled at him about dreaming his life away. The military had gone and shattered that dreamy boy, left him with a man who needed work to have worth.

It wasn’t fair to take it out on Tony, though. Bucky’s ego problems were his own damn problems. He shouldn’t need Tony to prop up his self-esteem, or worse, trying to make Tony feel small so that Bucky could feel better.

That wasn’t the man he wanted to be.

Of course, he didn’t know who he was. He hadn’t been Sergeant Barnes since an IED had tried to erase half of him from existence.

He’d been a bouncer, a bodyguard. He defined himself by what he did, and now that he wasn’t doing anything, he didn’t know who he was.

Tony, at least, had school, and eventually he’d have a company to run. He had court dates and therapy visits.

Bucky had four walls and an inferiority complex.

Fuck.

What… what the hell did he do now?

“Hey, man,” someone said, and Bucky jerked to a stop. People didn’t usually talk to him, especially when he was walking with his resting bitchface on. “Spare a dollar?”

Bucky blinked, suddenly aware of how cold it was. Looked down at the man sitting in the lee side of a staircase. Hard to tell how thin he was, bundled up in a bunch of discards. His face was covered in a thin beard, but he smiled when Bucky actually made eye contact. It was a harsh sort of smile, the guy had a face like a brick wall.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He dug into his back pocket for his wallet. He didn’t have anything smaller than a twenty in there. What the hell. Bucky thumbed out three of them. Twisted into a squat. Handed them over.

The guy had a young man’s face but old-man hands, the knuckles swollen and bent, fingers red and peeling.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. I’m Bucky, it’s nice to meet you. Cold out here, today, yeah?”

“Oh, man, yeah,” the man said. “Name’s Frank Castle. An’ it’s one of those days, man. Fallish wind is blowin, and it finds the hole in your pants, blows straight up the crack of your ass, don’t it just?”

Bucky couldn’t help a rueful smile at that, pretty damn good description, really. “When was the last time you had a warm bed?”

Frank shrugged a shoulder. “What, man, you writin’ a book?” Bucky couldn’t imagine how bad things had to be to sit on a street and beg for cash, what people probably said and thought and knowing that no way in hell it was ever going to be enough. Little booze to cut the chill, let you forget about that empty feeling in your stomach.

“No,” Bucky said, honestly, “just… come into some money recently and I want to help.”

Frank gave him a sharp glance. “Havin’ a crisis of conscience man, wanna pay back karma by doing a good deed. Fuck off, dude.”

“The room’s no less warm if I’m getting feelgood points out of it,” Bucky pointed out. His father had never held any traction with beggars and homeless before. Bucky’d given a dollar to a wino one day and his dad had yelled at him about it. You feed a homeless guy, give him shelter, and what happens? Well, you just have to feed him again tomorrow. You got extra money, put it someplace where it’ll do some good, kiddo.

Frank tipped his head. “Yeah, truth.”

“Come on, then,” Bucky said, offering a hand up. “I’ll buy you dinner and get you a room for the night.”

“I ain’t gonna blow you,” Frank said, scowling.

“I’m not asking,” Bucky said. He shuddered inwardly. What a fucking world this was, that even something as simple as giving a hungry guy some food was suspicious.

Frank scorned the offered hand up and scrambled to his feet.

“Christ, you’re a big guy.”

“Don’t you forget it, neither,” Frank said. “Street people go missin’ all the time. I ain’t gonna be one of ‘em.”

Bucky nodded. He pulled out his phone, popped off a brief text to Tony to let him know he’d be a bit later than expected. Checked the map to see what food was nearby.

Chinese take-away acquired and it wasn’t too far for a Day’s Inn. He got a room for two days while Frank lurked under the staircase, aware that any hotel check-in manager wasn’t going to want a streeter in their room. Bucky cringed a bit; he knew what Frank must be thinking, must be worried about. How easy it would be for someone like Bucky to make someone like Frank vanish.

“So, what now?” Frank asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Bucky put his load of food down on the tiny table near the television. “Now nothing. You can eat. Have a shower. Get a few night’s sleep. Here’s my cell number. You can call me if you want.”

“You just doing your good deed, and poof, vanishing?”

“I ain’t gotten that far in my head yet, pal,” Bucky admitted.

“Well, whoever you killed that you need this much redemption, I hope he was an asshole,” Frank said.

“Take care of yourself, Frank,” Bucky said.

Frank was already deep in a paper container of Kung Pao chicken. “Thanksgiving came early, got it.” He gave Bucky a thumbs up and turned his attention back to more important things. Like food.

Tony wasn’t always as good with people as he thought he should be. Genius, right? He should be able to figure things out, except the one thing that he had figured out was that people didn’t make sense. They weren’t like circuits that traveled from A to B to C neatly, and they weren’t like science, where doing the exact same thing got you the exact same results.

“Biology,” one of his teachers had stressed, “is not chemistry.”

A biological system could mutate. Could randomize. Could end up being purple for absolutely no reason whatsoever, and sometimes you could track that reason down, and sometimes you just had to throw up your hands and say “magic.”

People were huge biological systems. Not just the meat and bones parts, either. He’d taken a few classes on human bio, just to round out his education a little, and just the basic studies of pharmaceutical science made his head hurt. Nothing in pharma made sense at all. Theory, where everything worked, except medication, where none of it did what it was supposed to and things that did were nonsense and should not have done that at all.

But even Tony could tell that Bucky was in a vastly improved state of mind by the time he got home. He hugged and kissed his sister and then hugged and kissed Tony with a little more heat. Apologized for the take-away being cold and needing to be microwaved, and Tony might have raised his eyebrows a little when he realized that Bucky had walked all the way to Genghis Connie’s rather than grabbing the slightly less expensive and much, much closer (if not as good, Genghis Connie’s made the best egg rolls!) No1. China.

“Well, this explains where you’ve been,” Tony said, taking his chicken and cashew out of the microwave. He was reminded, stuffing a mouthful of saucy chicken into his mouth, that Bucky paid attention. When he’d stormed out to get dinner, which was code for I need to not throw something at you right now, he hadn’t taken an order, or gotten Tony’s opinion on what to eat. But Bucky knew… he knew Tony’s preferences, had remembered them. Sure, Tony sometimes liked to wander off the beaten path and get something else -- particularly at No1, which did not do very good eggrolls, and he usually got the crab wonton there instead -- but he’d commented aside once that Connie’s did the best chicken cashew.

And after a fight, where they’d yelled at each other and gotten exasperated and had to stomp off to sulk like recalcitrant toddlers for fuck’s sake… Bucky had remembered. Had, as the phrase went, gone the extra mile (quite literally) for one of Tony’s favorites.

Tony was honest enough with himself to know that if he hadn’t been doing gratitude exercises with Nat, he might not have fucking noticed.

Bucky warmed up hot and sour soup for himself, handed his sister a packet of crunchies for her egg drop. “Yeah, I was thinking. Sorry it took me so long.” He gave Tony a long, significant look. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Which was code for I don’t want to talk in front of my sister. Which was understandable. Having an audience for those kind of conversations was awkward at best. Tony stuffed another mouthful of chicken into his face and sat on his mental hands to keep from dragging Bucky off to their bedroom and demand to talk now.

“So,” Nat said, running her spoon up her chin to catch bits of spillover soup. “If you do not want to talk, I will talk. I have news.”

Oh, right. She’d come home with good news, she’d said. “Spill, Nat,” Tony encouraged. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Nat put her food down, finished chewing, and wiped her lips with her fingers.

“I am going to be Clara,” she said. “Dottie Underwood’s pregnant.”

Nat had been Vivandière at first, one of the doll-toys, and also a snowflake, and a Marzipan dancer, but she’d been understudy to the lead-dancer’s role, the child Clara, to whom the Nutcracker Prince was given. Dottie, who was lead, had been prima donna for a long time. Nat had barely been even looking at the role, because no one expected anything to happen to Dottie.

Bucky practically knocked over his food getting up to hug his sister. “Oh, Tash, that’s… that’s a leading role! That’s great!”

“It is… a great opportunity,” Nat said. “She is pregnant with the producer’s child. There have been rumors that she will not be coming back after the baby. We shall see about that, but in the meanwhile, I have this role. And if I perform with excellence, I may be prima dona for the spring show as well. But I must practice, all the time, now. There will be no second chances.”

“Anything we can do to make it easier,” Bucky promised.

“Yeah, congrats,” Tony said, and he joined them in the group hug, happy for his little family. Happy for his to-be sister.

Just… happy.

Grateful.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #holiday spending AU #thanksgiving #gratitude list #tony stark #bucky barnes #fic #fluff

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tang-wei · 7 years

Text

ONS Guren LN Volume 1 Chapter 1 translation~

Title: The enrollment of the hated one

Translator: @tang-wei

Raws: Chinese

If you feel the need to re-read the whole series again, the masterpost is here

Important note: Because the previous sources for Volume 1 have been taken down/ made unavailable, I am translating this for the sake of fans who are not able to purchase a copy of the official English translation that is available. If you enjoy Guren’s story, then please support the author by buying the novel!

“Guren-sama, Guren-sama, are you mentally prepared to be a highschool student?”

“..........”

“To be honest, I, I am feeling a little nervous. No, since I am Guren-sama’s bodyguard, I can’t have these kinds of tumultuous feelings in my heart! But! But! For us retainers of the Ichinose family to be able to enter First Shibuya Highs School, feeling nervous is a given. So......”

Even as the girl continued speaking, Ichinose Guren ignored her and looked up at the sky.

That sky was bathed in pink.

Cherry blossoms dancing in the air.

Spring.

The season of enrollment.

Guren, wearing the school uniform with the collar turned up and his hands tucked into his pockets, walked under the cherry blossoms.

Down this road is the First Shibuya High School.

His face was framed by black hair in gentle waves that was accompanied by a somewhat cold look in his eyes. With those eyes, he looked at the girl who had been chattering non-stop beside him.

The girl was the same age as him, 15 years old. She was about 160cm tall. She wore a sailor uniform had a brown hair. From her boisterous way of speaking, no one would be able to guess that she was a beauty with well ordered features.

She was called Hanayori Sayuri.

Sayuri was apparently very nervous, and had her hands pressed against her chest as she spoke.

“About that, so, even though I have my own failings, I’ll do my best so please take care off....”

Cutting her off, Guren said.

“Ah, Sayuri.”

“Y-yes, what is it, Guren-sama!”

“Ever since you began, your chattering has been annoying me.”

“Ehhhhhhhh!?”

Sayuri raised both hands, and with a rather shocked expression, said hurriedly,

“I,I I really am very sorry!”

Sayuri, looking very disheartened, took a few steps backwards.

She drew near to the other girl who had been trailing behind Guren and said,

“Uwaaaah, Yuki-chan......Guren-sama is mad at me. He said that I was annoying.”

Upon hearing that, the girl who was called “Yuki-chan” looked up at Sayuri.

She was a petite girl who had a height that did not exceed 150cm. She had a calm and awfully cold expression.

She was Yukimi Shigure.

Also 15 years old, she was Guren’s other bodyguard, and had trained at the『Ichinose House』for many years.

Thus Shigure began speaking.

She had an expressionless face,

“......that’s because you really were very annoying.”

“Eh!?”

“......If you chatter too much, you will only lower the dignity of our master, Guren-sama, the next head of the Ichinose House, so would you please stop?”

“Ehhh ehh ehhh!? Yuki-chan as well!?”

The two of them sure were noisy.

Turning to face his two retainers,

“Haaaaa.....”

Guren sighed and turned to face the front again.

Facing the road to school bathed in fluttering cherry blossoms.

Facing the student who were smiling at each other excitedly.

However, what Sayuri said was correct, as anyone else in their position would feel nervous walking down this street, Guren thought.

It was because this was not a normal school.

This was a cursed school surrounded by sorcery and demons.

《First Shibuya High》

It was a school for nurturing sorcerers, operated and created by a prominent religious organisation in Japan, known as『Mikado no Oni』.

Of course, it’s outward appearance was different. It appeared to be a normal high school. But, most of the students here were children of those who belonged to『Mikado no Oni』 and believed in it’s teachings.

It was also the place where only the selected best of the Japanese followers of『Mikado no Oni』 gathered.

That was the true nature of First Shibuya High.

In other words,

“All these people here, they are my rivals, huh?”

As he said this, a delightful mood of anticipation of a new term welled up in Guren as he looked at the students.

Shigure, was was standing behind Guren, came forward and looked at the students. With a thin smile, she said.

“No, it is unthinkable that the brats of 『Mikado no Oni』 would be able to compete with you, Guren-sama.”

Following that, Sayuri added excitedly.

“T-that’s right! Let those stuck up followers of the Hiiragi come test the power of the next head of the Ichinose House!”

The Hiiragi had been the reigning house of『Mikado no Oni』 ever since the organization was formed 1200 years ago.

Then, 500 years ago, the Ichinose House split from the Hiiragi House to form 『Mikado no Tsukki』, and since then, 『Mikado no Oni』 and 『Mikado no Tsukki』 had been at terrible odds with each other.

Of course, the Ichinose could not publicly oppose the Hiiragi which was overwhelmingly larger and more powerful ---

The retainer of Ichinose, Shigure, said.

"Firstly, judging from the system they created, whereby having the head of the Ichinose House enter the high school of their turf while he is still young and making him yield, one can know the caliber of those people from Hiiragi. Their era has ended, I say."

Sayuri then said.

"Yeah, yeah, I too have always thought the same. So, Guren-sama, please do not worry. We definitely are the stronger ones."

On hearing that, Guren turned around and said to Sayuri.

"Not to mention worry, I'm not even nervous. You were the only one who had been clamoring all this while."

"Auuh!?"

Following that, he looked down at Shigure and said.

"And also, Shigure."

"Yes?"

"You were calling those Hiiragi guys brats......"

"Ah, I'm sorry about that. As a result of my repulsion towards the Hiiragi people, I just......"

"No, I'm not talking about your choice of words."

"Then?"

Shigure cocked her head.

Guren then said to her.

Looking down at the small Shigure,

"Appearance-wise, you are the brat."

"Ah."

Uttered Shigure, who then said while biting her lips, her usually expressionless face in a tinge of red.

"...... are you telling me about the fact that you know that I'm bothered about it?"

"Haha, I'm just saying that you girls are underestimating the Hiiragi House. Thus I say this. Don't let your guard down for even one second. Stay alert. You should already know this, but the only 『Mikado no Tsukki』 people here are just the two of you and myself. In other words, the remaining people around us --- are all enemies."

Said Guren.

And by that time, their surroundings were already teeming with students aligned with the Hiiragi House.

Naturally.

This was the road used for commuting to their school.

And right now, Guren and his aides were entering a school that was run by their enemy.

Shigure and Sayuri's faces tensed up.

They probably felt the several gazes that were directed at them.

They could even hear their voices.

"What the heck are they?"

"The crest on their collar school badge is not that of 『Mikado no Oni』 huh......"

"Yeah ~, I see. This is the year huh. They're the guys from the Ichinose House. Those without any real power are joining our school."

Voices like these started to proliferate among the group of students quickly.

Guren looked up at them.

At the moment, he could feel more than a hundred pair of eyes directed at him.

Cold eyes. Mocking eyes. Obvious ill-intent. Distaste. Contempt.

Shigure said,

"Damn, they are looking down......"

But, she was interrupted by Guren.

"I'm used to it. Don't move."

"But"

"Save it for another time. We won't show our power here. There is no need for us to become heated up like little kids and show the scope of our power in reaction to their deliberate taunt."

After saying that, Guren turned around to face his followers and smiled at them.

Even though the two of them were unsatisfied, Guren already had that intention right from the beginning.

They would not show their power here.

Even while in school, he had decided that they would not show a single bit of the sorcery system which the Ichinose House had developed.

"............"

But at that moment, suddenly.

Thonk, he felt something hit his head.

Guren turned around.

What had hit his head was a plastic bottle that contained cola. The cap was open. Naturally, the cola covered his head.

"Guren-sama!"

Sayuri shouted.

"Damn."

Shigure wanted to step out.

But Guren grabbed Shigure's shoulder.

"Don't butt in."

He pulled her back. He did not know what kind of face Shigure was making then.

However, while grinning foolishly, Guren put his hand on his head and said.

"Ah ~, this hurts though?"

Upon saying that, the students who were under the patronage of the Hiiragi House all laughed at once.

--- What's wrong with him?

---How cowardly can he get?

--- So, this is only what the Ichinose can amount to.

Guren did not know who threw the plastic bottle. But he did not care about that.

The reason was because everyone here was an enemy.

Thus, while enduring the dissing and mocking laughs from them, Guren told his followers.

"Sayuri, Shigure."

"...... yes."

"What is your will?"

Their voices trembled. They trembled in chagrin. They were bitter about having seen their master ridiculed.

And this was probably also due to his own powerlessness.

If he had the power to crush the entire Hiiragi House now, he would not need to bear with all this. Because if the Ichinose could overwhelm Hiiragi, then such a thing would not be happening.

Guren turned around and said.

"I'm sorry for making you feel this lousy. But, we have to bear with this for three years. Will you continue to accompany me?"

Both Sayuri and Shigure looked up. With teary-looking faces which they did not want to let the Hiiragi see, they looked up and while nestling themselves closer to Guren,

"O-Of course. Since the only reason why I was born is to serve you, Guren-sama!"

Said Sayuri, who had her face shoved aside by Guren, who then said.

"The extent of that feels heavy."

"Auh auh ah!?"

Sayuri groaned as she was brushed aside.

Following that, Shigure looked up at him,

"...... but, this is vexing. If you can just use the spells you have, Guren-sama, since amongst the Ichinose House, you have been dubbed as the talent who appears only once in a thousand years."

"Who said that?"

"My, father......"

"Samidare huh?"

"Yes. Even the rest of the top brass of 『Mikado no Tsukki』 also said that; Guren-sama is the genius that appears only once in a thousand years, and I have to protect you even at the cost of my life......"

But, cutting her oﬀ, Guren said.

"I see. That's how highly they think of me huh."

"Yes."

"Then, also tell those top brass old geezers,"

"Huh?"

"For the Ichinose House which has a history of not even 500 years, there's no way you can get a genius who appears only once in a thousand years, morons."

"Eh, ah...... well...... haha, indeed."

Shigure smiled in slight amusement.

Looking at Shigure,

"My, Yuki-chan, you're smiling, how rare."

Sayuri said.

Both of them seemed to have calmed down.

Guren looked down at them and then turned around again. There were hardly any students left. School was about to start.

If classes was starting, then the other students had no other choice but to stop teasing the worthless trash.

So most of them were no longer there.

The ones who were left was the Guren who was soaking wet from the cola that was thrown at him, and his two retainers.

"Well then, shall we go?" Shigure then said.

"...... Guren-sama."

"Ah?"

"...... we should be the ones protecting our master, but yet we ended up getting protected......"

"Shut up idiot. It's the master's duty to protect his subordinates."

"...... ah."

Shigure then kept quiet.

Then, from behind, Sayuri started,

"Hey hey hey, Yuki-chan, why is your face red?"

"I, I'm gonna kill you!"

"Eh eh eh eh eh, why!? Why're you hitting me, Yuki-chan!?" The two of them were noisy as before.

Then, with a gloomy face, Guren started turning towards the direction of the school.

The school was already visible. No, this place was already part of the school premises where normal people could not set foot in.

Tall cherry trees by the road side.

At the end of it, was the school gate, and there stood a man.

He had rare white hair. Just like him, he was in a uniform with a stand-up collar.

The man was smiling thinly.

He was clearing smiling at them.

He then suddenly raised his hand.

In his right hand.

A talisman was at his fingertips. Guren immediately knew what kind of talisman that was. It was a spell talisman. It was a talisman used to perform a Hiiragi spell. That talisman burned up and disappeared.

Instantly, a flash of lightning appeared in front of his eyes.

That spell invocation speed was amazing. That man was probably very skilled. He might even be someone with the Hiiragi name.

However, even so.

--- I can dodge that.

Guren judged.

I can even make a counterattack.

If so, how should I act?

How should I deal with this?

The nervous signals interconnect in his brain as he considered in this manner, and then, he acted.

First, he turned his gaze to the right. In the opposite direction of the lightning bolt. As if he did not notice that lightning bolt, he started turning towards his retainers behind him.

Then, at that moment, the lightning bolt popped.

Pah, a small sound rang out, and he could feel his body getting struck.

"Guah."

From that instant of intense impact, he almost lost consciousness. He was aware of his body falling to the ground. But even so, his body could not move for a while.

He could tell that both Sayuri and Shigure were yelling something.

With their eyes widened slightly and faces on the verge of crying, the two of them called out to him.

Looking up at the both of them vacantly, Guren thought.

That was a little dangerous ---

If he had dodged thoughtlessly, there was the possibility of his real strength getting revealed.

But, did I manage to show that I couldn't react to it well enough?

Following that.

"..........."

If I fight him seriously, can I win?

While pondering about such things, he waited for his entire body to recover its senses.

Sayuri held his head to her and was crying.

"Guren-sama, Guren-sama."

Guren then said.

"My face is touching your breast you know?"

"Eh!?"

Following that, Shigure stood in front of him as if to protect him and was looking at the school gate.

"I, I beg your forgiveness, Guren-sama. Such a thing happened even when I'm here."

Guren then said to her.

"You didn't make any mistake. I took the hit on purpose."

"Eh!?"

"Will you be able to react immediately to an attack coming from any direction? If not, my capabilities would be made known. So, pretend that you are more capable than me. Let them see that I'm a useless piece of trash that can't do anything without being protected by you."

"No way......"

The trash got up. And held his head, "Damn, what in the world happened......" He tried saying.

Shigure's face looked troubled for an instant, and following that, she pointed in the direction of the school gate,

"A-An attack came from right there."

She said in a somewhat monotonous tone.

Then, at the point, Guren turned his eyes towards the school gate for the first time.

The man was still looking at them.

He looked straight, intently at them, still smiling.

On seeing that, Guren moaned gloomily,

"...... ah ~ this isn't good huh. Did he find out?"

The man then shrugged his shoulders, and turned around. He entered the school.

Guren looked hard at the back of that man and then said.

"Well, shall we get going as well?"

Sayuri then said.

"But your wound......"

"Hnah?"

Guren touched his forehead with his hand. There was a little blood. He wiped the blood oﬀ his hand,

"Haha, the blood smells like cola. Get me some fresh clothes."

"Then, I'll go back and get them."

Said Shigure. Guren then gave her an order.

"And also, check out the true identity of that guy. He looks pretty strong. We need to be on our guard around him."

"Understood."

After nodding in acknowledgement, Shigure started running oﬀ in the opposite direction of the school.

"Well then, shall we go to school?"

On hearing that, with an apologetic look as before, Sayuri said.

"E-Erhm, I really wasn't of much......"

"Just by being by my side, you're already a big help to me."

"............"

"Firstly, we are in the middle of our enemy's turf ,you know? I won't bring anyone else other than the ones I trust the most. So don't make that kind of face."

On hearing that, Sayuri's face become flustered for some reason and her cheeks flushed red,

"E-E-Erhm, Guren-sama, my life belongs to you......"

"Like I said, that sounds heavy."

"Auh auh ah!?"

Guren laughed at Sayuri who had her face shoved aside and her body arched backwards.

"Jokes aside, let's go. But well, it seems like right from the first day, our high school life is going to be fun."

And thus, the 15 year old Ichinose Guren became a high school freshman.

~END~

T/N: Man this is so late I really have no excuses except to say that JC life sure is hetic, and that dating really takes up a lot of time~ But the fun thing is that this light novel is getting an adaption!! I’m also translating for that so do look out for the very first chapter of Guren’s Manga~

<< Prologue || Chapter 2>>

#guren ichinose #hiiraig shinya #hanayori sayuri #shigure yukimi #owari no seraph #guren ichinose's catastrophe at 16 #guren ln translations #mushroom translates #ahhh young guren and young shinya my bbs

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yoi-secret-valentines2017 · 8 years

Text

Stay Close To Me

hello @maitimel!! i realize now, as i’m reading this over, that i didn’t quite write what you had asked for, though i tried my best and had a lot of fun with this. i’m used to writing angst, so writing fluff was a bit difficult for me, though it was a welcome change from the monotonous sadness of my other works. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it~ happy valentine’s day!!

Stay Close To Me

Part I

The sounds of skating fill his ears.

His gold bladed skates scratch on the ice.

He pants softly from the physical exertion of his quad flips, of the mental pressure to get it right the first time, every time.

He hears phantom cheers of the audience.

The flow of the music, spilling over the ice and wrapping him up in an embrace of strings and woodwinds.

The sights of the rink fill his line of vision.

Harsh lights reflect off the ice, making his eyes flutter shut in pain.

The stares of the audience that… isn’t there.

Viktor collapses to the ice, shaking from the judgemental words of others echoing in his mind. If only they knew… He gets to his feet again, and skates away his insecurities. He glides across the ice, letting his skates take him away from the world as his mind wanders. What am I skating for?

Other skaters speak of the feelings and emotions they are filled with as they skate: passion, determination, happiness, freedom, peace. Viktor searches his mind for something, anything close to a positive feeling. But under all the waves of fear, incompetence, and worthlessness, he finds nothing. Viktor knows he’s missing something incredibly important, emotion, but he doesn’t know where to look for it. He reaches into his heart in search of passion, only to feel his perfectly manicured nails click on ice. The ice froze his heart.

—–

Viktor scrolls through the tracks available for him to skate to in the upcoming Grand Prix Finals, without finding anything intriguing or inspiring. He doesn’t feel like using classical music this season. He wants to tell a story.

“Stanmi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare,” Viktor mutters. “Stay close to me… hmm.”

A dialogue that tells the story of someone who doesn’t believe in love. Rage and sadness blend to form the fear of losing love. Viktor laughs mirthlessly; it’s nearly the opposite of himself, being someone who lives for the idea of love, and yet the lyrics still seem to sing his life. Viktor smiles bitterly. It’ll work perfectly for the last free skate of his career.

Part II

The Japanese figure skater, Yuuri (is that his name?), with sparkling eyes, sidles up to Viktor, clearly drunk. Viktor can’t help but play along, laughing and dancing with Yuuri. He struggles to remember the last time, if ever, he has enjoyed himself this much. Something about Yuuri Katsuki warms Viktor’s heart, melting the ice that had remained frozen around it for so long. Maybe it was the raw passion and determination in Yuuri’s eyes as he skated, or maybe something more scandalous, like the roll of his hips while pole dancing.

Ever since the banquet, Viktor has kept his eyes on Yuuri. Enthralled by the skater, Viktor does a bit (okay, more like a lot, of research). He stumbles across a YouTube video of Yuuri skating Viktor’s free skate routine from the last Grand Prix Finals. Viktor clicks on the video, readjusts his posture, sitting up attentively on his couch, and anxiously waits for it to load after pressing play. The familiar, melancholy tune of “Stay Close To Me” filters through the speakers of Viktor’s phone. He watches in awe as Yuuri moes with a soft, fluid grace that makes Viktor’s eyes water. His jumps are near perfect and Viktor is drawn even deeper into his love for Yuuri. Yes, love for a man he barely knows, and only talked to after god knows how many bottles of champagne. But Viktor has always been one to believe in love, even though he’s spent the last several years of his life blatantly denying any feelings. That, he decides, will be the theme for this year’s skating, though he won’t be competing. Love.

Viktor sits by the window of his apartment, chin resting on his palm. “Agape,” Viktor whispers to himself, daydreaming about love he has never experienced in its truest form. “Unconditional love…”

A faint smile graces Viktor’s features as his thoughts wander to that of his naive seventeen year old self. He’s seventeen again, passionately dreaming about one day finding true love, a soulmate.

But years have gone by, life has passed him, left him behind, as he desperately tried to hold onto his wishes for someone to love him, not for his gold medals, or his money, or his pretty face. Viktor just wanted someone to love him for who he was, imperfections and shortcomings and all.

“Eros,” Viktor whispers, the slight curl of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, an expression he loathes and yet has become accustomed to. Viktor is much more familiar with eros, or “sexual love,” from fooling around with fellow figure skater, Christophe Giacometti during his mid-twenties. They started their whole “friends-with-benefits” thing after spending a night together following their first competition together. However, Viktor hasn’t really talked to him in a while, not after Chris decided to end their arrangement for his current fiancé.

Viktor sighs. How could he ever learn to love when everyone always ended up leaving him?

Part III

“Yuuri, the rink is under construction for the next month or two; why don’t we travel somewhere in the meantime?” Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist and rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder as his husband prepares dinner. Yuuri raises his head and turns to Viktor.

“Where do you want to go?”

Viktor hums in content. “Mm… When I was younger, during the off seasons, Yakov would sometimes take us to a ski resort in Russia. Some of my fondest memories are of learning to snowboard there. We should go there, Yuuri. It’ll be fun.”

~~~

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines. “I’m cold.” “Viktor, it was your idea to come here. You knew how cold it would be,” Yuuri deadpans. “You’ll be fine. Let’s just have fun snowboarding for now, as you said before.” “But Yuuri, my hands are frozen and my fingers are so icy they’re about to fall off. And you’re just going to let it happen.” Viktor tugs at Yuuri’s hand. “Let’s go back to the lodge. We can snuggle and cuddle with Makkachin and tons of blankets in front of the fire. Come on, Yuuri, we’ve been out on the slopes for hours and I’m tired, cold, and unhappy.” Yuuri sighs. Viktor holds his breath, hopeful that after his incessant complaining, Yuuri will give in. “Let’s go to the lounge near the slopes and get warmed up a bit and then we’ll get back on the slopes. It’s only two in the afternoon; we can leave at three or four,” Yuuri compromises. Viktor sulks and glares at Yuuri, who has no intent of giving in to Viktor’s ridiculous needs. Yuuri leans over to kiss the tip of Viktor’s nose, which really is quite cold. “Why did I ever marry you,” Viktor mutters.

“Because you love me and I love you.”

After trudging through the snow, tired and spent, Viktor and Yuuri arrive at the small restaurant and lounge near the slopes. As they open the door, they are greeted with the warmth of the hearth. Making their way to the lounge, they settle in, and curl up next to each other on a couch in front of the fire. Yuuri takes off his gloves and takes Viktor’s ice cold hands in his own to help warm them up. Viktor sighs in content once the perpetual warmth from Yuuri’s hands seeps into his own, warming his hands and melting his heart of ice. Yuuri brings his hands wrapped around Viktor’s to his lips to kiss Viktor’s hands. To which, Viktor hums in approval, and, wondering how he ever managed to become married to someone like Yuuri, kisses the edge of Yuuri’s jaw (the only thing he can reach from where he’s slumped against Yuuri’s warm body).

Eventually, Yuuri tries to drag Viktor back to the slopes, but by that time, even Yuuri doesn’t really feel like snowboarding any more that day. He’d much rather spend the rest of daylight snuggling with Viktor and Makkachin back at the lodge before the activities of their colorful night life.

Of course, Viktor has no complaints when they pack up everything in their car. He takes Yuuri’s face in his hands, now much warmer, and kisses Yuuri full on the lips.

“That’s love, ending the day early just for me.”

“Anything for you, Vitya.”

Viktor parks their car in the closest space he can find to their room, though that isn’t enough for Yuuri who complains about how he has to carry all the gear to their room so Viktor should at least park closer. To which Viktor begins to whine (again) about his cold fingers, eliciting a heated response from an irritable Yuuri.

“I offered to drive so you could warm your hands, Viktor, you’re the one who refused,” Yuuri retorts, annoyed.

Viktor runs a hand through his hair and sighs, realizing they shouldn’t be arguing over something so inconsequential. “I’m sorry, Yuuri, let’s just get inside, it’s cold.”

Viktor fumbles for the room key and unlocks the door to their room, stepping aside for Yuuri, who’s carrying their boards and gear, to enter first. Yuuri dumps everything in a pile by the door with a groan followed by a sigh once the weight is off his shoulders.

Viktor puts the leftovers from their lunch and dinner in the fridge, cranks up the heat, and searches their room for Makkachin, whom he finds curled up next to the fireplace, fast asleep. Meanwhile, Yuuri strips off all his layers so when he finally collapses in exhaustion on their bed, he’s only wearing a t-shirt and his boxers. Viktor climbs onto the bed, in similar clothes, with Makkachin and arms full of blankets, to snuggle with Yuuri. He flops over his husband who lets out a noise of discontent and buries his face in Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri shifts from under Viktor in attempt to find a more comfortable position where he isn’t completely squished. In the process, however, he accidentally kicks Makkachin who squeaks and Viktor admonishes Yuuri for hurting his poor baby.

Feeling playful, Yuuri teasingly wraps his arms around Viktor’s neck and whines, “But I thought I was your baby?”

“You’re my sweetheart, my darling, and the love of my life.”

“But I’m also your baby. You call me that in bed and in the mornings when I make breakfast, don’t you remember?” Yuuri pouts.

Viktor sighs in defeat. “Then what is Makkachin?”

“Your dog.”

Yuuri lets out an embarrassingly high pitched squeak, which Viktor finds adorable, when he smacks Yuuri’s arm in retaliation.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I love you, don’t be mad at me”

Viktor smiles and laughs softly. “I forgive you for being so rude to my precious Makkachin because I love you too.”

They fall asleep in each other’s arms later that night, to the sound of each other’s breathing and heartbeat. Once again, Viktor thanks his lucky stars for finding Yuuri, who brightens his world on a daily basis, in the simplest of ways. They’re soulmates, Viktor supposes.

“Let’s choreograph new routines for this season while the rink is under renovation,” Viktor calls to Yuuri, pulling his socks on.

“Where are we going to do that? Minako-sensei is with family for the holidays so we can’t use the ballet studio,” Yuuri says as he walks onto the living room where Viktor is lounging.

“Here, Yuuri, sweetie, just pull your socks on and we’ll do it in the kitchen,” Viktor says, tossing a pair of Yuuri’s socks at him. Yuuri smiles at Viktor’s antics and puts his socks on.

They spend the next few hours jumping and sliding around on the kitchen floor, giggling constantly, especially when they crash into each other.

While Viktor leans against the counter, breathing hard, Yuuri takes advantage and snatches a cookie from Viktor’s stash before mercilessly tickling Viktor.

Viktor lets out a shrill squeak and shoves Yuuri away, suddenly full of energy. They engage in a violent tickle fight that involves a little too much sexual tension.

Yuuri laughs and offers his right hand, adorned with a gold ring to Viktor in a truce. Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand in his, with an identical gold ring, and kisses both their rings.

“I love you,” Yuuri breathes.

“I would say the same, except for the fact that you just brutally attacked me and tickled me while I was vulnerable. And don’t think I didn’t see you take a cookie.”

Yuuri pouts and stands up on his toes to steal a kiss on Viktor’s lips. Viktor looks down at Yuuri and smiles before returning the kiss and saying, “Fine, I love you too. But I expect a gold medal this year. If you don’t win gold at the Grand Prix Finals, you’re on dishes and laundry duty for a month and I get to pick all the shows we binge watch on Netflix.”

Yuuri laughs and says cheekily, “With you getting old like this, out of breath and everything, of course I’ll win gold.”

Viktor smiles in spite of Yuuri’s tease, warmth coursing through him, filling him with an adoration unlike anything for Yuuri. This time when Viktor reaches into his heart in search of emotion, he finds it overflowing with love.

the end.

thank you for reading <3

#yoi secret valentines #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #writing #chris giacometti #submission

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