#Qui n’avance pas recule

[bones-weary]

Qui n’avance pas, recule || One-shot

Summary: When entering the Hauntley Inn time loop, Bones runs into a familiar face

Date: July 13, 2024

TW: Some body horror

It was finally his turn. The more eager of the group had gone through, some multiple times, to varying degrees of success and failure. But with each new round, a new bit of information had been retrieved. How to get in, the ill-fated pregnancy, the discovery of a letter about the Captain's impending draft...but even all that was not enough to break the cycle. This would be a good time for him to come in. Although not planning to confront the Lady directly, he had a certain amount of knowledge on the ways of this time period. His actions and manner of speaking would not expose him in the way it had so many others. He would be able to speak to her directly to figure out what was needed next. After all, he was very experienced in dealing with ladies of her nature. Bones was not afraid of her.

[Read here]

[lady-snow-flower]

MY HEART IS A HAUNTED HOUSE: MASTERPOST

By Laur, Clementine, Art, Laura, Scadaz, Kit, Tama, ft. @lady-snow-flower, @gem-morey, @kingofdemxns, @elliot-morey, @wolf-innsheepsclothing, @bones-weary, @ahearts-a-heavyburden, @princess-ting-ting, and guest starring @labellerose-acheron and @trip-downtheriverstyx

Author's Note: On the surface, this plot does not have the site-wide stakes of previous big plots I have done - and yet, I think this is the most complex and rewarding plot I've ever embarked on! I owe so much to my Hauntley Crew and RP partners who were game for this, who were patient with me, who asked great questions, who pushed me to be a better plotter and project manager (lol), and who filled in my rough plot skeleton(s) with flesh, blood, and heart. I mean it when I say this plot wouldn't look the same without everyone contributing and that's my favorite part - how much it changed and expanded with everyone's input. And isn't that what RP is supposed to be? Thus, here is the roadmap to My Heart Is A Haunted House. It is one of my proudest achievements. I really hope y'all enjoyed it, no matter if you read one para or all the paras. And thank you to my partners again!! Look what we did!! (Rough Estimate: This has to be at least 60k-70k words, which is a novel y'all. One day I'll make an effort to actually add it all up.)

PART ONE: Lady Miracle's Possession Frostbite Hypothermia Jackboot Jump || Gem One-Shot Stitches Undone || Snow Quartz Rigor Mortis

PART TWO: The Unbecoming of the Hauntley Manor Inn Lady Miracle Calls for a Staff Meeting The Deepest Darkest Hour || The Hauntley Staff Rise and Shine || Miracle Hadder Eat, Pray, Haunt || Miracle Bones Spit Spot || Miracle King A Work In Progress || Miracle Wolf The Way Is Shut || Hot Dog Gem vs. The House || Miracle Gem The Unbecoming of Hauntley Manor

PART THREE: The Haunting of Scarlet Rose Manor When The Dust Settles || Gelli Slow Is The Quicksand || Gelli + Fang + Helle The Captain's Lament || Bones, Wolf, Gem, Elli Keep A Light On || Gem+King+Wolf Repeating Old Habits || Wolf King The Past Is Far Behind Us || Belle, Ting-Ting and Wolf Time Loop Paras Roses Are Red || Miracle King Violets Are Blue || Miracle Hadder Dead Man’s Chest || Miracle Wolf Qui n’avance pas, recule || Bones and Yvette One-Shot Interlude: One Last Attempt || King + the Hauntleys The Flesh Calmly Growing Cold || Gem One-Shot Caught In the Undertow || Gelli Castles In The Air || Miracle Ting/ Sing-Song Interlude: Man Overboard || Gelli + Wolf + Ting-Ting How Did It End? || Miracle Gem How It Begins || Snow Quartz

COMPANION ONE-SHOTS To the Lonely Sea and the Sky || Wolf And The Captain The Wheel’s Kick and the Wind’s Song A Wild Call and a Clear Call (That Cannot Be Denied) The Gull’s Way and the Whale’s Way Through the Memory Palace || Snow And Lady Miracle Part One: The Bolter Part Two: Fortnight SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF TIME... (Dream Series) Once Upon a December || Snow Quartz

part one: across my memory part two: things my heart used to know part three: things it yearns to remember part four: things i almost remember part five: dim as an ember

APPENDIX: The Albatross: Soundtrack for My Heart Is A Haunted House

Reborn in Ice - This is the original draft of the Miracle Captain backstory that I wrote for myself as prep and research lol! Most of it I used in my Memory Palace series, but if you wanted the #og, maybe this will interest you lol Ghost Loop Lore Road Map To The Ghost Loop - a behind-the-scenes outline to how that was plotted lol. Again, I just think it's neat.

[itwasrain]

Ein Lied was ich für dich schrieb , schriebst du für einen anderen. Eine Wahrheit die ich vor mir selbst versteckte, wird nun klar. Alles von dem ich hoffte zu sein ,war niemals wahr. Doch auch wenn du mich nicht liebst , vergiss mich nicht ! Du bleibst für immer ,ein warmer Sonnenstrahl, an einem verregneten Tag.

[semie78]

Hey do you have any good Code Lyoko fics that focus particularly on angst or the trauma the Lyoko Warriors went through? I've been trying to find some good ones, I saw you mention a fic where Yumi went to therapy and I was wondering if there were any more fics out there thay examine the trauma the warriors faced.

I'm a week late but hello~ I have a few recs but not all of them fit 100% on examining their trauma, you might have read these already but I hope you enjoy them! (and if anyone has anymore pls share!!! I haven't gotten a chance to read much lately)

Out of Time by That_G3_Obsessive

Dr Elaine Charpentier was well-respected in her field. As one of the best psychotherapists in the Paris area, she was no stranger to strange and difficult cases. However, when fifteen-year-old Yumi Ishiyama came into her office with reports of troubles at school, something seemed off about the girl. For starters, no one had been able to find out what exactly the problem was. Well, if there was one thing Elaine loved, it was a challenge. She was determined to figure out exactly what Yumi's problem was... Whatever the cost. This is the therapy fic that anon mention if anyone is curious it's so good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And So They Lived by Sheep_with_teeth

He was staring out the window at the rapidly darkening sky when his phone buzzed, and his heart jumped into his throat. Adrenaline shot through him and then drained away, leaving him flushed and dizzy. U kn com bk now. It didn’t say XANA. It never does anymore. Now all his phone screen ever tells him is: You are a normal teenager, Odd Della Robbia. We’re sorry for any inconvenience that war over the entire planet might have caused you. Please get back to your regularly scheduled programming of being a dork with roommate problems. Another message popped up on his screen, a real one: Buy twinkies. This one is more light hearted and more odd/sissi focus and I definitely need to reread this again<3

Goodbyes by amorekay

"Did you read my diary?" Odd stills, and then turns his head toward Ulrich, frowning. "Yes," he admits, hesitantly, after a beat. A short but good one~ man I miss kay's fics <3 def check her other works too

You might need me more than you think you will. by amorekay

If Sissi's noticed that Aelita's nightmares have gotten worse steadily over the past week as she looks paler and paler in class, she's not going to admit anything.

Solace by dame_de_la_chance

Odd has been avoiding Jeremie for some time now, and Jeremie attempts to get to the bottom of his strange behavior. This fic man!!!! I love fics like these and even tho this fic doesn't mention it, if you like the garage kids plot with powers on earth chance has some other fics you can read like that!!

Old Habits Die Hard by BewitchingNotes

Everyone's having trouble grasping the fact that they aren't the Lyoko Warriors anymore. Sissi knocks Aelita down during gym and finds herself being kicked to the ground by Odd.

List by lunesolei

Here-in lies the twenty-five things Ulrich is unlikely to mention. Here-in lie the twenty-five things Yumi keeps quiet about. Here-in reside the twenty-five things Jeremie doesn't really disclose. Hear ye, hear ye, here-in are the 25 things Odd doesn't really bring up. THIS SERIES MAN IT'S SO AMAZING DEF ONE OF MY TOP CL FIC RECS I DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN IT, EACH STORY HAS SUCH A GOOD FOCUS ON THE CHARACTERS AND IT JUST GIVES YOU A WHIPLASH OF EMOTIONS. It's currently on odd's chapter which has 5 chapters left then aelita is next, but yeah I really like this one everyone should check it out.

Saturday Morning Cartoons by YoshiStack

Their fight is over, but sometimes old habits still die hard. At least it'll make a great story one day down the line. Yoshi's fics >>>>> def read their other works!

Celui qui n’avance pas, recule by quiter10

Odd organizes a videogame tournament, Sissi gives the okay, and Jeremie reflects on the past, present and future—because whether he likes it or not, life goes on. Really great read love all the little details put in!

15 by YoshiStack

Kiwi has been a very good boy for a long time. He'll be 15 in June. I apologize this one is just pain B')

That's What Friends Are For by YoshiStack

In the aftermath of the Franz Hopper incident, the others realize they never got a chance to properly celebrate his birthday. Jeremy has feelings about it. And he's bad at feelings. kids being kids with a mix of pain my favorite B')

[voghe]

random twitter bios

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ • ᴡᴇ ꜱɪɴ ᴀꜱ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟꜱ ᴅᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀɴɢᴇʟꜱ ᴅᴏ ⋆

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ، ⠀ #DUA 𝗍𝗁𝖾  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝗈𝖿 ✦ 𝗽𝗼𝗽 ✧

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ٠ oh! cause she’s 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒹 ★✰

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ✦ ،  gorgeous! 💋💣 ⊹

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ،  𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹 ⛓ ✧

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ 🕊️ .  goddamn, 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍  · ˖°

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ♡ 𝙸 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 ⊹ the worst thing you ever heard ⊹ #지민

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ like a  ｄｅｖｉｌ ! ✦  

 ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ⋆  𝘫𝘦 𝘵'𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦 ‹3

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 🕊

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ، @Harry_Styles have a little bit of me

⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ꜥꜤ ⋆  qui n’avance pas, recule ⊹

© V O G H E ≛ like or reblog if you use

[corydaggerofficial]

A Message From Juliet Simms

I have struggled with my voice my entire life. It’s something I haven’t really talked about because I’m ashamed to admit weaknesses in myself (which I know is also a bit of a flaw😆) I tend to live my life by “the smile now, cry later” method. Due to never having any vocal training as a kid I learned to sing entirely on my own with no guidance except for the heroes in my headphones and stereo. Having no knowledge of proper technique, I ended up developing some pretty bad habits that have been extremely hard to kick. BUT thanks to my singing lessons and hard work the past few years I am growing as a singer and finding my struggles are dissipating. Then early last year I was told by my ENT that I had developed vocal nodules again but not due to singing - this time, turns out my speaking voice has been the biggest outlier & volatile accomplice with what they call “the singer’s secret assassin”; Acid Reflux. The two combined have been pretty painful, and relentless. Instinctually i speak in a manner that scrunches my vocal chords together creating tension and harm. Thus began another daunting problem to solve with my voice. I began speech therapy amongst taking better care of my body to keep the reflux at bay. I’m not telling you any of this to garner sympathy or pull a woe is me because there are bigger problems in the world right now and people who suffer from far worse battles then what I’m dealing with. The reason I’m telling you this is to simply be open with you and because when you love something, as much as I love singing, there shouldn’t be anything in the world that gets in the way or prevents you from doing that thing. Happy to report my speech therapy has really been working and the reflux has simmered. I checked in with my ENT this week and the nodules have completely disappeared✨

Love yourself, take care of yourself, grow & keep moving forward. “Qui n’avance pas, recule” - William Blake

[aftgficrec]

Hi omg you’re open again!!!

So someone wrote a Jean/Neil fic for the summer exchange and I actually really liked the pairing! (I cannot for the life of me remember what it’s called)

Do you have more?

You have discovered one of my favorite ships! We have quite a few excellent fics we’ve recced before, and some more below. -F

Definitely check out our Jean/Neil tag!

lowkey/highkey Jean/Neil here

tumblr Neil/Kevin & Neil/Jean here

‘Qui n’avance pas, recule’ here

‘give your tears (to the tide)’ and ‘birds of prey’ here

‘Fly low carrion crow’ here

‘we’ll survive, you and i’, ‘Heart on Your Sleeve, Eyes on the Street (the Heart-Eyes Remix)’, and ‘Doves & Ravens’  here

‘Born to Beg’ and ‘Apart from Your World (A Part of Mine)’ here

‘Gucci Gang’ here

Where Dead Birds Lie by Leloqier [Rated T, 1023 words, Complete 2021, AFTG Summer Exchange]

Neil went through a lot in his life. Running from his father/serial killer, stitching up his own wounds, getting shot at in high speed car chases, having to bury his own mother- and then the whole thing at the nest... But what's worse than all that? Sharing a bed with what should be a stranger and wishing you could be closer... He's just cold though... And Jean looks so warm.

Aka The fic in which there's only one bed

(tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced torture)

A Shrike To Your Sharp and Glorious Thorn by Kevingayimeanday [Rated T, 4471 words, Complete 2021, AFTG Summer Exchange]

8 moments in Nathaniel Wesninski’s life that he falls just a little bit more in love with Jean Moreau and the 1 moment he has to do something about it

(tw: violence, tw: abuse, tw: blood)

kiss the boy by jeanjosten [Rated T, 12670 words, Incomplete, Updated March 2019]

Eighteen year-old Jean moves in Neil's neighborhood one summery evening of July 2008. Troubled, perturbed, anger-fueled Neil. He doesn't know how to deal with the fact that his next door neighbor is as infuriating as he is charming and, to tell the truth, things are requited. Neil's killing time: getting into fights, eyeing the waiter in the café down the street, playing lacrosse in his backyard, but when his father comes back from one of his business trips, he shuts down again—and then enters Jean.

(tw: depression, tw: child abuse, tw: alcohol, tw: drug use, tw: overdose, tw: violence)

ten of swords by morexu [Rated E, 22257 words, Complete 2018, AFTG Big Bang]

Riko sank into the throne, as the people threw blossom petals and maple leaves onto the ground where they stood, screaming for the new era of peace of harmony and of prosper- as if Riko, the new King of the Moriyama Empire, would be the one to bring about the prophesised Golden Age.

Riko silenced them with a single gesture, hand raised, fingers splayed. Jean was afraid to breathe. Kevin looked like he couldn’t breathe at all.

(tw: violence, tw: abuse, tw: noncon/dubcon)

NB: art for this fic by @uzea-ke can be found here

domesticity by cldwrites [Rated T, 1517 words, Complete 2021]

Jean has a cafe, Neil is a clingy sook and they are just soft and domestic.

also pls I just wanna talk about how much I love Jean Moreau ty

Art

Jean and Neil can swim in peace art by @aminiyard

Neil and Jean by @eggpy

Raven AU by @yolkylemon

[theinkedfoxsl]

Artisan - Voicelines

Under a cut.

Agent Select & Abilities

Pick Agent

“What a dangerous line, between artist and killer.”

Paint Cloud

Cast “Blocking line of sight.”

“Closing it off.”

“Don’t breathe in.”

Artistic Expression

Cast “Ink’s out.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Fuming it.”

Dye Pack

Cast “Leaving something behind.” “This’ll trip them off.” “Grand heist?”

Target Marked “Got one.” “Painted.” “Attack while you can.”

Kill Target “Bleed red.” “Oh how beautiful.”

Masterpiece

Ally Cast “Let’s make a masterpiece.”

Enemy Cast “I’ll paint this field red.”

Resurrected

“Better me than them.”

Buy Phase

Match Start “Chacun voit midi à sa porte, make them see it our way.” (Everyone sees noon at their door.) “I am unsure if this will relieve my pain, nevertheless, I persist.” “God keep me sane.” “By my side, nothing will get past us.” “Is this how I am to pay for my crimes? It feels wrong.”

Split “Split, huh? Yeah, I get that.”

Round Start “Qui vivra verra�� Time will always tell.” (Who will live, we’ll see.) “Qui n’avance pas, recule.” (Who does not move forward, recedes.) “You’re doing the right thing.” “Is this the right thing?” “À vaillant cœur rien d’impossible. Eat theirs.” (For a valiant heart, nothing is impossible.) “Doing is better than saying, do you really need a pep talk?” “Push forward, destroy their defenses, break their spirit.” “Are you watching me, darling? Do I disgust you?”

Commend “That was almost artistic.”

Last Round Won “Keep them back.” “I can do this all day, can you?” “Un autre et un autre et un autre.” (And another and another and another.)

Last Round Won While In Lead “To nobody’s surprise.” “I was made for this.” “Tu devrais avoir peur de moi.” (They should be afraid of me.)

Making a Comeback “You can’t keep me down, nor my team.” “And they were doing so well too..” “Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir.” (Better to anticipate than to heal.)

Last Round in the Half “Switching sides soon, okay. Okay.” “Please use your credits, or mine, just use them.”

Match Point “I’m just getting started, already?” *Artisan Laughs* “Disappointing of them..”

Spike Forgotten *Artisan Laughs* “We forgot the spike.” “Why the hell did you expect me to grab it?” “Yeah yeah I’ll control that too, got it.”

Shop

Call For a Buy “I’m going all in.” “Think of it as poker, all in, team.”

Call For a Save “Eco round.” “Saving.”

Offer To Buy For Allies “J'ai de l'argent, gun?”

Request Weapon “I need this.” “Hey, buy this for me, please?”

Barrier Down “London bridge is falling down…” “I can handle this alone. But I’d prefer to work as a team.” “I’m coming for you. Will you find me first?” “They are nothing compared to us.” “They stand no chance, I know it.” “For you, my dove. May you guide me.” “Leur souffrance me nourrit.” “Why don’t you run and hide?” “Together, in darkness and in light.” “I’m not a healer, try not to die. Preferably.”

Kill “Silenced.” “You were really getting on my nerves.” “You’ll go wonderfully with blue.” “Painted.” “Watch your step!” “Ohoho, now this is fun.” “I send my regards.” “Goodbye, darling.”

Headshot “One shot, one kill.” “Shouldn’t have peeked that.” “Damn, what a shot.”

Melee “Like I said, just a tool.”

Triple “That’s three.” “Easy, bring me another.” “Triple down.”

Quadra “That’s four.” “Oh? Am I about to win this for us?” “Four down.”

Last Kill “Last one down.” “I’ve got it handled.” “Wow, they really were nothing.”

Last Kill Melee “Pathetic.” “Hahah, really?”

Last Kill Enemy MVP “You are nothing compared to me.”

Spike

Defuse Resumed “All this genius and we’re using tech like this?” “This doesn’t scare me.” “Oh well.”

Defuse Time Running Out “Oh fuck off.” “Colombe, is it time?” “Sorry, angel.”

Defuse Successful “I got it..” “Why am I disappointed?” “At least this city won’t fall with me.”

Round End

Ace “I am the artist, you are nothing more than a tool.”

Clutch “Were you worried? Be not afraid.” “If anybody, it’d be me.” “Make no mistake, I am what creeps in the dark.”

Flawless “L'appel du vide…” (The call of the void.) “It’s almost like I can still hear them begging.” “A team is useful, interesting.”

Low HP “Too many would be pleased to see me go.” “Is God going to fail me again?” 

Thrifty “That is my artistic expression.” “Behold the range of a blade.”

Match End

Match Win “Regarde-moi et souris. For you, darling.” (Look at me and smile.) “I need more, this won’t sustain me.” “I’ll be back, be careful.”

Match MVP “I am what Kingdom has created.”

Runner Up “Blood was spilled either way.” “I’ll beat you out next time.”

Agent-Specific Interactions

Ally Mua Lan

Round Start

Mua Lan: “Shall we dance again, Artisan?”

>”Of course, darling. Please, lead.”

>”May this be an artistic rendition to remember, darling.”

Commend

>”Wonderful, Mua Lan. Again.”

Barrier Down

>”We’ll turn them into a masterpiece.”

>”Follow my lead, darling. We’ll rip them apart.”

Enemy Mua Lan

Match Start >”Til art does us part, darling.”

Round Start

>”Fear the dancer, they’re more determined than they let on.”

>”You’ve always been the other side to my coin. It’s time to flip.”

Kill >“I am sorry my darkness has consumed you.” >“You deserved so much more light.” >”I will eternalize you.”

Last Kill

>”Say hi to her for me.”

Ally Quyen Round Start >”Please don’t throw me off a building again.” Quyen: “No promises, sweetheart!” 

>”Don’t go fulfilling the role of Icarus.”

Barrier Down >”Show me where they are, I’ll take care of the rest.”

Enemy Quyen Match Start >”Do you think similarities can stop me?”

Round Start >”Nevermore.. Nevermore. I’m coming for you.”

Kill >”But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.” >”And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.”

Last Kill >”Sleep tight, angel.”

Radio Commands

Be Quiet! “Silence, please.”

Caution “Watch out.”

Commend ”Beautifully done!”

Fall Back “Regroup.”

Going A “A.” “Going A.”

Going B “B.” “Going B.”

Going C “C.” “Going C.”

Going Mid “Mid.”

Hello “Ca va?”

Need Healing “I am in need of health.”

Need Support “Help here.”

No “Mmm non.”

On My Way “Coming coming..”

Play For Picks “May as well pick them off.”

Rotate “Rotating here.”

Let’s Rotate “Rotate now.”

Rush Them “Catch them off guard.”

Sorry “Apologies.” “Sorry.”

Take Point “I have this.”

Thanks “Merci.”

Ultimate Status Not Ready “Non, not yet.”

Almost Ready “Soon.”

Ready “Alright, let’s paint a masterpiece.”

Yes “Oui..”

[princessdecay]

o. prologue

qui n’avance pas, recule

Time is linear, a knowledge humanity swallowed without water, sliding down the throat rough with doubts under the gaze of teachers who had teachers who also had teachers with mouths spouting the lines in the same manner. It went down the stomach like fresh bread, and they sat back settled, content. Not asking questions because what good would they bring? Let time be simple, straight. A string pulled taut among the stars, the ends and beginnings unlearned, yet concrete and precise of the futures or pasts it weaved along.

Is it an illusion after all, Albert? Occuying space and putting it to null. Do we not all yearn to crumple its direction like a piece of white paper? Lay it bare on a wooden desk, pick the sides and fold so softly it does not make a sound. Make something beautiful, a swan origami, perhaps an airplane that slices through the summer breeze like lightning. Time, such inconsequential aspect of our lives that we cease to think about it for more than an hour. Everybody is on the footwork to accept that it moves only forward. Never looking back, it forgets the cracked road it leaves behind, always moving ahead. Always, always.

Until it doesn't. Until it does.

Fate is fickle, playful. A force complete in its being, writing the flow of undeniable sequence of everything. Swaying in the wind and dancing on the magnificent tapestry it sewed string by string, pulling us along. Since what are we but puppets? Walking with that piece of nylon leading us to our glorious purpose, or to a hell that could mean a limbo of nothingness. Destiny, we like to call it. To appease the hunger in the bottom of our bellies that every drop of tears, cascading blood inside our veins and the sweat pooling under our necks are all worth it. In the end, it was meant for something. Something great. Even in the least, something. All of us, we are fond of listing our fears, our inevitable demise, but all it usually coalesce into is the fear of being, and for it to mean absolutely nothing. Fighting tooth and nail to make one's existence matter because of a question unanswered, hoping someday it will be, and only for it to actually end up a question mark of a question mark, a never ending cycle. Well, isn't that just an exhaustion of a tragedy? Seeking for the point of doing anything in every nook and cranny, making no progress. It will be the same cacophany of sounds, digging through the tannel. Thunk, thunk, thunk. When will it change? When will the thunk became ting. A struck of gold. The enlightenment we have all been waiting for. Or if not, even a cement, or a wood, a rock. Even to just escape the same monotonous thunk, thunk, thunk.

Such a miserable affair if you think about it for too long, too deep, a step to drowning your own body into a well of realizations that could fill the lungs with wars raged against its own existence. Crisis pouring down, questions after questions. What is the point? What do I live for? It is very easy to push the brain into a breaking point. If all is meaningless, one could just pick up a gun on a whim and slide it gently into the mouth, tip to tongue, finger pressing the trigger in almost a caress. A bang, a halt, whatever is fitting to call it. So it is better to stop thinking, and live. Just live. For what? Well, you can decide. The world is vast, pluck anything from position and it'll mean an impossibility of the hand being empty.

Still, it can't be that orderly. Is it really that simple. Time is disciplined, yes, as it should be for us to not be devoured by a void scattered among the space.

Yet again it can't be helped, when chaos manifests itself.

It was a story for the ages, the Alexandrian Society and six people of immense power converging on one point. Paths crossing, entangling, all the individual ropes tying so smoothly together. Others wary, preferring to be alone with their selves and for some, it was unfathomable for personalities that are so different they repel one another. Six individuals with different anatomy of what made them who they are. It was an interesting spectacle, really. To watch it all go down. It had a beginning, flow of the plot never failing to entertain, then it reached the climax, and further through the lane, there is an end. It was perfect, done a little too well. So in the middle of it all, it is not really that surprising that a stretch of the fabric will deviate.

Six people, divisible twice or thrice. Each had their roles, subconciously knew what factor they will play in the long game and with the other. Here are the lines, the dialogues, said in the mind, in a dream, a scream in an empty room coming from a body being pulled into another slice of reality. It was all planned and written, a manuscript passed through the hands of dictations that us humanity can never really fathom in a perfect coherent sense.

Yet something shifted.

So there we go, it became a roulette, a wheel jumbled consisting questions of hows, doubts of whys, shaking of heads. It was staring at a picture sprinkled with hues not fitting together. Smudged lines in the painting, distored pixels in a screen. They say any grandeur channels an emotion from the cavity of the chest. It would be devastation in the face of the death inducing potion gliding through Juliet's throat, full of hope and naivete, only for Romeo to fall in the hands of impulse, his foolishness under the guise of grief and pulling them both down below. It would be awe as the shower of lights from fireworks spirals in raining reflection of the irisis at the peak of new year. Or a crippling yearning while one is exposed to beauty, hands clenching against the strong urge to possess it or to destroy it.

Callum Nova falling for Elizabeth Rhodes was never supposed to happen. A discombobulation in the matrix, anyone on a venture to understand is always doomed to fail. One blink, and another. An attemp to tilt the concept at any angle would always result an absolute lack of clarity.

It was pure chaos, and it will begin with a smile.

[poemesdujour]

Parfois, j’aimerais être moins sensible à ce qui est. J’ai rêvé longtemps d’être de la caste de ceux qui s’en contrefichent, de ceux que la journée invite à plonger, aveuglément, indifféremment, dans un travail ou dans un autre. J’ai rêvé de journées de douze heures et du goût du houblon à la fin du jour, de costumes, de maisons blanches et peut-être d’enfants. J’ai rêvé de beaucoup de murs ; je les ai poussés, souvent, et rétractés autant de fois.

J’ai rêvé, aussi, de travailler longtemps et de mourir trop tôt. Je me rappelle m’être cru, plus jeune, pétri de beaucoup de rêves, de la race d’Achille. J’ai cru en la lumière et en l’ombre qui allait avec. Ni le trop plein ni le trop vide n’ont étanché ma soif ; un jour, j’ai tâché d’accepter l’absence d’ordre du monde, mais il y a quelque chose qui ne s’y fera pas.

Ample, restreint ; libre, enfermé ; grand, petit et dedans, dehors : je n’ai jamais vraiment compris dans quelle plaine il me fallait marcher.

Avant le temps de l’enfermement, j’ai vu des amis rire, courir, aimer, foncer. Il y a toujours eu ce regard mélancolique et teinté de curiosité. Beaucoup de soirs de fête m’ont vu rentrer seul, rêvant à la lancinante question : pourquoi pas comme eux ?

L’âge est venu de le reconnaître : je ne m’en sortirai pas. Pas sans un peu plus de tristesse dans le regard, de noirceur dans le sourire. Sans, dans l’éclat de rire, un peu plus de deuil ténu, voilé à peine, d’habiter dans une autre zone que le monde. Parfois, je parle une langue qui n’existe presque pas, avec des mots qui ne font qu’effleurer la surface de la communication. Il n’y a que dans le silence, d’où s’extrait difficilement la voix, que mes vérités savent poindre. Il arrive qu’à force d’images, de mots qui auront visé juste et de sensations, je parvienne à croiser la route de l’autre, mais seulement par hasard.

Il y a beaucoup de photos et beaucoup de poèmes. Il y a, à l’horizon, « un jour » : un jour, je rassemblerai tout cela. Un jour, il y aura plusieurs recueils, un vrai métier, un sens au poème et un sens à la recherche. Un jour, il y aura un horizon à ce qui point au jour le jour malgré cet autre terré au fond de moi. Un jour, comme Henri Michaux, « j’arracherai l’ancre qui tient mon navire loin des mers ».

Un jour, j’ai commencé une thèse, peut-être porté par un enthousiasme estival. Depuis, je n’ai fait de recherche qu’intime, que poétique, que mystique peut-être. Je n’ai jamais vraiment vécu qu’en contrepoint de ce qu’il me semblait devoir faire pour être au monde : enfant, j’ai toujours eu de bonnes notes, jusqu’à ce que, adulte, cela ne suffise plus à vivre harmonieusement. Ainsi, épuisé de devoir être au lieu de désirer être, j’ai atteint les confins où se terre le poème, et le poème m’a pris sous son aile. Un jour, fatigué du poème, je le tromperai. Certains n’avancent que de fuir ; tant pis, tant qu’ils avancent.

Bien malin qui rêve à être responsable du poème avant que le poème ne le mange tout cru. Désespérément, j’ai cherché ma voie en dehors de ma sensibilité à fleur de peau au monde : je n’ai gagné qu’un estomac serré par la contrainte et que quelques jours, à la rigueur, d’amour et de soleil. Bien maigre consolation. Ce que j’ai aimé, je n’ai jamais su le dire ; je n’ai su que l’aimer. À nouveau, cheminer avec Michaux : « Quand pourrai-je parler de mon bonheur » ? Et quelques souvenirs plus loin : « Et plus il…, et moins je… ».

Le trop-plein de vie me prive de mots. D’un coup, il y a trop, et le grondement de la tempête se fait trop fort pour pouvoir témoigner de son bruit. Il n’y a plus, encore une fois, que la fuite ou le combat. Parfois, l’acceptation et l’oubli me tiennent lieu de poème. Parfois, la peur vitale de la mort reprend le dessus et porte à bout de bras ce qui, en moi, se devait d’être dit.

Un jour, il y aura peut-être bien la sensation que cela n’aura été qu’une vaste imposture, qu’une vague défaillance narcissique qui se croit trop intelligente pour que les selfies lui suffisent, et qui se donne de grands airs un mot par-ci, un guillemet par-là. Tout cela n’était-il pas, finalement, un peu trop impudique, et n’y avait-il pas mieux à faire ?

Ou bien, au contraire, il n’y aura que la confirmation de cette quête dont je ne sais rien, n’ai jamais rien su et ne saurai rien, et qui me mène, chaque jour, par surprise.

Je ne sais rien de ce que je suis, sinon une mèche de cheveux blonds, un sourire rare et une voix qui porte trop pour quelqu’un de timide. J’ai été responsable de peu de choses, sinon de mon regard. Sur mes nombreuses photos, il y a peu de personnes : il n’y a que des vues, désertes, solitaires, qui leur survivront sûrement. Quelque part, la vie s’est ostracisée. Elle ne revient que lorsqu’elle est intense. Ainsi, si j’ai rêvé de reconnaissance, je l’ai fait en suivant le chemin d’un effacement nécessaire qui m’en éloigne autant qu’il m’en rapproche. J’ai aimé l’histoire de cette nourrice reconnue photographe par hasard après sa mort, et de ce psychologue aphasique qui fut poète toute sa vie.

Un jour, même en ayant couru après, j’emporterai inévitablement trop de secrets. Je ne me souviens même plus des miens ; j’ai vu aujourd’hui des photos dont je me souvenais comme on se souvient d’une vie antérieure. On m’a dit d’oublier, de ne plus réfléchir, de reculer un temps. En vain, en vain, en vain.

Si tu sombres, écoute bien : ce qui te fait sombrer, n’est-ce pas ce qui te retient ?

Alors, même si l’écrit ne dure qu’un temps, voici un secret : aujourd’hui, j’ai vu l’ombre d’une plante sur un mur au petit matin, et entendu des grillons sous un soleil d’été.

© Pierre Comandu, papa des poèmes du jour, 30 mai 2021.

[lady-snow-flower]

How It Begins🔥|| Snow Quartz

Summary: Dusk, on July 15th. Gem enters the time loop one more time, determined to free Snow once and for all.

tw: none

Read the past attempts: Roses Are Red Violets Are Blue Dead Man’s Chest Qui n’avance pas, recule One Last Attempt Castles In The Air How Did It End?

GEM “I’m gonna stop her from killing him.” “How?” Gem shifted his weight. The porch groaned. “I was just gonna—stop her? It can’t be that hard. I-I’ll tear up the letter.” “She needs to find the letter. She needs to experience all the emotion up until the time of the—accident. And then you’ll need to stop her.”  Gem grit his jaw. “And then Snow will be free?” “If you can make Lady Miracle stop? Then, yes. I believe Snow will be free.”

[Read here!]

@gem-morey

[cygnemcrt-blog]

tag dump

[flighticons]

𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝘩 𝑞𝑢𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠

l’enfer, c’est les autres (hell is other people) 

il vaut mieux faire que dire (doing is better than saying)

qui n’avance pas, recule (who does not move forward, recedes)

le temps est un grand maître, dit-on. le malheur est qui’il tue ses élèves (we say that time is a great teacher. it’s too bad that it kills all its students)

quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a (when one doesn’t have the things that one loves, one must love what one has)

il n’y a pas de verités moyennes (there are no half truths)

autres temps, autres mœurs (other times, other customs)

à vaillant coeur rien d’impossible (for a valiant heart nothing is impossible)

dans une grande âme tout est grand (in a great mind everything is great)

je pense, donc je suis (i think, therefore, i am)

être adulte, c’est être seul (to be an adult is to be alone)

ècrire, c’est une façon de parler sans être interrompu (writing is a way to talk without being interrupted)

[dunkirk-creators]

HANDS | PROMPT FOURTEEN

This writing challenge was based around the prompt ‘hands’, which was an easy one to make either very happy or very sad (or both!). Thank you to everyone who submitted one or more pieces of writing, this was such a busy challenge! 

link to ao3 collection��     invite to discord server      join our taglist 

and I took you by the hand | @shiveringsoldier​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Gibson x Tommy

word count: 1146

summary:  follows the first 24 hours or so of Tommy and Gibson's, and eventually Alex's, companionship during the evacuation

Claire De Lune | @aquietthinker​

read on ao3      

pairing/character: Collins x Farrier

word count: 1926 

summary:  Her hands would dance on the black and white keys like ballerinas, swift and angelic. From an early age, Collins would sit on her lap and silently observe as they filled the room with melodies of musicians he didn't know.

Hands of The Sea | @aquietthinker​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Collins x Farrier

word count: 1699

summary:  The cockpit was filling up quickly, freezing water already reaching his waist and numbing his legs. The sky mocked him as he swung his fist, again and again and again, but nothing happened.

his hands they shake | @shiveringsoldier​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Shivering Soldier 

word count: 1323

summary:  in which Shivering Soldier experiences trauma-induced hand tremors

My Love, My Darling | @militarizedsubconscious

read on ao3

pairing/character: Commander Bolton x Colonel Winnant

word count: 698

summary:  The day has finally arrived, and yet Winnant still doesn't fully believe everything is going to go right. Something bad ALWAYS happens... right?

Our Hands Hold Promises | @hollowmachines​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Collins x Farrier

word count: 3176

summary:  Collins suffers nightmares. Farrier suffers wounds.

Qui N’avance Pas, Recule | @aquietthinker​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Gibson and Alex 

word count: 741 

summary: By the time that Alex cried out to Gibson, it seems that it's already too late for the frenchman to survive the rising waters.(Lots of introspection and french)

Saudade | @spatz-e-ingram​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Commander Bolton x Colonel Winnant

word count: 1926

summary:  (n.) A Portuguese word that means a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains."

The Unknown Soldier | @aquietthinker​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Collins x Farrier 

word count: 522

summary:  The Unknown Soldier Tomb commemorates all un-identified soldiers that died during World War ll.

Those Same Hands | @s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Collins x Farrier

word count: 622

summary:  Those same hands that had brought death to many, had brought life to many others.

Toska | @spatz-e-ingram​

read on ao3

pairing/character: Collins x Farrier

word count: 1550

summary:  (n.) a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a spiritual anguish

What did you expect? | @alaqatzam

read on ao3

pairing/character: Alex x Peter Dawson 

word count: 1608

summary:  Alex had told himself for a while that he wouldn’t go back- had to move on, assimilate the best he could and leave all his ghosts behind him, leave them out of sight and out of mind, pretend that day in the memorial didn’t happen and neither did whatever occurred later in that damn room. He should’ve bowed his head and left like a rat scurrying back into the drains. What with all the guilt and unabating feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness his head was starting to feel like a sewer anyway.

White knuckles | @itslaurenmae

read on ao3 

pairing/character: Gibson x Tommy

word count: 2418 

summary:  Tommy notices a few things about the dark-haired man on the beach immediately - the way his hair flips in the salty breeze, the pierce of his eyes - right through him - and his hands. The way they grip a shovel to frantically move sand back and forth across the surface of the beach. White knuckles.

You’re waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs | @excuezme

read on ao3

pairing/character: Collins x Farrier 

word count: 1856 

summary: It was a feeling they both felt unbeknownst to each other. But were too afraid to say it.Perhaps they shouldn’t have been.

Thanks again to all our participants! If you’d like to participate in Dunkirk challenges, visit the links at the top to join our taglist or Discord server!

[aquietthinker]

Finally some inspiration!

@dunkirk-creators

[nekojitachan]

OK, last of the owed fics from the @aftgremix challenge - this one is for @nikothespoonklepto who guessed which fic was mine and wanted soft jeaneil. Hopefully I got the request somewhat right - this is a prequel to Qui N’avance Pas, Recule    (mind the warnings for the fic, some brief, not too explicit non-con in the first section which you can probably skip, just know that Neil and Jean escape from the Nest where they’re Ravens).

Think the only warnings for this fic are that it has vague references for canon events at the Nest - nothing explicit, nothing detailed, just that Neil (Nat/Nathaniel here) and Jean are very happy to not be there anymore. That and references to Neil’s past in Baltimore.

*******

Trickle

*******

“It’s not much, but it’s safe,” Chesare told them as he placed the keys he’d used to enter the small apartment on the kitchen counter. “There’s enough food for a couple days, linens in the closet, and we guessed about the clothes based on the information your family sent.” That was directed to Nat, who stood there with a too-blank expression on his face and still dressed in the ‘borrowed’ sweatshirt he’d taken from Howard. “They’ll check in on you soon enough once it’s safe, so try to stay inside as much as possible.” While he spoke, the man (Hatford associate?) reached into his denim jacket for his wallet, out of which he took a very impressive stack of euros. “This neighborhood is safe, too, but no point in creating trouble, yes? Only go out when necessary.”

Nat gave a slight nod. “We understand. My family’s helped us out a lot, we’re not about to be ungrateful after everything they’ve done.”

“Good,” Chesare grunted. “Then I’m done here.” His tone was curt, but he gave them a friendly grin before he turned to leave; Jean followed so he could lock and bolt the door behind the man, relieved to be alone with Nat at last. The past day was a blur to him, a domino effect of events with each one more implausible than the last – the practice session where he and Nat bested Riko and Kevin, Riko showing up in their room at the Nest to exact his revenge, Nat defending Jean with such violence and Jean daring to strike down Riko for his partner, them fleeing the Nest, Nat’s family helping them to leave the States and sneaking them into Marseilles of all places….

Jean couldn’t believe that he was back in France, that he was home, even if he was a wanted fugitive from a criminal syndicate.  He was home, and his partner was at his side.

Literally.

He jumped in surprise when he turned to find Nat gazing up at him, beautiful pale blue eyes surrounded by dark circles since the little imp hadn’t slept at all in at least a day, not since… it had to be at least a day, since they’d gotten up for practice back at the Nest. Jean rubbed his eyes as he tried to factor in the different time zones for a moment then gave up. “Yes?”

“Let’s check out the place,” Nat said, his voice faint with exhaustion yet his French perfect as always, just like his Japanese and German and the Russian he’d begun to learn in the last few months. It was one of the many things that Jean adored about his partner (lover), that gift with languages, just like Nat’s (Nathaniel’s) passion and loyalty.

He could have left Jean behind in the Nest, could have run to his family on his own, which would have been safer, yet he’d kept Jean at his side the entire time, had stayed awake while Jean had eventually crashed from the stress of… of everything, and hadn’t been upset when told that they weren’t going to London but Marseilles instead.

Nat didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t reuniting with his family as long as they didn’t try to separate him from Jean.

“It’s bigger than our old room,” Jean teased as they looked around the small, one bedroom apartment; it was in an older part of Marseilles, so there were hot water radiators for heat, worn wooden floors, and lots of windows (they had a corner unit, thankfully, and were six floors up) to help cool it in the warmer months.

“Almost anything would be bigger than our old room,” Nat shot back as he yanked off the oversized blue hoodie he’d worn since leaving Edgar Allan and dropped it to the floor. “Let’s hope that the shower is decent because all I want right now is to scrub myself clean then go to bed.”

Jean was in agreement with that; he wanted to wash away the remainder of the Nest from his body, of the States and all the bad things which had happened there (as if it would ever be that easy), and pray that when they woke up that they could begin a new life together.

A little more searching revealed the linens and clothes which Chesare had mentioned; Jean placed a clean set of sheets and a duvet on the queen-sized bed which took up a good bit of the bedroom while Nat grabbed some towels and clothes.

Nat then took care to set aside the phone which Cindrich had given him before they'd left the States, which Stuart had used a time or two to call him, but otherwise they shed the outfits they'd been wearing with the intent of getting rid of them for good before they stepped into the old claw-foot bathtub together. Jean felt a stab in his chest upon sight of the numerous scars littering his partner's lithe body, along with the bruises which Riko and Tetsuji had inflicted over the last few days - injuries which he swore to himself they'd never get a chance to do so again.

It took a minute or two for the water to warm, the pipes noisy the first few seconds, but Nat pressed against Jean's side and smiled, the expression tired but true, as they huddled together in a bathroom which was all their own, a bathroom with a locked door and a shower curtain and a tub in which they could soak if they wanted.

A bathroom and an apartment which was all their own, if Nat's family could be trusted.

(A family which had gotten them out of the States, had gotten them away from the Moriyamas - the monsters to which Jean's family had sold him without a care, so he'd wait and see about these Hatfords.)

As exhausted and stressed as he was, Nat actually laughed when Jean insisted on washing his hair, and joked that Jean just wanted to drown him in the water so he could have the entire bed to himself.

"Don't give me any ideas," Jean chided as he carefully tilted his partner's head back to rinse out the rosemary-scented shampoo. "Besides, an imp like you would just come back to haunt me."

"Hmm, so true." Nat closed his eyes and slumped a little more against him with a bone-deep weariness. "I'd return the favor, but I can't reach the head of a tall bastard like you, my star."

"Me? I'm perfect," Jean sneered, and felt his heart race when Nat smiled at the familiar joke.

They probably should eat something, but they were so tired after the shower that once dried they pulled on the clean sweatpants and t-shirts (Nat's comically large) and after finishing the bed (more Jean than Nat), all but collapsed onto it. Something settled inside of Jean when he could pull his partner against his chest and wrap his left arm around Nat's waist, while Nat clutched the sheathed knife that Cindrich had also given him in his hands. "Get some rest," Jean ordered, not that he believed Nat could remain awake much longer.

"So bossy," Nat murmured, already well on his way to unconsciousness.

Jean wasn't sure how long they'd slept, just that he felt better - was starving but felt better - when they were jolted awake by the ringing of a phone. It took him a moment to realize it was the one given to Nat, that it wasn't one of their 'official' Raven phones (that Tetsuji monitored and they’d left behind), and by then Nat had sat up so he could answer it.

"Hello?" He was quiet a moment then set the knife in his other hand aside. "Hi, Uncle Stuart," he said as he switched to English. "Yeah, but it's okay, I get the feeling we'll have lots of time to catch up on our rest in the next few days, right?" He smiled, the expression a bit wry, as he scooted back on the bed so he could lean against Jean. "And thank you," he offered as he hit the 'speaker' button so Jean could hear Stuart.

"Again, it's nothing, kiddo," Stuart’s voice was deep and rough as if he was a smoker. "It's long overdue, getting you out of that hellhole." There was a bit of anger in his tone as he referenced the Nest. "Is everything all right with the flat?"

"Uhm, yeah." Nat glanced back at Jean then shrugged. "The bed's wonderful, and everything seems nice. It's quiet." They really hadn't been there that long and had spent most of the time asleep, but they'd been left alone and that was all that mattered to Jean and he suspected to Nat as well.

"It's nothing fancy, but it's safe, you won't be touched while you're there," Stuart assured them, then cleared his throat. "Look, I wanted you to come here, and it's not like Will doesn't want you with the family, either. But we've already had Moriyama people all over the place looking for you, so he was right about if you come to London, it'll be trouble."

"That's fine, I don't want to cause the family any problems," Nat said in a rush, a hint of guilt on his lovely face. "It's enough that you got us out of the States. That's all we could ask, really."

"Bullshit," Stuart spat out, "you're family, it's the least that's owed. But it does look as if you're safer away from us right now, someplace those bastards won't expect you to be." He was quiet while Jean wrapped his arms around his smaller partner in a vain effort to keep him safe. "Also... you come here, I don't think you're going to be able to remain apart from the family, Abram. People are going to see us fighting for you and they're going to make assumptions."

Nat didn't say anything for a few seconds before he nodded once then spoke. "I understand."

"Just... think about what you want, okay? I'll be there in a couple of days and we'll figure things out. Until then, be careful and stay out of trouble."

"I will," Nat promised. "Be careful yourself."

He was quiet after he ended the call, until Jean gave him a slight hug; he tilted his head to look up and smile, then patted Jean's arms in a signal to 'let go'. Once Jean did that, he got off the bed, put the phone aside and went to the bathroom. After he came out, hands running through his hair and bangs which were slightly damp from when he'd washed his face, Jean entered the room so he could use it.

When finished, he found Nat searching through their kitchen, all of the cupboards left opened while his partner checked the drawers. "You French have no appreciation for a proper tea," Nat grumbled, an adorable frown on his face as he motioned to a box of black tea on the counter - a box of tea yet no kettle.

"At least there is black tea," Jean pointed out with a slight chuckle; he'd heard so many complaints about that over the last several years, while Nat 'suffered' with the green tea available to all Ravens.

"Oh, shut up," Nat muttered while he started a pot of coffee (of course there was coffee, Jean was smug to notice), then made do with boiling water in a pot. "I'll text Stuart about the tea."

"Hmm." Jean held up some eggs, to which Nat nodded; there was oatmeal in the cupboards, but they were starving so it would be best to go with something quick - eggs, some of the ham in the fridge, and toast.

It had been years since either of them had to cook, but they'd (more Jean than Nat) had experience from before they'd been sold off to the Moriyamas and it wasn't a complex meal. After a few minutes, they sat down at the tiny table in the kitchen with pleased grins on their faces to eat, Jean with his coffee and Nat with his tea, and it didn't take long after that before the food was gone.

It was... it was one of the best meals in Jean's life, at least that he could remember.

Once the plates were left to soak in the sink, they refilled their mugs and sat at the table to talk. "So, Marseilles," Nat said with a slight smile. "You must be happy."

"It feels like a dream," Jean admitted. "As if any moment now, I'll wake up and it'll be time to start our morning practice."

Nat grimaced as he held his mug between the palms of his hands as if to savor its warmth. "More like a nightmare. You know we can't ever be Ravens again, it would be better to stick our heads in that oven right now than to let that happen."

No, Riko would never forgive them for daring to fight back, let alone to run, while Tetsuji would never allow a slight to his authority. The only question would be, just how long would they suffer before the Moriyamas (most likely Tetsuji) would finally put them out of their misery? "I agree, so what now?"

It was quiet while Nat sipped his tea and considered the question. "Well, as far as I can figure, we stay here or we go to London and officially join the Hatford organization."

"But your uncle didn't seem pleased about that," Jean pointed out - Nat didn't seem happy about it. "Why is that, when he went through the trouble to bring us here?"

"Because... because my mother didn't want that life for me, as far as I could tell," Nat confessed in a faint voice as he gazed into his mug. "Or else she would have left my father after I was born." He glanced up and gave Jean a wan smile. "I heard her argue on the phone with my uncle about it, once. If she went back... well, she’d have to a Hartford again, we both would.”

“And being a Hartford means what?” Jean asked as he reached out to wrap his larger hands around Nat’s – everything about his partner was smaller, was finer-boned, yet Neil wasn’t made of anything breakable, wasn’t fragile. No, after being raised by the Butcher and sold to Tetsuji (after being handed over to Tetsuji’s psychotic nephew), he was… he was like one of those Japanese blades which hung in Tetsuji’s office back in the Nest – was something finely crafted out of iron until it was beyond worth. Nat (Nathaniel, a name which Jean knew he disliked because it was too like his father’s) used his fragile appearance to his advantage, to fool people with an improbable image until he tore them to pieces.

“And what about you?” Jean asked. “What do you want?” Because Nat often used that unbreakable will of his to protect him, to taunt Riko and bear the madman’s abuse so Jean didn’t suffer, had killed three people so Jean… Nat bore too much because of Jean, so whatever Nat wanted was important.

It was quiet while Nat nibbled on his full bottom lip, the lip which Jean adored kissing gently because of such abuse. “Uhm… I doubt it would be too bad, working for my uncles, but I want to stand on my own – on our own,” he said in a quiet voice. “If we join them, we’ll be tied to them forever. I’d rather avoid that if we can. I think that’s why my mom didn’t run to her brothers when she had the chance.”

“Then we find another way,” Jean agreed; after escaping one life of servitude, he was with Nat in that it would be foolish to throw away their newly found freedom so quickly.

Their future decided for the time being, they washed the dishes then spent more time exploring the apartment and rearranging things since it appeared that they would be staying for the immediate future. Jean threw out the clothes they'd worn yesterday, wanting to keep nothing from their time at Edgar Allan other than their shoes (they would need to go out and buy new ones) while Nat made up a shopping list. Once that was done, they turned on the small television and sat down to watch what was available, something they never were allowed to do at the Nest.

They avoided anything to do with sports in unspoken agreement, and scanned through the available channels with interest, only to stop when they reached a news channel. They watched since they were out in the 'world' again, a world which went beyond the walls of an Exy court and the gossip of the Class I division, and needed to be caught up as quickly as possible. They watched on with rapt attention until the banner at the bottom of the page announced that there had been an accident near the Edgar Allan campus which had cost the lives of several Exy team players, including two of the Perfect Court, and that Riko Moriyama had sustained injuries which would prevent him from participating in several upcoming games.

Jean changed the channel to one showing some asinine variety show after that, his fingers numb and a strange ache in his chest. "They've officially announced us as dead."

"It's not a surprise, Tetsuji probably doesn't want to explain to the main branch that we've run away. This way he can cover for Riko, as always," Nat spat with bitterness as he tugged at his bangs. "He probably hopes that he can track us down quickly and make the story real before Kengo figures out the truth."

"Which is why he's harassing the Hatfords." It really was for the best, them standing on their own, to avoid a fight between the two families.

"Yeah." A mulish expression came over Nat's pixyish face as he stared at the screen in front of them, yet there was a distant look in his pale blue eyes. "I think... I think it's best that we make ourselves valuable enough that it's more effort than it's worth for the Moriyamas to try to pry us out of here and that the Hatfords aren't continuously having to fight for us."

That... Jean shook his head as he got up for more coffee. "I'm not sure I'm following you. How do we do that? We're two kids, not two criminals." He thought about that for a moment as he regarded his partner, who sat there with a knife tucked beneath his left thigh, who had killed three people for him yesterday. "Nat... I'll do anything for you," he confessed as he held an empty mug in his hands, "but I'm confused right now."

The look his dear friend gave him was one of understanding instead of contempt. "I know, my star," Nat told him with overwhelming affection, the pet name making Jean's chest ache in the best of ways. "It's... I remember hearing my... hearing him complain one day." Judging from the amount of venom in Nat's tenor voice, he referred to his father, the Butcher, just then. "About a guy who crossed one of his people, but he wouldn't let Romero take him out - he needed someone who wasn't known to associate with him to handle things so the police couldn't trace it back to them." He gave Jean a lopsided smile. "That's what we need to be, the guys with no obvious ties to anyone who get things done."

For a moment, Jean wanted to say 'no', to ask why did Nat - crazy, impulsive Nat who never backed down even when he should, when it would spare him so much pain - think that they could be those people... and then he thought about the last few years. He thought about how they'd endured so much, had dealt with everything Riko and Tetsuji had dealt out, had commanded and carved into their skins, and wondered if there was anything out there in Marseilles which could be worse than what they'd suffered in the Nest.

(Technically, yes, but he knew there were some lines which Nat would never cross, not after what Riko had done to them, would never ask Jean to do, so it would be all right.)

"If it means that I don't have to live on British soil, then it's fine," Jean sneered before he poured the last of the coffee in his mug.

That led Nat to complain that he would adore being British, just adore it, and come over to hug him from behind while Jean brewed more coffee. Jean sniffed and insisted that the wonderfulness of France had clearly overwhelmed the fool, and when Nat doubled over in laughter (a truly rare occasion), slung the impudent imp over his shoulder to carry him back to the small couch where they occupied themselves by watching movies for most the day (another impossibly rare occasion) save for when they made something to eat or napped.

It was… if anything brought home the fact that they weren’t Ravens anymore (as well as the fact that they hadn’t been abused in the past twenty-four hours or so), it was that they were able to rest, to do nothing but sit down and be near each other without having to go out on court, to practice and practice and practice, to wear themselves into exhaustion at Tetsuji’s command (the Master’s command). Jean felt it when Nat’s body would twitch against his from time to time as if to jump from the couch and go, to run to the court or the exercise room or somewhere, when his fingers would flex as if to grab a racquet, but there was no court, was no schedule anymore.

Not for them, not when they were no longer Ravens.

(At least not officially – Jean suspected there were some things that weren’t so easily discarded.)

Despite them leaving the Nest, it had left its mark on them, or at least its schedule had, and they soon found themselves growing tired early in the evening; it wasn’t so much the change in time zones as them struggling to adjust to a twenty-four hour day once again. They took turns in the bathroom to prepare for the ‘night’ and then once more curled up together in bed.

That ‘night’, they didn’t sleep without interruption; Jean woke three times to find Nat tense in his arms and whispered his name until his partner’s fingers unclenched from the knife and his heartrate stopped thundering in his narrow chest.

It wasn’t unusual for one of them to have nightmares, not with everything they’d endured at the Nest, with what Nat had endured at his father’s hands. Yet Jean wondered if part of what caused them that night was what had happened right before they’d fled the Nest, was what Nat had done to protect him.

He held his partner (his love) tighter to his chest as his hands soothed along Nat’s trembling body.

The next two days were spent much like the first, with them sleeping when they were tired and cooking when they were hungry, with them watching whatever they found interesting on the television to while away the time. Jean could tell that Nat grew anxious from being ‘trapped’ in the apartment – not even the hours of sit-ups and pushups he did on the floor could burn off the excess energy. Yet when they ran low on food at last, Jean insisted that he be the one to leave the safety of the apartment to go shopping: he was less recognizable with his black hair, could blend in the crowd better than gorgeous, fiery Nat.

Nat… Nathaniel with his auburn curls and pale blue eyes, with his striking features and short, lean body always drew attention, and that was before he opened his mouth, before he unleashed his sharp tongue and sharper wit. No, Jean knew how to be quiet, to blend in and keep his head down so he’d slip out, find the nearest store and be back as quickly as possible.

All it took was a polite question or two and he found a small store down the block, where he was able to purchase enough food to last them a couple more days with the cash that Chesare had left. He was halfway through the alley leading back to their apartment when an older man stepped out of a doorway and in his path.

“Moreau.”

Jean stilled at mention of his name spoken with a British accent, especially since it sounded familiar. He was about to swing a bag of groceries at the man when he caught sight of a gun pointed at him, right before he was motioned toward the doorway. “Ah, best to behave right now,” the man said in English.

“You’re… your Nat’s uncle,” Jean realized as he followed instructions. Why was Stuart Hatford threatening him?

“Clever boy.” Stuart nodded once and, after a long look, put away the gun in a holster he wore beneath the jacket of a finely made grey suit. “I wanted a chance to talk to you alone before I saw Abram.” His fine blond brows drew together in obvious displeasure. “Why are you out of the flat, eh?”

“We need more food, and I thought it best that I fetch it instead of Nat.” Jean scowled at the man while he held up a bag; Stuart was a few inches shorter than him but taller than Nat (who wasn’t?), and had blond hair cut close to the scalp and pale grey eyes – he resembled Nat’s mother, who Jean had seen in a picture Nat cherished (which had been abandoned at the Nest).

“At least you know that much,” the man muttered as he folded his arms over his chest. “Still, anything could happen to you out here.”

“We didn’t know when you were coming, were we to starve while waiting?” Jean shot back.

“Hmm, awful lippy for a man asking for help.” Stuart gave him a cold look for a moment before clicking his tongue. “I’m not here for a bitch session, though. The main branch has found out that Tetsuji’s lost the two of you and Kengo’s not pleased.”

Jean nearly dropped the bags upon hearing that. “What happens now?” Did they have to go to London and join the Hatfords after all?

Stuart continued to stare at him in an intent manner. “What if I told you that they’re never going to stop trying for you and Abram, hmm? That the only way I can see this ending is if we give them something to appease them.”

“And that is?” Jean asked as he slumped against the stone wall framing the door.

“Well… Abram is a Hatford, and Kengo understands family ties. You? You’re not family.” Stuart gave him a cold look. “If we send you back and take Abram in? That might work.”

Jean closed his eyes and thought about it, thought about going back to the States and what the Moriyamas would do to him for daring to run, for harming one of their own… but if Nat would be safe then? As long as his partner (lover) could have a life?

It would be worth it.

“All right,” he said, his voice quiet and not free of a faint quiver, then opened his eyes. “I’ll go. Just… just don’t tell Nathaniel, okay? Not the truth. Tell him some gang got to me or… just not the truth or he’ll never stop until the Moriyamas are destroyed.” The foolish, loyal imp never knew when to let go, he thought with fond amusement despite having just signed his death sentence.

Stuart continued to study him for a couple more seconds before he rubbed at his face as if tired. “Fuck, but you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Eh? Aren’t you?” Jean was confused, especially when the man shook his head.

“I just… I wanted to see how serious you are,” Stuart said as he motioned down the alley, toward the apartment, “about Abram. We might not have been able to do much about him, but we know him, he’s blood, whereas you?” He gave Jean another intent look. “All we know about you is that you play that damn sport well, that Abram wouldn’t leave you behind, and that… well, that you’re with him. So I wanted to see if you’re worth the trouble.”

Heat suffused Jean’s face as the meaning behind those words sunk in. “But… we’re partners,” he tried to argue as he set the bags down on the ground so he could rub at his own face (hide it behind his hands).

“Don’t lie to a liar,” Stuart muttered as he shifted about; Jean lowered his hands to watch the man light a cigarette then blow out a plume of smoke. “Like I said, Abram’s family so we kept tabs on him in the Nest, we know things.” He gave Jean a narrow look while he lowered the lighter as if slightly displeased. “At least he seems to have better taste than Mary so far, but mess with the kid? You’ll wish I had sent you back to the Moriyamas.”

“It won’t happen,” Jean swore as he picked up the bags of groceries. “Now are you done? Much longer and Nat’s going to tear the city apart looking for me.” The suffering he’d endured the last few minutes was almost worth it when an expression of panic flickered across Hatford’s face and he mumbled something about his sister.

Nat clearly had been ready to search Marseilles for Jean when they reached the apartment (he had his shoes and a jacket on, and knife in hand), and only the arrival of his uncle kept him from interrogating Jean on what had taken him so long to fetch the groceries. Jean allowed the two a few minutes for a private reunion (a bit uncomfortable on his partner’s part since he wasn’t used to grown men who obviously cared about him touching him without harm), and then the three of them settled in to talk about Nat and Jean’s future.

Stuart appeared a bit taken back when Nat argued for them to stay in Marseilles and why, and how they could help out the family as ‘independents’ – taken back but pleased in the end. He appeared to understand Nat’s logic, though he offered suggestions which Nat considered and eventually accepted. For his part, Jean was quiet and as long as Nat felt that it would work out well for them, he went along with his partner’s decisions since all he really knew was Exy and that Nat wouldn’t betray him. He caught Stuart giving him those intent looks again during the discussion from time to time, and noticed an approving gleam in the man’s grey eyes when he would defer to Nat.

“It won’t be easy for you,” Stuart confessed before he left (with the shopping list from Nat in hand), “but to be honest? I think this is more along the lines of what your mother would have wanted for you.” That appeared to be directed at Nat. “She always wanted to stand on her own, it’s why she went to the States.” Grief washed over the man’s expressive face for a moment before he shook his head. “If you’re willing to do some hard work, I’ve some people I think who’ll only be too happy to keep you busy, people who’ll also give those Moriyama bastards pause about causing any trouble.”

Nat glanced at Jean, who nodded at the proposal, before he smiled at his uncle. “It can’t be any worse than Exy practice for ten hours a day – sixteen-hour days at that, so tell them we’re in business.”

“Definitely a Hatford,” Stuart said with obvious pride. “Give me a few days to set up the new identities for you two and to gather everything on the list, though it might be Henry or Jamie who stops by with the stuff.” He grinned as he held up the list. “The family’s eager to see you and I got an earful about being the one to come this time.” The grin turned a bit sharp when Stuart glanced at Jean; years of dealing with Riko set off warning bells in Jean’s head at the thought of him meeting the rest of the ‘family’.

He had some dark thoughts about his partner and all the trouble the damn imp had dragged him into (and out of) over the years, until Stuart left the apartment. Nat was quiet as he stood by the door (locked and bolted), his eyes hooded and full lower lip caught between his teeth, until Jean tucked back a stray lock of his unruly (lovely) hair. “That went well?”

The troubled expression was quickly replaced with a smile as Nat nodded. “Yes, it did,” he assured as he caught at Jean’s hand to lead him back to the kitchen. “He won’t have agreed if he didn’t think it would work, nor would he risk any contacts to help us out. The family also can’t risk us falling back into the Moriyamas’ hands because it’ll make them look bad, so he must think it’ll work.”

Jean didn’t particularly like Stuart after the little ‘trick’ he’d pulled earlier, but he had to admit that Nat was right about the man having reasons to want to keep them safe, to keep Nat safe. He shook his head while he watched his partner (his love and reason for being) wash the dirty mugs. “Of course it’ll work, all of your insane plans do even as they leave chaos and mass destruction in their wake.” He sighed deeply while he glanced heavenwards. “I need to find the nearest church so I can light a candle,” he paused to think about that, “make that a few dozen candles.”

“Ha, there’s that wonderful sense of optimism of yours which I adore,” Nat grumbled as he set the last mug on the dish rack then reached for a towel to dry his wet hands. “I’m surprised you’re not adding ‘check out burial plots’ to the list.”

“Hmm, what a wonderful suggestion.” Jean gave the imp a blank look when Nat growled beneath his breath and came over to smack his fists (with little force) against his chest. “All right, check out my burial plot, you insane demon,” he clarified as he wrapped his arms around his beloved tormentor to hug him close.

“You know I’d never let something like that happen to you,” Nat murmured as he gazed at Jean’s chest, eyes downcast and a slight frown on his lips.

No, Nat (Nathaniel, the Butcher of Baltimore’s son and a Hatford, the Perfect Court’s number Three and the one Raven whom the Moriyamas could never break) never would, no matter how much pain and abuse Riko heaped upon him (the beatings and cuts and handing him over to- no, no more). “I know,” Jean breathed out as he hugged the most precious person in the world tighter against him.

Nat’s smile blossomed even as it took on a sad note. “I won’t. So if you want to walk away, to find your sister and live somewhere quiet together, somewhere away from all the-“

Jean didn’t give the fool a chance to finish such an improbable, generous, Nat-like offer (sacrifice); he lifted his love into a passionate kiss which served as his answer. Yet in case that wasn’t definite enough, once a certain spawn from hell was left gasping for air and clutching at his neck, Jean broke it off to speak (after he drew in a deep breath). “There’s no way I’m going to allow you to run around my beloved country unsupervised, you destructive little imp. There’ll be nothing left standing within a week.”

That earned him a pleased smile. “You underestimate me.”

Jean closed his eyes and offered up a prayer for patience even as he rubbed his partner’s back, then sighed again when Nat wiggled free.

“Come on! We’ve a lot to do before Stuart or whoever comes by with the stuff,” Nat insisted as he tugged Jean to the living room. “I should be able to teach you how to pick pockets and some basic fighting skills by then.” He seemed to consider something as he began to push the small coffee table out of the way, his lower lip once more caught between his teeth. “Maybe if it’s Henry or Jamie, they can help with the fighting.”

Jean had a feeling that he’d be running out to the store again very soon, that time to buy wine; he rubbed his forehead at the thought of what Nat and the Hatfords would soon teach him, of what his new life would be like, and sighed in intense weariness.

Still, Nat was at his side and he was free of the Moriyamas (mostly), could look forward to the day when the two of them held no obligation to anyone but each other. The thought of that future in mind, he pushed any doubts aside and taunted his partner to do his worst.

*******

Okay, so there’s that. Now I have to get to work on the Reverse Big Bang fic, last of my owed fics, and then... we’ll see?