#oisin’s is very true to memory but is never smiling

[zukkacore]

Confession that I actually don’t know that much abt dunmeshi but based on like. Osmosis I’ve picked up that there’s this weird mimic monster that can impersonate someone based on a different person’s recollection of them and so they’re all varying degrees of wildly inaccurate to like, slightly off and not to add onto multijace theory but I do think the idea of something embodying how each of the ratgrinders perceives Jace is extremely funny to me

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

OISIN - 4* CASTER - PROFILE

Under the read more!

Summon: “My name is Oisin. I am a poet – and now, I am your Caster-class Servant. Though our time together won’t last forever, I’m glad to meet you, Master."

Initial Information:

A beautiful poet, blessed with eternal youth and wisdom. Though he is a great knight, he is most famous for his silver tongue, which has preserved the legends of many heroes in what is now called the "Fenian" or "Ossianic" Cycle of Irish mythology.

Passive Skills

Territory Creation A

Item Construction C

Divinity C

Active Skills

Heroic Legacy A – Increase defense for three turns and clear own debuffs, increase attack and star generation for all allies for three turns.

Blessings of Youth A – Apply invincibility for 3 turns, apply Arts, Quick, and Buster up for 3 turns. Costs 9 critical stars.

Storyteller B – Drain all enemy NP charge, increase own NP charge, increase party NP gain for 3 turns.

NOBLE PHANTSAM: Dord Fianna – the War Cry to Defend Humanity (QUICK)

Area of effect Noble Phantasm that deals damage to all enemies, special bonus damage to any Threat to Humanity trait enemies. Applies defense down, critical strength down, and slight chance to inflict Terror status to all enemies. Applies attack up, critical strength up, and NP damage up to all allies for 3 turns.

Lines - Room

Idle: “Master, are you doing anything right now? If you’re bored, I can show you the song I’m working on now. No? You’d rather go outside? Well, that’s alright, too. I’ll tag along.”

Master-Servant Relationship: “I’m used to working, living, and fighting alongside others, so this situation is fine for me. Honestly, it brings back pleasant memories.”

Opinion of Master: “I could write a thousand songs about your adventures. I really do consider it to be a privilege to fight at your side!”

Scheherazade: “I think she and I could have a lot in common. And so beautiful too… hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m happily married, you know!”

Author Servants: “There are a lot of very talented people here. I consider myself a formidable opponent, but I think I’ll work a little harder, regardless of that. [laugh]”

Saints: “It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that I can’t really understand them. I have my reasons, but that may be the one story I’m not interested in telling.”

Irish Servants: “There are so many famous heroes here from ages past. Of course, I already know the tales by heart but I wonder if there would be any differences in the first-hand accounts…”

Diarmuid: “Diarmuid! It’s been too long since I’ve seen your face! Master, this is the only person in the world who is smarter than my father. He always used to beat us at chess, and that’s just the start of it. I’m sure you already know. What? Oh, don’t be modest! And here – look! I brought you some letters from your relatives. They say you hardly ever visit anymore and – hey, where are you going?!”

Fionn: “Ahh… It’s good to see him in his prime like this. He seems to be very at ease here. Seeing that he’s able to smile and relax like this… honestly, he looks just as Mother always described him. Ah, wait a moment. Please don’t ever tell him I said that.”

Lines – Battle

DECK: QQ/AA/B

Start 1: “Just because I am an artist doesn’t mean that I can’t do battle when I need to.”

Start 2: “That look on your face… I have to wonder if you’re not taking me seriously. Well, it can’t be helped. Best of luck to you!”

Skill 1: “This is the blessing I was given.”

Skill 2: “Hmm… still a bit out of tune.”

Skill 3: “With the strength of my own limbs.”

Skill 4: “With actions that will match my speech.”

Attack: [IDK SOME NOISE]

Extra Attack 1: “With purity in our hearts!”

Extra Attack 2: “You won’t underestimate me a second time!”

Noble Phantasm Activation: “If the time has come to defend humanity – then I will serve with all the power I have.”

Noble Phantasm 1: “For the things we have forgotten, and for all that we have to gain – there is something that I, too, must protect. I swear that I shall defeat all evil in the world. With the purity of our hearts – Dord Fianna!”

Noble Phantasm 2: “This is a story of those who stood should to shoulder to defend humanity's destiny, from all that would covet and destroy it. No matter when, or where, we will always rise to meet this challenge. This is our sacred duty – Dord Fianna."

Noble Phantasm 3: “This hunting horn is not for making music – if you’re skittish, you might want to cover your ears. Listen – to our sacred battle cry!”

Injured 1: “Rude!”

Injured 2: “At least make sure to avoid my face!”

Incapacitated 1: “It seems that… once again… I can’t stay beside you until the end… I’m… sorry…”

Incapacitated 2: “It’s always like this, huh… Strange… this time, it doesn’t hurt…”

Victory 1: “I told you from the start. Before I am an artist, I am also a knight!”

Victory 2: “You know, I think I could make a song about this victory. Someone give me a tune! Hey… wait a minute… why are you all walking away?”

Bond 1: “You know, Master, I spent a long time out of human society. So, I need you to tell me to my face if I ever say something strange. Seriously. I’m not joking. I really don’t know what people talk about these days. I’m counting on your guidance.”

Profile 1: Oisin, the son of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhail. Because his father had already eaten the Fish of All Knowledge, he was gifted from birth with wisdom and a quick wit. His name literally means "little deer" or "fawn."

Bond 2: “What was it like, growing up with such a famous father? Well, that’s a difficult question. Father has always been good to me. I’ve always felt that the Fianna were my family. Even the most loving and tight knit families sometimes fight… and even so… hm. I wonder… …Um, sorry. [slightly nervous laugh] What was I saying again?”

Profile 2: The story of Oisin's birth is a tragedy. His mother, Sadhbh, was Fionn's second wife. Though they were madly in love, his mother had another suitor, who was a cruel and wicked mage. One day, when Fionn was out hunting, the mage lured the pregnant Sadhbh out of their home by impersonating her husband, and transformed her into a deer before loosing her in the forest.

When Fionn returned to their home and found it empty, he immediately marshaled his knights and began to search for them, leaving no stone under-turned.

Eventually, the toddler Oisin was recovered - but his mother was never seen again.

Bond 3: “Yes, yes. My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. Every man says that about his wife, but in my case, it’s actually true! She’s a wonderful, wonderful woman, and her family always treated me so kindly. I simply lost track of time, that’s all. Yes, I always meant to go back and visit, but the opportunity always… Eh? I trailed off again? I’m not sure why I keep getting lost in thought. Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

Profile 3: Fionn was never the same after Sadhbh's disappearance. Plunged into a deep mourning, it was said that his entire personality shifted, until he was nearly a shadow of his former, magnanimous self. It was Oisin who volunteered to seek a new bride for his father, perhaps desperate to see his father smile again. It was these events that eventually lead to the Pursuit, another tale that is narrated in the Fenian Cycle.

Bond 4: “Was it hard? Yes, I suppose it was. All the places that I had loved, and all the people I had loved were gone. Even my own father. Even my first son. And then, I was even stupid enough to fall off my horse. Hah. Sorry, Master, I’ll go now. No, no. It’s alright. It’s just that I would never want you to see me like that. That’s all.”

Profile 4: Like the other Knights of Fianna, Oisin lived a long life full of adventures too numerous to recount in full. He married a fairy woman and went to live in Tir na Nog, the land of eternal youth. Eventually, he decided to return to the mortal world to visit his family. His wife gifted him a magical horse, and told him that he would not be able to dismount, or the blessings of eternal youth that he had been granted would disappear.

When Oisin emerged from the Land of Youth, he discovered that 300 years had passed, and the Fianna had all but completely disappeared.

Bond 5: “I will make sure that they remember you. I’ll fight beside you until the end – and then, I’ll make sure that the world remembers you. Really, it’s the least that I can do. But let’s not talk about depressing things. For some reason, I’ve been wanting to write a love song lately. What do you think? ‘Too early…’ It’s never too early for beautiful music! [laughing] Really, you ought to enjoy life a little more, Master.”

Profile 5: DORD FIANNA - The War Cry to Defend Humanity. A war cry to strike fear in the hearts of humanity's enemies, a power that can wake sleeping kings.

This Noble Phantasm would not normally belong to Oisin. It is said, in Ireland, that their great hero Fionn is not dead, but slumbers beneath a mountain, surrounded by his loyal knights, and that the one who blows upon his hunting horn will rise him from his sleep. When he rises, he will resume his duties, to protect humanity.

But the stories of the Fianna exist in the modern age because, after emerging from Tir na Nog, Oisin wrote them all down. Using his talents for word and song, he told the tales of valor and heroism and adventure, the stories of his friends and family to anyone who would listen. After an accident caused him to fall from the horse that should have carried him back to his beloved wife, Oisin lay dying, feeling each of those 300 years seep back into him, even as he desperately tried to finish the story he was telling.

So in this form, the Dord Fianna is not a war cry, but more like a song.

Bonus Profile, Post Interlude: In one version of the story of Oisin, he encounters a certain saint while traveling around Ireland. The saint listens to the knight's tales, but even so, because Oisin is still a pagan and an immortal himself, he and the saint don't get along very well and part on bad terms. Even though Oisin claims that it wasn't like that, and even so, he never holds grudges, he still can't help but make a face whenever the saint's name comes up in conversation.

[merife]

— mayday

pairing: Jotaro Kujo x Reader

summary:  he's alive, you're alive, everyone around you is alive, but there's still not enough air.

word count: 5483

previous

02. of (not)healed wounds

As soon as you open the door to the apartment, the party, which seemed non-existent, appears in all its glory. A couple of people kissing passionately break away from each other: they have dissatisfied look, but their eyes narrowed more at the bright light from the corridor than Oisin and you, that violated an atmosphere of intimacy in the hallway between someone's bags, jackets and other discarded in a fit of passion things. And will it really help you? How can a noisy gathering of strangers help at all?.. [it can. By making the memories of the past flow away and the moments of the present expand even more, it can]

His hand doesn't let go of yours — the path from the entrance to the next room without light on the floor covered with things is inconvenient, but there is no other choice. You stumble a couple of times — yourheart jumps a little in the chest and immediately returns to its place, and the support in the form of Oisin's hand saves you from falling. In the central room, only a pair of lava lamps can distinguish silhouettes, giving off an orange colour on the walls and faces. It seems that you saw a similar one once upon a time in the attic of parent's house among the rest of the trash, but you never dragged it to your room. The smell of alcohol — especially ethanol — mixed with a mix of cigarettes and something else, more organic, but burnt, makes the air feel sticky. It's something you thought you'd never feel again. In a similar way, you used to get together with your friends at one of their homes when their parents were away and you started playing board games, secretly getting alcohol that you would buy with fake documents, so that you could have a heart-to-heart chat. Back then, you had almost no secrets from each other, so everyone just shared present experiences. And you haven't remembered an evening with them for a long time. They must be doing good now. It can't be any other way. You'd even call them if there was anyone else's number — oh, right, you can ask your mother the next time she contacts you.

"Here," Weaver says, handing you a red disposable cup with probably something diluted in it. When did he leave and come back? Oisin quickly clinks his glass with yours and drinks a good half of it. You take a very small sip: cola on the tongue is not different from the usual, but most likely there is something stronger in it. Plan is not to get drunk to oblivion today, you just need to try to relax and unwind. You've been on these parties before, this time nothing should be different, "there are a couple of people I'd like you to meet", but you don't need any contacts- "and I know what you're thinking, but you still need to chat with someone besides me," apparently, the displeasure on your face, he learned to read almost faultlessly. Not a bad skill, Oisin. Next time, shove it away.

"Since you know me so well, why don't you just talk to everyone for me?" you smile sarcastically, and Weaver just nudges you playfully, encouraging you, only to grab your free hand and lead you on. People on your path don't pay attention to you — there's no malice or secret intent in their eyes, which allows you to relax a little, straighten your shoulders, unconsciously hunched in a physical attempt to close. Nothing bad will happen. Here's Oisin, which means that you are not in danger [here's Oisin; this is not Jotaro, this is not Kakyoin — there is no aura of anxiety around him, and you have never felt such pain around him].

Oisin says something: his speech is mixed with David Bowie songs and noisy exclamations from different sides, and you can't pick out a word, so all that remains is keep looking at his neck, where the hairline begins. Why is he deals with you? More precisely, why is he still deals with you?

 Brown hair stops. Oisin brakes sharply, you catch this action a little later than you should and stumble into the air, spilling a few drops of cocktail on the already dirty floor. And then you catch a couple of keen interested glances at yourself.

"This is Marina and Leslie," guy tilts his head to you and smiles, waiting for your reaction to... Two girls who interrupted the conversation to turn all their attention to you. Marina smiles cautiously: her eyes are not aggressive, but she seems to be waiting for something from you. Doesn't trust immediately — and that’s fair. She has beautiful hair with a hint of ginger, which may be real, or may be a consequence of the red colour spreading around the room. And from her appearance, you can safely say that Marina is unlikely to have problems more than a couple of bad grades. It would be nice if this is true. The last thing you want to find in someone else is suffering, because today version of you, real version of you — can't help people who hide their moral pain. All you have left is stand's magic and Oisin's quick-healing bruises.

Leslie, for her part, resemble like the average head girl: she immediately looks for something in you that, apparently, can be useful to her and gives her hand as a sign of acquaintance. She probably knew Oisin because of some club that had already met in advance and discussed plans for the year. Probably, she and Marina roommates, since they keep a physical distance from each other, but their communication is quite brisk — definitely not an empty conversation. There is no stand flying over any of them. It's good.

"Hi! Oisin told us about you," You turn to Weaver, but he doesn't look at you — pretends not to notice the directed scrutiny, however shakes his head, confirming the words, "nice to meet you," you shake her hand with a slight delay that you hope Leslie won't notice, "you're studying in the same department as me, so we'll probably see a lot of each other," she smiles. Friendly. And you repeat it, though not entirely sincerely.

"Oh, that's good," feigned politeness is not so bad as it seemed to you before, "to be honest, you're almost the first who besides me is interested in such things," you speak softly, almost drowned out by the music, but three people next to you smile understandingly and Leslie begins to chatter — which, of course, she is interested, because it's so exciting and unusual and more people should think about this direction, but we are lucky, and-

 Still, how did that guy from the Speedwagon Foundation find you? Your parents couldn't tell them, and grandma Oria perhaps didn't even know about this organization. Oisin also probably has no idea what this Foundation is, and those few people from Italy that you know certainly didn't run to write to the Foundation about your location after the dialogue with you. Did they trace you from your documents? It's possible, but they are not the bureau of investigation, where would they have such information? Besides, why would they want you?

 You nod your head in agreement with words that you don't really listen to. The focus is lost, you're just looking at… Lindsay's nose bridge? But your silence doesn't bother her, just as it doesn't bother Marina that starts talking with her friend. As long as nothing is expected of you, you can safely be near them.

 "Well, I think, you would like our group," girl slaps you on the shoulder — and is mired directly on scar, still feels like a phantom pain on your body, from which you bend over, and unfamiliar hand slides down on fabric sports sweatshirts. A brunette with a succinct name on L raises her eyebrows and looks at Marina.

"It's nothing," a melancholy smile appears on your lips, "just hurts from time to time," in the eyes of Lindsay — her name was something else — a look of surprise changes to a small interest and… It's not what you expect. And right now, you miss the moment when you can stop words from falling from her lips.

"Did you go to the doctor? Maybe it's something serious," you don't have time to prepare for her question, which is already climbing further than the girl opposite suspects. A small word pricks the blood vessels from the inside with its syllables, and an unprepared body trying to pull the trash out from the inside only boils with tension. Oh, she doesn't know how much, but she won't hear that story from you. You don't want to think about it. You don't want [only the starry sky of Cairo is already blooming in your eyes. Only in the chest it becomes as heavy as it was then].

"Let's not talk about it," you take a couple of sips from a cup. Lindsay and Marina are silent, and you just look around at the people near you, suddenly realizing that Oisin has gone somewhere. And right at the moment when you need his presence. Who does that? He knows that for you is hard — to talk to people without someone else. Damn it, Oisin.

 That's why you don't go to the parties. Not to mention the constant need to make sure that people around you aren't dangerous, conversations with them always get out of control and touch on topics that you would rather not discuss [this is like a constant descent of a spiral staircase-there is no end to it and you go lower and lower, not paying attention to people passing by, advising you to stop the descent or sending you further and further down]. In addition, the conversation is already ruined and the girls probably feel awkward trying to come up with another topic, so that the vacuum silence created between the three of you will finally resolve.

 "Excuse me, I'm going to get Oisin," invented reason immediately allows you to leave their company. It's not in your wishes to return, but Lindsay still throws a loud "we'll wait" after you, which is unlikely to come true — you all know that.

The familiar top of the head is still nowhere seen and you have to get rid of an almost empty glass, putting it on one of the tables — the girl with the glass bottle in her hand smiles at you and asks if you want to add more, but you just nod your head in dissent and disappear from her field of view. When you go back to the entrance, you still don't see Oisin. And at this moment you realize: air around you is too viscous — it's impossible to breathe. Filled with smells and smoke, without open windows, it resembles the steam of a sauna, from the high temperature of which even your cheeks starts to burn. It's not nice to leave Oisin alone, but he was the first to go somewhere without you, and now you have every right to at least get some air. And, perhaps later, go back to your own dorm, pleading on fatigue.

 Fresh air fills your lungs even before you step on the balcony. And the second your foot crosses the threshold and your gaze goes unconsciously to the figure on your right, you think… You think you have the ability to stop time, too. As though Queen threw her hands in exactly one second ago and now, in this moment, stretched for a few brief, you examine his back in the search for inaccuracies, errors, extra pair of buttons on the sleeves or incorrect bending of the visor caps — whatever, just to reality is not confronted with an outcome that you've imagined a thousands of times. But every little thing coincides with the unconsciously expected.

"So, White Queen?" disturbed by a sudden sound, the mynas immediately flap their wings and fly away in the direction of the nearest park, while your attention shifts from a landscape around to the person who has approached. Jotaro pulls a cigarette from the pack, then lights it and takes the first drag before returning his gaze to you. It's more relaxed than you expected — there's tension in it, but not the same as you saw at school. And some unconscious nostalgia along with dissatisfaction spreads in your chest, which is why you stop looking at him. The paving stones under your feet don't seem more interesting, but they are an alternative that you humbly accept.

"Yeah," he doesn't come any closer — he stays behind to the bench and doesn't take a step toward it or away. You can't feel his gaze, but something tells you that Kujo is still looking at you. You would have watched if he had turned away as well. The silence of the back courtyard of the hotel, whose name you forgot about two hours ago, is only broken by the trill of cicadas, the rustle of leaves from a small wind, and the distant hum of the highway.

"And how long?" Jotaro exhales cigarette smoke — you can feel the smell of burnt tobacco coming to you. This… Strange, to hear his peaceful voice with some interest after all this time. When you still took attempts to restore conversations, he only snapped irritably or completely ignored your remarks. When you had to come to terms with the fact that you were no longer friends for some unknown reason, your communication was reduced to a minimum, in which you once were on school duty with him and experienced so much tension that you preferred to leave him alone. Since you are so disgusting to him, then wonderful — without any celebration, you can grant him silence in return. You were angry at him all this time, but this anger is now gone somewhere, leaving behind a tart sadness — as if there was no wordless wall, built in an instant and going in a few years.

"Since childhood," you put your own elbows on your knees and put your chin on your hands, looking at the small garden in front of you, "about eight years or something," ("I can introduce you to my friend, but my parents can't see her! She has cold hands, but she's very kind and I think you will get along!") and then you sigh softly, closing your eyes for a moment so that you can turn back to Jotaro. He immediately catches your glance, "and Star Platinum?"

"A few days ago," he says casually, clenching the cigarette between his teeth, as if he told you not about the fact that his soul has recently received the personification of a guardian spirit, but about some trifle. He also looks tired — there are no bags under his eyes, but his posture is not so even, a little distorted in the hips and shoulders. After all, he's probably worried about his mother, no matter how much he tries to look indifferent. Of course, anyone would have been concerned in his place — it was obvious, but the strangely calm that at first glance was filled with the guy, was a little confusing. Not to mention his habit of being silent and pushing his own emotions too far [once you shouted at him — if Jotaro will continue to behave like that, he will explode from unspoken tension sooner or later].

"And you handle it so quickly," even with a little envy and a small admiration. Though the acceptance of your own stand passed quickly, the realization of what happened appeared only a few years later, when White Queen was still close to you, yet your friends no longer had imaginary companions. His eyes, covered by the brim of his cap, reflect the light of the lanterns. Jotaro always was...

"What's there to "handle"? If he's my soul, then he knows exactly what I need," this. For a moment it seemed neutral-general conversation, like the dialogue of ordinary people, but now it began to take on the shades of those rare conversation that you still picked up during school: sharp, ragged. You have neither the desire nor the strength to argue with him, and you just turn away again.

"When I realized that Queen really existed, I thought my parents would send me to a psychiatrist," your wrists get a little numb and you lower your arms and straighten up. He won't tell you what his first contact with Star Platinum was like, which is why you're sharing the memory of your own stand, "I thought I should tell them all about her, and then… We discuss that there are no ghosts, which means that Queen is hardly real."

 Jotaro used to always listen to you — because it was more convenient for him to be a listener than a speaker. You weren't the chattiest person on the planet, and that's probably why you've been in touch for a long time. The silence was calm, but your voice didn't break it — it just added a little colour to the canvas, so that the cotton clouds and honey stars under which you sat together finally can bloomed. You spoke with words, and he with actions, and you were sure that there can't be a better friendship.

But then there was a devastating emptiness and instead of warmth in his eyes, you found only irritation. The question "why" asked thousands of times remained unanswered, and you asked another, longer— did he want to communicate with you at all, or did you give a different meaning to all his actions?

 "You don't have to come with us. Stay with your relatives," much rougher than before. Jotaro throws out the cigarette butt and turns around — most likely, going back to the hotel, but you have your own opinion on the situation and you won't be silent.

"I... Want to," you turn your head. Maybe to see his reaction, or maybe for some other reason, but all you can see is the back of his black school uniform and the hair sticking out from under his headdress. Even in the deep evening, he wears this strange cap, " Seiko-san is in trouble, and besides, your company could definitely use a stand with Queen's abilities."

 You mean: you need my help. You mean: i don't want you to get hurt.

Kujo is silent. He stands motionless and silent so you feel a little uneasy — as if the aura around you is changing and you're momentarily breathing harder than before.

"No. This is a bad idea. Go back home," and Jotaro starts walking toward the entrance, as if this is the end of your little dialogue and he's the one who put the end to it.

"Jotaro, I'm not doing this for you, but for your mother, first of all," you sneer, clinging to the bench with your fingers, "she's a wonderful woman and I'm grateful to her for many things that she has done for me."

"I'm not going to mess with you," he said, already annoyed and angry. Caught in his sharp look, you feel like a burden again.

"I'm not five to "mess" with me," frowned already before that eyebrows fall even lower, and nails dig into the wooden beams. Despite all attempts to convey your point of view, the last in your conversation is, indeed, sounds of his voice.

"Then mind your own business."

You close the balcony door as abruptly as you opened it. Then quickly reach the turn and press the elevator button as hard as possible — you notice the blood rush to the tense finger and immediately pull it away. You don't turn around — you want to turn around and make sure of something, but you also stand still and wait for the elevator, bending a little. And when it comes, you immediately press the button to the first floor. The warm air outside makes it difficult to catch your breath. Even when you get further and further away from the building. Even when you sit down on a bench.

 He's dead, you're dead, everyone around you is dead and they're breathing, they're breathing so much that you can't get a breath inside this mess — they've taken all the oxygen. He's dead — you hold his head in your hands and weep, weep, weep, mixing mud and blood and sweat with your tears, trying to pull a rib out of your chest so that you can save him and, if necessary, sacrifice yourself. He's dead, and you wake up knowing that he's still alive, just too far away for you to hold his head in your hands. He's alive, you're alive, and everyone around is dead and you're crying along with Kakyoin's mother, because you're no longer able to continue. You wheeze in the black gakuran and ask, beg him to never leave, stay close, no matter what to be together. The answer is silence, but he puts his good arm around you, lays his chin on top of your head, and you wake up. He's dead and the ocean holds him to its shore while you try to crawl to him with broken legs, wasting your last strength to even see his face again, but time ceases to exist, and you wake up. You're dead and the burst capillaries of his eyes make that raging blue even brighter when he squeezes your shoulder with one hand and covers the emptiness of your chest with the other, and you wake up. He's dead, Dio's nails pierce your skin, go through your muscles and bones and suck the blood out of your arteries, you hang like a doll without thoughts or desires, you watch yourself being thrown against the wall and then your collarbone is broken with unfamiliar foot, and you don't wake up.

He's alive, you're alive, everyone around you is alive, but there's still not enough air.

 "I'm going crazy," you admit to yourself, lifting your head from your hands just a little so that only the lower part of your face is hidden in it. The light from the nearest street lamp reminds you of the sun, and you look at it, look at it until you see black dots and pulsating spots, so then you won't see anything.

 You used to call him Jojo. In a voice higher than it's now. You would come to Seiko-san's house and greet her joyfully, then call out his name as loudly as possible and wait under the spreading pine tree. The pine was far away from his room, but at the perfect angle so that you could not intrude and still see Jojo a few seconds earlier than he said hello. Little Jojo and little you ran around a small pond in the garden of Kujo's house — koi fish with reddish bellies repeated circular movements following your and his example and Jojo smiled, putting his hand in the water. His smile was so bright that you repeated it yourself; it didn't matter that your front tooth had recently fallen out because of something that didn't remain in your mind, and the rest of the world around you hasn't been preserved at all because of the age of the memory. Because it wasn't as important as that boy's smile and koi's red bellies.

You called him — no, no, — you called him Jojo another — don't, please don't — one — no, n-o, n o You called him Jojo when you were dying.

 Your thumb grazes the earring painfully, and you suddenly realize that you're shaking again. The shoulder feels a phantom pain — you've learned that damn description of "phantom" pain thoroughly, because all that's left of the wound is a scar and a recollection that reproduces and reproduces this aching emptiness under your skin. And you grab it, whine softly and wish to shrink to a ball, just to disappear from this world. You don't need anything, nothing. Nothing more. Nothing-nothing-nothing

 You know who's coming to you before you even hear the voice.

"What are you doing here?"  your lungs get stuck in your ribs: you can hardly breathe, and in the middle of it you're interrupted by a sharp pain in your chest and hold your breath in a panic for a split second. «The same question I can-» no. Don't even think about it, no, no. White dots appear in your eyes of how much you squint them and you feel sick. «You» no more questions!

"So, Lester was right," his voice annoys you — it's like sandpaper goes right through your eardrums, and you cover your ears to make this sounds hardly heard. His voice irritates you; his invisible figure irritates you, his existence at the moment irritates you. You take a breath, then another and again, which makes your head a little cloudy, doesn't get any clearer, how it supposed to be, and you open your mouth to take another ragged and noisy breath.

 You don't remember any Lester, you don't remember anyone, and you know what, Jotaro, go to hell.

"What are you doing here?!"  your voice is hoarse, and every word you say crushes the previous one with its volume, stupefaction and anger. Control over your own body also seeps through your fingers — you think that you still sitting, but in that moment also feel the tension in your standing legs as acutely as stones caught under the sole of your sneakers.

"Can you not scream for a second?"  and of course those are the words you want to hear right now. Nothing else, just Kujo's eternal need for calm. Maybe you also want peace of mind. Maybe you need it, too, but he's standing there right now, ruining a whole year of your hard work, and you don't want to see him. You don't want to see him, because you've seen him die so many times in your unconscious "what if" fantasy that you're afraid to see his face. He's alive, he's standing by and nothing good has come of it in all the years of your life [he's fine — something far away in you whispers and the faint threads that still grip your heart in panic unravel. Since he's fine, maybe you can afford it too]

"And can you answer my fucking question?!" you howl into your own hands, making the sound uneven and sonorous. You don't care how you look from the other point of view and even more so, whether you attract someone else's attention. All that matters are the answer to the question, why [the man from your nightmares? Your only hope? A bundle of the most incomprehensible emotions for you? Someone who was too close? The reason and the solution at the same time?] your former classmate is standing here. Not in Tokyo, not anywhere else. He wanted to do something related to the sea. Thought about Tokyo University and ... refused? Why? And why was he here?! It's... Lester, the guy from the Foundation! What do they want from you?

"I study here."

 Is he... is he mocking you?

It sounds so improbable and stupid, as if the best lie just can't come to his mind. It sounds so strange and ridiculous that it sounds too much like the truth, which makes you turn your head to him to make sure. Jotaro has never lied to you in his life, and there is no reason why he would actually give you such nonsense.

"Are you... Kidding me?" your voice is hoarse. You catch his silhouette in the gap between your fingers, under which you still hide your face, and you just can't quite believe — it's him, it's really him. Because to spit on things, to spit on height, these eyes you will never be able to forget. You don't want to get lost or forgotten in them, no. They scare you. They cause the skin on your neck to goosebumps, and you yourself to seek shelter, just to escape from this green-blue hypnotic colour. Relief comes with a new lump in your throat.

"Good grief, Y/n," you expect the guy to touch his own cap, but still freeze for a few moments when you actually see familiar repeated movement once again. This is true Jotaro, and the fantasies of your meeting that fills your skull to the brim don't have one where you meet him under the polluted night sky of Miami, shivering with the legion of memories that have come to you.

"No, no, no, don't start," you put your hand out in front of you, as if trying to protect yourself or stop him, "that's the guy from the Foundation, right? I told him I wouldn't work with you. Figure it out for yourself, I just-" it's so hard to breathe between words that you stop for an inhale. There is no room for air in the panicked lungs.

"You're too noisy. Calm down," you can see your own hands: they are clean, but the feeling of dirt on them doesn't leave for several minutes. You need to get rid of this. You need to get rid of everything around you in order to find peace in the sterility of your thoughts and body.

"I just got it all back together again. I just stopped seeing them, and then you come in and-"

"I said," he puts his big hand on your shoulder and it's like a physical anchor for getting back, "calm down."

 You say: i'm scared You say: god, Jotaro, I'm so scared.

But you don't utter anything out loud, barely holding on to familiar hands.

  Recently washed bed sheets smells of powder, freshness and chemical lavender. Its scent is gentler and more cautious in life, not so obtrusive, but you can get along with a fake — it's not the worst thing that a rented apartment can smell. Outside the window, the sun shines full, but it doesn't completely pass through the emerald curtains, that fills the bedroom with a faint greenish hue, which is cut by a strip of pure light exactly in the middle. It crosses your hand and seems that if you close your hand now, you can catch a piece of light. But you just keep watching the dust motes move in the air on that strip. Something about this light reminds you of magic and old dreams that the world is not a boring grey box. It wasn't — it stopped at the age when you didn't understand much about taxes and working in an office, which is probably why you envied Oisin and your remaining friends in hometown: their life was boring in some moments, but most of it was peaceful. Small skirmishes with unpleasant acquaintances and, perhaps, fleeting quarrels with relatives — you didn't guess, you knew that their daily life was just like this. And perhaps unconsciously you still belittle their problems in comparison with your own, but you have the right to do so. You didn't smash your father's car to pieces, you didn't fight with your teacher about a low, unsatisfactory grade, and you never went on a bad date, because instead, in your junior year of high school, the concept of "problems" went too high, making all the everyday tinsel still seem too small. Although, over the past year…

You roll over on your side.

To hell with this last year. As soon as a small part of the past appeared, everything immediately returned to its place, as if there was nothing between Egypt and America [And this is so convenient to blame Jotaro, that you slowly, with your eyes closed from yourself, move all the arrows in his direction — that it's because of him memories return with a frenzied speed, that it's because of him tonight, when you awoke from an empty dream, you met the gaze of your own stand. And somewhere, where the threads of your heart get tangled again at the mere mention of his name, you refuse to make that decision. Only it is so far away that you simply don't have the courage to go to such a depth of your own personality, which is why the usual defence mechanism continues to work].

You just need to calm down and look at the situation from a different angle. Then there will be a way out and everything will be as normal as possible. Maybe you should go to the Speedwagon Foundation. Since Kujo is here and they and the Foundation have invaded your life anyway, one of the solutions is simply-

avoid, you need to avoid them and hide, escape again. They won't help you and will only cause more wounds, and you will again weep until your throat is hoarse and-

at least find out what's really going on in Miami. As if something serious could be happening here.