#enfin. he is alive(?) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soleilnomoon · 2 years

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staccato ; eren x reader.

6.2k words, fem reader, college au, angst (i know), nsfw, 18+ mdni; eren takes things into his own hands, alcohol and nonsense, y/n still doesn't value her life apparently.

chapter 02 of the enfin, je me réveille series. masterlist | previous ⤸ | next ⤹

behind the pristine veneer of paradis lies a world of opulence funded by blood money, blackmail, that inevitably drips a lethal poison (more popularly known as delusion) into the bloodstreams of its victims — namely the wealthy elite of the city. in the underbelly of paradis, on the other side of the river, where the throwaways reside — those lower on the socioeconomic ladder; the destitute — constituents that everyone forgets about, the people who make paradis possible by performing labor that is deemed unsightly, deemed beneath those that wield the power, deemed too dangerous for those whose bloodlines go back generations to the founders of city.

an entirely different world exists, one that most like to forget about, however it is true what they say: what’s done in the dark must come to light.

across the river, separated by a large, imposing bridge, stands violet city — not a real city historically, but given the makeshift caste system in paradis, they’ve designated this area as such so that they might carry out their elitism in peace. in the midst of the darkness, neon lights reflecting off of the cars and various puddles on the roads, adding to the eerie, somber atmosphere of the rowdy strip — littered with clubs, seedy shops, hotels, bars, and the like; it’s lively in a way that the suburban areas of paradis could never be. not exactly lawless, but coming dangerously close these days, it’s not for the faint of heart, nor for weak-willed, soft-hearted fools.

crime is regulated by powerful families that use violet city as a backdrop for their more unsavory activities. where paradis is regulated by rules backed by the government, violet city is not. while the people’s taxes are higher there, the officials tend to turn a blind eye to the ongoings of the city, not bothering with sending police to patrol — knowing their officers might not come back alive or in one piece if they do — nor do they bother with arresting anyone unless absolutely necessary.

this is the truth behind the beauty of paradis; still, rebelliousness is a rite of passage, so it’s no surprise that despite the way their parents struggle to maintain a certain image, those of the younger generation don’t. not when it means they can have fun at their parents’ expense. so they cross the bridge without worry, seek out the fast thrills of the nightlife that violet city has to offer — away from the prying eyes of nosy neighbors, away from the cctv, away from everything they’ve known.

historia reiss is known for her lavish, outlandish parties; they’re almost always themed, and when it’s her birthday, it seems that the whole city gets invited. given her ties to the founders of paradis, this isn’t out of the ordinary for her. tonight isn’t exactly different, although she’s invited a much smaller crowd given the area they’re partying in. club forte is exclusive in that it caters to a specific clientele. and, because of her status, she’s rented out most of the vip section for her friends to enjoy — which is why eren is so reluctant to attend.

clubs get old fast, but because his older brother is so insistent on eren keeping a friendship with historia — for the connections to her family, of course, it’s always about networking with him, establishing relationships, solidifying future business endeavors — he attends, simply out of duty. he knows how this will all play out. his friends will attend, pre-game at home, take a cab across the bridge to the club, and party until they puke. because it’s a thursday night, he chooses to remain pleasantly tipsy, rather than full on drunk. he’ll leave that for another night, or perhaps a long weekend.

sitting back against the suede cushions of the couch, eren watches, amusement waning as lights flash around the room, illuminating the performers on stage, the dark furniture adds to the swankiness of the club, although he’s still very much bored of it all. the faux-glitz and glamor, the drunk shenanigans of his peers, the way people try to talk to him even though he pointedly ignores them — it’s all so irritating. so he motions for historia to join him and, naturally, her entourage comes along.

they’re laughing at something ymir says — something uncouth enough to make historia’s entire face flush — and he raises his glass up, a toast of sorts. “happy birthday, historia,” he says with a small smile, eyes drifting around until he spots the rest of his friends, who are also making their way towards that section of the club. the music makes it hard to hold a conversation, but historia is determined, yapping incessantly in his ear as he sips quietly, hardly paying attention. it’s annie who tugs on historia’s shoulder, pushing her aside so she can sit next to him, flashing the birthday girl a mischievous smirk before nudging eren with her elbow.

“move over, jaeger, you don’t need to manspread so fucking much. we get it, you have a big dick, who cares.” it’s a joke, he knows that, still his irritation has yet to subside. it’s not abnormal for eren to act standoffish even outside of the classroom, but this is a little much. still, annie doesn’t let up, and forces conversation on him until he sighs and resigns himself to actually cooperate and socialize. a few drinks in and he starts to feel himself loosen up. he watches as jean lingers a little too close to mikasa, who seems to be keeping her distance for the night — much to eren’s relief, she’s been much too needy these days.

“oh!” annie says suddenly, hands clapping, the others following suit, as a small group of bottle girls make their way over, carrying circular trays with bottles of alcohol — expensive, mostly likely illegally imported, too — glasses, buckets of ice, cut up fruit, the works. because it’s club forte and because there is a certain image to uphold in order to entice customers, the workers tend to be fairly attractive. the women are dressed alike with short black dresses — the cut low enough that the lace of their bras peek out around their cleavage —heels that look uncomfortable but they walk with ease in, makeup that isn’t too dramatic, but is just enough for them to wear all night long without issue.

jean and connie hype reiner and armin up, laughing with some of the women from the group — who are more than happy to entertain, historia’s events always bring about high profits no matter where she goes — flirting and encouraging them to stay. eren shakes his head, glass now unfortunately empty; mikasa offers to pour for him, but he stops her, not wanting her to get in the habit of doing things for him again.

“i told you to stop,” he says sternly, eyes narrowing at her; she regards him a little coldly, surprising them both, but she simply turns her face and seeks comfort in sasha’s presence instead. the headache that has been plaguing him since the night began returns in full force, and because jean and connie are still flirting and distracting the bottle girls, eren’s glass remains empty. only for a few more seconds, that is.

you knew the night wouldn’t go your way when the power went out in your dorm. you take longer than normal to get ready for your shift, and because of that you have to pay extra for the cab to get you to the club on time. you’re still on probation from your last mishap, so you know you can’t mess up again, or else your contract will be terminated. the bright side is that you put a bit more oomph into your makeup, wanting a dramatic eye and lip combination that you’re quite satisfied with once you check your compact mirror again.

but, as luck would have it, you’re whisked away to assist with a large party of guests, even though you’d rather be back in bed, watching a kdrama of choice, eating ice cream and feeling sorry for yourself. mustering up as much pep as you can, you smile brightly, lips curling upward, making you appear every bit as coy as you are alluring. a few of you light up some sparklers for the bottles and carry them over, cheering and singing a quick happy birthday to historia — a girl you’ve exchanged words with a few times in class over the years. it doesn’t occur to you that you should leave the area immediately, because if you were more aware of your surroundings, you’d have noticed jean before he noticed you.

and man did he notice.

jean, being the absolute menace he is, is half-drunk and chattier than normal. so it’s unsurprising that his voice is loud as well. “oh shit is that y/n??” he rouses the attention of the others, who all turn to see where jean is pointing. “wait, do you work here, oh fuck that’s awesome. come party with us!” he’s delusional if he thinks he can simply ask you to leave your shift to party with them.

you smile demurely, a slight shrug of your shoulders. “sorry cutie, i’m on the clock.” jean, in turn, acts as if you’ve wounded his heart gravely, flopping onto the adjacent armchair, his eyes not leaving you even as you walk towards the table.

despite your false bravado and your desire to be professional, a slight panic infiltrates your body, leaving you defenseless against him.

eren jaeger is clad in all black — a turtleneck that fits him a little too well for your liking (translation: you really fucking like the turtleneck on him), slim pants, shoes that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, and a gold chain around his neck with an key attached; you’ve always wanted to ask him why he wears it, but never find the courage. you won’t start now, though. you find it hard to focus, even walking is difficult, though you manage somehow. his green eyes follow your movements, and he bites his bottom lip hard — most likely to jolt some sense into his system. if he thought your leggings from earlier were a problem, then your dress is even worse. your thighs are tantalizing, calling out to him repeatedly — for him to touch, to sink his teeth into — the curve of your ass nearly makes him lose his damn mind. his grip on his glass is tight enough that he fears he might actually shatter it without meaning to. his friends’ chatter serves as background noise that he ignores for the sake of focusing on you.

your hair is just as distracting as before, pink as hell, the curls much more tame, but still left to their own devices as they bounce around; his imagination pales in comparison, he realizes belatedly.

with his eyes on you like that, it’s hard to concentrate as you move around and pour champagne for everyone. you try to regulate your breathing, but the memory of the way you masturbated while imagining him fucking you creeps back into your mind, making you bump into reiner and stumble in your heels, spilling some of the contents of the bottle. you end up falling onto the couch, more specifically, you fall onto eren’s lap. the champagne sloshes over, soaking the bottom half of his turtleneck, but he’s not thinking about that right now.

all he can think about, all he can focus on, really, is the fact that your ass is much softer and rounder than he originally thought. inhaling through his nostrils, a half-assed attempt at keeping himself level headed, his regret is instant as the scent of your perfume reminds him of just why he can’t stand you. warm vanilla, pomegranate, and honey. it reminds him of summertime on an island, where the air is hot and inviting, a breeze that follows without permission; it reminds him of a promise he made to himself long ago, to not get caught in your web; it reminds him that if he doesn’t have you soon, he might actually lose his life.

you try to gather yourself, hands sticky from the alcohol, an apology lost somewhere in the confusion as you wiggle around in shock.

“i’m so, so, so, so, so sorry, oh my god,” you say frantically, grabbing napkins and placing the bottle down so you can pat eren dry. amidst all of your scatterbrained antics, he notices the pink glitter that adorns your eyelids, and every time your hair moves, glitter floats around the air, landing on him without a care. he wonders if you’re aware that your list of transgressions is getting longer by the minute. he doubts it, you’re not the type to think things through right away, a trait that he initially found annoying has slowly, but surely, become a little endearing.

at that thought, eren manages to sober up, remembering that he needs to keep his distance from you no matter what. his patience leaves him almost immediately, the feel of your hands on him is enough to make him forget himself — to make him want to kiss you right then and there — but he refrains. he’s very good at denying himself. your mind is going a mile a minute, your coworkers watching in horror as you’ve yet to extract yourself from eren jaeger’s lap. much to jean’s amusement, his wolf-whistles are enough to make connie and reiner howl with laughter. armin, at least, has the decency to be embarrassed on your behalf. and you, being as clueless as ever, only realize how foolish you’re being when eren’s hand drops onto your thigh, squeezing it to catch your attention.

“please,” he says, teeth clenched, counting slowly in his head, “stop moving like that.” he says low enough, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, setting off a heat that envelopes your entire body. because the universe decides to throw you a bone, you leap off of him without much issue, stuttering over another apology, eyes widening as you try to smooth things over with him. he wears his usual annoyance with ease, but hidden behind that is something deadly — something that you swear will be the reason for your demise if you’re not careful.

“um…oh!” you reach down and grab his hand, tugging him forward; he’s surprisingly compliant, standing up without a fuss, and following behind you as you lead him away from his friends. “let me clean your shirt for you, it’s the least i can do.” you really just don’t want him to report you; the job was difficult enough to land, and since you’re strapped for cash, you can’t have him snitching just yet.

for some reason — a strange, unnecessary reason — eren has yet to tell you to let go of him. logically, he could’ve used the distraction as an excuse to leave. but, images of jean, connie, reiner, and, yes even armin, flood his mind — them huddling around you, them laughing with you, and you laughing with them. it’s stupid, he knows, but he can’t help it. you lead him to the staff bathroom and push him inside, locking the door behind you for privacy.

the bathroom is cleaner than he imagined it would be, roomier than he thought, too. leaning against the nearby wall, hands in his pockets, he watches you pace, heels clacking loudly against the tile.

“okay, so, i know i technically kidnapped you,” you start, running your hands through your hair, glitter flying everywhere again.

“not technically,” he interjects smoothly, lids lowered as his gaze morphs from curiosity to desire. you’re not stupid, you know how you look, but you can’t think about the possibility of eren’s attraction to you, not when you need to make sure he won’t say anything about the drink.

“whatever, look,” you glance at him sharply, a hand on your hip as you study him, “i’ll do anything if you promise not to tell my boss.” you don’t bother saying that you’re on your last strike, that if you get reported you won’t be able to afford to pay your bills and other debts that have attached themselves to your name over the course of your life.

the steely look in your eye, your unwavering determination, it’s all so… funny to him. so he laughs — genuinely so.

you’re in shock. eren’s never laughed in your presence before and, granted, you know he’s laughing at you, but a laugh’s a laugh, right? you’ll take anything at this point. feeling your face warm, you attempt to divert attention away from you. “don’t laugh, i’m serious.” you watch as his head tilts back, his throat is so smooth and inviting, you just want to run your—

no. absolutely not. you nearly say this out loud to yourself and refrain from doing so, instead taking a step back to give him some breathing room. another laughable offense, if he does say so himself.

“what can you possibly offer me? you’ve already ruined my favorite shirt.” it’s a lie that he says a little too easily; he doesn’t care for much, let alone material things like clothes. still, it’s funny to see you worked up over nothing.

“i said sorry, god.” there goes that attitude he loves to hate. “besides, it wasn’t even that much champagne, it’s probably dry right now.”

his sticky shirt says otherwise, he wants to point out, but keeps quiet about that.

“i’m waiting,” he says carefully, his voice rich and deep, caressing a part of your heart that you didn’t think was capable of feeling, “don’t tell me you don’t have any idea.” amusement shimmers along his face and you want to slap him for it.

“shut up, i’m thinking.” you bite your lip and pace again, coming up with absolutely nothing. he’s right, there’s nothing you can give the man who basically has it all. bile rises to the back of your throat, you try your best to calm your nerves; you really, really can’t lose your job, but you don’t know what to do.

sensing a bit of distress, he fixes his face, opting for a more neutral, aloof tone instead.

“there’s another test coming up in a few weeks,” he reminds you, completely taking you away from your mini-crisis.

“why the hell are you talking about a damn exam in a club?” you can’t believe him; he’s obsessed with school, obsessed with making you feel less than, why do you even like him—

before you get a chance to spiral properly, he cuts off your thoughts, “have you studied for it?”

eyes narrowed, long lashes playing the role of a siren, enticing him, literally beckoning him closer; so he stalks over, long legs eating up the space between you, forcing you to back up against the counter. he towers over you, even in your heels you’re no match for his height.

“w-what?” you shake your head, curls bouncing, slapping him in the face again, this time leaving behind bits of glitter that seem to stick themselves to his cheek. “no, i haven’t okay!” you don’t understand why he even cares if you studied or not; doesn’t he get off on failing you? “i have time, so it’s not a big deal.” besides, you need to pick up more shifts and can’t worry about an exam that’s three weeks away.

“tsk, this is why your grades continue to plummet. that attitude of yours will be your downfall.” he leans forward, his face dangerously close to yours, your breathing slowing from the proximity. if you take a big enough breath, your chest will brush against his, and you might never survive the rest of the night.

a grave miscalculation on his part, one where his brain hasn’t quite caught up with the rest of his body, where he finds himself moving closer, his body flush against yours, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs hard, exposing your neck properly to him. “i’ll help you,” he says after a long stretch of silence, the sounds of your breathing only intensifying whatever tension lies between you — something charged, overly familiar, agonizingly addictive.

“h-help me?” you almost ask with what but it dawns on you that he’s probably talking about studying for the exam. “no, i’m fine, i don’t need any he—”

he tugs on your hair again, a traitorous whine floats freely from your mouth, his curled lashes fan his face as he blinks slowly, green eyes darkening, arousal simmering quietly. “it’s not a request or a suggestion,” he does the unthinkable, his lips barely grazing your skin, breath warm against your neck, “and now, you say…”

it’s almost as if a switch flips; your mind goes blank and you blurt out, “fine! fuck,” which makes him chuckle darkly, eliciting an involuntary shiver from deep within you.

“excellent,” he says softly, the word rumbling against your skin, almost as if it’s tempting you to act out, but you manage to hold it together. eren lets you go, hand placed in his pocket again he decides he’s had enough fun for one night. “tuesday evening, the library.” eren walks towards the door and unlocks it. “don’t be late.” it’s the last thing he says as you watch, the shock never leaving you as you cling to the bathroom counter, fingers trembling, thighs pressed together — the effect this man has on you is unreal. you don’t like it; not one bit.

“oh, god,” you say out loud, letting out a deep sigh once he leaves the bathroom completely. you hope this means he’ll keep the incident from earlier to himself and that he’ll advise his friends to do the same. maybe you’ve managed to sway him somehow, tug on his tiny heartstrings with your pleas. whatever, as long as you have a job by the end of the night you don’t really care.

you plan to hang out for another minute and turn to face the mirror, eyes closed briefly as you try to gather your thoughts. eren jaeger is selective about the people he has in his circle; he doesn’t date openly (that you know of), he doesn’t even hug people like that. so then why did he seem a little too interested in touching you. he held onto your hand, he pulled on your hair — something you didn’t think you’d like — he was close enough to kiss you. and didn’t. the disappointment of that stings, but you don’t let it keep you down. it’s the most intimate you’ve ever seen him be — and with you of all people. you doubt the shock will wear off anytime soon, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the change in development between you.

maybe you misread him all of these years?

whatever it is, you know that jean is a bit of a liar; it definitely isn’t a crush that eren has — it’s something, you don’t know what per se, but romance and eren jaeger do not go hand-in-hand — and you’re less sure that his claims of eren being a virgin are true, too. you don’t know why you believed it, but jean seemed to believe his words at the time. “stupid,” you mumble, and look into the mirror to fix your hair.

eren hovers in front of the bathroom door, physically unable to move from the spot, the feeling that if he leaves now, regret will follow him like a petulant child.

jaw clenched he tells himself to relax, although that is short-lived. how can he relax when he’s so close to getting what he wants? eren is not a patient man, and you’ve infiltrated his defenses somehow; he wants to know how you did it without his knowledge, how you’re able to turn his brain into mush without trying, how you’re able to make him say and do things that others can’t. because of that, he finds himself back in the bathroom, startling you. the one thing he does know, the one thing he needs to find out, is if any of it is real.

eyes widening, you look over his shoulder, see he’s locked the door again and making his way towards you, “what are you do—”

he pulls you close again, his mouth slanting against yours, lips moving as he speaks over you. “there’s a stipulation i forgot to mention.” you want to ask him what it is, but he’s stolen the words from you when he kisses you. it’s short, more curious than anything — starting with a peck that ignites something within you, then another, and another; sure enough, your fingers fist a handful of his turtleneck, the fabric thick in your hand, almost as if you need to ground yourself in order to tell yourself that yes this is happening right now.

it’s magnetic, the effect you have on him, the softness of your lips makes him reconsider all the times he’s been meaner than necessary. not one to normally reflect on his treatment of others, he’s not sure what this feeling is — guilt, maybe? although, that’s highly unlikely; for him to feel that there’d have to be some sort of affection, and he’d rather get gutted alive than deal with a truth that devastating.

“what is it?” you ask, lips parting, giving him the opportunity to kiss you again, his hand grips the back of your neck firmly, as the other coasts along your curves, his touch burning through the fabric of your dress, and when his fingers make contact with your thigh, you whimper pathetically and cling to him more. you know how movies and books like to say that powerful kisses can make you weak in the knees? yeah. you’re learning that first-hand.

eren kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like he’s never considered parting from you; his tongue swipes at your bottom lip before gliding expertly into your mouth, caressing your tongue artfully, the kiss transforming from exploratory to heated rather quickly. you taste like strawberries and mint, like forgotten dreams and unspoken promises, like he’s never tasted anything as sweet or as exquisite; how he’s gone this long without kissing you is the greatest mystery in life, but now that he has — he doesn’t want to stop.

his mouth is a sinful reminder of how flying too close to the sun will singe your wings, will make the fall that much more tragic, will leave you feeling raw and starved. still, you enjoy the taste of him — cognac, a spiced smoke, and a hint of mango — and his tongue; enjoy the way his hand grabs your hip roughly; enjoy the way the counter digs into your body as he presses you against it. your dress slowly rides up as he places his leg in between yours, parting them unexpectedly. it all happens so fast, and yet it’s not happening fast enough for your liking.

is this another dream? you’re not too sure; it certainly feels real, but your imagination is powerful enough to make the impossible seem possible.

hips shifting forward, chasing something — you don’t know what — as he presses his growing erection against you, making you gasp when he pulls at your hair again. “i’ll tutor you,” he says suddenly, kisses growing headier, his lips lingering for much longer than he means them to, “in exchange, for that,” he tilts your head so you’re forced to open your eyes and look at him. “i want you.” he doesn’t say more than that; your throat dries at his frankness, and you know that this can’t possibly be a dream, your heart is beating so fast, you’re sure this is what going into cardiac arrest feels like.

before you’re able to formulate a coherent enough response, his lips latch onto a patch of skin beneath your earlobe, his tongue darting out, flicking against your skin before he sucks on it savagely. the strangled noise that flies out of your mouth makes him want to do it again; so he does. repeatedly. he leaves behind a rather noticeable mark, one that you might have difficulty concealing later on. but you don’t think about that; you don’t think about the way your core aches furiously, how you’re sure you’ve ruined your favorite pair of panties, how you know that if you don’t kiss him again, you might actually fall apart.

it’s when your lips find his again, when you thrust your tongue into his mouth without issue, when you kiss him with fervor that he recognizes that you might ruin him entirely. the heart is a fickle, treacherous thing, and when his beats a little faster than he’s accustomed to, when he feels his cheeks flush lightly, he pulls apart from you, eyes wild as they search yours for something — he doesn’t know what.

on a shuddering inhale, you finally answer him. “okay.” your voice is quiet, all the sass and energy you had earlier has been taken from you for the night. you didn’t think that he would not only offer to tutor you, but that he wanted something out of it too. you should’ve known; eren jaeger is not the sort of man who does things like that out of the kindness of his heart. but, still, you think it’s a little sweet that he’s offering, even though he has ulterior motives.

you know, you know — you’re not well.

lips swollen, lipstick smeared, the remnants of the dark red shade lingering on his lips — a sight to behold, you think. he doesn’t mind at all; if anything, it’s a souvenir of the night, a blood pact of sorts between the two of you. you’re grateful he stopped teasing you, because if he touches you again, you’re sure neither of you will leave the bathroom anytime soon.

and, because he knows himself all too well, he refuses to put himself in that situation just yet. especially since he was hard enough to be swayed by his attraction to you. he leaves you without saying a word; when you look at your expression in the mirror, you’re not sure you recognize the woman in your reflection. still, you wipe some of the lipstick off, fingers lingering along the curve of your lips, that ghost-like feeling — as if eren’s lips are still brutalizing yours over and over — forces goosebumps to travel along your arms.

“oh fuck,” you say out loud, gripping the edge of the counter, a wave of anxiety pouring over you. “i’m so fucked, damn it.” an understatement. you should’ve never let him kiss you, should’ve never kissed him back. but do you regret it? no. you don’t. if anything, you’re glad it happened. you got it out of your system, you can move on now, right?

while sitting in the backseat of his suv, eren has a similar conversation with himself; internally, of course. he texted his driver earlier to pick him up around this time anyway, so he didn’t bother rejoining the party, dodging mikasa and the others as he made his way outside. pulling out his phone again, his fingers fly across the screen as he drafts another text message and then tosses his phone onto the seat next to him once it’s sent.

after fixing yourself — again — you exit the bathroom, and keep to various other sections of the club for the duration of the night. you’re jumpy, a little out of it, and paranoid that someone told your boss about what happened; except, there’s no lecture or punishment once your shift ends. you collect your tips and leave without a hitch. you feel a pair of eyes on you as you leave the club and get into the cab that’s waiting for you, but when you look over your shoulder, there’s no one else around. you’re probably tired from the night, so you don’t think much of it, instead sitting down and giving the driver your dorm’s address and sitting back to close your eyes.

as you drive past the strip of clubs littering canal street, you think about how long of a day you’ve had, about how you’re unsure of how to move forward now that eren’s made some of his intentions clear. it’s not like you haven’t thought about it before — and now you have confirmation that his animosity towards you was mostly due to his own stupidity over his sexual attraction, nothing more nothing less. it takes a bit of weight off of your shoulders, knowing that he doesn’t actually hate you — you don’t think he does, anyway — and that you’ll need to equip yourself so that you can be better prepared the next time you’re around him.

maybe if you masturbate enough, you’ll get tired of him.

as soon as you think about it, you know you’re full of shit. there’s no way you’ll get tired of him now, not when he’s kissed you like that, when he’s made you feel more in those fifteen minutes than you’ve felt in years. when you make it back to campus, the silence is jarring; it always is whenever you come off of a long shift. and it’s when you toss your purse onto your desk that you realize your phone died earlier, so you plug it in to charge it as you get ready for bed. it takes a while for you to remove all the makeup, for you to scrub off the grime of the nightlife; but when you’re done, you feel refreshed, hopping into bed in a big t-shirt and grabbing your phone off of the nightstand to scroll through social media.

a text from an unknown number pops up on your notification panel, so you click it while yawning, blinking slowly as you try to process the words on your screen.

+1 (892) 539 0484: bring coffee if you’re going to come late.

as you lay there, confusion etched deeply into your features, it hits you that this must be eren — you’re sure he must’ve gotten your number from jean or connie somehow. but you’re too tired to answer him completely, so your response is short, albeit delayed.

you: 🖕🏾nite, jaegar.

+1 (892) 539 0484: … for that, you’ll have to bring snacks, too.

you don’t bother responding, but you do end up saving his number, a hint of a smile — a genuine one — plays on your lips. you’re not invested in analyzing why that makes you smile, and you’re more interested in sleeping than anything really. but, naturally, eren plagues your mind, so sleep evades you for hours as you think about how soft his lips were, how you want to feel his hands on other parts of your body, how you think you might go crazy the next time he kisses you.

another text notification pops up on your phone; you think it’s eren again — maybe he’s having an equally difficult time falling asleep too. the thought is a comforting one, but when you look at your screen, the number is unfamiliar. you know you saved eren’s already, but you don’t recognize the area code. you wouldn’t have bothered clicking the message thread but curiosity always gets the best of you. there are several pictures attached — of you, of eren, of you and eren, all from earlier in the club. it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but some of these were taken from inside the bathroom — a feat you didn’t think was possible, but violet city brings about the worst in people.

there’s nothing incriminating until you get to the last batch, the ones where eren’s mouth is permanently attached to yours, where his hand memorizes the curve of your hip, fingers drifting dangerously close to your ass. you blink several times at the three dots that bubble in the thread. since they take too long to say anything, you toss your phone onto your nightstand again and ignore it. the pictures don’t bother you — you don’t have anything to hide, although you’re sure eren might feel differently. whoever took them probably thinks they can extort you, but unfortunately for them, you don’t have ties to anyone in paradis like that, so your reputation doesn’t matter.

still, it’s a bit strange that they took the time to do that. is it a warning? a threat that might jeopardize eren’s future, perhaps? the uneasiness never leaves you, even when sleep finally comes, your heavy lids drooping without putting up a fight. you figure you can show eren the next time you see him, ask his opinion on the matter. you’re not the type to back down from anyone, so whoever that was, whoever thinks they’ve pulled a fast one on you, is shit out of luck.

for now.

if your blatant disregard for the societal norms that paradis has in place for the masses isn’t proof enough, maybe your indifference to being blackmailed — or, at least, you think that that’s what’s happening — will be enough.

little do you know though, it’s much bigger than that. a tangled web of lies, deceit, corruption, and possibly violence await you in the near future. you won’t know it’s happening until you’re in the thick of it; and then, once everything settles, will you still think you have a place in paradis — at paradis college, in eren’s life no less?

will you still pretend that you can mingle with the elite, that you can ignore your past, that you can simply erase the demons that you desperately want to chase away? everything is up in the air right now, and while you may not want to revisit the skeletons in your closet, it seems that someone does; and bones don’t lie.

eventually, the truth will come out, and you won’t be able to hide from it any longer.

masterlist | previous ⤸ | next ⤹

#this took forever but i'm pleased #fic request #eren jaeger #snk x reader #snk x y/n #eren x y/n #eren x reader #aot x reader #aot x y/n #series: enfin je me réveille #eren smut #snk smut #aot smut #snk fic #snk au #aot au #snk imagine #‘i can change him’ 🥴

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sayakxmi · 6 months

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[Magi rewatch] Episode 7: His Name Is Sinbad [Part 3]

Is that your man, half of the Magi fandom?

A small change, in the manga Sinbad was more "consider several options & pick one", here he's just "this is how I see it & I'm gonna stick to it".

Also, gdi, I love these backgrounds.

Aladdin's doubting if they're doing the right thing far more than in the manga. Like, I think in the manga he just... didn't. He was kinda more interested in getting it done & finding Alibaba.

And, tbh, that kinda makes sense? He crossed the desert, he's kinda used to bandits being dangerous and all that.

No, fr, he sounds like he doesn't want to do it, but will do anything to see Alibaba again.

I love him.

Also, I've really said my 3 fav characters were Alibaba, Ja'far & Kouen, and now I'm like I'VE ABANDONED MY BOY. There is another. Sphintus my beloved. Get ready, bc I will spam him in Magnostadt Arc so hard.

"Sinbad might look suspicious" LMAO

The way he quickly moves to hide behind him. 10/10

Really love the music in this entire scene.

This one sounds a bit like the slowed down Enfin Apparu.

In the manga Sinbad just tells them to take what they need, just not to kill anybody. Here he's more encouraging. Not to kill, but, like, in general. The manga was more like giving permission, and here he's telling them "you should take action if you believe what they're doing to be unfair". Which, y'know, is kinda stupid when I think about it. Anime!Sinbad is fucking lucky, because this action could have lead to a political mess, like, bro could've just said that their king sucks & they should fight him. Not a good move, Anime King Sinbad!

Like, I know Sinbad will end up involving himself in internal affairs of Balbadd, but the anime makes it look pretty bad because of this scene. Supporting an existing rebellion is one thing, but encouraging to rebel is a different one.

Also, here Morgiana & Aladdin are searching for Ja'far, cuz they think Sinbad might've been attacked. In the manga it's Morgiana who hears something & informs Aladdin.

There's another thing about Morgiana & her being sidelined in the future - she's rarely singled out, especially later on. But the anime does that already. On the one hand, it's cool to see Morgiana & Aladdin be a team, but on the other, Morgiana oftentimes is viewed as a part of a group, by Alibaba specifically. If he ever thinks about her in the first place. Aladdin and Morgiana. Hakyruu and Morgiana. It's hardly ever just Morgiana.

I've told you! No Aladdin seeing Alibaba, just Morgiana noticing something wrong & informing him, then taking him away from the danger.

Beautiful.

Looks fun.

Ok, this is something I like. The manga basically infodumps about these swords, but here, it comes up in an actual conversation. "Your red fogblade of illusion horrifying as always, Zainab. / Shut up, and use your yellow fogblade of corrosion, Hassan."

Stunning.

Skillz.

Valse Hot playing as they appear.

Morgiana wrecking shit. Neat.

Ok, it's sth I don't think I've commented on the manga read, but Cassim going ??? it's a girl?? Is a mix of "kind of funny", and a nice characterization moment. Both in the anime & manga he looks surprised and kind of guilty. He might be an asshole, but he wouldn't hit a girl. Makes sense, given his backstory.

Also, I'm pretty sure Morgiana's Mariam's age if she, you know, were alive.

Also, that Alibaba with his stupid haor & one eye visible. As if there were any doubts who he was. Well, I get WHY, but in the manga he actually hid his face properly.

Ah, here Cassim just keeps going, in the manga it's Zainab who basically tells him "doesn't matter, she's the enemy!"

Also, another thing I haven't commented on in the manga - Cassim very early shows that he is the real leader. He's the one to take command in this mess, while Alibaba just stands back & watches.

Determination monolog. His priority is Alibaba, he needs to find him, and he needs to deal with these guys to do this.

(insert Saya's short scream here)

Staring.

Realization.

I love how quiet it gets, btw.

-gasp- IT'S HIM!

#saya's magi rewatch #magi #aladdin #ja'far #cassim #kassim #sinbad

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shalomelohim · 28 days

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youtube

Marcos Antonio - Porque Ele Vive (Parce qu’Il vit / Because He lives)

En portugais, in portuguese, em português

♥ ♥ ♥

Letras / Paroles / Lyrics :

Deus enviou seu filho amado Dieu a envoyé son fils bien-aimé God sent his beloved son Pra perdoar, pra me salvar Pour pardonner, pour me sauver To forgive, to save myself Na cruz morreu por meu pecado Sur la croix, il est mort pour mes péchés On the cross he died for my sins Mas ressurgiu e vivo com o pai está Mais il est ressuscité et est vivant avec son père But he is resurrected and is alive with his father

[Refrão, Refrain, Chorus] Porque ele vive, posso crer no amanhã Parce qu'il vit, je peux croire en demain Because he lives, I can believe in tomorrow Porque ele vive, temor não há Parce qu'il vit, il n'y a pas de peur Because he lives, there is no fear Mas eu bem sei, eu sei, que a minha vida Mais je sais, je sais que ma vie But I know, I know that my life Estás nas mãos de meu jesus, que vivo está Est entre les mains de mon Jésus, qui est vivant Is in the hands of my Jesus, who is alive

E quando, enfim, chegar a hora Et quand le moment vient enfin And when the time finally comes Em que a morte enfrentarei Quelle mort vais-je affronter, What death will I face Sem medo, então terei vitória Sans crainte, alors j'aurai la victoire Without fear, then I will have victory Irei a glória, ao meu jesus que vivo está J'irai vers la gloire, vers mon Jésus qui est vivant I will go towards glory, towards my living Jesus

=====

Pensons à nous repentir et à revenir auprès de Dieu dans l’humilité et les larmes. Peu de croyants pleurent sur leurs péchés, leurs mauvais penchants, s’arrêtent pour examiner en profondeur leur véritable état spirituel.

Pourtant, le premier sermon que Yahshua / Jésus prêcha fut :

« Dès ce moment Yahshua commença à prêcher, et à dire : Repentez-vous, car le royaume des cieux est proche ». (Matthieu 4:17)

La repentance n’est pas “un simple regret” d’avoir mal agi, mais c’est se présenter dans la prière, à genoux, devant Dieu, le cœur et l’âme brisés parce que l’on vient de prendre conscience de notre attitude rebelle à son encontre.

Selon la Bible, la repentance est la clé de la délivrance.

Notre cœur : est-il circoncis ou pas ? La crainte de l’Éternel : l’avons-nous ?

La repentance est mentionnée 70 fois dans le Nouveau Testament.

Yahshua a déclaré :

« Mais si vous ne vous repentez, vous périrez tous également ». (Luc 13:3)

C’était la substance du message de Jean-Baptiste et des apôtres :

« Jean parut, baptisant dans le désert, et prêchant le baptême de repentance, pour la rémission des péchés ». (Marc 1:4)

« Et il leur dit : Ainsi il est écrit que le Messie souffrirait, et qu`il ressusciterait des morts le troisième jour, et que la repentance et le pardon des péchés seraient prêchés en son nom à toutes les nations, à commencer par Jérusalem ». (Luc 24:47)

« Pierre leur dit : Repentez-vous, et que chacun de vous soit baptisé au nom de Yahshua, pour le pardon de vos péchés ; et vous recevrez le don du Ruah Ha Kodesh ». (Actes 2:38)

« Annonçant aux Juifs et aux Grecs la repentance envers Dieu et la foi en notre Seigneur Yahshua ». (Actes 20:21)

La repentance est une œuvre de Dieu dans notre âme. C’est un changement à l’égard de soi-même comme à l’égard de Dieu.

La repentance brise notre orgueil et prépare l’âme à accepter la grâce de Dieu.

C’est une première démarche vers Dieu parce que, par elle, on reconnaît déjà vouloir nous soumettre pour Lui obéir.

La foi se manifeste dans la véritable repentance, car on ne confesse sincèrement ses péchés que lorsqu’on a l’espoir d’en obtenir le pardon.

« O Elohim ! Aie pitié de moi dans ta bonté ; Selon ta grande miséricorde, efface mes transgressions ; Lave-moi complètement de mon iniquité, Et purifie-moi de mon péché. Car je reconnais mes transgressions, Et mon péché est constamment devant moi. J'ai péché contre toi seul, Et j'ai fait ce qui est mal à tes yeux, En sorte que tu seras juste dans ta sentence, Sans reproche dans ton jugement ». (Psaume 51:3-6)

« Celui qui cache ses transgressions ne prospère point, Mais celui qui les avoue et les délaisse obtient miséricorde ». (Proverbe 28:13)

« A ceux de Damas d'abord, puis à Jérusalem, dans toute la Judée, et chez les païens, j'ai prêché la repentance et la conversion à Dieu, avec la pratique d`œuvres dignes de la repentance ». (Actes 26:20)

« Car il dit : Au temps favorable je t'ai exaucé, Au jour du salut je t'ai secouru. Voici maintenant le temps favorable, voici maintenant le jour du salut ». (2 Corinthiens 6:2)

Yahshua / Jésus affirme que :

« De même, je vous le dis, il y aura plus de joie dans le ciel pour un seul pécheur qui se repent, que pour 99 justes qui n'ont pas besoin de repentance ». (Luc 15:7)

L’importance de nous humilier régulièrement devant Dieu afin de faire Sa Volonté et pas ce qui nous plaît.

Soyons toutes et tous fortifiés et encouragés à persévérer dans la justice et l’amour au nom de Yahshua / Jésus.

youtube

Marcos Antonio - Te Peço Perdão (Je te demande pardon / I ask your forgiveness)

On demande pardon à Dieu (Père) au nom de Yahshua / Jésus (Fils) selon :

“ En vérité, en vérité, je vous le dis, celui qui croit en moi fera aussi les oeuvres que je fais, et il en fera de plus grandes, parce que je m'en vais au Père ; et tout ce que vous demanderez [au Père] en mon nom, je le ferai, afin que le Père soit glorifié dans le Fils. Si vous demandez quelque chose [au Père] en mon nom, je le ferai. “ (Jean 14:12-14)

Yahshua / Jésus est notre médiateur auprès du Père.

♥ ♥ ♥

Letras / Paroles / Lyrics :

Sozinho dentro do meu quarto Seul dans ma chambre Alone in my bedroom Estou a meditar Je médite I meditate Sofrendo com essa tristeza Souffrant de cette tristesse Suffering from this sadness Que não quer parar Qui ne veut pas s'arrêter Who doesn't want to stop

Meu coração tão machucado Mon cœur est si blessé My heart is so hurt E eu estou desesperado Et je suis désespéré And I'm desperate Querendo encontrar a razão Voulant trouver la raison Wanting to find the reason Por que tudo acabou Pourquoi tout s'est terminé Why did it all end

[Refrão, Refrain, Chorus] Te peço perdão Je te demande pardon I ask your forgiveness Senhor, mais uma vez Seigneur, encore une fois Lord, once again Eu sei que errei Je sais que j'ai fait une erreur I know I made a mistake Mas vou recomeçar Mais je vais recommencer But I'm going to start again

Te peço perdão Je te demande pardon I ask your forgiveness Preciso de Jesus J'ai besoin de Jésus I need Jesus Estende Tua mão pra mim Tends-moi ta main Hold out your hand to me Eu quero ser mais feliz Je veux être plus heureux I want to be happier Contigo, meu Deus Avec toi, mon Dieu With you, my God

E de joelhos eu imploro Et à genoux je t'en supplie And on my knees I implore you Ouve o meu lamento Écoute ma plainte Listen to my complaint É que na contra-mão da vida C'est juste que dans le sens opposé de la vie It's just that in the opposite direction of life Eu quis me esconder Je voulais me cacher I wanted to hide

Fugindo de tudo e de todos Fuir tout et tout le monde Run away from everything and everyone Era assim o meu lamento C'était ma plainte That was my complaint De repente o Teu amor Soudain ton amour Suddenly your love Me lavou por dentro M'a lavé à l'intérieur Washed me inside

Te peço perdão Je te demande pardon I ask your forgiveness Preciso desse amor J’ai besoin de cet amour I need this love Estende Tua mão pra mim Tends-moi ta main Hold out your hand to me Eu quero ser mais feliz Je veux être plus heureux I want to be happier Contigo, meu Deus Avec toi, mon Dieu With you, my God

#youtube

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boooklover · 1 year

Text

January Wrap-Up

Le porteur de mort #2: Tenshin, Angel Arekin

4/5

Après 5 longues années d'apprentissage, Seïs rentre enfin auprès des siens. Cependant, l'appel du sabre grandit en lui et, malgré ses sentiments pour elle, Seïs abandonne une nouvelle fois Naïs, pour prendre ses fonctions de Tenshin à la capitale. Le sacre du nouveau roi est l'occasion idéale pour mettre en action tout ce qu'on lui a enseigné à Mantaore... Mais rien ne pouvait permettre de prévoir l'attaque d'envergure fomentée par le Renégat. En dépit de tous ces pouvoirs si durement acquis, Seïs ne peut rien y faire...

The First Law #3: Last Argument of Kings, Joe Abercrombie

4/5

The end is coming. Logen Ninefingers might only have one more fight in him but it's going to be a big one. Battle rages across the North, the King of the Northmen still stands firm, and there's only one man who can stop him. His oldest friend, and his oldest enemy. It's past time for the Bloody-Nine to come home.

With too many masters and too little time, Superior Glokta is fighting a different kind of war. A secret struggle in which no one is safe, and no one can be trusted. His days with a sword are far behind him. It's a good thing blackmail, threats and torture still work well enough.

Jezal dan Luthar has decided that winning glory is far too painful, and turned his back on soldiering for a simple life with the woman he loves. But love can be painful too, and glory has a nasty habit of creeping up on a man when he least expects it.

While the King of the Union lies on his deathbead, the peasants revolt and the nobles scramble to steal his crown. No one believes that the shadow of war is falling across the very heart of the Union. The First of the Magi has a plan to save the world, as he always does. But there are risks. There is no risk more terrible, after all, than to break the First Law...

Skyward #3: Cytonic, Brandon Sanderson

3,5/5

Spensa’s life as a Defiant Defense Force pilot has been far from ordinary. She proved herself one of the best starfighters in the human enclave of Detritus and she saved her people from extermination at the hands of the Krell—the enigmatic alien species that has been holding them captive for decades. What’s more, she traveled light-years from home as an undercover spy to infiltrate the Superiority, where she learned of the galaxy beyond her small, desolate planet home.

Now, the Superiority—the governing galactic alliance bent on dominating all human life—has started a galaxy-wide war. And Spensa has seen the weapons they plan to use to end it: the Delvers. Ancient, mysterious alien forces that can wipe out entire planetary systems in an instant. Spensa knows that no matter how many pilots the DDF has, there is no defeating this predator.

Except that Spensa is Cytonic. She faced down a Delver and saw something eerily familiar about it. And maybe, if she’s able to figure out what she is, she could be more than just another pilot in this unfolding war. She could save the galaxy.

The only way she can discover what she really is, though, is to leave behind all she knows and enter the Nowhere. A place from which few ever return.

To have courage means facing fear. And this mission is terrifying.

Dawnshard, Brandon Sanderson

4/5

When a ghost ship is discovered, its crew presumed dead after trying to reach the storm-shrouded island Akinah, Navani Kholin must send an expedition to make sure the island hasn't fallen into enemy hands. Knights Radiant who fly too near find their Stormlight suddenly drained, so the voyage must be by sea.

Shipowner Rysn Ftori lost the use of her legs but gained the companionship of Chiri-Chiri, a Stormlight-ingesting winged larkin, a species once thought extinct. Now Rysn's pet is ill, and any hope for Chiri-Chiri’s recovery can be found only at the ancestral home of the larkin: Akinah. With the help of Lopen, the formerly one-armed Windrunner, Rysn must accept Navani's quest and sail into the perilous storm from which no one has returned alive. If the crew cannot uncover the secrets of the hidden island city before the wrath of its ancient guardians falls upon them, the fate of Roshar and the entire Cosmere hangs in the balance.

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vg11k · 3 years

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For Grimgor, however, being left alive after a draw was the worst possible insult. He swore that he would take his revenge and humiliate the very lord of the individual who dared to let him live. He then spent several months challenging and assimilating tribes across the mountains at a furious pace, even more so than before, eager to assemble the largest army ever to crush those of Crôm and Archaon. When he was satisfied, he set off north in search of the said Archaon, chosen of the gods of ruin ravaging the empire of men. And he found him. The orcs came upon the rearguard of the warriors of the dark gods, in the midst of a battle against one of the key bastions of the empire: Middenheim. Fighting his way through the two factions and adding a nameless mess to an already anarchic situation, he finally identified Archaon. The exhausted Archaon had just defeated the champion of the men (a certain Valten) in a memorable battle. All he had to do was finish off the human to break the morale of his defenders and win. But Grimgor, drunk with revenge, prevented him from doing so. He charged and knocked Archaon down, pressing his axe to his throat and affirming his status as the greatest living champion. And, gloating, he ordered his orcs to leave. Just like that. He dared to leave Archaon alive (and particularly confused) after proving to all who was the better fighter. In doing so, and without knowing it, the intervention of the black orc allowed the men to evacuate Valten and reverse the course of the battle, pushing back the invaders who were distraught by the defeat of the chosen one of the gods...

Grimgor est un "orque noir". Une branche des orques qui subit des mutations de la part des nains du chaos en recherche d'esclaves peaux-vertes toujours plus capables. Sauf qu'avec les orques noirs, ils réussirent un peu trop bien leurs expériences. Les orques améliorés se rebellèrent et faillirent détruire leur empire avant de se disperser dans les montagnes alentours et se répandre ici et là, destituant les chefs des guerres orques en combats singuliers avec une facilité terrifiante. Grimgor est l'un d'eux. Le nombre de tribus qu'il unifia en destituant leurs leaders ne peut être compté (sait-il seulement compter ?). Et pour Grimgor, le Plus Costaud des Plus Costauds, tout champion ennemi n'est bon qu'à mordre la poussière. Il ne recule devant aucun défit et nul seigneur n'est à l’abri de voir ses armées débouler. Puis, lorsqu'il estima l'heure venue d'aller massacrer le puissant royaume des hommes, son armée croisa celle d'un certain Crôm et ce qu'il advint vous le savez déjà.

En revanche, pour Grimgor, être laissé en vie après un match nul fut la pire insulte possible. Il jura qu'il prendrait sa revanche et humilierait le seigneur même de l'individu ayant osé lui laisser la vie sauve. Il passa alors plusieurs mois à défier et assimiler des tribus à travers les montagnes à un rythme effréné, plus encore qu'auparavant, désireux de rassembler la plus grande armée jamais vue pour écraser celles de Crôm et Archaon. Une fois satisfait, il prit le chemin du Nord à la recherche du-dit Archaon, élu des dieux de la ruine ravageant l'empire des hommes. Et il le trouva. Les orques déboulèrent sur l'arrière-garde des guerriers des dieux sombre, en pleine bataille contre l'un des bastions-clé de l'empire : Middenheim. Se frayant un chemin sanglant au milieu des deux factions et ajoutant un bordel sans nom à une situation déjà très anarchique, il identifia enfin Archaon. Celui-ci, exténué, venait de vaincre le champion des hommes (un certain Valten) à l'issue d'un combat mémorable. Il n'avait plus qu'à achever l'humain pour briser le moral de ses défenseurs et remporter la victoire. Sauf que Grimgor, ivre de vengeance, l'en empêcha. Il chargea et mit à terre Archaon, lui pressant sa hache sous la gorge et affirmant son statut de plus grand champion vivant. Et, jubilant, il ordonna à ses orques de repartir. Comme ça. Il osa laisser Archaon en vie (et particulièrement confus) après avoir prouvé à tous qui était le meilleurs combattant. Ce faisant et sans le savoir, l'intervention de l'orque noir permit aux hommes d'évacuer Valten et inverser le cours de la bataille, repoussant les envahisseurs désemparés par la défaite de l'élu des dieux...

#myart #Warhammer #warhammer fantasy #greenskins #orcs

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underleaves · 3 years

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After an indecent number of hesitations, here comes Volya, the bear!

I think he and Lupe (the Wolf) only got their place among the new characters because they promised me that I could make them suffer ... XD; (and draw them curly hair too, that counts)

I hesitated a long time about the lack of nose, before deciding that although it was very cliché, I quite liked the idea of having a bear without flair. And also to have a great introvert who will find himself catapulted teacher for the rest of the group because he's able to speak a rare language, whereas he has a difficult pronunciation due to his lack of a nose.

I told you that my Herring Gull spoke the original language of magical creatures. Well, teddy bear too, not quite as well as the Icelandic, but fluent nonetheless. On the other hand, when asked who taught him it, he just answers "someone passing by". Mystery mystery ...

At the bottom right he's teaching it to Yelena, the little Treecreeper, since both are Russians communication is easier.

If you were wondering how all these people communicate whereas they come from all over Europe, well, to begin with, mime remains a universal language. And for the initiators of the project, their main objective during the “recruitment” trip, in addition to keeping alive all these lost kids, was to teach them a common language, the original language precisely.

--------------------

Après un nombre d’hésitations indécent, voici enfin venir Volya, l’ours !

Je crois que lui et Lupe (le louloup) n’ont eu leur passe-droit parmi les nouveaux persos que parce qu’ils m’ont promis que je pourrai les faire souffrir… XD; (et leur dessiner des bouclettes aussi, ça compte)

J’ai longtemps hésité sur l’absence de nez, avant de me dire que même si ça tapait très cliché, j’aimais pas mal l’idée d’avoir un ours sans flair. Et aussi d’avoir un grand introverti qui va se retrouver catapulté prof pour le reste du groupe car il est capable de parler une langue rare, alors qu’il a une prononciation difficile à cause de son absence de nez.

Je vous avais dit que mon Goéland, parlait la langue originelle des créatures magiques. Et bien nounours aussi, pas tout à fait aussi bien que l’Islandais, mais couramment quand même. Par contre, quand on lui demande qui le lui a appris, il répond juste « quelqu’un de passage ». Mystère mystère...

En bas à droite il est en train de l’apprendre à Yelena, la petite Grimpereau, vu que tous les deux sont Russes la communication est plus facile.

Voilà voilà. Si vous demandiez comment tout ce beau monde communiquait alors qu’ils viennent des quatre coins de l’Europe, et bien pour commencer le mime reste un langage universel. Quant aux initiateurs du projet, leur objectif principal lors du voyage de « recrutement », outre de garder tous ces jeunes paumés en vie, était de leur apprendre une langue commune, le langage originel justement.

#anthrocharacter #bear #storytelling #characterdesign #fantasycharacter

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asta-daily · 3 years

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A nice cup of coffee

On the morning of March 8th, 1865.

Dear Mom and dad.

We're tired. Scared. Hungry. Just barely alive. Winter's gone but there's no crops. Sometimes when we march, I feel like we're already dead, wandering ghosts in the desert. On Bennet's orders, we set camp yesterday evening on the banks of the Rio Grande. First rest in week. The captain won't tell us what are we doing here. We should be at Richmond, So I asked 1st Lt. Armstrong and he let slips that we must rendezvous with a secret convoy. Do any of then still carry some hope? Or is it a way to escape the incoming fall of Dixie? I don't know.

Robert is playing cards with Cornelius and Paddy. Nothing to bet but future wages. What a joke. 2nd lt. Middeltown is reading the same book over and over. I don't know what happened to the rest of his collection. The sarg, the real head of our squad, is playing the harp for us. It's sweet. I think we would have died long ago if it weren't for his experience.

And your Jesse is doing the dishes, like at home. I'm good at cooking, you know that, I even managed to make them all some coffee! I must confess I took the beans from the hands of a deserter we caught last night. May the Lord forgive me.

It's gonna be long day. They’ll need all the support I can get them.

I pray to come back home soon, safe and sound.

God bless you. Jesse Corbitt.

*PS : This is an intro text for a Call of Cthulhu RPG initiation scenario during the Civil War. I wanted to use the desperation of the confederate army at the end of the war as a realistic ambiance, building a feeling of despair right at the start. In retrospect, that was to high level for and introduction to role-playing, and quite insensitive in these times of exacerbated polarization. I should have stick with more classical Far West archetypes following the Down Darker Trail setup. Something like a Marshal and some good folks of Old Gulch Town. I won't tell further the content of this scenario because I don't want to spoil it but of course, there's Great Old Ones involved... * /* Krita + Yiynova */

8 mars 1865, petit matin, Cher parents.

Nous sommes épuisé. Meurtris. Affamés. A peine vivants. L'hiver s'en est allé mais aucune récolte ne se pointe. Parfois quand nous marchons, j'ai l'impression qu'en fait nous sommes déjà morts. Spectres errants dans le désert. Sur les ordres de Bennet, nous avons dressé le camp hier soir sur les rives du Rio Grande, et enfin pu passer la première vrai nuit depuis des semaines. Que fait-on là? Le Captain reste muet, aussi j'ai asticoté Armstrong, notre 1er lieutenant. Il a laissé s'échapper que nous étions sensé rejoindre un convoi secret. A quoi bon ? Est-ce qu'il leur reste réellement la moindre bride d'espoir ? Est-ce qu'ils pensent réellement empêcher la chute ? Je ne sais.

Robert joue aux cartes avec Cornelius et Paddy. Ils parient leur futurs gages, quelle blague... Le 2nd lieutenant Middletown relit encore le même fichu bouquin. Je crois que c'est le dernier qui lui reste. Je ne sais pas ce qu'il a fait des autres. Le sergent, notre vrai chef, joue de l'harmonica pour nous détendre. Ça aide. En fait, sans son aide et son expérience, je crois que nous serions déjà tous six pieds sous terre.

Et votre Jesse fait la vaisselle, comme à la maison. Vous le savez, j'aime ça, cuisiner. J'ai même réussi à leur faire du café ce matin ! Avec des baies que j'ai prises sur un déserteur qu'on a capturé hier soir. Dieu me pardonne, mais je me dois de leur donner tout le soutien possible. Ça va être une longue journée, je sens. Je prie de pouvoir rentrer bientôt à la ferme, sain et sauf.

Dieu vous bénisse. Jesse Corbitt *PS : Ceci est le texte d’introduction d'un scénario d'initiation pour le Jeu de Role de l'Appel de Cthulhu, qui se déroule durant la Guerre de sécession américaine. Je comptais utiliser l'horreur et le désespoir que l'imagine remplir les coeurs de l'armée confédérée vers la fin de la guerre, mais rétrospectivement, je pense m'être fourvoyé. Trop complexe pour une introduction au JdR et surtout sujet très sensible et maladroitement amené en ces temps de polarisation exacerbée. J'aurai du rester sur des archétypes de far-West en suivant le setup de Down Darker Trails. Quelque chose comme un Marshal et ses adjoints dans le petit village d'Old Gulch Town. Je ne dévoilerait pas plus avant le contenu du scénario pour ne pas le spoiler, mais bien entendu, l'ombre des Grands Anciens rôde...*

#confederate #Civil War #RPG #Call of Cthulhu #Down Darker Trails #Sepia #Horror #Soldiers #Camp #Campfire

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theexecutionerssong · 4 years

Note

Hey Gaëlle ! Est-ce-que tu aurais des recommendations de fic Destiel ? Sans trop de smut, surtout pas beta/Omega (c'est même plus du smut à ce niveau-là...) et beaucoup de pining ? ( Je devrai être en train de réviser mes partiels d'ailleurs... 😅). Merci beaucoup ! 😌

Hellooo ! Alors tu as frappé à la bonne porte parce que je lis jamais de smut, ou alors quand c’est dans des longues fics, je passe juste ces passages là. (mais j’aime beaucoup les fic a/b/o qui ont pas de smut, parce que les sentiments sont quintuplés donc pining + angst on a whole other level). Y’a peu de fluff dans mes fics préférées, love me some angsty life and death moments, mais ça finit toujours bien. Enfin. Vérifie les tags quand même :)))) J’ai mis les liens, si y’a pas c’est qu’elles ont été supprimées mais j’ai les pdf donc hit me up.Et révise tes partiels !!!!

CANON

A turn of the earth -https://archiveofourown.org/works/5138552/chapters/11825306

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

Probably my favorite fic set in Canon. It’s set around season 11, and I love how we dive into Dean’s past pre-series and then as time goes by, we catch up with the show timeline’s. It’s incredibly well written.

525,600 Minutes - https://archiveofourown.org/works/507228/chapters/892693

A man wakes up alone on the streets of Detroit. Lost and somehow forgotten, he's dressed in blood-soaked clothing without memories and without a name.

This is his journey to find it.

It was first published in 2012 set after s5, but it was rewritten last year. I still have the old version for nostalgia’s sake but the new version is even better. It’s got some amnesia so great for pining :))))

The inexhaustible silence of houses -https://archiveofourown.org/works/560268/chapters/1000755

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh.

But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Listen, I cried. I cried SO MUCH. There was a lil fandom war going on for a time between which was the hardest, this one or Twist and Shout, and both destroy me completely. But this one is set in canon and closer to the characters, to me, so I’ll always recommend this one first (unless you want a happy ending, in which case, don’t read it)

Only if for a night - https://archiveofourown.org/works/826303

Castiel is captured by a djinn. Dean goes slightly crazy, and Cas discovers a thing or two about himself.

I’m a sucker for Dean/Cas in Djinn verse and this one is by far my favorite.

The Bird That Feels The Light (not slash) https://archiveofourown.org/works/210860

AU from 5.18 (or thereabouts). Castiel awakens in the middle of a smoking crater, stranded and very much human. According to the people who have discovered him, it’s six months to the day after Michael and Lucifer faced off on the field of battle outside of Detroit, and Castiel isn’t the only one to have returned. When, at his insistence, they take him to this other person, he finds a child –a little boy– and realizes that, contrary to all his expectations, he has been reunited with Dean Winchester. The world has changed in their absence, and not for the better. Sam is gone, whether dead or simply missing is uncertain. Castiel is given the name of a man in Idaho who may have answers for him. He is faced with the task of travelling cross-country with Dean, who is dependent on him now in ways he never was before, in order to discover the truth. But along the way, as he and Dean learn to know and trust each other once more, Castiel begins to realize that the answers he thought he wanted might not be the ones he needs.

It’s not slash at all since Dean is a kid but I’ve read it probably about 20 times and I still love it as the first time. There’s just something about human Castiel carrying a 4 year old Dean across the world and fighting monsters and demons and humans to survive that gets to me.

Hands, From Which All Things Are Built - https://archiveofourown.org/works/747324

Castiel travels with the angel tablet and without the Winchesters. One day, Dean gets a text from some anonymous number. (They speak in the language of need.) A post-08.17 Goodbye, Stranger story.

If you want pining, this one is definitely for you.

Last Man Standing - https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8363328/1/Last-Man-Standing

This one is set just after the season 7 finale, it’s a Purgatory fic with so.much.pining I always need to hold a pillow to my chest when I read it or I go insane sdfghjkl I haven’t read it in probably 4 years but I remember absolutely loving it.

Outrun my gun - https://archiveofourown.org/works/281887/chapters/448388

"The two of you are so stubborn you've made Heaven blink." Finally convinced that Sam and Dean will never say yes and accept their destinies, Heaven and Hell come up with a new plan, one that will redraw the Apocalypse and make everything run much more smoothly. All they need is Dean Winchester's soul.

Don’t mind the MCD tag, it’s got a happy ending. Also a classic set in canon, it’s from 2011 so quite oldish but it’s incredible how the characterization is on point. Love love love it.

Tramps Like Us

Dean Winchester's life is falling apart. He's lost his job, his apartment, and his brother, all in one day. He seems to break everything he touches. Frustrated and alone, he drives off into the night with no idea where he's headed. But then he meets Castiel Novak, a quiet and reclusive man with a haunted past, and suddenly he finds himself with a very specific destination in mind.

I feel like everyone has read Tramps Like Us but just in case, I’ll put it on the list. Not sure what I can say that hasn’t been said by half this website already but well… it deserves the hype.

Til The Last - https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001935/chapters/1984189

When the war came, Dean Winchester was determined that he was not going to get involved. He had more important things to worry about than some rich man’s fight. He had work on the farm and he had taking care of his family. Nothing else was worth his worry. But in August in the Year of Our Lord 1863, when the soldiers came knocking, they weren’t asking. They dragged Dean away.

Dean and Cas have been best friends since they were kids. When Dean is drafted into the Confederate army, to what lengths will Castiel go to ensure that Dean makes it back home alive?

OH BOY. OHHHHH I could talk about that one until the day I die. It’s a complete AU but it has great parallels to canon, it’s incredibly well written, humanity in all it’s ugly truth and “I will fight for you ‘til the last, Dean Winchester” jesus christ it’s so good, so good

Out of the Deep - https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878

Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep.

It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep.

Castiel should have listened better.

I love everything she writes but I think this one if my favorite. It’s sooooo long, and angsty as fuck but all ends well and it has some very fluffy moments. If you’re into this kinf of AU then 100% go for it.

To Raise a King - https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961403

This must be some kind of horrible joke at Castiel’s expense. Is he truly expected to protect a King? One who has been their enemy for as long as he can remember? He is much more suited to being a part of the army, or at the very least someone who helps to train the knights. That would be far more preferred than having to watch over the King. It means Castiel would get to keep fighting – and that’s the only way he knows to give meaning to his life.

An AU too, Cas is tasked to watch over Sam and Dean -there’s an 8 year age difference between Dean and Cas. I loved it because it’s set over about 15 years and Cas is asexual and I love time period AU in general :’)

Painted Angels https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085792

Author Castiel Novak has finally hit the big time, with a book based on his failed college relationship with a brilliant painter. He's put all his pain behind him, but at a book signing, he comes face to face with Dean Winchester for the first time in twelve years, and the reunion doesn't go like Cas hoped. Dean's a broken man, with a lot of scars and secrets, shoulders weighed down by his demons and self loathing. Cas sees a second chance with the man he's never stopped loving, but Dean's moved on, and is about to get married. Sam launches a "brilliant" plan to reunite his brother and his best friend, but Cas is worried it will all blow up in their faces, and he'll go through the agony of losing Dean a second time.

This one is hard to read because for the most part, it’s heartbreaking. There are happy flashbacks all along but it’s still hard when what happens in the present it’s a fucking tragedy. But I would still read it a thousand times over, and the timestamp completely make up for all the pining and the angst. It’s rare to find fics that last an entire lifetime.

#gaelle parle #spn #fic rec #martineaualexia

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terresdebrumestories · 4 years

Text

WIP: trilingual soldiers

This started out as part of my answer to a prompt from lulunicorn on the TOG server and grew into its own thing. I'm experimenting with a different form of planning with this one: I'm writing the dialogues alone for now and when I rewrite it I'll add the narration.

And translate everything into English.

Anyway, if you're into French / English / German messes set during ww1, please read on ;)

(TW: suicide gets referrenced in a fairly flippant manner.)

"Oh putain—t'as trouvé ça où ?"

"Bet he stole it from the Lieutenant."

"Hein? Ça va pas la tête ? Si jamais Lebrun l'apprend il va devenir fou!"

"You might get shot."

"Eh bah au moins j'aurai les pieds secs pour une fois, ça me changera."

"That's not funny."

"Ouais, y a déjà assez d'Fritz qui veulent nous faire la peau, file leur pas un coup de main hein!"

"Vous voulez du chocolat oui ou merde?"

"I can want chocolate and want you alive."

"Non, dans la vie faut faire des choix."

"Bon ben donne ton chocolat, alors."

"Merci. Enfin un peu d'bon sens. Joe? Chocolat ?"

"You're an ass. And a thief."

"I can steal or I can drink. Your pick." [Miming]

"Moi je vote pour que tu restes sobre, vu qu't'es l'seul qui sache viser."

"Ta gueule, Jean-Claude."

"Fuck you too, rosbeef!"

"Ah, see, you got the accent right in the end."

"Y dit quoi?"

"Y dit qu't'as une sale gueule. Aïe! Put—"

"COCOTTE !"

Joe and Sébastien move to shield Jean-Claude at the same time, which results in them nearly breaking their noses against one another—and for nothing to boot, seeing as nothing explodes in the vicinity. Rubbing his nose, Sébastien shares a look with Joe and turns toward the East side of their trench to try and see what's happening... which is when Jean-Claude, somehow extirpated from below two sheepish immortals, pokes his head over Sébastien's helmet and hisses.

"Y fout quoi Berger là ? Il est con ou quoi ?"

"Il en a p't'être marre? Ça sera pas l'premier."

"What?"

"I said maybe Berger's trying to end it."

"With no one shooting?"

"Y dit quoi?"

"Y dit qu'le suicide de berger va pas aller loin si les Fritz se décident pas à tirer."

"Tu dis ça comme si c'était dommage!"

"Mais non laisse le, c'est moi qui traduit mal."

"Why's Jean-Claude pissed at me?"

"Y dit quoi ?"

"Because he thinks I'm doing word for word translations."

"Oh, Bouquin ! Y dit quoi?"

"Attends deux minutes—il en est où Berger ?"

"Il est au milieu du champ! Le con!"

"What's he saying?"

"He says Berger's a dumbass. I think we can look, they're still not shooting."

"T'as dit quoi?"

They poke their noses over the edge of the trench, like the dirtiest mushrooms ever created, and watch as Berger from around the bend walks through no man's land with what looks like a ball held high above his head. Then he shouts:

"Comment on demande si ils veulent faire un match ?"

"Wollen sie spielen!"

"Y dit quoi?"

"Je sais pas, je parle anglais, pas allemand. What did you say?"

"I said 'do you want to play?'"

"Il a demandé si les Fritz voulaient jouer."

"Ah ouais. Logique."

"Ils disent 'bla bla bla hören'!"

"They're not hearing him."

"Ils t'entendent pas Berger, gueule plus fort!"

"T'es tout con toi, je gueule autant qu'je peux!"

"What did he say?"

"He says he can't shout louder."

"He needs to tell them to send someone over."

"Y dit quoi?"

"Y dit qu'il faut que Berger leur dise d'envoyer un gars. Berger! Dit leur d'envoyer quelqu'un pour te parler !"

"Mais je parle pas allemand moi! T'as qu'à envoyer ton rosbeef c'est lui qui sait leur causer !"

"He's saying I've got to go there isn't he?"

"Yeah you're not going up there—y peut pas sortir Berger!"

"Y fait quoi?"

"Putain Joe! I said stay down there!"

"They're not shooting, I'll be fine."

"Y dit quoi?"

"Y dit qu'il est con, Joe reviens ici !"

Joe goes over the side of the trench. Nobody shoots, but from the English trench to the West, several voices rise in clamor.

"Ah bah y sont contents de l'revoir les rosbeefs. J'espère que les Fritz vont pas lui éclater la caboche maintenant, ça serait con."

"Y vont pas lui mettre une balle, ils sont en train de lui parler !"

"Pas faux. C'est à moi qu'y fait signe ?"

"Non, à moi. Son copain là bas doit pas parler français."

"Tu vas y aller ?"

"Si j'y vais pas on est encore là demain."

"Sebastian! Come on up here! We're trying to organize a tournament!"

"Y dit quoi ?"

"Y dit qu'ils veulent faire un tournoi."

"Un tournoi de foot? La comme ça ?"

"Faut croire que les Fritz aussi ils font la trêve."

Sébastien goes over the wall. The other three are done gesticulating when he gets to them, looking at him expectantly.

"Gentlemen, this is Sebastian."

"Sébastien."

"Schon Sie zu treffen, Sébastienne."

"Ta gueule, Berger."

"Oh allez, soit pas chienne. Aïe!"

"What's the problem?"

"His accent makes it sound like he's using the woman's version of my name."

"Was sagt er?"

"Er sagt, dein Akzent ist sehr gut. Ow."

"So what do you want to do for the tournament?"

"Use your head as a ball."

"Had a good time over with the froggies, didn't you Joe?"

"They're decent, but their rations are as gross as ours."

"Qu'est-ce-qu'ils disent?"

"Was sagen sie?"

"Joe. The tournament thing?"

"Right. Daniel and I were thinking two teams each, draw for the first matches, see who wins?"

"Ils veulent qu'on fasse deux équipes chacuns et qu'on tire au sort pour les premiers matchs."

"Ça me va. Pas d'armes à portée de main, on garde les casques pour marquer les joueurs ?"

"He says no weapons out, and the helmets mark the teams."

Joe translates into German.

"Gut."

"Bouquin! Y disent quoi?"

"I'm gonna have to go back, Jean-Claude's not gonna stop asking. On fait une équipe tranchée Nord, une pour la tranchée Sud ?"

"Pas de problème. Tu dis pas au revoir à ton rosbeef?"

"Oh...right. Gotta go back to your own trench."

"Yeah... I mean, I'll be back topside in a few but uh. At the end of it I'll have to get back to my side."

"Right. Yes. Makes sense."

"See you when I kick your ass, Bookin."

"Ta gueule, Joe."

They make their way back to their respective trenches, where Jean-Claude is waiting for news and proves eager to play the game, if customarily overenthusiastic about it. They set up the teams, get the captains up in the field where non players have started to sit and mingle.

Then Sébastien gets called over again.

"Wir haben ein Problem. Wir haben keinen Schiedsrichter."

"Qu'est-ce-qu'il dit?"

"Il dit qu'on a pas d'arbitre."

"Tu parles allemand toi maintenant ?"

"Non, j'ai des yeux."

"Warum kämpfen sie?"

"Sie sind Französisch. So zeigen sie ihre Zuneigung."

"Why are the French fighting?"

"I don't know, I think it's a French thing."

"Berger thinks I'm an idiot. I can referee if you want."

"Qu'est-ce que tu leurs a dit sur moi?"

"J'ai dit qu't'étais con. Si j'arbitre, ça te va ?"

"Tant qu'on laisse pas compter les points aux Fritz."

"Haben Sie einen Soldaten namens Fritz?"

"Attend—what does he want?"

"He wants to know if you've got someone named Fritz."

"No. Listen, Berger says it's okay with him if I Referee for the match."

"I'll be honest with you mister Bookin, that might not fly with my men."

"Was sagt er?"

"Sébastienne—ow—er sagte er könne vermitteln."

"Es ist ok für mich, aber die Anderen..."

"He doesn't want me to do it either does he?"

"It's not him, it's his men. He thinks they won't want it."

"Now wait a minute—"

"Qu'est-qu'ils disent ?"

"Ben... What's his name?"

"Willhelm."

"Thanks. Daniel a dit que ses hommes voudraient pas d'un arbitre français, ensuite Wilhelm a dit que des hommes voudraient pas d'un arbitre français alors maintenant Daniel est vexé et il veut bien d'un arbitre français. You *are* okay with me referring, right? Offended as you are."

"He's got a point, you know."

"...fine. But only if someone from our side shares the duty with him."

"Fine, I'll do it."

"He's your friend. You might want to help him."

"And the rest of your men gave Joe a huzzah when they saw him. If they don't trust him they won't trust anyone else."

"Fair point."

"Qu'est-ce-qu'ils disent ?"

"Joe et moi on va co-arbitrer."

"C'est qui Joe?"

"Is he asking who I am?"

"Ignore him, he's an ass."

"Wait, you've been there two weeks and they still don't know your name?"

"That's irrelevant—it *is* irrelevant, hush. Now—wir brauchen eine deutsche Schiedsrichter."

"War—oh. Ja, genau. Schneider! Komm her. Schneider wird den dritten Schiedsrichter sein."

"Good. Joe, if you see them cheat, just do the same, I'll personally forgive you for it."

"Don't worry, we'll have a watcher. Jean-Claude! Viens ici."

Berger groans. Jean-Claude's head pokes over the lip of the trench, pretty much alone by then.

"Vous êtes sur le territoire de qui?"

"De personne, c'est la trêve. Viens ici!"

"Warum kommt das Kind zu uns?"

"Er ist ein Verfechter der Regeln."

"What did you say? Why are they calling a baby frog over?"

"Because no one can cheat when he's around—we banned him from all card games. Bouge tes fesses, Jean-Claude, y caille trop pour traîner."

"I'll vouch for the kid mate, he'll call any foul out as he sees it."

"Vertraust du ihm?"

"Ja klar."

"Y disent quoi?"

"Y disent que t'es un bon gamin. On a besoin de toi pour surveiller les arbitres, vérifier qu'on triche pas."

"Tu vas pas tricher pour notre tranchée, tu les aime pas."

"Ta gueule, Balland."

"Fous lui la paix, Berger, c'est pas comme si il avait tort. Tu veux surveiller ou pas ?"

"Ils vont s'énerver si je surveille ?"

"What are they saying?"

"Was sagt er?"

"He wants to know if the referees will get pissy if he calls them out. Les arbitres ça sera Joe et moi—et Schneider. Si il s'énerve on peut toujours lui mettre une balle."

"Ben voyons, et tu redémarre le merdier pour tout le monde?"

"Ta gueule, Berger."

"Schneider says he'll behave."

"Great. If he doesn't we'll just kill him."

"Tu dis quoi?"

"Juste qu'on va pouvoir commencer. Va voir Lepage et demande lui s'il a toujours son sifflet pour arbitrer."

"Ce gosse. Je sais pas qui l'a foutu là mais si je le croise, je lui fait manger mon casque."

"Am I going to have to agree with Berger?"

"He says whoever got Jean-Claude here should get his face caved in."

"Damn it."

"Don't make me pick sides between the French, Joe."

"Go get your team, Daniel."

"Bon, je vais appeler les gars hein. Qu'ils soient là pour le tirage."

"Tu fais ça." [pause] "I want to take Jean-Claude along, when we leave."

"Sebastian..."

"He's never going to survive this thing. You know he's not."

"I know! And I don't want that for him, but 'Bastian...you have to remember how it went—"

"Yes, of course I do. I don't want to *tell him* I want to take him away from here."

"If he's caught as a deserter it'll be the firing squad for him."

"If we take him far enough away...."

"Sebastian. He's already got trouble adapting to French people in the *army*. What do you think is going to happen if you drop him on a whole different continent altogether? Just because he's got no family doesn't mean he's got no roots there."

"It's not going to be quick, Joe. They keep saying it's going to be over soon but they always say that and it's *never* true."

"I..."

"Ich könnte den Jungen nehmen. Wenn das Waffenstillstand endet. Ich könnte ihn nehmen. Wenn ich sage dass ich ihn gefangen habe..."

"What does he want?"

"He says he could take Jean-Claude. Pretend he's a war prisoner."

"Jean-Claude? Lying?"

"Es würde nicht funktionieren. Er lügt nicht."

"Aber..."

"Er lügt nicht."

"Gottverdammt."

"Ouais."

"Bouquin ! J'ai un sifflet! Je le donne à qui?"

"À moi, on va voir si les autres en ont avant de refiler les affaires de Lepage à n'importe qui." "D'accord. Ça va?"

"Ouais ça va."

"Ça a pas l'air d'aller."

"C'est la guerre, Jean-Claude. Personne a l'air d'aller."

"Oh."

"Hey, Jean-Claude. This is Schneider. Schneider, Jean-Claude."

"Y dit quoi?"

"Y dit que l'allemand s'appelle Schneider."

"Oh. Enchanté. Euh. Comment on dit—"

"'Schön Sie zu treffen'."

"Schön Sie zu treffen, Schneider."

"Sag 'enchanté Jean-Claude'."

"Enchanté, Jean-Claude."

"Oh. Il a l'air sympa."

"Jean-Claude magst du."

"Y dit quoi?"

"Y dit qu'tu trouves Schneider sympa. Trouve toi un coin ou t'asseoir, on va démarrer."

After the match.

"I got word from Andy, while I was with you."

"Hé, Bouquin, ton rosbeef y veut—"

"Il boit pas d'alcool."

"Ah merde. Problème ?"

"Non, religion. Y a du café ?"

"Ouais attends, j'vais en chercher."

"Merci. What did she say?"

"Might be time to regroup. Nico's—"

"Yeah, I can't leave Jean-Claude in this mess."

"I had a feeling you'd say that."

"You're going to go anyway, aren't you?"

"Nico needs me."

"Yeah. Of course."

"Will you be—"

"I'm always alright. How are you going to do it?"

"I figured I'd wait until it occurred naturally."

"Or you could—merci Jean-Claude."

"Vous parlez de quoi?"

"Joe va devoir repartir dans sa tranchée à la fin de la trêve. On cause tant qu'on en a le temps."

"Oh. Je peux causer avec vous ? Je l'aime bien, ton rosbeef."

"He wants to know if he can sit with us."

"...if you're okay with a change in topic."

"Vous voulez pas que j'reste?"

"Si, vas-y, assied toi."

"Vous avez pas l'air de vouloir que je reste."

"Que tu restes ou pas, on peut pas se dire tout ce qu'on a à se dire de toute façon. Et pis y t'aime bien aussi, Joe."

"What did you just say to him?"

"Just that we didn't have time to finish our talk right now, wh—ça va, Jean-Claude?"

"C'est ton ami particulier ?"

"Sebastian?"

"Yeah uh—not right now. Un ami particulier?"

"Comme mon oncle. Il est parti au Maroc en 1907 avec l'armée et il s'est fait un ami particulier. Quand il est mort, Paul—c'est son ami—nous a ramené ses affaires et ensuite il est resté habiter chez nous. Il arrêtait pas de parler de mon oncle avec ma mère, elle faisait les mêmes têtes quand elle parlait de mon père."

"Can I—"

"Wait, please."

"Je sais que j'suis pas comme tout le monde, mais j'suis pas con, hein. Le rosbif, c'est ton ami particulier ?"

"Non. On s'est connus avant la guerre. Lui et moi c'est de la famille. C'est comme si je disais au revoir à mon frère, tu comprends ?"

"Ouais. Tu m'le dirais, si c'était un ami particulier ?"

"Tu sais pas mentir, Jean-Claude. C'est dangereux, pour les hommes comme ça, si on apprend leur secret."

"Why is Jean-Claude upset?"

"I think he thinks I'm lying to him."

"Tu sais, quand Paul était vivant, j'ai dit à personne que c'était l'ami de mon oncle. Je sais pas mentir quand on me pose une question, mais on m'en pose jamais, des questions."

"Sebastian what's going on?"

"We're having a bit of a crisis here—"

"Yes, I can see that thank you—what is the crisis *about*?"

"He thinks you and I are an item and I don't want to tell him because I don't trust him."

"Crap."

"Yeah."

"C'est pas grave, Le Livre, j'ai l'habitude."

"Jean-Claude, attend—"

"Jean-Claude, come back."

"Y dit quoi?"

"Il te demande de revenir. S'il-te-plaît."

"Bookin and I aren't together. I already have someone."

"Y dit quoi?"

"Are you sure?"

"It's not like anyone from your trench is going to ask him about me outside of my relationship to you.”

“Bouquin. Y dit quoi?”

“Y dit qu’il a déjà quelqu’un.”

#The Old Guard #WIP: Trilingual Soldiers #Sebastien Le Livre #Yusuf Al Kaysani

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empetymess · 5 years

Text

Chat Blanc kind of Review

Hey hey !

I’m french, so I have watch the french episode of Chat Blanc (duh) and first of all

My eyes look like red balloons

I love it so much !

But, my gosh, I have been shook by how Gabriel has been horrible, cruel, Heartless, with his OWN SON. I mean, yeah, you love your wife, but don’t you want to be with your son since he is actually alive ? He prefer to make his son sad, to reanimate his wife. He prefer to make his own son suffer, punch him, to be mean, instead of living his life with him before he goes aways. This situation make me so sad, I really am disappointed of Gabriel.

- Let’s be more positive -

I really love the moment when Adrien guesses that Marinette is Ladybug, and then run to see her, because GUYS WHAT HE SAID !!

« J’ai enfin compris que tu n’étais pas qu’une amie. J’ai toujours senti qu’il y avait plus que ça. » Traduction (approximatively) : « I have finally understand that you were not just a friend. I’ve always felt that there was more than that. » HAAAHAHAHA YES !

Yes, he said that in a future that will not happened, but that doesn’t change anything, because he THOUGHT that BEFORE knowing she was Ladybug !

- Sad thing again… -

They would be together only when Hawkmoth will be defeated. My heart is broken, and now I will desperately wait this moment. Or maybe they could date each other as super heros, but I’m not sure that will happend.

Last thing but not least !

I am in love with the little song Chat Noir/Blanc is singing… « Un p’tit chat sur un toit, se languit sans sa Lady » (I will personally tattoo this little lyric on my arm héhé)

Thanks for reading my weird ugly english review ! I will do it more often, I really love talking about episodes. (If you want me to “review” a specific episode, comment the title)

#ladybug and chat noir #chat noir #chat blanc #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #I love u chat noir #miraculous review #miraculers #chat blanc review

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kilfeur · 8 months

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Voilà enfin fini mon nouveau comic Rayllum avec cette fois ci, un cauchemar de Rayla mais Callum est là pour veiller sur elle. A la base il y avait deux scènes que j'ai pas mit au final, la première est pendant la crise de panique de Rayla, Callum fait toujours le truc avec le pouls mais descend sa main vers sa coeur. Pour qu'elle puisse sentir ses battements puis l'allonger en lui demandant de se concentrer sur lui et sur sa voix. Au final j'ai opté pour autre chose qui on va dire plus réaliste même si je pourrais toujours placer ça ailleurs. La deuxième scène c'est qu'après la discussion du duo, Callum était censé jeter un coup d'oeil à l'arc de Rayla. Pensant aux dernières paroles de Claudia jusqu'à ce qu'il sente la main de Rayla et lui dise qu'il aime quand elle le touche s'en suit Rayla qui l'entoure dans ses bras pour se réchauffer. Je trouvais déjà que ça traînait en longueur et même si j'ai pu mettre le câlin, j'espère que je pourrais mettre la scène de l'arc sur un autre dessin ou bien un one shot par exemple.

At last I've finished my new Rayllum comic, this time featuring Rayla's nightmare, but Callum is there to watch over her. The first is during Rayla's panic attack. Callum still does the pulse thing, but lowers his hand to his heart. So she can feel his heartbeat, then lay her down and ask her to concentrate on him and his voice. In the end, I opted for something more realistic, even if I could always place it elsewhere. The second scene is that, after the duo's discussion, Callum was supposed to take a look at Rayla's bow. Thinking about Claudia's last words until he felt Rayla's hand and told her he liked it when she touched him, followed by Rayla wrapping her arms around him for warmth. I already felt it was dragging on and even though I was able to put in the hug, I hope I could put the bow scene in another drawing or a one-shot for example.

________________________

Page 1 and 2

Rayla : Where I am ?

Claudia : You're selfish, tell me why I don't have the right! All I want is to keep my father alive?! Everything I've done is for my family! To keep him with me! So why am I being robbed of what is rightfully mine?! So tell me you elf… Why should you be allowed to have yours back?

Rayla : Your father wanted to invade Xadia. He allowed a kingdom to be corrupted for his downfall. And you helped him, turning your back on your brother

Claudia : You know nothing! He did it for the good of mankind! Don't try to blame me for anything! When you've abandoned and hurt your loved ones. You came back like a flower, thinking you'd be welcomed. Nothing was going your way. You're no saint! So don't accuse me and see your own mistakes

Page 3

Viren : Tell me, elf, was my hunt really worth it?

Rayla : Ca... Callum. No... I beg you... Don't look at me. Outside, we'll be attacked! I've got to go! Otherwise we'll never reach the tower! Getting Nova's blade is the priority, we can't take a detour! I must protect you!

Page 4 and 5

Callum : Rayla, it's okay, you're not alone. You're here with me and Stella, remember. Can you feel my pulse and my touch? Rayla, relax. There you go, breathe just like me. Good again. We've eliminated the creatures that attacked us. And we've surveyed the area, haven't we?

Rayla : Yes, I remember.

Callum : That's good, Rayla, keep going.

Rayla : And the air dome you created at Umber Torr. You remade it for this cave.

Callum : See? Then breathe again. We're safe, you have nothing to fear. Do you want to talk about it ?

Claudia : You're selfish.

Rayla : Before that, I'd like to know… Why are you so intent on saving my family?

Callum : Eh… Well, why not? Recovering Nova's blade and saving them is like killing two birds with one stone!

Rayla : But...

Page 6

Callum : Rayla, in those two years, we created our own path. We've moved forward and sometimes lost our way, but we keep going. Because we want to achieve our goals. And we've done things for ourselves. Because we thought it was the right thing to do. But also for others, so that they can live in a better day. And finally, so that we can grieve properly. But you have the choice of reuniting with them. You shouldn't waste it when the opportunity is there. You could have continued your hunt. And yet you've come back to us.

Rayla : There are so many things I could have done better. So many things I haven't told you about my two years without you all. Even with Stella, I felt so alone. I was so cold and had nothing. I wish I could have stayed with all of you for those two years. I regret it but I'm here now and I want to stay by your side.

Callum : Rayla, you've always had a place with us. Even when you're reunited with them, that won't change. I promise!

Rayla : You always find the words to soothe me. They are magic! They make me feel able to face anything. You bewitched me and I've always been under your spell. So I can only love you more.

Rayla : I had a nightmare I thought I was going to die.

Callum : Really? And now you're thinking about it?

Rayla : Not so much now that you're here. Of course you do, Stella

#the dragon prince #tdp #callum #rayla #claudia #viren #rayllum #tw death #tw panic attack #kilfeur art

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e-tag · 4 years

Text

ラテン語さん @latina_sama

9:31 PM · Apr 12, 2020

シンデレラで、12時になって魔法が解けてもガラスの靴だけは残った理由は、シャルルペローによる原作を読めば分かります。妖精が魔法をかけるときに、他のものは「変えた(changea)」や「変わった(fut changé)」と書かれているのですが、ガラスの靴だけは「与えた(donna)」と書かれているのです。

Source: https://twitter.com/latina_sama/status/1249314190210166793

aller au Bal, n’est-ce pas : Helas ! ouy, dit Cendrillon en soûpirant : Hé bien ! seras-tu bonne fille ? dit sa Maraine ; je t’y feray aller ? Elle la mena dans sa chambre, et luy dit, va dans le jardin & apporte-moy une citroüille : Cendrillon alla aussi-tost cueillir la plus belle qu’elle put trouver, & la porta à sa Maraine, ne pouvant deviner comment cette citroüille la pourroit faire aller au bal. Sa Maraine la creusa, & n’ayant laissé que l’écorce, la

frappa de sa baguette, & la citroüille fut aussi-tost changée en un beau carosse tout doré. Ensuite, elle alla regarder dans sa sourissiere, où elle trouva six souris toutes en vie ; elle dit à Cendrillon de lever un peu la trappe de la sourissiere & à chaque souris qui sortoit, elle luy donnoit un coup de sa baguette, & la souris estoit aussi-tost changée en un beau cheval ; ce qui fit un bel attelage de six chevaux d’un beau gris de souris

pommelé : Comme elle estoit en peine de quoy elle ferait un Cocher, je vais voir, dit Cendrillon, s’il n’y a point quelque rat dans la ratiere ; nous en ferons un Cocher : Tu as raison, dit sa Maraine, va voir : Cendrillon lui apporta la ratiere, où il y avoit trois gros rats. La fée en prit un d’entre les trois, à cause de sa maîtresse barbe, & l’ayant touché, il fut changé en un gros Cocher qui avoit une des plus belles moustaches

qu’on ait jamais veuës. Ensuite elle luy dit, va dans le jardin, tu y trouveras six lezards derriere l’arrosoir ; apporte-les moy, elle ne les eut pas plûtost apportez que la Maraine les changea en six Laquais, qui monterent aussi-tost derriere le carosse avec leurs habits chamarez, & qui s’y tenoient attachez, comme s’ils n’eussent fait autre chose de toute leur vie. La Fée dit alors à Cendrillon : Hé bien ? voilà de quoy aller au bal, n’es-tu

pas bien aise ? Ouy, mais est-ce que j’irai comme cela, avec mes vilains habits : Sa maraine ne fit que la toucher avec sa baguette, & en même tems ses habits furent changez en des habits de drap d’or & d’argent, tout chamarrez de pierreries : elle luy donna ensuite une paire de pentoufles de verre, les plus jolies du monde. Quand elle fut ainsi parée, elle monta en carosse ; mais sa Maraine luy recommanda, sur toutes choses, de ne pas passer

WikiSource: https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:Perrault_-_Histoires_ou_contes_du_temps_pass%C3%A9,_avec_des_moralitez,_1697.djvu/136 https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:Perrault_-_Histoires_ou_contes_du_temps_pass%C3%A9,_avec_des_moralitez,_1697.djvu/137 https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:Perrault_-_Histoires_ou_contes_du_temps_pass%C3%A9,_avec_des_moralitez,_1697.djvu/138 https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:Perrault_-_Histoires_ou_contes_du_temps_pass%C3%A9,_avec_des_moralitez,_1697.djvu/139 https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:Perrault_-_Histoires_ou_contes_du_temps_pass%C3%A9,_avec_des_moralitez,_1697.djvu/140

---

Enfin l’heureux jour arriva ; on partit, et Cendrillon les suivit des yeux, le plus longtemps qu’elle put.

Lorsqu’elle ne les vit plus, elle se mit à pleurer. Sa marraine, qui la vit tout en pleurs, lui demanda ce qu’elle avait, « Je voudrais bien… je voudrais bien… » Elle pleurait si fort qu’elle ne put achever. Sa marraine, qui était fée, lui dit : « Tu voudrais bien aller au bal, n’est-ce pas ? — Hélas ! oui, dit Cendrillon en soupirant. — Eh bien ! seras-tu bonne fille ? dit sa marraine, je t’y ferai aller. » — Elle la mena dans sa chambre, et lui dit : Va dans le jardin, et apporte-moi une citrouille. » — Cendrillon alla aussitôt cueillir la plus belle qu’elle put trouver, et la porta à sa marraine, ne pouvant deviner comment cette citrouille la pourrait faire aller au bal. Sa marraine la creusa et, n’ayant laissé que l’écorce, la frappa de sa baguette, et la citrouille fut aussitôt changée en un beau carrosse tout doré.

Ensuite elle alla regarder dans la souricière, où elle trouva six souris toutes en vie. Elle dit à Cendrillon de lever un peu la trappe de la souricière, et, à chaque souris qui sortait, elle lui donnait un coup de sa baguette, et la souris était aussitôt changée en un beau cheval : ce qui fit un bel attelage de six chevaux, d’un beau gris de souris pommelé.

Comme elle était en peine de quoi elle ferait un cocher : « Je vais voir, dit Cendrillon, s’il n’y a pas quelque rat dans la ratière, nous en ferons un cocher. — Tu as raison, dit sa marraine, va voir. » — Cendrillon lui apporta la ratière, où il y avait trois gros rats. La fée en prit un d’entre les trois, à cause de sa maîtresse barbe, et, l’ayant touché, il fut changé en un gros cocher, qui avait une des plus belles moustaches qu’on ait jamais vues.

Ensuite elle lui dit : « Va dans le jardin, tu y trouveras six lézards derrière l’arrosoir ; apporte-les-moi. » — Elle ne les eut pas plus tôt apportés, que sa marraine les changea en six laquais, qui montèrent aussitôt derrière le carrosse, avec leurs habits chamarrés, et qui s’y tenaient attachés comme s’ils n’eussent fait autre chose de toute leur vie.

La fée dit alors à Cendrillon : « Eh bien ! voilà de quoi aller au bal : n’es-tu pas bien aise ? — Oui, mais est-ce que j’irai comme cela, avec mes vilains habits ? » — Sa marraine ne fit que la toucher avec sa baguette, et en même temps ses habits furent changés en des habits d’or et d’argent, tout chamarrés de pierreries ; elle lui donna ensuite une paire de pantoufles de verre, les plus jolies du monde. Quand elle fut ainsi parée, elle monta en carrosse ; mais sa marraine lui recommanda, sur toutes choses, de ne pas passer minuit, l’avertissant que, si elle demeurait au bal un moment davantage, son carrosse redeviendrait citrouille, ses chevaux des souris, ses laquais des lézards, et que ses beaux habits reprendraient leur première forme.

Source: https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Contes_de_Perrault_(%C3%A9d._1902)/Cendrillon_ou_la_petite_Pantoufle_de_verre

---

At last the happy day came; they went to Court, and Cinderella followed them with her eyes as long as she could, and when she had lost sight of them, she fell a-crying.

Her godmother, who saw her all in tears, asked her what was the matter.

"I wish I could—I wish I could—" but she could not finish for sobbing.

Her godmother, who was a fairy, said to her, "You wish you could go to the ball; is it not so?"

"Alas, yes," said Cinderella, sighing.

"Well," said her godmother, "be but a good girl, and I will see that you go." Then she took her into her chamber, and said to her, "Run into the garden, and bring me a pumpkin."

Cinderella went at once to gather the finest she could get, and brought it to her godmother, not being able to imagine how this pumpkin could help her to go to the ball. Her godmother scooped out all the inside of it, leaving nothing but the rind. Then she struck it with her wand, and the pumpkin was instantly turned into a fine gilded coach.

She then went to look into the mouse-trap, where she found six mice, all alive. She ordered Cinderella to lift the trap-door, when, giving each mouse, as it went out, a little tap with her wand, it was that moment turned into a fine horse, and the six mice made a fine set of six horses of a beautiful mouse-colored, dapple gray.

Being at a loss for a coachman, Cinderella said, "I will go and see if there is not a rat in the rat-trap—we may make a coachman of him."

"You are right," replied her godmother; "go and look."

Cinderella brought the rat-trap to her, and in it there were three huge rats. The fairy chose the one which had the largest beard, and, having touched him with her wand, he was turned into a fat coachman with the finest mustache and whiskers ever seen.

After that, she said to her:—

"Go into the garden, and you will find six lizards behind the watering-pot; bring them to me."

She had no sooner done so than her godmother turned them into six footmen, who skipped up immediately behind the coach, with their liveries all trimmed with gold and silver, and they held on as if they had done nothing else their whole lives.

The fairy then said to Cinderella, "Well, you see here a carriage fit to go to the ball in; are you not pleased with it?"

"Oh, yes!" she cried; "but must I go as I am in these rags?"

Her godmother simply touched her with her wand, and, at the same moment, her clothes were turned into cloth of gold and silver, all decked with jewels. This done, she gave her a pair of the prettiest glass slippers in the whole world. Being thus attired, she got into the carriage, her godmother commanding her, above all things, not to stay till after midnight, and telling her, at the same time, that if she stayed one moment longer, the coach would be a pumpkin again, her horses mice, her coachman a rat, her footmen lizards, and her clothes would become just as they were before.

Source: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Tales_of_Mother_Goose/Cinderella,_or_the_Little_Glass_Slipper

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blasphemings · 5 years

Text

ah sacré papa, dis-moi où es-tu caché?

où est ton papa ? dis-moi où est ton papa? sans même devoir lui parler il sait ce qui ne va pas

where is your father? tell me, where is your father? without needing to talk to him, he knows something is wrong

[stone ocean/ireneverse, kakyoin is stone free via stand resurrection, ~9.3k words, ao3 link]

dites-moi d’où il vient

enfin je saurais où je vais

Jotaro Kujo was no stranger to being too late.

He had thought of this as his daughter snarled at him from across the table; how he had been too late to be her father, or really, to be a part of her at all. There isn’t a speck of you in my heart anymore, Jolyne spat.

That was a good thing. Probably. At the very least, it made sense. First person to be smart about that shit in a long time. She was taking care of herself. She would survive.

At least, she would have, if he hadn’t gone and let her get shot.

Too late, he thought in a daze during the too-long instant it took for time to grind to a halt, his eyes on the thick stream of blood flying from the hole in Jolyne’s chest. His heart plummeted like a chunk of ice.

Such a lazy excuse, to say things happened too fast, particularly given his circumstances. If he hadn’t been distracted—

Because of love?

—if he had been focused.

She hung in midair, one arm thrown forward in surprise, the other behind her to break a fall caught in place. Her face barely registered surprise. She hadn’t had time to be surprised. It was his responsibility to catch threats in time. How could she have known?

Unless…

Jotaro narrowed his eyes. There wasn’t nearly enough blood. Not for a direct hit to the chest. He moved closer, fists still clenched at his sides, until he could see that it hadn’t been a direct hit at all.

Seeing the impossible up close like that was almost enough to convince him he really was dreaming.

The time stop gave him only seconds, but despite his best efforts Jotaro remained himself, and Star remained a force of nature, beyond fast enough to catch all the details, even those he might have preferred to remain ignorant of. He stared at the hand-shaped barrier that had caught the bullet before it could pierce Jolyne’s chest, and he knew that he had seen it before.

“It can’t be,” he breathed.

Thirty years. Nearly thirty years since the web of shimmering green strands had snapped, gleaming against the darkness, defiant to the last. He had only seen Hierophant’s barrier once.

This time the unbroken web held the bullet still. It appeared to be made of some sort of string, a different material and a different color, but the familiar pattern held steady.

Jolyne’s Stand stood at her side, arm thrown out in front of her where its hand had stopped the shot from landing. Frozen completely but still it seemed to stare straight at him, its face tilted in his direction with what almost looked like a smile. The Stand was blue and far more humanoid than Hierophant had been, and fiercer, tougher, from the look of it. But there was something about the planes of the face, the eyes behind the green—sunglasses?

He would almost have laughed, had he had the time.

“You made a net out of the strings,” Jotaro murmured. “And dispersed the power of the bullet. Just like a bulletproof vest…all in an instant.”

Star flicked the bullet away as time snatched itself away from him. It clattered to the floor forlornly, and Jolyne was thrown backwards by the force of a shot that had never landed, coughing and enormously confused. He had been right. She hadn’t had time to protect herself consciously at all. That was what Stands were for.

Jotaro stared at it, already beginning to dissipate.

It’s you.

It inclined its head slightly, a motion reminiscent of old mockeries.

Of course it’s me.

Kakyoin had used Hierophant to protect him, on one of the rare occasions on which Jotaro allowed himself to be caught off guard. The memory had proven stronger than others somehow, Kakyoin calm and vindictive, the way he had held himself with his arm thrown out in front of Jotaro to say let me handle it for once.

He had always been like that when he stood between the others and danger, his expression reading you don’t know what you’re in for but I’m about to show you, fierce and satisfied and so much more sure of himself when he was fighting for others rather than watching his own back. Jotaro had hated it, hated what Kakyoin was willing to step so casually into in his name. He had feared what might happen the day it finally proved too much for him.

II.

où est ton papa?

dis-moi où est ton papa?

Seems like you may be a little closer than you were a moment ago.

Amazing how much lighter he felt, he thought dazedly. Wasn’t this exactly what he had wanted, once? To be free of that impossibly heavy star?

That why I can see you now?

Unfortunately.

Inconveniently, however, whatever had been done to remove this particular Star did appear to also be killing him.

Jotaro tugged his coat closed in a useless attempt to hide his bloodied chest from Jolyne as her expression shifted from confusion to shock to horror. He glanced at the face that flickered into view at her side, the face that was and wasn’t Stone Free.

It doesn’t matter, he wanted to say. I was never going to make it out of here. It doesn’t matter.

She saw straight through him. His bluffs, lethal against so many, somehow had never had much effect when it came to Jolyne. She knew he would look her straight in the eyes and tell her exactly what he imagined she needed to hear. I’ll be home in a few weeks. I’ll catch up soon.

“You’re lying,” she kept repeating. “You’re lying.”

Get her out of here, he thought wildly, watching the young man who now appeared to him, half-corporeal and superimposed over the Stand that hovered beside his daughter. Isn’t that what you do? Protect her?

He had, for an instant, appeared to twitch in Jotaro’s direction at the moment the bullets were fired. They had met each others’ eyes for a split second, no stopped time to give them the moment they needed, but he shook his head as he was struck regardless, his eyes flashing bright with don’t you dare. He almost looked alive again.

It was possible that he was still protecting Jotaro as he had always tried to do, every time he stood between Jolyne and danger. It was possible that was what he had meant to do all along.

He leaned back against the cold stone in an attempt to catch the breath that still pulled shallow. She was in shock. She needed to move. It was only twenty meters. Why wouldn’t she move?

Would you?

Jotaro gazed blankly at Stone Free as Jolyne stared at the pendant he had pressed into her hand.

Would you leave a fight unfinished with a dying man as your rear guard? Let alone family.

He closed his eyes. This isn’t about me.

Isn’t it?

“But…I just…” Don’t cry, don’t cry. “You can’t.”

Last chance.

“I always…” Jotaro swallowed painfully. “I always cared about you.”

Jolyne stared at him as though he had slapped her.

“You’re lying,” she repeated hoarsely. “You covered me just now, and—and the other enemy stole something from you. That’s why you couldn’t…”

Her eyes, round and unblinking as a child’s, were focused on his chest.

“…dodge the…bullet.”

Shit.

Jotaro blinked rapidly, fighting the fuzziness that threatened the edges of his vision. It had been a long time since he had seen this much of his own blood, on his shoes, his coat, dripping to the floor, smeared on the wall. He noted distantly that the bullet appeared to have made a clean exit, wondering whether it would matter that it would likely be left embedded in the wall behind him. Unlikely that their attacker would care enough to track it down—he already had what he wanted. The bullet would stay behind, a monument either to sacrifice or to failure, depending on whether or not Jolyne would just move already—

“I’m…just bleeding a little,” he said softly. “I’ll catch up in…a b—”

“Your chest,” she hissed, ignoring him. “You—”

Stone Free shifted, glancing towards the end of the hallway. Strings unspooled from the tips of its fingers and the ghost’s face closed in on itself in a familiar look of concentration.

“Go—Jolyne—!”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Jolyne pointed at him shakily. “You…it can’t—be…”

“JOLYNE!”

Two voices shouted for her, but Jolyne seemed to hear neither as she froze in place. Her expression emptied out and the bullets’ trajectories twisted away, sending them flying harmlessly into the far wall.

Something hard and cold had replaced the devastation in her eyes. The bullets slid inches from her face and she stood unflinching, waiting for them to pass. The gunman stared at the strings hanging from his barrel, unable to comprehend the nature of the sabotage.

I do have one question.

What’s that?

For how long did you intend to keep underestimating her?

I’m sorry?

She’s your daughter. Did you think she was so unlike you?

More string wound towards his ankles as he angrily shook the first round from his gun, brushing it aside like a mess of cobwebs. Jolyne had hardly moved, still staring at her father.

I wanted to believe she could be.

“Shut up,” she said flatly. She almost looked bored.

Distractions that passed for defense or offense on their own merit had always been the most effective. Whether a fly with a taste for human tongues or a sniper, once they took the bait long enough to get pinned, they had already lost. The fly had torn apart like tissue paper, he remembered. For a moment he expected the strings to shoot straight through the man’s body and rip him into pieces.

“Right now,” Jolyne continued, “we’re going to escape out that window. And go to the beach.”

Jotaro couldn’t find the breath to argue. He hoped she would at least have the sense to drop him once his heart gave out. There was no possible benefit to dragging around a corpse that might slow down pursuers in any case, if she was smart enough about where she left it. Sentimentality had cost her enough time.

“Stay out of our way, alright?”

An hour ago he would have thought to warn her about Manhattan Transfer and the obvious lie of the man’s promise to drop his weapon. It no longer felt necessary.

Jolyne broke eye contact with her father to look at the skull she had just bashed in with vague disdain. “I didn’t say a single word about dropping it,” she said sharply. “Was just looking to see what the best angle for pounding you would be.”

She had, it appeared, inherited Jotaro’s preference for finishing the job with his fists.

“I think my favorite was when your chin was aiming a little more to the right.”

Kakyoin hadn’t been much given to that sort of thing. It was strange to see, and stranger to hear.

Using my line?

Not yours. Not mine, either.

His fingertips had gone cold, but watching Jolyne rip into the assassin with natural ferocity left him smiling slightly.

It’s hers.

Their rage was synchronized and deadly, the sound of cracking bones familiar as ever, and the way she moved as though she had never known any other way to be both broke his heart and filled him with impossible hope.

If Jolyne’s mind is this strong…then I’m sure she’ll survive.

III.

sans même devoir lui parler

il sait ce qui ne va pas

“Think I probably fucked up.”

Jolyne leaned back against the damp stone, trying to ignore the feeling that the cell’s walls were seeping into her skin. She barely knew why it was she was trying to talk to the thing. It had never talked back before. Why would it think to answer now, when she needed it so desperately?

When had anything ever been that easy?

They stared at one another silently. That was the threat inherent in solitary confinement, as it turned out. Not just being alone, but being alone with yourself in a way that only unconditional silence could guarantee. She doubted the gnawing feeling in her chest would have been half as strong had she been able to at least hear evidence of other prisoners. Footsteps, or sobbing, or a sneeze once every couple of hours. Even snoring would have been okay, she thought; annoyance was better than nothing. But nothing was what Jolyne had.

Stone Free gazed at her still, impassive behind the strange glasses she had never seen it without. Maybe there was nothing underneath them at all. She imagined reaching for them and taking them off, only to find blank smooth space where eyes should have been.

It probably wouldn’t stop her. Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Jolyne hugged her knees to her chest. A memory flashed, unwelcome, to the front of her mind: her father, half curled up in his office chair, one long leg folded against his chest, the other underneath him. It was strange, she had thought, to see someone so large trying to make himself so small. Stranger still that he so easily fell asleep in front of a glowing screen like that, though it wasn’t exactly uncommon for him.

She had been young, seven or eight, but she still knew drying tears when she saw them, and how to recognize when she had been part of a moment that was meant to leave no witnesses. It was possible that he figured out who threw the blanket clumsily over his shoulders when his cramped legs finally woke him sometime before dawn, but if Jotaro knew, he had kept as quiet about it as she had.

“Something happened.”

She swallowed. Was she really talking to her own Stand? Was she talking to herself? Her father? Who was it she hoped was listening? Did she want anyone to hear her at all?

“Something happened,” Jolyne repeated softly. “It’s—something’s gone wrong, you know, and I think it’s—I think it’s my fault, that it’s all wrong. And, and I don’t know, I don’t know if I can do it. This. And I don’t know what’ll…I don’t know what happens if I can’t.”

She laughed angrily. “Like, this isn’t just, I don’t know, ‘oh, I’m so worried, I don’t know what happens next’ and then I’m about to get up and, and go save the day after I have my shitty little moment. I really feel like I might be fucked and if I’m fucked they’re fucked and he’s fucked and—and…”

I just got you back. You can’t leave now.

The sickly yellow light flickered overhead, threatening to fail altogether. Jolyne glanced up at it fearfully. Stone Free continued to stare at her until the moment passed, the glow reflecting green where it struck the pale blue surface.

“And I wish my dad were here,” Jolyne blurted. She made a convulsive motion as if to cover her mouth.

Not like there’s anyone here to hide it from. Her hands fell limply to her lap and she stared down at them in defeat. “I hate that I wish he were here. I hate it because I…God, I miss hating him, you know? I miss it when I hated him almost as much as I lo—as much as I cared about him. And I, I miss when I couldn’t even tell the two apart because I never needed to.” She shook her head. “I miss not needing to know the difference.”

It made her a little bit ill, to think of her father needing her. To think that Jotaro was even capable of something so soft as needing anyone at all. She preferred to think of him watching her, alert and strong as ever, from somewhere far away. It would almost be easier to think of this all as a cruel sort of test; it would have been easier to accept his nature being a callous one, rather than come to terms with the impossible presence of the warmth she had always craved, knowing it might now be lost to her.

Stone Free sat, cross-legged, still watching her closely, still silent.

“Right. You probably can’t even hear me. You never say anything.”

Jolyne paused.

“You remind me of him.”

She wondered if her father had ever wished his stand would just hit him for once. Fighting it would be easier than sitting here with it just looking at her and looking at her and saying fuck all.

“Just that stupid fucking ora ora shit,” she mumbled, wiping at her eyes. “That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it?”

If she was going to cry, she had to do it quietly. There was a reason for the oppressive silence of the solitary ward, and it didn’t just have to do with punishment by isolation. If any of the surrounding cells’ occupants heard her, even the faintest sob through the thick stone that separated them—I’m dead.

Dead faster than she already expected to be, in any case.

Jolyne buried her face in her arms, trying to crush the tears back down. Just like Hermes had said, right? I don’t think I have time to cry right now.

She wished Hermes were here. Hermes would get her sorry ass off the ground. Or Foo Fighters. Or her father, hell, even her mother, even her shitty ex-boyfriend might be able to piss her off badly enough to push her out of inaction—but Jolyne knew she was alone, more ultimately and completely than she had ever felt herself to be.

At first she barely noticed the hand on her shoulder. Only once the remarkable heat of its touch grew to be too much to ignore did she raise her head and look up at it with blurry eyes.

Stone Free gripped her arm. It peered down at her, and its expression, fixed as it was, seemed to soften.

The second presence, however, was harder to pin down. She didn’t quite see it so much as feel that there was someone else in that cell with her; the face seemed to flicker half into view only when she looked away, fading when she tried to focus on the features as though she were trying to catch the details of a sunspot. A face vaguely remembered from the faded photograph Jotaro used to keep on his desk, or a relic of childhood dreams she never seemed to remember in the morning.

Who are you?

Stone leaned forward, almost hesitantly, and touched its forehead to hers.

If an ordinary guard had passed by then, they would have seen only Jolyne, leaning into what appeared to be empty space with her eyes closed. If they were the right sort of person, or if they hadn’t slept for a day or so, or even if they simply turned away fast enough, they might have seen a young man with pale red hair and cherry-shaped earrings, holding her steady.

IV.

ah sacré papa

dis-moi où es-tu caché?

You should have dragged her out of there.

Kakyoin was silent as he watched Jotaro’s body disappear into the UUV. It was all too familiar, he thought.

I know you hear me. He knew the nature of bullets that refused to land far too well.

Isn’t it your job to protect—isn’t that what Stands do? Protect the user even when they damn well didn’t ask?

It’s my will that’s bound to her. Kakyoin shook his head slightly. It’s not my soul. Her Stand, her spirit.

She should have left me.

Kakyoin shook himself slightly, Stone Free dematerializing as Jolyne raised her hands above her head with a grim expression. Strange, the mannerisms that carried over in the absence of a body. Even Kakyoin, who had been without his now for longer than he’d been alive with it in the first place.

She should have left me, Jotaro repeated. I was already gone.

Kakyoin looked at him sharply. You’re not dead yet.

No? Then what do you call this?

There’s more to do. You’re the only one who can.

Well. He watched the shrinking horizon bitterly. Isn’t that how it always goes?

Whatever happens, happens. Kakyoin laid a hand on his shoulder. You won’t be going on alone.

A feeling he knew, although not one he had needed to remember in a long time. Lying on the gravel in Cairo, staring up at the stars, knowing the heaviness pinning his soul to his stopped heart belonged to someone else, someone whose own crushed body hadn’t yet gone cold on the rooftops above. It hadn’t been fair then and it wasn’t fair now.

Jotaro glanced at him. You always did know how to hold me down.

There is a limit to what I can do for you, I’m sure. But I will fight until the day I reach it. For both of you, Kakyoin added, looking towards Green Dolphin, dwindling rapidly now as the UUV sped away from it.

Why did she stay? Why wouldn’t she just go?

As I said. You completely underestimated her.

You don’t—

You underestimated how far she is willing to go for you. You underestimated how much like you she is and you underestimated how badly she needed what you couldn’t give to her until the very end.

She could have left me.

She was never going to do that.

Dusk turned to night turned to dawn around them. The sense of his body, somewhere far below.

She doesn’t want to lose you before she had the chance to have you in her life knowing that you care. So I don’t know what happens next. You have a lot of lost time to make up for.

I know. Jotaro looked at him, his shape still recognizable despite being so far away from anything it had been to him in life. I miss you.

I’m sorry for how things turned out, but you can’t stop yet. You owe Jolyne more than that.

un jour ou l’autre on sera tous papa

et d’un jour à l’autre on aura disparu

Two steps.

His eyes in pieces, the world gone white-hot and dark.

You were late by two steps.

Had to be a mistake. They had done everything right.

Too late.

Jolyne had been brave—he had been proud—pulled him free from death, it couldn’t come again now—not yet—

Jotaro Kujo…

She understood. She had understood him. He had seen it in her eyes. There hadn’t been enough time. He needed to tell her—to tell her…

…your daughter is your weakness.

Had it all led to this? A weakness to be exploited?

All he had done could fall to nothing, and he accepted that, it was a risk he knew he took every time he stepped between bullet and target, but Jolyne was different. Her hope still blazed, searing, far more than enough to blind any of them. There was no justice in that strong heart suffering such a hopeless fate.

Jolyne.

The last of Dio’s cruelty hadn’t been dodged at all. It had only been flung through time. A strike meant for him thirty years ago, finally landed in the way of a nightmare; the knife was lodged in Jolyne’s side. She still had yet to see him fall.

You’re what matters.

As Jotaro’s vision darkened for the last time, his daughter remained until the end, bright as a dying star.

You always will be.

VI.

serons-nous détestables?

He could not remember landing, only falling, plummeting through an impossibly dark sky towards an ocean with no horizon. He touched down clumsily, the hand that caught him by the arm mid-stumble all that kept him from falling through the water.

“Jolyne—?”

Not Jolyne. Kakyoin blinked up at him with unfocused eyes.

“Your face,” he breathed, reaching for the thick line of light that stretched from forehead to jaw. He pulled his hand back as though he expected Jotaro’s wound to burn him.

“You’re still—?”

He shook his head. “I can’t—I don’t—”

Some distance away, Hermés and Anasui slowly got to their feet, feeling for the bright patches through which death had reached them moments earlier. Hermés paused, her arms folded, before looking up sharply to see a tall young woman with light hair racing towards her. When the woman flung her arms around her, she held her fiercely, cheeks glittering with tears.

Kakyoin staggered back with a gasp, his distant expression collapsing in horror. His form flickered once, then held strong.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I—I’m sorry, I couldn’t—she’s—”

“Hey. Hey.”

He looked down at Jotaro’s hands on his shoulders, unable to meet his eyes.

“I couldn’t save her,” Kakyoin murmured. “I failed y—”

“Don’t you ever fucking say that.”

Jotaro gripped him tighter until he glanced up reluctantly.

“Don’t ever,” he hissed, “say that to me.”

Unfamiliar lights twisted into place overhead, something close to stars but not quite in line with any memories of life. Kakyoin narrowed his eyes.

“Is it usually like that?”

He shook his head slowly. “I’ve never—”

She slammed into her landing too quickly for any attempt to catch her, throwing up curtains of black water that left no stain, rolling back onto her heels with the force of it as though she still expected to run from some unseen danger.

“Emporio—!”

Jolyne leaped to her feet, looking around wildly. Her eyes settled first on Hermés, in the distance, and finally, on her father. Her hand rested unconsciously on the patch of light shining from her side, marking the place where the knife had struck her. A single butterfly that had arrived with her fluttered away, drifting towards Hermés and her sister.

“Dad,” she whispered. “Dad…?”

He had her in his arms before he realized he had moved towards her at all, and she stiffened for only an instant before collapsing back into him. She shook with what felt like a sob, but when he looked down at her face, her eyes were open and dry, almost angry.

“Jolyne,” Jotaro mumbled. “Oh, Jolyne.”

“I’m s…I tried to—I think I—something’s going to…”

She stared up at the sky, at the lights that had appeared with her.

“Emporio,” she said softly. “I gave him…I did everything I—”

“You did beautifully.”

Jolyne flinched, looking back at him with wide eyes.

“I am so proud.” He shook his head with a smile she had never seen before. “I am so proud of you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jolyne croaked. “Don’t make me—you’re such an asshole.”

She wiped her eyes on his coat and froze when she heard Kakyoin’s muffled giggle. He watched the two of them carefully, still keeping his distance, whether out of respect or hesitancy it remained unclear.

When she met his eyes, she could think only of the old framed photograph from her childhood that had rested on Jotaro’s desk like a tombstone. Jolyne had resented the picture for a long time, the way it took her father away from her. He would pause, put down what he was reading or look away from the screen, easily distracted from his work in a way he never seemed to be when it was Jolyne who wanted his attention. Jotaro went somewhere distant when he looked at that picture. He would still answer, when she called for him, but his eyes were glazed over, far away.

Still she had always wanted to be as close to him as possible, and she had spent enough time in that office to have the faces memorized, enough to recognize the young man standing before her. And yet she felt that she knew him in a closer sense; she not only recognized him, but remembered him.

“I know you, don’t I.”

Jolyne felt like a child again, peering over her father’s arm at that stranger who wasn’t a stranger at all. He blinked at her slowly, almost catlike, and his was a familiar silence.

Gently she pulled herself away from Jotaro, who was clinging to her uncharacteristically tightly, as though he feared she might dissipate if he let go. She squeezed his arm, a reassurance foreign to give, even more foreign to receive.

Facing him she imagined she saw two faces at once, her Stand flickering in and out much the way his face had seemed to that day when their places were reversed. It would have been surprising had she not turned to him already knowing the answer to the question she had barely needed to ask, though she had no words to give either of them that would explain why it was she knew it was true.

He smiled sadly. “Hello, Jolyne.”

Jolyne stared at him, dumbfounded, as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Standing next to her father had dwarfed him, but he was not a short man by any means, and she had to lean back in order to get a good look at his face. He was young, she thought. Too young.

He hesitated, then leaned forward and touched his forehead lightly to hers, and Jolyne knew exactly who he was.

“I wish we could have met,” Kakyoin said quietly, “under better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry that I—I couldn’t—”

“Don’t.” Jolyne pushed him back slightly, and when she met his eyes this time she saw the bottomless guilt and grief that rested behind them.

“Don’t,” she repeated. “You…you did…so much. For me—us.”

“I tried to,” Kakyoin murmured. “I tried to—oh!”

He watched Jotaro stifle his smile over the top of Jolyne’s head, eyes growing round. Eternally the teenager far too surprised by affection, but he had known her well for the short time they had together, and he hugged her back after a brief pause.

“You did,” Jolyne said. “You did.”

“At first I thought it was just Jotaro.” Kakyoin glanced at him carefully. “That brought me to you. I was there, and he clearly wanted something to protect you, our wills had—we have been tied to one another for a long time. I assumed…that was all it was. Because it was what he would want.”

The newly born stars circled overhead, moving quickly enough now to leave streaks in the sky as day and night flashed into one another too rapidly to tell apart.

“You were always pretty good at taking care of yourself,” he said, addressing Jotaro directly. “But—I didn’t want you getting proved right again, about what happens to the people you love.”

“Yeah, well.” Jolyne pulled away, watching her reflection in the inky water. “That worked out, didn’t it?”

“Jolyne,” Jotaro said sharply. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

Kakyoin chuckled. “There’s something about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” He spun in place absently, watching the ripples move away, towards Jotaro and Jolyne and then beyond them, to Hermés and Anasui, Weather and F.F. Hermés watched Jolyne, conscious of the moment she needed, but her face glowed with worry, nearly as brightly as the still-fading lines of light that served to echo the wounds on her arms.

“I’m glad it was you,” he said. “I’m proud of you. Whether I—whether it’s my place to be or not…I am.”

VII.

serons-nous admirables?

“Did we…fail?”

The strange black sun that had appeared only moments before began to dissolve as Jotaro watched. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly.

“What was the point?” Jolyne murmured. “Dad, what was the point?”

“I…”

He wanted to give her a better answer. He wanted to tell her about a different ending, one where something underneath the myriad of ways in which he had failed her gave all of it meaning, if not an undercurrent of hope.

“I don’t know.”

Hope had never been Jotaro’s strong point.

“Look at you.” Kakyoin shook his head, almost smiling. “Look at you. Look at both of you.”

Curiously he held his hand against the light and watched as pieces of his form tore away, somehow leaving him no less complete, but not quite solid either.

“All that love. You…you really think it was all for nothing,” he said. “You can’t believe that.”

“Then what…” Jolyne hugged her father harder, her voice muffled now by nature of her face being buried in his coat. “Then—what was it?”

“He’s your father,” Kakyoin said simply. “He’ll be your father again.”

“Noriaki—”

“Next time,” he continued, ignoring Jotaro, “next time, I think, you’ll find each other faster. You may not remember what you—what you did. For one another. You won’t. It won’t be real for you there. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen at all. What you’ve…your lives, whatever they may become, they will have to be a testament to the way you fought. For each other. That’s all I can say with any certainty, but I know it. As well as I can know anything.”

“And what if he leaves again?”

Jotaro stiffened. He closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of his daughter’s head. It won’t come to that ever again.

Times like this he wished he were a better liar. He never could bluff against Jolyne, after all.

“If I leave.”

Kakyoin watched him with a strange expression that could almost have passed for pride.

“If I leave,” he repeated slowly, “no matter how many times I leave, there will be…I want to believe there could…if there are this many answers…”

Stars tugged gently but insistently at the edges of his form, but he held tight to Jolyne. Last chance to say it, to say any of it, no matter what he allowed himself to believe.

“If there are this many futures,” Jotaro said, “I have to believe—hope…that in at least one of them I worked out how to stay.”

“Do you promise?”

“Jolyne—”

“Dad.” She twisted free from his arms and glared up at him. Jolyne hadn’t cried in front of him like this since she was a child, since she broke her arm falling out of the apricot tree, since the day he left her there in the driveway. She had clung to her mother’s skirt then, hiding her face, but this time it was her father’s sleeve she clutched at, and she looked at him, unhesitating and defiant, as though she were daring him to confront the depth of the love with which she had lived and never had anywhere to put down.

“I’m asking you—” Jolyne swallowed angrily. “You promise me. You promise you’ll catch me when I get there.”

“I can’t…” Jotaro took a deep breath, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know—”

“No. Not—look at me.”

Green eyes. He had never thought to remember the last person to make a habit of asking him for impossible things when he looked at her. If he allowed himself to feel his memories whenever they surfaced he would never have been able to move at all.

Kakyoin smiled to himself, unnoticed by father or daughter.

“I will come,” Jotaro said slowly. “I’ll be there.”

“Promise.”

“I…promise.”

Surprising to find it barely felt like a lie. Jolyne smiled at him, and for a moment, he saw not a young woman, but a little girl, waving at him from the far end of the beach as she shouted at him to hurry up.

I don’t want to go in the water without you.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you there.”

She looked over his shoulder at Kakyoin and mouthed thank you. Kakyoin winked.

“Good luck,” he called.

“Wait—” Jotaro spun towards her. “Jolyne—!”

She didn’t jump so much as fall; she didn’t fall so much as allow the light to take her. Jotaro may have had an intimate knowledge of being too late, but it was Jolyne who knew when she had locked eyes with a lost cause.

Her smile lingered after her form faded, as though he had looked for too long at a star shining far too brightly for the world in which it had been permitted to exist.

“I’ll see you there,” he whispered. “I’ll come.”

When Kakyoin wrapped his hand around Jotaro’s, he looked down to see an old school coat, his own frame somehow both lighter and heavier. It made sense that Kakyoin would remember him as a teenager, that he might be momentarily defined here by such a thing. Maybe it answered more to his own memories of what they had been to each other. Laws he had no comprehension of and would not have time to come to understand.

“Kind of thought you’d forget how to get scared after being dead this long.” He glanced at Kakyoin, who clung to him in a way that might have cut off circulation if he’d still had it. “You hang on too tight when you get like this.”

Present tense, he realized. Maybe he really had sunk into the past, here at the death of the future.

“I’m not scared to go,” Kakyoin said slowly, his eyes straight ahead. “Wherever it is we’re…wherever we’re going next. I’m not scared to go there.”

“Then what—”

“I’m afraid I won’t…know you there.”

Jotaro stared at him. “You didn’t seem too worried about that when it was Jolyne you were trying to talk down.”

“I was trying to talk you down too.” He chuckled sadly. “She’s your daughter. You’re her father. I think that’s different, I don’t…I—”

“We don’t have time for talking in circles."

The roaring in their ears grew ever louder as the storm’s eye shrank around them.

“We just as easily might have not met at all, Jotaro, you know that?” He shuddered again. “I might have just—one wrong step—or I guess, right step? Might have never, Dio might never have—at all. None of it. Would have just lived and not ever known you.”

“Most people don’t sound so bitter about the concept of not dying before they were out of their teens.”

“Most people aren’t choosing between living and knowing you.”

“I—Jesus Christ, Noriaki.” Jotaro laughed, amazed. “You can’t just say that shit.”

“You asked.”

“Guess so.”

“I…say I get a life back. Sure. Fine. I jump down there, and, and I’m me again, and I get a life back, but it’s not mine, it—it won’t be mine because I, because you won’t be in it. I’ll never even—never even know what’s missing. Just live the whole thing with a hole in my heart.”

“I’ll find you.”

He looked up at Jotaro, startled by the sudden intensity in his voice.

“I’ll find you,” he repeated. “Doesn’t matter if I don’t remember you. I’ll know you. I’ll always know you. And I swear that I’ll find you again.”

Kakyoin stood very still as their universe tore to pieces at his back, staring at Jotaro as he held tightly to his hands.

“Do you believe me?”

He paused and found himself confronted with flashes of lives both past and future, fated and impossible, infinite realities cracking open before him. There must be at least one where we were happy, he thought.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

VIII.

ca doit faire au moins mille fois que j’ai compté mes doigts

“Oh—I’m sorr—”

Their heads smacked together with a sharp crack. He had meant to reach for the pencils the other student had dropped when they first collided; the boy, it seemed, had had the same idea. He shook his head, trying to chase the stars from his eyes.

You had this look in your eyes, like you had just realized that nothing would be okay ever again. And you tried to smile, you tried to smile at me so that I wouldn’t be afraid, but you were staring at the sky and your hands were shaking and I had no idea what to say to you. I had always been the one to tell you that things would be all right. You got so angry when I tried to tell you that, but I meant it. Every time, I meant it, which was why I couldn’t say it then. No matter how badly I wanted to take your pain away, I couldn’t lie to you.

I felt like I was watching a meteor coming towards the earth, bigger and bigger until it swallowed up the sky, and there was nothing I could do about it. I wanted to tell you that I was afraid for you, and I was afraid for me. Were those things I was even allowed to feel? Am I allowed to be afraid for myself even now? Is my life my own to fear for?

The boy laughed nervously. “Should’ve watched where I was…sorry.”

“Not a big deal. Been hit harder by stray footballs.”

He smiled.

All I ever wanted was to keep you safe.

“Here.” He handed over a drawing pad, careful to keep it face down. “You an artist?”

“When I want to be.” The boy took it and blew loose red hair out of his face, looking at him curiously.

“What?”

“I—well, most people try to look. At it.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “Figured that’s your business.”

Is it selfish of me, to be glad that it’s me who’s going first? Is it cruel to feel relief? I don’t want to leave you alone. But I don’t want to be alone, either.

We should have had more time. I should have been able to give us more time, I should have been able to give you more time. You were supposed to come home with me on that train. I wasn’t supposed to have to do this alone. Not after knowing what it’s like not to be.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he said.

“Probably not. I just transferred.”

“Oh.” He offered his hand. The red-haired boy hesitated, then allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. When he saw his face, it took everything he had not to recoil.

The light of dead stars won’t falter when their lives flicker out. As long as there’s someone to see it, that starlight will always find them, as I will always find you. When the stars reach for you from a million miles away you will remember how it felt to be home.

I never wanted to have to learn how to remember you. I always had a shit memory for faces. This isn’t right. It isn’t fair.

“Are you—?” The boy’s face fell, sensing his distress. “Are you okay?”

What could he say? I think I’ve dreamed about you? That he knew his face from nightmares? That he had seen him with his guts punched out, seen him smiling and laughing and dying, with clarity that belonged more to a memory than a dream?

He looked down at their hands, still wound together.

It was never going to be fair.

You lying bastard. You promised.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile until it felt real. “Sorry. Tired. I’m Jotaro. Kujo.”

The boy smiled back with a familiar gentleness.

“My name’s Noriaki,” he said. “Noriaki Kakyoin.”

It was not recognition, when they looked at one another, but the feeling of an echo, the answer to a promise made in another lifetime. They stared at each other curiously, each struck by the sense that this, the first time, was not the first time at all; that this moment had come a million times before and would come a million times again.

You will never be alone. You will never be alone. You will never be alone.

They knew exactly what to expect, and at the same time, knew nothing at all.

IX.

où t’es papa où t’es? où t’es où t’es où papa, où t’es?

Irene stared at the ceiling and waited for her heartbeat to slow. A cool breeze reached her through the open window, and she shivered a little when the goosebumps rose on her shoulders, unwilling to pull the sheets she had kicked off in her sleep back up lest she disturb the notoriously light sleeper at her side. Irene had asked her to close the windows before bed, but she found it difficult to be irritated in any sort of meaningful way.

“Mmmmh.”

“Sorry,” Irene said. “Tried t—”

“Not your fault,” Hermés mumbled, rolling over. She looked blearily up at Irene. “Had the dream again?”

“You can tell.”

“Pulse’s going nuts.”

“So?”

“So it—you know, that’s what woke me up.” She leaned back on her elbows and rolled her neck. “You okay?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“Don’t be a dumbass—hey!”

Irene giggled as Hermés tried and failed to block the pillow with her wrist mid-swing. She wasn’t above banking on things such as morning slowness.

“You’re annoying,” Hermés declared, sinking back down to pull the blankets over her head.

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“Yeah.” Irene stretched, wincing when her shoulders popped. “Are you gonna want coffee?”

“That shit makes me crazy.”

“You—like, you do understand, you say that every morning and then come over and drink mine anyway.”

The blankets muffled her snort. “What was that you just said about loving it?”

“Oh, fuck yourself.”

“Isn’t that your j—don’t hit me with that thing again!”

Irene laughed and dropped her pillow. “You’re the worst.”

“Yep,” Hermés said proudly. “Don’t ever forget it.”

“Like I—like you’d let me.” The hardwood floor was cold against her feet, still bare despite her father’s repeated stating that if it bothered her so much she should be wearing slippers. On paper Irene was holding out for carpet. If she was honest with herself she knew he was right about cold floors helping her wake up faster, but she certainly wouldn’t have dreamed of saying that to his face.

She leaned over her discarded pillow to kiss Hermés on the cheek.

“Love you,” mumbled Hermés. “Whatever.”

Her smile lingered as she stepped into the quiet hallway, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards just outside her door that had betrayed her so often as a teenager before she learned to sneak back in through the window if she wanted to avoid both her fathers and the consequences of being caught. These days she avoided them out of habit as much as consideration for the others.

She ran her hand absently over the photographs that lined the wall as she passed, stopping to straighten the frames she found crooked. Hermés had made it up there a little over a month ago, represented by a half-stained Polaroid that was treated with the same reverence as the wedding photos that hung above it. She grinned out at Irene, her arms around a disgruntled and very sandy Emporio, though he had only allowed the corner of his face into the picture.

Emporio and F.F. weren’t much for photos, but at least they didn’t make an effort to duck out of frame like Weather did. It certainly wasn’t enough to dissuade her stepfather in any case.

Why’re you so into pictures? she had asked him once, waving a developing photograph gently in front of her face.

He shrugged, smiling. I like to make copies of my memories. You never know how much time you’ve got.

Kinda grim.

I don’t think of it that way. I think we should be proud of living so much that’s worth remembering.

“You’re up early.”

She glanced at the kitchen clock, still persistently running six minutes too fast. Jesus. “Didn’t realize.” Silently she thanked Hermés for not being more ornery about the six a.m. wake up call. “Where’s Noriaki?”

“Still asleep.” Jotaro glanced up from his book. “Water’s already warm.”

“You’re great,” she mumbled. “He got back okay?”

“Mm. Just a little later than he expected.”

“How’re they?”

He paused. “Apparently they might actually…get married. Legally, I mean.”

Irene nearly dropped the mug she was holding. “Are you fucking with me?”

Jotaro chuckled at her expression and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Mohammed said they’ve been talking, but. Likely means it’ll be years before they’re ready to make a decision, you know—forget acting on it.”

“Christ,” she muttered. “I’m gonna lose the bet.”

“The…?” He laughed again. “You made a bet?”

“I thought—well, I thought it wouldn’t happen at all. I mean, we were all, it was crazy enough when they admitted they were together.”

“I remember.”

“They were living together for, like, how long? Before that?”

“Five years. Give or take.”

“You see—!”

Jotaro closed his book carefully. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said. “Just remember what I told you about making bets. Never—”

“Never bet something you aren’t ready to lose.” Irene rolled her eyes. “Pretty standard advice, you know.”

“For good reason.”

The smell of cut grass wafted through the open window, accompanied by the early morning chill. It wouldn’t be burned away by the sun for another few hours at the very least. Irene moved to close it, but the salty ocean air stopped her, coaxing her into accepting a little cold in order to let it through.

“You’re still tired,” Jotaro said, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Irene shrugged. “Fucked up dreams.”

He nodded. “Remember any of them?”

“Not really,” she lied, shaking out the coffee grinder with more than necessary force. “Just didn’t sleep great.”

“Hermés still here?”

“It’s just for another night,” she said quickly. She shifted uncomfortably. “She had, like…she didn’t really tell me. I think probably some, a fight with her sister or—”

“Irene.” Jotaro shook his head, smiling. “She can stay as long as she needs. Just wanted to know.”

“Right. Yeah.”

She glanced at the long, thin birthmark that stretched from her father’s forehead to his chin.

“You ever heard of that shit that’s like—you know, that’s like your birthmarks are how you died in the, in a past life?”

He rested his chin on one hand, eyes on her back. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Kind of fucked up, right?”

“I guess the….”

Irene turned to face him.

“…it would depend on the birthmark,” Jotaro said, scratching unconsciously at his forehead. “You’d have something serious to account for, I think.”

She snorted. “And you wouldn’t?”

“I don’t exactly…put stock in it, I suppose. In things like that.”

“Not enough cited sources, huh?”

“Something like that.” His smirk faded. “I think—well, I…it’s not important.”

“I’ve been having dreams about it,” Irene said quickly, before she could lose her nerve. “Like, seeing shit happen to all of us. With the birthmarks.”

She gestured vaguely in his direction. “Your face. Getting. I…yeah.”

Jotaro narrowed his eyes. “Nightmares?”

“I guess.”

Childish to say that they felt more like memories than dreams, or that she often woke up feeling cold and sad, dissatisfied in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Staring at her side in the mirror, at the patchy blotch of a birthmark she’d had since childhood, trying to shake off the phantom feeling of a knife. Recently, but less frequently, she had found herself watching her father more closely than usual just to be sure that his face was still in one piece.

The chair creaked when she dropped heavily into it and she froze for a moment, waiting for the telltale sounds of feet on the hardwood.

“You know,” Jotaro said slowly. “I used to have those.”

Irene blinked. “You mean nightmares?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Was about your age. A little younger, I guess.”

“They’re a pain in the ass,” she muttered.

“Used to dream I was seeing Noriaki get punched clean through.”

She paused, hand frozen mid-nervous tap on the table. “…Really.”

“Mhm.”

The star-shaped discoloration that took up the better part of Kakyoin’s torso that had fascinated Irene ever since she was a child. She held on to old memories of Jotaro half-heartedly telling her not to stare and Kakyoin laughing brightly when she poked at his stomach.

“Did you ever…tell him?”

“Not at the time.” He shook his head. “We had just met. Would have been a little strange to tell my new friend ‘hey, I’ve been dreaming about your disembowelment’.”

Irene laughed. “If there’s anyone who would take that in stride—”

“—it would be him, I know. Which is—I did tell him. Much later.”

“Tell him what?”

“Dreams.” Jotaro allowed Kakyoin to lean on his shoulders, wincing slightly when elbows dug into his back. “I told you not to sneak up on me.”

“Not my fault you don’t hear me coming,” Kakyoin said. “We aren’t all huge and loud.”

“I’m not loud.”

Kakyoin raised his eyebrows at Irene over the top of her father’s head. She looked away to hide her smile.

“I thought you didn’t buy into that dream reading stuff.” He squinted at the mug in his hands, unable to make out the text. Irritating to need glasses for that sort of thing, but he often expressed that he knew things could be worse. “Jotaro, which one is this?”

“Aquarium. And I don’t,” he added. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk about it.”

“Sounded like you were talking about your old ones.”

Irene glanced at him and Jotaro shrugged.

“They were…well, you know.”

Kakyoin nodded and yawned. A bird wailed outside, song too shrill to make out a melody.

“You ever think about birthmark reincarnations, Noriaki?”

He blinked. “The—the what?”

“Birthmarks are how you died in a past life.” Irene took a sip of coffee and grimaced. She had been too distracted to remember sugar. “That’s what I’ve heard, I mean.”

“Oh, God, no.” He shuddered. “I mean—I hope not. Look at your dad’s face.”

“Me?” Jotaro stared at him. “What about you?”

“Well…I guess.”

Kakyoin fell silent, watching cream spread like a cloud through the dark liquid. It drove Jotaro crazy, usually, that he rarely bothered with stirring it at all.

“I just don’t like,” he said slowly, “the idea of it all having happened before.”

“I don’t really mind it,” Kakyoin mused. “Second chances are nice.”

Jotaro smiled, shaking his head. “You would look at it like that.”

“And what—what does that mean?”

“Nothing bad—Noriaki!”

Kakyoin grinned and ducked out of the way, winking at Irene. Little surprise that she had developed a fondness for throwing pillows at Hermés, after learning how to be in love by growing up with the two of them.

Jotaro shook his ruffled hair like a large and disgruntled dog.

“I’ll be outside,” Kakyoin told them, pulling his coat from a crowded rack near the door.

“Aren’t you—” Jotaro glanced at the glittering frost only just beginning to melt away from the windowsill. “Isn’t it cold?”

“Well, of course.” He stopped, hand on the doorframe. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“‘There’ll be time to be comfortable when I’m dead’,” Irene said.

“That was…” Jotaro groaned, getting to his feet. “That was about something different.”

He did take up an amazing amount of space, Irene thought. She had always found it comforting.

“Dad,” she said. “Thank you.”

Jotaro set his half-empty mug on the counter. “For?”

“Just—I don’t know. Thank you.”

He paused, turning to watch her with a strange expression that slowly became a smile.

“You’re what matters,” Jotaro said. “You always will be.”

#jjba #jotaro kujo #jolyne cujoh #jotakak #noriaki kakyoin #jolymes #stone free #anyone who knows me knows this has been driving me Up the wall for like a week #listen to papaoutai its good. the video made me cry like a little bitch #its also the longest fanned fiction ive ever produced. jotaro and jolyne just do that to me i guess #as i said on ao3 i used some of the actual panel dialogue here for convenience and canon compliance so dont shoot me

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